[ It wasn’t too long after Bryce’s victory over Luke Jackson where we find The Architect wrapping his left bicep with some ace-wrap. Through his career, he’s managed to remain injury-free for the most part, but as expected, he’s come across a few bumps in the road. A torn bicep here—a separated shoulder there.. nothing too drastic which impaired his ability to handle his business though. With his golden hair pulled back into a tight pony-tail, sweat trickled down his forehead and dropped onto yellow colored [thin] carpeting beneath the sole of his boots. Gazing up at the camera, allowing those cold blue eyes of his pierce through the lenses—The Architect curled the right side of his lips to form an arrogant smirk. ]
“I ain’t Bryan York.. I can tell you that much. While you’re run’n ‘round with a fuck’n cape and cowl think’n you’re Bruce fuck’n Wayne, I’m here to tell you no—Peyton Von Licht, you’re not. You’re not a god damned hero, you’re just a skinny little punk kid that’s caught a few lucky breaks and find yourself stand’n across from the baddest son-of-a-bitch that the MSW offers. The talk of ‘put’n me down’…?”
[ Quickly running the side of his right index finger over his throat, Bryce nodded. ]
“You can cut that shit out real quick. Ain’t no-way in hell am I gonna allow myself to get ousted by you—some punk kid that’s two-hundred pounds soak’n wet with fuck’n boots on! I told Luke Jackson that I was a step away.. I lied. As it stands now, The Architect is TWO steps away—mean’n you’re stand’n in the tracks when this bullet train is come’n speed’n through! You’ve said it best though Peyton.. You’re the ‘boy’ who wants it all.. While me? I’m the man that has it. I’ve won World Titles in the past, I’ve carried promotions on these shoulders—have you? No.. Which is why you’re still a boy who wants to get there.. You’re stuck beneath a glass ceil’n which I’m gonna take GREAT pleasure in stomp’n a fuck’n hole through and cause’n shards of glass to fall and cut you to pieces.”
[ That sadistic grin of his slowly crept back over his face, replacing the arrogant smirk that was once there. Sitting up straight and rolling his head on those promotion-carrying shoulders of his, The Architect continued—the confidence that surrounded him.. it was unreal- for a lack of a better word. ]
“Has it ever occurred to you though.. That.. Maybe it’s not me who needs to be saved? I mean look around Peyton, the proof is in the pudd’n. I’m the one main-event’n, I’m the one on the graphics for the site, I’m the one who puts asses in seats. What do you offer? Maybe a catchy little nickname.. Or, a cute little inspiration for some crippled kid in Kansas City? I don’t want to be saved, mainly due to the fact that there ain’t not’n to save me from. I’m not drown’n, Peyton—I’m not gasp’n for fuck’n breath. I’m not open’n the show—I’m the name on the marquee! I’m the prime fuck’n player here—so maybe an evaluation of actions should be your next step. Maybe.. You’re the one that needs to be saved—the second you realize that this whole fuck’n hero act.. It’s effective—if you’re a kid with terminal illness dressed in a fuck’n batsuit. You’re NOT a hero, Peyton—you’re just some crazy punk kid that’s took one too many shots to the head. I mean look at you—look at how you present yourself! It’s a JOKE.”
[ Putting extra pretense on ‘joke’, the word was almost barked out of Bryce’s mouth. Laughing at his own remark, The Architect had to take a second to capture his thoughts and kill the amusement he felt towards Peyton Von Licht- ]
“.. seriously.. a cowl?! A FUCK’N COWL!? From that prepubescent face of yours and piercing voice, I’d think you’re an Muslim woman hide’n, not the next big fuck’n thing! You wanna talk about salvation—the only salvation for you is to be locked in a fuck’n nuthouse with the rest of those maniacs. You’re not god damn hero, you’re an embarrassment. You’re EVERYTHING that’s wrong with the SPORT of Professional Wrestle’n! You’re everything that I was an ANTICHRIST against! A cowl?! A superhero?! What’s next- you’re gonna tell me that you’re able to leap miles in a single fuck’n bound?! Fly faster than a god damn fighter jet too!? Un-FUCK’N-believable!”
[ Bryce’s amusement seemed to be gone as now, with a simple shake of his head he expressed complete disappointment. It’s true though—Way before Missouri State Wrestling’s conception, Bryce Manning was known primarily as ‘The Antichrist of Sports Entertainment’ but as years went by, ‘The Antichrist’ stuck as the rest of the nickname dropped off. Bryce was naturally gifted in terms of having this unexplainable magnetic-like draw, he could talk with the best of them but he remained silent and instead WRESTLED. It wasn’t until he decided to craft a persona—one known as The Architect which is when he let it all go and begun tearing down people’s dreams and slashing their ambition. This situation, this little ‘rivalry’ that Von Licht cooked up in his head—maybe for him; the ‘hero’ it was meant to be, but for Bryce—it was just another day at the office. Hero—Villain, at the end of the day, what mattered the most was who’s arm was raised in the air, it didn’t matter ‘how’ as reasoning was never a category in the history books. Rather, just names.. dates and times, and Unstoppable.. it’d be another ‘W’. ]
“See Peyton, it’s simple… If you take the time to stop dry-jerk’n to pictures of Captain America and Shazam, you’d see why I’m the way I am.. It’s not ‘cause I feel the world is against me—but it’s ‘cause I have yet to find an equal. One that can attempt to humble me.. And believe me brother, I’ve been to a lot of places. Mexico!? Japan?! Canada?! The United Kingdom?! Check- Check- Check- FUCK’N CHECK! The West Coast?! Been there—the East Coast?! Done that. The South? No challenge- the Mid-West?..”
[ Pausing—as Missouri WAS part of the Mid-West, Bryce simply shrugged his shoulders.. ]
“.. need I say more? I’ve smashed through obstacles, I’m murdered dreams—I’ve killed careers, Peyton—this is somethin’ that you should definitely register before we’re stand’n across of each other. I’m not like anyone you’ve faced before—I’ve told each of my opponents thus far, and what’s been the end result? I win- they lose.. it’s all ‘cause they don’t listen. How’s your listen’n ability? Is your comprehension good too? I hope so, I mean.. How bad would it be for me to not just wipe the mat with the face of Drew Stevenson—but then, a few weeks later to CRUSH the soul of Peyton Von Licht? For me, I think it’s fun—but for the people you’ve got fooled into think’n you’re some fuck’n messiah.. I don’t think they’ll appreciate it that much.. I guess it’s a good thing though, that I wipe my ass with what those inbred jackasses out there think.”
[ Yet another sinister smirk crossed Bryce’s face as he managed to push himself up. A flyer that was given to each member of the audience for the show was laying across the square wooden table to Bryce’s left, which he grabbed. Holding it up and glancing it over, it caused a round of raspy laughter to leave his lips as he turned it towards the camera—a shot of Peyton Von Licht was on there, along side shots of Bryce.. Luke Jackson and Bryan York. ]
“.. see Peyton, to some.. you may be a hero. To others? You’re a chump, but to me? Oh.. You’re neither.. See, in order to be totally effective, examples need to be made. I know I’ve crossed a few lines by continually attacking Danny Stevenson’s character—I know that I’ve earned myself a permanent spot on Missouri’s shit-list for take’n out their golden boy Drew Stevenson.. but you.. you represent something totally different—you PERSONIFY everything that I’ve been wait’n to OBLITERATE. You Peyton Von Licht, you’re not the ‘bane’ of my existence, you’re a statistic on my chart. You see.. In life, there’s two type of people.. You’ve got the guys like yourself—also grouped in with you are used car salesmen.. Body by Vi workers—and other pyramid schemers.. You guys learn to talk a damn good game, you’re charm’n, you’re able to sell a fuck’n cow a gallon of milk, but in the end- if it came down to it, could you really be able to properly represent what you’re do’n? If someone was to attack you- physically, would you be able to win? Think about that Peyton. Because.. the other type of people- guys like me- we’re Alpha-Males. We’re not only capable of do’n everything you Betas are able to do—but we’re also able to back each and every single fuck’n word that leaves our mouths. You’re a Beta- I’m an Alpha—that’s it. No heroes—no villains, no fuck’n colorful costumes with white wings on the side of your cowl. All there is—tonight—at Unstoppable is me- you- a referee and a bunch of pencil-neck geek staff members that’ll be chime’n that fuck’n bell when you’re put down—announce’n my name when I’m through as the winner.. And change’n that cute little graphic on the top of the site to a picture of ME.. and they may as fuck’n well add the MSW Championship ‘cause neither Smart or whoever the fuck he’s face’n has ANY shot in hell of beat’n me. You’re right Peyton, you’re Danny Stevenson’s last line of defense.. You’re the royal guard.. And whether you like it or not, I’m going to put you down and kill this dream—just like I shredded Luke Jackson’s, of be’n somethin’ special in this company.”
[ Bryce took a moment to bring his arms up and then crossed them in front of his chest. ]
“What you fail to understand Peyton.. The only ‘villainy’ go’n on.. Is If you somehow make it past me and capture the MSW Championship—that’s.. bad. No-one would take this place seriously—and as you said, the promotion would collapse on itself for have’n such a weak-ass bitch as champion. I can’t allow that—as The Architect, it’s my job to ensure the quality of the fuck’n build’n! You’re just a TENANT in MSW—I’M it’s creator. You just rent space here—I OWN this fuck’n place. And no matter how hard you try to con those ass-clowns, it doesn’t matter—you don’t fool me. Your tacky cowl- you’re fuck’n.. cheesy approach at be’n a hero.. yeah, whatever. I ain’t no villain, I’m just a guy who does what he wants- when he wants- how he wants. I’m not a bad guy.. well, maybe I am, but it ain’t ‘cause I’ve been ‘wronged’’.. You’ve gotta see Peyton.. Some people.. they just want to watch the world burn. I’m one of them—if it makes your job easier, yeah Peyton.. I’m an agent of chaos. I like to be the one that pushes.. and pushes.. and fuck’n pushes until someone is at the end of the line, to which.. one more push, causes them to lose their sanity. I’m not so much of a villain as I am a realist—and this realist is say’n that when it’s all said and done and the smoke clears—your cowl will be hang’n next to x-ray shots of Drew Stevenson’s broken neck—Luke Jackson’s smile, and of course.. next to a reserved spot for the MSW Championship.. ‘cause no matter how insane you are- delusion doesn’t get the job done.”
[ With a smile and a wink, Bryce turned—and as the camera was beginning to zoom out, he turned slowly and motioned for the camera to pull back towards him.. as it did so, he leaned in and whispered..]
“.. Hail Hydra.”
[ FADE. ]
