Post by LeVine on Feb 12, 2018 0:02:58 GMT
The sound of change falling is heard, and quickly from the top of the screen comes stacks of hundred dollar bills completely filling the screen. Slowly the image fades out into the shot of a white Lamborghini Aventador Limousine pulling in front of a hotel entrance. Swarming fans and reporters surround the car door as nearly 7 feet tall bodyguards create a path. The driver of the limousine steps out and walks to the back door. As the door is lifted up by the driver, camera shudders click and lights flash. Stepping out of the car is THE Marcus LeVine, covering his face from the cameras slightly with his right hand.
LeVine's bodyguards make a path for him as he enters the hotel. He walks past the front desk, flashing a card at the desk clerk and heading the elevators. Two of his bodyguards, as well as the cameraman, follow him in. There's complete silence from all parties. The bodyguard's faces are unmoving, and Marcus just smirks and nods his head. The elevator stops, and a computerised voice informs us that we've reached the penthouse. Marcus steps out, followed by the bodyguards, followed by the cameraman. He knows exactly where he's headed and walks through a beautiful oak door. The bodyguards take a stance on either side and after a few seconds of waiting patiently, the cameraman is allowed to enter.
In the centre of the room are two chairs facing each other, with a low sitting oak table seated between the two. One is a beautiful white leather chair with what appears to be ivory tusks as support, this is where we see Marcus LeVine seated, smoking a cigar. Across from him is a significantly less grand brown leather chair on small metal supports. The cameraman sits across from Marcus, the camera pointed at him. What looked to be an ageing man in a butler's uniform walked in and sat a tray in the centre of the table. On the tray were two glasses with an ice-sphere, and a bottle of Yamazaki 50-year-old whisky. Marcus stares down the camera and fills one of the glasses. He tilts the bottle to the cameraman as if asking him to join in a drink. The stare holds for a few seconds before Marcus places the bottle back down. Marcus takes a large sip of his drink before putting the glass down, the echo of the glass hitting hardwood hangs in the air.
"I know what you're thinking. This is very different than the Marcus LeVine that we have come to know. Well, you're right. I've grown up, I'm not that same guy anymore. I'm still violent, I'm still The Monster, but I want to make some things very clear:
I am not here to destroy UKWF.
This company was nice enough to employ me. What I am here to do is show you all that Canadian Wrestling, is better than the UK wrestling scene, the American wrestling scene, the Japanese wrestling scene, all of it. Simple right? It all starts with Francisco Lopez.
I would never say that luck is what won me that match with you long ago because... well that would be a lie. You're simply just nowhere close to my level. I'm sipping Champagne on a private jet, you're drinking warm Budweiser in your motel 6 layover room. You wanna talk about an Empire I am a one man fucking legacy, I am The Billion Dollar Dream Killer, and I am the man who, at Love Hurts, will break you. Hell, I will buy the ground you walk on and charge you for every fucking step. I'll buy out the hospital you stay at and charge you for every ounce of oxygen that enters your lungs. You are a nobody to me. You get that right? Nobody.
That hospital visit, it's gonna be courtesy of me. Because I want to promise you this, while I may have changed into this more, extravagant suit..."
The feed devolved into static. After a full minute of this buzzing, the footage began to clear up, and Marcus LeVine had taken the jacket off of his suit, and his face was now painted to look like a skull, and the cameraman from before was no longer safe. He was tied up, gagged, and being forced to stand with a noose wrapped around his neck. The blood was already pouring from the helpless man, and Marcus stared into the camera:
"I am still more than able to break weaker men."
LeVine's bodyguards make a path for him as he enters the hotel. He walks past the front desk, flashing a card at the desk clerk and heading the elevators. Two of his bodyguards, as well as the cameraman, follow him in. There's complete silence from all parties. The bodyguard's faces are unmoving, and Marcus just smirks and nods his head. The elevator stops, and a computerised voice informs us that we've reached the penthouse. Marcus steps out, followed by the bodyguards, followed by the cameraman. He knows exactly where he's headed and walks through a beautiful oak door. The bodyguards take a stance on either side and after a few seconds of waiting patiently, the cameraman is allowed to enter.
In the centre of the room are two chairs facing each other, with a low sitting oak table seated between the two. One is a beautiful white leather chair with what appears to be ivory tusks as support, this is where we see Marcus LeVine seated, smoking a cigar. Across from him is a significantly less grand brown leather chair on small metal supports. The cameraman sits across from Marcus, the camera pointed at him. What looked to be an ageing man in a butler's uniform walked in and sat a tray in the centre of the table. On the tray were two glasses with an ice-sphere, and a bottle of Yamazaki 50-year-old whisky. Marcus stares down the camera and fills one of the glasses. He tilts the bottle to the cameraman as if asking him to join in a drink. The stare holds for a few seconds before Marcus places the bottle back down. Marcus takes a large sip of his drink before putting the glass down, the echo of the glass hitting hardwood hangs in the air.
"I know what you're thinking. This is very different than the Marcus LeVine that we have come to know. Well, you're right. I've grown up, I'm not that same guy anymore. I'm still violent, I'm still The Monster, but I want to make some things very clear:
I am not here to destroy UKWF.
This company was nice enough to employ me. What I am here to do is show you all that Canadian Wrestling, is better than the UK wrestling scene, the American wrestling scene, the Japanese wrestling scene, all of it. Simple right? It all starts with Francisco Lopez.
I would never say that luck is what won me that match with you long ago because... well that would be a lie. You're simply just nowhere close to my level. I'm sipping Champagne on a private jet, you're drinking warm Budweiser in your motel 6 layover room. You wanna talk about an Empire I am a one man fucking legacy, I am The Billion Dollar Dream Killer, and I am the man who, at Love Hurts, will break you. Hell, I will buy the ground you walk on and charge you for every fucking step. I'll buy out the hospital you stay at and charge you for every ounce of oxygen that enters your lungs. You are a nobody to me. You get that right? Nobody.
That hospital visit, it's gonna be courtesy of me. Because I want to promise you this, while I may have changed into this more, extravagant suit..."
The feed devolved into static. After a full minute of this buzzing, the footage began to clear up, and Marcus LeVine had taken the jacket off of his suit, and his face was now painted to look like a skull, and the cameraman from before was no longer safe. He was tied up, gagged, and being forced to stand with a noose wrapped around his neck. The blood was already pouring from the helpless man, and Marcus stared into the camera:
"I am still more than able to break weaker men."
