Post by robriot on Nov 4, 2021 12:42:18 GMT -5
"You know, debts can be a funny thing."
As the feed goes live, Rob Riot stands on a downtrodden-looking street in Manchester, England. There’s a terraced house behind him with some kind of commotion going on in the background. A woman stands at the front door, having an argument we can’t hear properly with two men in suits.
Riot glances back over his shoulder at the scene and then continues.
“Wrestling has been good to me. It’s broken my bones and battered my body, but the pay has been good. Debt isn’t something I’ve had to worry about for a long time, and yet for the past few months, I’ve found myself in debt. Not the financial kind, of course. Not the kind that’s going on here.”
He takes another look behind him. The argument is becoming increasingly heated. The men in suits are trying to push past the woman in the doorway, who’s pushing back against them. She’s screaming.
"No. The debt I've been burdened with is the same one that Frank Windsor and Billy Fowler have been burdened with. It was incurred all at once, and it was all owed to the same person. Jesse Jamester. We were placed in debt the moment he ran to the ring and rescued Billy from a beatdown by a gang of cowardly, conniving, overhyped Bastards tribute acts. We Bastards like to handle our own business, but that day we came up short. Jesse picked up the slack. We thanked him for his assistance, but we also resented it. Since that moment, we've owed him one, and I haven't enjoyed that feeling. See, when it's handled the wrong way, debt is destructive. It can take everything from you."
One of the men in suits has now shoved his way past the woman in the doorway and thrust some kind of paperwork at her. She's still screaming, but the screams are choked by tears. The situation is deteriorating. Of the few words we can make out through the crying and the screams, "BUT THIS IS MY HOME" stand out. It's a despairing cry, and it's becoming increasingly obvious what's going on here.
"Debts keep you awake at night. Debts claw at your consciousness. They make you physically ill the longer they stick around for. A man in debt might find himself willing to do anything to get out of it. That's why debts, on a grander scale, have been known to start wars. And lo and behold, for what have we here? Our debt has started a war. A literal war in two rings with a cage over them. Being in debt to Jesse Jamester has led the Bastards into pro wrestling’s most brutal stipulation. And yet, here I am for the first time in my life, enjoying being in debt. Enjoying it, dare I say, far more than this poor woman behind me…"
He turns around and shouts the next sentence, making sure his words can be heard.
“And the two LIMP DICKED GOONS who’ve come here to profit from other people’s misery.”
Both the woman and the one remaining man in the doorway turn around. That caught their attention. The large, suited man shouts back, "Excuse me!?" but Riot ignores him for now.
"See, Jesse isn't like these soulless suits. Jesse isn't going to make us pay through the nose to redeem ourselves or force us to degrade ourselves by doing things we don't want to do. Jesse is a benevolent creditor. He's a man who's happy for us to make amends on our own terms. He came to us and told us that it was time to repay the debt but do it in a way that doesn't even feel like work. He needed the Bastards to come and stand at his side for one night and one night only to stamp out the Revenants. Now, the Bastards aren't hired goons…"
He turns around again.
“.…unlike these WRETCHED BAILIFF PRICKS…”
That second insult appears to be the straw that broke the camel’s back for the bailiff at the door, who shouts through the doorway to his friend inside. The woman looks back and forth between Riot and the men who’ve come to repossess her home. She has no idea what to make of any of this.
The second bailiff reappears, and both of them start to make their way back down the garden path toward Riot on the street. They gesture at the camera and look a little unhappy about the idea that they’re being filmed. Riot carries on regardless.
"...but we like a fight, and we've been waiting for this fight for a long time. I, in particular, have been waiting for this fight. Keith Williams, I've had my eye on you from the moment I signed an NPW contract. You're the head of the snake, and the moment you go down, the whole pack of cards around you collapses. It's going to be my privilege and my honour to kick that head clean off and watch the Revenants bleed out from the neck. You were stupid enough to agree to step into a cage without any clue about who might be locked in there with you. Congratulations, boys, you're locked in with the Bastards. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes. And if you want to know how it's going to go down, it will look a little like this."
The bailiffs are on him now, but Riot catches the first of them by surprise with a spinning back fist that pancakes his nose all over his face. He collapses to the floor. The second one immediately backs off, raising his hands fearfully. Riot reaches down and picks up a briefcase from somewhere offscreen, snapping it open. It's full of cash. For the first time, he addresses the bailiffs.
“You. The one who can still breathe through your nose. How much does this woman owe you?”
The bailiff stares in disbelief at the cash in the briefcase and his colleague on the floor. He then meets Riot's gaze, perhaps finally recognising the world-famous wrestler. On the doorstep, the woman can only look on in wonder at her unlikely saviour.
Riot turns back to the camera one last time.
“Sometimes, paying back a debt feels good.”
Riot shoves the briefcase into the hands of the stuttering bailiff and then walks away before he can be thanked. His good deed for the year is done, and the feed cuts off.
As the feed goes live, Rob Riot stands on a downtrodden-looking street in Manchester, England. There’s a terraced house behind him with some kind of commotion going on in the background. A woman stands at the front door, having an argument we can’t hear properly with two men in suits.
Riot glances back over his shoulder at the scene and then continues.
“Wrestling has been good to me. It’s broken my bones and battered my body, but the pay has been good. Debt isn’t something I’ve had to worry about for a long time, and yet for the past few months, I’ve found myself in debt. Not the financial kind, of course. Not the kind that’s going on here.”
He takes another look behind him. The argument is becoming increasingly heated. The men in suits are trying to push past the woman in the doorway, who’s pushing back against them. She’s screaming.
"No. The debt I've been burdened with is the same one that Frank Windsor and Billy Fowler have been burdened with. It was incurred all at once, and it was all owed to the same person. Jesse Jamester. We were placed in debt the moment he ran to the ring and rescued Billy from a beatdown by a gang of cowardly, conniving, overhyped Bastards tribute acts. We Bastards like to handle our own business, but that day we came up short. Jesse picked up the slack. We thanked him for his assistance, but we also resented it. Since that moment, we've owed him one, and I haven't enjoyed that feeling. See, when it's handled the wrong way, debt is destructive. It can take everything from you."
One of the men in suits has now shoved his way past the woman in the doorway and thrust some kind of paperwork at her. She's still screaming, but the screams are choked by tears. The situation is deteriorating. Of the few words we can make out through the crying and the screams, "BUT THIS IS MY HOME" stand out. It's a despairing cry, and it's becoming increasingly obvious what's going on here.
"Debts keep you awake at night. Debts claw at your consciousness. They make you physically ill the longer they stick around for. A man in debt might find himself willing to do anything to get out of it. That's why debts, on a grander scale, have been known to start wars. And lo and behold, for what have we here? Our debt has started a war. A literal war in two rings with a cage over them. Being in debt to Jesse Jamester has led the Bastards into pro wrestling’s most brutal stipulation. And yet, here I am for the first time in my life, enjoying being in debt. Enjoying it, dare I say, far more than this poor woman behind me…"
He turns around and shouts the next sentence, making sure his words can be heard.
“And the two LIMP DICKED GOONS who’ve come here to profit from other people’s misery.”
Both the woman and the one remaining man in the doorway turn around. That caught their attention. The large, suited man shouts back, "Excuse me!?" but Riot ignores him for now.
"See, Jesse isn't like these soulless suits. Jesse isn't going to make us pay through the nose to redeem ourselves or force us to degrade ourselves by doing things we don't want to do. Jesse is a benevolent creditor. He's a man who's happy for us to make amends on our own terms. He came to us and told us that it was time to repay the debt but do it in a way that doesn't even feel like work. He needed the Bastards to come and stand at his side for one night and one night only to stamp out the Revenants. Now, the Bastards aren't hired goons…"
He turns around again.
“.…unlike these WRETCHED BAILIFF PRICKS…”
That second insult appears to be the straw that broke the camel’s back for the bailiff at the door, who shouts through the doorway to his friend inside. The woman looks back and forth between Riot and the men who’ve come to repossess her home. She has no idea what to make of any of this.
The second bailiff reappears, and both of them start to make their way back down the garden path toward Riot on the street. They gesture at the camera and look a little unhappy about the idea that they’re being filmed. Riot carries on regardless.
"...but we like a fight, and we've been waiting for this fight for a long time. I, in particular, have been waiting for this fight. Keith Williams, I've had my eye on you from the moment I signed an NPW contract. You're the head of the snake, and the moment you go down, the whole pack of cards around you collapses. It's going to be my privilege and my honour to kick that head clean off and watch the Revenants bleed out from the neck. You were stupid enough to agree to step into a cage without any clue about who might be locked in there with you. Congratulations, boys, you're locked in with the Bastards. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes. And if you want to know how it's going to go down, it will look a little like this."
The bailiffs are on him now, but Riot catches the first of them by surprise with a spinning back fist that pancakes his nose all over his face. He collapses to the floor. The second one immediately backs off, raising his hands fearfully. Riot reaches down and picks up a briefcase from somewhere offscreen, snapping it open. It's full of cash. For the first time, he addresses the bailiffs.
“You. The one who can still breathe through your nose. How much does this woman owe you?”
The bailiff stares in disbelief at the cash in the briefcase and his colleague on the floor. He then meets Riot's gaze, perhaps finally recognising the world-famous wrestler. On the doorstep, the woman can only look on in wonder at her unlikely saviour.
Riot turns back to the camera one last time.
“Sometimes, paying back a debt feels good.”
Riot shoves the briefcase into the hands of the stuttering bailiff and then walks away before he can be thanked. His good deed for the year is done, and the feed cuts off.
