Post by Tommy Knox on Apr 23, 2016 23:09:11 GMT
"... from myself and my brother in arms."
Saturday 12:56 PM [April 23rd]
Tokyo, Japan
[•REC]
Tokyo, Japan
[•REC]
"Konnichiwa mother fuckers!" A voice yells as our scene opens up to a dense cloud of smoke hovering just beneath the ceiling in what appears to be a hotel room. The lighting is dim, only illuminated by the rays of light casting through a large pane of glass overlooking the busy streets of the city.
The room is clean and organized, unlike what we're used to seeing back home in the states. Within the depths of the room, a dark figure sits behind a table in the shadows. Where the light meets the darkness upon the top of the table, a pair of battle-hardened hands rest, half covered in darkness and the other half out in the open.
The index finger of the right hand slowly taps the wooden surface of the table. A few moments pass before one hand covers the other and the dark figure leans forward, breaking into the light and revealing to be none other than Tommy Knox.
"I bet you fucks missed me, because I sure as shit didn't miss any of you. The time for etiquette is long gone. I would apologize for not packin' it with my luggage but truth be told, I honestly don't give a fuck. I'm not here to be nice. I'm not here to be proper. I didn't come to Japan to make nice with the locals and I damn sure didn't come all the way over here to hold hands with you all and sing 'Kumbaya' beside a campfire."
Reaching into the shadows, he grabs a box of cigarettes, holding it in one hand while flipping the top open with the other. Grabbing ahold of one inside, he slowly pulls it out and places it between his lips. Tossing the box aside, he then grabs a lighter and strikes the top of it, igniting a flame. Holding it at the tip of the cigarette, he takes a slow drag, building an even burning cherry. A second or two passes and he removes the cigarette from his mouth, holding it between his index and middle fingers, and slowly exhaling through his nostrils.
"Let's get one thing clear right here, right now. I didn't fly across the world to leave this mother fucker empty handed. I came here to win. I don't lace up the boots on a regular basis anymore but when I do, I lace them up to win. That is exactly what is goin' to happen when this little shindig takes place. A lot of you people in this tournament are in it for the wrong reasons. The fame, the glory, the prize... it ain't about that. It's about the experience and unlike any past ones you may have had, this one will be like no other."
Taking another drag from the cigarette, he French inhales the smoke upward into his nostrils. Removing the filter from his lips, he holds the cigarette just slightly above the table, tapping the top of it with his index finger and knocking ashes onto the wood.
"Now it appears that our known opponents haven't bothered to show their faces yet, no worries. It really doesn't matter what they have to say. Actions speak louder than words and our actions will do just that. Cashe's actions will open eyes. My actions will leave mother fuckers silent. I'm more interested in our next opponents for rounds two, three, and four. The list goes on and on and on, but a few names do stick out more than the others."
With a pile of ashes in front of him, he stares at them for a moment before breathing in slowly and then exhaling, blowing them out of sight in the blink of an eye. His eyes slowly raise, looking into the camera with a cocky grin on his face.
"That's exactly how this tournament is goin' to go. Slowly, one by one, each of you will turn to nothin' but ash as Cashe and I set that ring ablaze. I don't care if you're Timetus Mortuem, WildLin, New Paradigm, The Davidson's, or whatever the rest of you decide to call yourselves. The cards aren't goin' to fall in your favor. This is our goddamn time, you mother fuckers are just here for a quick in and out visit. Pile the bodies in front of us and like the big bag wolf himself, we'll huff, we'll puff, and we'll blow them all down until there's nothin' left standing in our way."
Taking another drag from the cigarette, he slowly leans his head back, looking above at the ceiling. Smoke begins to roll from his nostrils as his head lowers, looking down at the table. Rocking his head back and forth, he drags his hair against the surface of the table. In an instant, his head jerks upward. Using his free hand, he brushes this hair from his face and takes one final drag before pressing the tip of the cigarette to the table, smothering the cherry.
"Yesterday was my birthday. I didn't celebrate. I didn't make a big fuss about shortening my lifespan by another year. It's just another day, no different than the next. I did however make myself a promise. My time in that ring fulltime, week in and week out, is long gone. My better days are behind me. But there's something about this tournament that attracts me. Maybe it's the international thing. Maybe it's the abundance of slant-eyed snatch on those busy streets below. I'm not quite sure what it is. The reason I suppose isn't that important, but I made myself a promise. I'm goin' to win this thing, Cashe and I are goin' to win this goddamn tournament and bring the gold back home to the states. There's no second guessin' when it comes to this. The simple fact is that I refuse to leave here empty-handed. I don't want to sound self-centered, but winnin' this tournament is goin' to be a birthday present to myself, from myself and my brother in arms."
Pushing himself away from the table, Knox stands tall, eyes set on the camera across the table. He then turns to his right, walking out of the picture. A few seconds then pass before the picture abruptly transitions to static.
The room is clean and organized, unlike what we're used to seeing back home in the states. Within the depths of the room, a dark figure sits behind a table in the shadows. Where the light meets the darkness upon the top of the table, a pair of battle-hardened hands rest, half covered in darkness and the other half out in the open.
The index finger of the right hand slowly taps the wooden surface of the table. A few moments pass before one hand covers the other and the dark figure leans forward, breaking into the light and revealing to be none other than Tommy Knox.
"I bet you fucks missed me, because I sure as shit didn't miss any of you. The time for etiquette is long gone. I would apologize for not packin' it with my luggage but truth be told, I honestly don't give a fuck. I'm not here to be nice. I'm not here to be proper. I didn't come to Japan to make nice with the locals and I damn sure didn't come all the way over here to hold hands with you all and sing 'Kumbaya' beside a campfire."
Reaching into the shadows, he grabs a box of cigarettes, holding it in one hand while flipping the top open with the other. Grabbing ahold of one inside, he slowly pulls it out and places it between his lips. Tossing the box aside, he then grabs a lighter and strikes the top of it, igniting a flame. Holding it at the tip of the cigarette, he takes a slow drag, building an even burning cherry. A second or two passes and he removes the cigarette from his mouth, holding it between his index and middle fingers, and slowly exhaling through his nostrils.
"Let's get one thing clear right here, right now. I didn't fly across the world to leave this mother fucker empty handed. I came here to win. I don't lace up the boots on a regular basis anymore but when I do, I lace them up to win. That is exactly what is goin' to happen when this little shindig takes place. A lot of you people in this tournament are in it for the wrong reasons. The fame, the glory, the prize... it ain't about that. It's about the experience and unlike any past ones you may have had, this one will be like no other."
Taking another drag from the cigarette, he French inhales the smoke upward into his nostrils. Removing the filter from his lips, he holds the cigarette just slightly above the table, tapping the top of it with his index finger and knocking ashes onto the wood.
"Now it appears that our known opponents haven't bothered to show their faces yet, no worries. It really doesn't matter what they have to say. Actions speak louder than words and our actions will do just that. Cashe's actions will open eyes. My actions will leave mother fuckers silent. I'm more interested in our next opponents for rounds two, three, and four. The list goes on and on and on, but a few names do stick out more than the others."
With a pile of ashes in front of him, he stares at them for a moment before breathing in slowly and then exhaling, blowing them out of sight in the blink of an eye. His eyes slowly raise, looking into the camera with a cocky grin on his face.
"That's exactly how this tournament is goin' to go. Slowly, one by one, each of you will turn to nothin' but ash as Cashe and I set that ring ablaze. I don't care if you're Timetus Mortuem, WildLin, New Paradigm, The Davidson's, or whatever the rest of you decide to call yourselves. The cards aren't goin' to fall in your favor. This is our goddamn time, you mother fuckers are just here for a quick in and out visit. Pile the bodies in front of us and like the big bag wolf himself, we'll huff, we'll puff, and we'll blow them all down until there's nothin' left standing in our way."
Taking another drag from the cigarette, he slowly leans his head back, looking above at the ceiling. Smoke begins to roll from his nostrils as his head lowers, looking down at the table. Rocking his head back and forth, he drags his hair against the surface of the table. In an instant, his head jerks upward. Using his free hand, he brushes this hair from his face and takes one final drag before pressing the tip of the cigarette to the table, smothering the cherry.
"Yesterday was my birthday. I didn't celebrate. I didn't make a big fuss about shortening my lifespan by another year. It's just another day, no different than the next. I did however make myself a promise. My time in that ring fulltime, week in and week out, is long gone. My better days are behind me. But there's something about this tournament that attracts me. Maybe it's the international thing. Maybe it's the abundance of slant-eyed snatch on those busy streets below. I'm not quite sure what it is. The reason I suppose isn't that important, but I made myself a promise. I'm goin' to win this thing, Cashe and I are goin' to win this goddamn tournament and bring the gold back home to the states. There's no second guessin' when it comes to this. The simple fact is that I refuse to leave here empty-handed. I don't want to sound self-centered, but winnin' this tournament is goin' to be a birthday present to myself, from myself and my brother in arms."
Pushing himself away from the table, Knox stands tall, eyes set on the camera across the table. He then turns to his right, walking out of the picture. A few seconds then pass before the picture abruptly transitions to static.
