Post by graymalone on Aug 2, 2016 21:12:04 GMT -5
OFF CAMERA:
LAX.......California.
July 31st
The quiet of the engines come to life. My jet, my modern phoenix is a top tier machine. Everything from the kitchens, to the landing gear...right down to my favorite leather recliner, which I lay back in at this moment. I hear footsteps approaching from the compartment ahead of the one I lounge in at this present time. It is my trusted flight attendant...Monk.
Monk: He is here Mister Malone.
Monk's voice cracks me up. So deep and threatening, yet to my Layne he is nothing more than a big, stuffed teddy bear. If she only knew the bones this man has broken in his lifetime.
Malone: Thanks Monk. Send him in. Send me some Crown and Cokes and send him some....water.
Monk nods, and walks back from which he came. I stand up from my relaxed position as I stretch greatly. My weekend was a very eventful one, and I cherished every moment I spent with Morgan. We said our good byes an hour ago, and she was dropped off in Vegas. I was pleased that she spent the weekend at my compound in Virginia. Layne got to meet her, and they got along like they knew each other forever. She also met my newest pupil, who also lives on the grounds in a guest house...Kelly. And Kelly's other trainer Jan stopped by to spend time with her.
Damon walks in, with a huge suitcase of gear, which I assume is his tattoo equipment, and a change of gear. I shake my brother in arms hand, and he looks around at my jet.
Graves: This is quite a machine, Gray. Not up to the Perry's standards, but damn....it is quite a specimen.
I laugh, thinking about the time I spent on the Perry's private jet. The slippers I wore, and the bathrobe I stole of Jason's.
Malone: Yeah, their money and mine, aren't really comparable. However, I do quite fine for myself. Thanks again for coming back to Virginia with me for a few days. I've been itching to get this new tattoo on my arm. Plus I'd like you to meet, Kelly...my pupil. Any pointers you can give her will make my job as one of her trainers very helpful.
Damon sits his case down, as Monk comes back in.
Monk: Sir, we are about to take off.
Malone: Ah, thank you my friend. Well, Damon...let us take our seats then.
Damon sits in the chair opposite of mine, across from a well preserved wooden table that I had made from Cedar out of a Lousiana swamp. The definition of it is immaculate. We buckle up, as the jet heads down the runway and up into the sky.
Malone: So tell me Damon. You and Aurora....I'm so happy for you both. Tag Team Champs...and the way you have each other's back, I am very pleased for this.
It's true. I see them both as my brother and sister. Unlike Corey, who tends to do things on his own most of the time, I feel I need to show the both of them that they have someone in their corner. That it's just not the two of them.
Graves: Yeah, I love her in every way. I never thought I'd meet someone with a spirit inside of them like she possesses. God it's so attractive to me.
I can't hide my smile at the happiness my brother is feeling about his queen. I feel the jet level off, and I tell Damon to take the seat belt off, as I do the same. Monk comes in, on cue with my mixed drink, and Damon's water with lemon.
Malone: Thank you, Monk. Check all the systems, and then come on back here and have a drink with us, my friend.
He nods to me. I value Monk's loyalty. He was an amazing soldier for this country. And he is an amazing friend to me. I watch Damon take a gulp of water, and he gets up from his chair, to take a look around the leisure suite of the jet. He looks at the 55 inch screen that projected itself from the floor.
Graves: Damn, Gray...this is sick. I don't think the Perry's have this.
I laugh heartedly.
Malone: Yeah, I think Jason still believes in all his old heart, that a box television is still the be all end all of visual entertainment.
We both laugh.
Malone: Tell me brother. If Aurora means so much to you, why not do it? Why not make her your own?
Damon turns to look at me. He fumbles for a bit, before smiling at me. He doesn't need to say anything to me, as I already know.
Malone: Aaaahhhhh. I understand my friend.
I extend my glass to him, as he extends his glass of water. The glasses touch.
Malone: To my brother and sister. Long live the Angelz.
Graves: Indeed sir.
He takes a sip, as we continue our flight back to the east coast.
ON CAMERA
MALONE COMPOUND
CHESAPEAKE, VIRGINIA
August 1st
Sitting forward against a chair, Gray's arm is stretched out, as his fellow Angel, Damon Graves is tattoing what appears to be a huge tree on his shoulder, running down his upper arm. The buzzing is constant from the gun in Damon's hand, and Gray is motionless, until he decides to start speaking.
Malone: New Orleans, Lousiana. The Angelz of Destruction will soar as one at Vendetta in a few weeks, as every one of us in someway is on the card....save for the Semi and the Main Event. Those are reserved for corporate corrupted pissants.
Damon laughs as he continues with his artwork.
Malone: We all know the matches that will take place. We all know that there will be a champion versus champion Main Event as Gavin Grimes faces Avery Miles 4 minus 1. Yes, The Unified Heavyweight Champion, against the Marquee Champion. The night will end with the King of the Marquee Division. But it will begin with the entire Marquee division going against each other in a gauntlet match to determine just who will stand face to face with Miles....to challenge him for that title. This is a spot that I decided weeks ago, that I will claim, and I will use this gauntlet match to prove that Gray Malone is the true contender to challenge for the Marquee Championship. A few weeks ago, I ended Rockin Lunatic's tenure here in the NGW...let alone, quite possibly, in all of professional wrestling. Just a few nights ago, I made the Face that runs the Place, John Blade...quickly tap when I locked in "Just Let Go" in front of thousands of Tennessee faithful, that were chanting my name. Many think that I should get that shot at Miles and the Marquee Championship right now. But it seems that Devlin Scott does not share that sympathy. Instead he has decided to bring the whole division in, on one night, in one match. Two start, and as one gets pinned, another arrives, until one man stands. One contender remains to be the one to represent the Marquee division as it's number one contender...to go on and face Avery Miles the third for the Championship. And that one man, is the one getting his arm inked up right this moment.
The buzzing stops, as Damon dips for more ink. The tree is nearly complete.
Malone: I'd like to formerly induct myself as the first person out there in this gauntlet. I want it known throughout the whole roster, that I am the one that deserves to share that ring with Miles, and blow the roof off of the building with him, en route of becoming the brand new Marquee Champion. Whoever comes down to MY ring to deter that, doesn't matter. Because each and every one of them will be touched by the hand of the creature that will soon rule the Marquee Division for many weeks, and many months to come. Guys like John Blade.
Gray and Damon look at each other, and share a laugh.
Malone: Blade, you showed nothing to me the other night when I easily took you apart and submitted you in the center of the place I call home. Prior to that, you shared the ring with Miles, which is something I have yet to do. You lost in great fashion to him, and I'll be damned if you insult that man again, by challenging for that title. You insulted me last Vendetta, when you simply didn't consider me worth your time, when performing your pathetic promo to hype our match up. To say I don't really know you that well would be far too much credit for you, when I speak about you in reference to your place in this gauntlet match. It doesn't matter where you end up, Blade. You could be the last and freshest competitor in the match. The outcome will be the same as it was last Vendetta. You.....just letting go.
Wiping the ink away from Gray's arm, Damon inspects his work, and then he continues with what looks like letters, going around the tree. Gray checks it out, nodding to himself, before continuing.
Malone: Pekelo Kimo, so we find ourselves in the same place once again. You are perhaps the yeast infection of the sport of professional wrestling. One minute you show up fierce and ready to burn it up, and then suddenly...you ooze away leaving a slimy trail of suck assedness. Let's face reality, Kimo. We both know I won't hear one single word coming from your pitiful samoan, or hawaiian mouth. It sickens me that you do my great friend, Alicia Perry injustice by dropping the ball everywhere you go. AWA, I obliterated you. And time and time again, you skirted tail out of there like a whore waking up in a church choir. But here is the difference this time, island boy. I'm not letting you go unscathed this time. In a world where your punk ass is in danger of being let go by the demigod of dickheads...Devlin Scott, I swoop in to take the job myself, and end miserable, pathetic careers. And why do you ask, Pekelo? Because I AM NGW. I am the beating pulse of this federation. I hold the highest pay on name alone, because let's face it....I'm Gray Malone. I have the power to fabricate wins and losses at will, and make those lesser known superstars such as Ashleigh Grimes, or Kenzie Rydell or Dirk Bentley...mean something to the fans that know and love and worship me.
It's because I simply have a great big heart. I have love for this business and this industry. Think about it, you cannot run a great federation if Gray Malone is the only thing going. So sometimes I have to sacrifice myself, just to put the pawns in place. This is fun for me, as I consider myself a true technical tactician, in and out of the ring. I place those where I want them, by simply letting them win....and then, just for fun, I come out of the gate like a whirlwind, and destroy them. This is good business. This draws asses in seats, and because of that, it makes Gray Malone a very wealthy motherfucker. Guys like John Blade and Pekelo Kimo though? Honestly there isn't a chessboard worthy for you two sorry bastards. Only thing I can do to help the both of you, is put these two famous hands on you, and release you both from this sport, therefore cleansing the NGW of patheticness, once and for all.
Damon, has to stop the gun on and off, while Gray speaks, do to his laughing at everything Malone is saying. He wipes off the ink, and leaves to hit the bathroom.
Malone: Two others in this first of a kind match in NGW. Hang on a second.
Gray stands up, and begins pacing.
Malone: This is the first Gauntlet match in the NGW? What kind of amateur horsehit is that? If it wasn't for me, this place would be the Mister Roger's Neighborhood of wrestling promotions, with it's basic fucking matches, and it's pointless bullshit normal rules. I show up and I bring this bitch a Hardcore Scaffold match against one of IPW's dumbest assholes, Jenson Idol. I humiliate and physically assault the prick so bad, that a vulture showed up thinking he was a dead carcass. In it's haste at devouring Jenson, rotting and utterly defeated flesh, the dumb bird smacked me in the head, and caused me to fall 30 feet below. The excitement of that match, was because of me. Not Jenson Idol. Not Tweety the fucking Condor either. And now, Gray Malone finds himself in another first, against the previously mentioned two, Blade and Kimo...or as they are collectively known as....HORSESHIT. And two others, that the fans know as Damien Drake and KEG.
Damon returns, and Gray sits back down, as his tattoo is checked over by it's artist.
Malone: Drake I see a pattern out of you. You lose the Battle Royal in your first showing here, and then you're put into a match, much higher on the card then you should have been, against a man that fucking left the company right after he beat you. Two losses for you. Welcome to the club of losers my friend, I am the captain of said club. Yet although I share many losses myself, there is a strong difference between you and I. My losses were due to me choosing to do so, as to puncture the NGW with the corruption that they have plagued so many others with. Your losses are simply due to the fact that you absolutely suck. Yet here you are, with one more chance to show the world that Damien Drake is in fact back. That your past of destroying lesser names in the ring, is about to take hold in the New Generation, when you enter that gauntlet for a shot at Avery Miles and his Marquee Championship. This would have been a very doable task for you, seeing the other competition involved, but low and behold...the one true creature that has in fact earned the shot is a part of this very same gauntlet. The Angel who's name is in the mouths of every single wannabe superstar in the NGW, will be the unbreakable force that you will come face to face with. And the only thing that will transpire for the both of us is quite simple. I go on to defeat Avery and become the greatest Marquee Champion of ever, and ever, and ever, and ever!!! And you go back to sitting in front of your television set, losing faith once again in the fake persona of Damien Drake, and once again answering to your real, pathetic name of.....wait for it.....its' coming.........
Marshall Dill.
Gray looks at Damon, and they bust out laughing tremendously for a few seconds. Damon cleans his gear up, as Gray looks in the mirror at his arm, which now bears a Tree of Life, with the name Hailey Layne at the bottom of it. He then stares into the mirror.
Malone: And to think that KEG didn't even bother to speak about me. It boggles my mind. To spend an entire, alcohol laced promo of John Fucking Blade, and not Gray Malone, leads me to believe that Old No. 7 isn't the correct choice for you KEG. Don't even go to the liquor store. Go deep down in the slums of whatever crack town you reside in that day, and fine someone that can get you a bottle of cyanide. Gulp the fuck out of that shit, and do us all a favor, because it would be a hell of a lot calmer for you, than what I plan on doing to you in that ring, for the blatant disrespect, that I don't deserve. You know it's fucked up when you catch a hangover from sitting there and watching a promo of your older than myself, punk ass...go on and on about Blade, like he means any fucking thing around here. Then you proceed to go over the titles you held, and how long you could actually remember holding them. It sincerely makes me want to hug a toilet bowl, and projectile vomit the dusty, bottom of the shelf bottle of bullshit that you continuously feed the fans that pay their hard earned money, just to see the man that is synonymous with the eruption of NGW. That man is of course me...Grayson Malone.
He steps away from the mirror.
Malone: Avery takes on Gavin. Ashleigh takes on Jack Diamond. Dirk takes on....well who gives a fuck about Dirk anyways? The fact of the matter is, that each and every one of the names I have just mentioned will spew the name of Gray Malone in their pathetic promos, one way or another. They won't mention KEG, or Kimo, or Blade, or Drake. No one else on the card will be mentioned. Gray Malone is the most talked about legend in the NGW, and I daresay that minor league piece of shit IPW as well. It's because since my arrival, I run the shitshow. I control who does what and who faces who. If I choose to challenge someone, just to pretend to lose, so they can feed their immature egos...well hey, that is just what I'll do. But when I say that I will enter this gauntlet match, and absolutely decimate anything and everything that moves in the middle of my ring....I can promise you, that I will prove I tell the truth. Avery has his chance to shine in New Orleans. And I'd commend him if he does. But the shine will only be temporary. I'll be waiting in the shadows after I destroy the whole Marquee division in one match, in one night in front of everyone that doubts me on a constant basis.
He steps closes, making his face grow darker.
Malone: Avery's shine will be bright. But all light fades. Our day is near, Miles.
Just Let Go.
LAX.......California.
July 31st
The quiet of the engines come to life. My jet, my modern phoenix is a top tier machine. Everything from the kitchens, to the landing gear...right down to my favorite leather recliner, which I lay back in at this moment. I hear footsteps approaching from the compartment ahead of the one I lounge in at this present time. It is my trusted flight attendant...Monk.
Monk: He is here Mister Malone.
Monk's voice cracks me up. So deep and threatening, yet to my Layne he is nothing more than a big, stuffed teddy bear. If she only knew the bones this man has broken in his lifetime.
Malone: Thanks Monk. Send him in. Send me some Crown and Cokes and send him some....water.
Monk nods, and walks back from which he came. I stand up from my relaxed position as I stretch greatly. My weekend was a very eventful one, and I cherished every moment I spent with Morgan. We said our good byes an hour ago, and she was dropped off in Vegas. I was pleased that she spent the weekend at my compound in Virginia. Layne got to meet her, and they got along like they knew each other forever. She also met my newest pupil, who also lives on the grounds in a guest house...Kelly. And Kelly's other trainer Jan stopped by to spend time with her.
Damon walks in, with a huge suitcase of gear, which I assume is his tattoo equipment, and a change of gear. I shake my brother in arms hand, and he looks around at my jet.
Graves: This is quite a machine, Gray. Not up to the Perry's standards, but damn....it is quite a specimen.
I laugh, thinking about the time I spent on the Perry's private jet. The slippers I wore, and the bathrobe I stole of Jason's.
Malone: Yeah, their money and mine, aren't really comparable. However, I do quite fine for myself. Thanks again for coming back to Virginia with me for a few days. I've been itching to get this new tattoo on my arm. Plus I'd like you to meet, Kelly...my pupil. Any pointers you can give her will make my job as one of her trainers very helpful.
Damon sits his case down, as Monk comes back in.
Monk: Sir, we are about to take off.
Malone: Ah, thank you my friend. Well, Damon...let us take our seats then.
Damon sits in the chair opposite of mine, across from a well preserved wooden table that I had made from Cedar out of a Lousiana swamp. The definition of it is immaculate. We buckle up, as the jet heads down the runway and up into the sky.
Malone: So tell me Damon. You and Aurora....I'm so happy for you both. Tag Team Champs...and the way you have each other's back, I am very pleased for this.
It's true. I see them both as my brother and sister. Unlike Corey, who tends to do things on his own most of the time, I feel I need to show the both of them that they have someone in their corner. That it's just not the two of them.
Graves: Yeah, I love her in every way. I never thought I'd meet someone with a spirit inside of them like she possesses. God it's so attractive to me.
I can't hide my smile at the happiness my brother is feeling about his queen. I feel the jet level off, and I tell Damon to take the seat belt off, as I do the same. Monk comes in, on cue with my mixed drink, and Damon's water with lemon.
Malone: Thank you, Monk. Check all the systems, and then come on back here and have a drink with us, my friend.
He nods to me. I value Monk's loyalty. He was an amazing soldier for this country. And he is an amazing friend to me. I watch Damon take a gulp of water, and he gets up from his chair, to take a look around the leisure suite of the jet. He looks at the 55 inch screen that projected itself from the floor.
Graves: Damn, Gray...this is sick. I don't think the Perry's have this.
I laugh heartedly.
Malone: Yeah, I think Jason still believes in all his old heart, that a box television is still the be all end all of visual entertainment.
We both laugh.
Malone: Tell me brother. If Aurora means so much to you, why not do it? Why not make her your own?
Damon turns to look at me. He fumbles for a bit, before smiling at me. He doesn't need to say anything to me, as I already know.
Malone: Aaaahhhhh. I understand my friend.
I extend my glass to him, as he extends his glass of water. The glasses touch.
Malone: To my brother and sister. Long live the Angelz.
Graves: Indeed sir.
He takes a sip, as we continue our flight back to the east coast.
ON CAMERA
MALONE COMPOUND
CHESAPEAKE, VIRGINIA
August 1st
Sitting forward against a chair, Gray's arm is stretched out, as his fellow Angel, Damon Graves is tattoing what appears to be a huge tree on his shoulder, running down his upper arm. The buzzing is constant from the gun in Damon's hand, and Gray is motionless, until he decides to start speaking.
Malone: New Orleans, Lousiana. The Angelz of Destruction will soar as one at Vendetta in a few weeks, as every one of us in someway is on the card....save for the Semi and the Main Event. Those are reserved for corporate corrupted pissants.
Damon laughs as he continues with his artwork.
Malone: We all know the matches that will take place. We all know that there will be a champion versus champion Main Event as Gavin Grimes faces Avery Miles 4 minus 1. Yes, The Unified Heavyweight Champion, against the Marquee Champion. The night will end with the King of the Marquee Division. But it will begin with the entire Marquee division going against each other in a gauntlet match to determine just who will stand face to face with Miles....to challenge him for that title. This is a spot that I decided weeks ago, that I will claim, and I will use this gauntlet match to prove that Gray Malone is the true contender to challenge for the Marquee Championship. A few weeks ago, I ended Rockin Lunatic's tenure here in the NGW...let alone, quite possibly, in all of professional wrestling. Just a few nights ago, I made the Face that runs the Place, John Blade...quickly tap when I locked in "Just Let Go" in front of thousands of Tennessee faithful, that were chanting my name. Many think that I should get that shot at Miles and the Marquee Championship right now. But it seems that Devlin Scott does not share that sympathy. Instead he has decided to bring the whole division in, on one night, in one match. Two start, and as one gets pinned, another arrives, until one man stands. One contender remains to be the one to represent the Marquee division as it's number one contender...to go on and face Avery Miles the third for the Championship. And that one man, is the one getting his arm inked up right this moment.
The buzzing stops, as Damon dips for more ink. The tree is nearly complete.
Malone: I'd like to formerly induct myself as the first person out there in this gauntlet. I want it known throughout the whole roster, that I am the one that deserves to share that ring with Miles, and blow the roof off of the building with him, en route of becoming the brand new Marquee Champion. Whoever comes down to MY ring to deter that, doesn't matter. Because each and every one of them will be touched by the hand of the creature that will soon rule the Marquee Division for many weeks, and many months to come. Guys like John Blade.
Gray and Damon look at each other, and share a laugh.
Malone: Blade, you showed nothing to me the other night when I easily took you apart and submitted you in the center of the place I call home. Prior to that, you shared the ring with Miles, which is something I have yet to do. You lost in great fashion to him, and I'll be damned if you insult that man again, by challenging for that title. You insulted me last Vendetta, when you simply didn't consider me worth your time, when performing your pathetic promo to hype our match up. To say I don't really know you that well would be far too much credit for you, when I speak about you in reference to your place in this gauntlet match. It doesn't matter where you end up, Blade. You could be the last and freshest competitor in the match. The outcome will be the same as it was last Vendetta. You.....just letting go.
Wiping the ink away from Gray's arm, Damon inspects his work, and then he continues with what looks like letters, going around the tree. Gray checks it out, nodding to himself, before continuing.
Malone: Pekelo Kimo, so we find ourselves in the same place once again. You are perhaps the yeast infection of the sport of professional wrestling. One minute you show up fierce and ready to burn it up, and then suddenly...you ooze away leaving a slimy trail of suck assedness. Let's face reality, Kimo. We both know I won't hear one single word coming from your pitiful samoan, or hawaiian mouth. It sickens me that you do my great friend, Alicia Perry injustice by dropping the ball everywhere you go. AWA, I obliterated you. And time and time again, you skirted tail out of there like a whore waking up in a church choir. But here is the difference this time, island boy. I'm not letting you go unscathed this time. In a world where your punk ass is in danger of being let go by the demigod of dickheads...Devlin Scott, I swoop in to take the job myself, and end miserable, pathetic careers. And why do you ask, Pekelo? Because I AM NGW. I am the beating pulse of this federation. I hold the highest pay on name alone, because let's face it....I'm Gray Malone. I have the power to fabricate wins and losses at will, and make those lesser known superstars such as Ashleigh Grimes, or Kenzie Rydell or Dirk Bentley...mean something to the fans that know and love and worship me.
It's because I simply have a great big heart. I have love for this business and this industry. Think about it, you cannot run a great federation if Gray Malone is the only thing going. So sometimes I have to sacrifice myself, just to put the pawns in place. This is fun for me, as I consider myself a true technical tactician, in and out of the ring. I place those where I want them, by simply letting them win....and then, just for fun, I come out of the gate like a whirlwind, and destroy them. This is good business. This draws asses in seats, and because of that, it makes Gray Malone a very wealthy motherfucker. Guys like John Blade and Pekelo Kimo though? Honestly there isn't a chessboard worthy for you two sorry bastards. Only thing I can do to help the both of you, is put these two famous hands on you, and release you both from this sport, therefore cleansing the NGW of patheticness, once and for all.
Damon, has to stop the gun on and off, while Gray speaks, do to his laughing at everything Malone is saying. He wipes off the ink, and leaves to hit the bathroom.
Malone: Two others in this first of a kind match in NGW. Hang on a second.
Gray stands up, and begins pacing.
Malone: This is the first Gauntlet match in the NGW? What kind of amateur horsehit is that? If it wasn't for me, this place would be the Mister Roger's Neighborhood of wrestling promotions, with it's basic fucking matches, and it's pointless bullshit normal rules. I show up and I bring this bitch a Hardcore Scaffold match against one of IPW's dumbest assholes, Jenson Idol. I humiliate and physically assault the prick so bad, that a vulture showed up thinking he was a dead carcass. In it's haste at devouring Jenson, rotting and utterly defeated flesh, the dumb bird smacked me in the head, and caused me to fall 30 feet below. The excitement of that match, was because of me. Not Jenson Idol. Not Tweety the fucking Condor either. And now, Gray Malone finds himself in another first, against the previously mentioned two, Blade and Kimo...or as they are collectively known as....HORSESHIT. And two others, that the fans know as Damien Drake and KEG.
Damon returns, and Gray sits back down, as his tattoo is checked over by it's artist.
Malone: Drake I see a pattern out of you. You lose the Battle Royal in your first showing here, and then you're put into a match, much higher on the card then you should have been, against a man that fucking left the company right after he beat you. Two losses for you. Welcome to the club of losers my friend, I am the captain of said club. Yet although I share many losses myself, there is a strong difference between you and I. My losses were due to me choosing to do so, as to puncture the NGW with the corruption that they have plagued so many others with. Your losses are simply due to the fact that you absolutely suck. Yet here you are, with one more chance to show the world that Damien Drake is in fact back. That your past of destroying lesser names in the ring, is about to take hold in the New Generation, when you enter that gauntlet for a shot at Avery Miles and his Marquee Championship. This would have been a very doable task for you, seeing the other competition involved, but low and behold...the one true creature that has in fact earned the shot is a part of this very same gauntlet. The Angel who's name is in the mouths of every single wannabe superstar in the NGW, will be the unbreakable force that you will come face to face with. And the only thing that will transpire for the both of us is quite simple. I go on to defeat Avery and become the greatest Marquee Champion of ever, and ever, and ever, and ever!!! And you go back to sitting in front of your television set, losing faith once again in the fake persona of Damien Drake, and once again answering to your real, pathetic name of.....wait for it.....its' coming.........
Marshall Dill.
Gray looks at Damon, and they bust out laughing tremendously for a few seconds. Damon cleans his gear up, as Gray looks in the mirror at his arm, which now bears a Tree of Life, with the name Hailey Layne at the bottom of it. He then stares into the mirror.
Malone: And to think that KEG didn't even bother to speak about me. It boggles my mind. To spend an entire, alcohol laced promo of John Fucking Blade, and not Gray Malone, leads me to believe that Old No. 7 isn't the correct choice for you KEG. Don't even go to the liquor store. Go deep down in the slums of whatever crack town you reside in that day, and fine someone that can get you a bottle of cyanide. Gulp the fuck out of that shit, and do us all a favor, because it would be a hell of a lot calmer for you, than what I plan on doing to you in that ring, for the blatant disrespect, that I don't deserve. You know it's fucked up when you catch a hangover from sitting there and watching a promo of your older than myself, punk ass...go on and on about Blade, like he means any fucking thing around here. Then you proceed to go over the titles you held, and how long you could actually remember holding them. It sincerely makes me want to hug a toilet bowl, and projectile vomit the dusty, bottom of the shelf bottle of bullshit that you continuously feed the fans that pay their hard earned money, just to see the man that is synonymous with the eruption of NGW. That man is of course me...Grayson Malone.
He steps away from the mirror.
Malone: Avery takes on Gavin. Ashleigh takes on Jack Diamond. Dirk takes on....well who gives a fuck about Dirk anyways? The fact of the matter is, that each and every one of the names I have just mentioned will spew the name of Gray Malone in their pathetic promos, one way or another. They won't mention KEG, or Kimo, or Blade, or Drake. No one else on the card will be mentioned. Gray Malone is the most talked about legend in the NGW, and I daresay that minor league piece of shit IPW as well. It's because since my arrival, I run the shitshow. I control who does what and who faces who. If I choose to challenge someone, just to pretend to lose, so they can feed their immature egos...well hey, that is just what I'll do. But when I say that I will enter this gauntlet match, and absolutely decimate anything and everything that moves in the middle of my ring....I can promise you, that I will prove I tell the truth. Avery has his chance to shine in New Orleans. And I'd commend him if he does. But the shine will only be temporary. I'll be waiting in the shadows after I destroy the whole Marquee division in one match, in one night in front of everyone that doubts me on a constant basis.
He steps closes, making his face grow darker.
Malone: Avery's shine will be bright. But all light fades. Our day is near, Miles.
Just Let Go.