(In)sanity: Tales from the Underground

[Deleted]

VOLTAGE I | A PLAGUE, KNOWN AS ULTRAVIOLENCE | MAY 26, 2017

The scene opens up to an abandoned malt factory, known as The Underground. Its floor, littered with broken bottles of lager, dirt and dust. The walls 'decorated’ with dull colored spray paint, though, the designs are barely visible due to the harsh, dark lighting. The sound of heavy combat boots can be heard treading on the cold metal floor, and from the shadows emerges Harvey Yorke, the latest Voltage signee. He stands stoically under a crack of light coming from a hole in the floor above the lobby.

And so, the day arrives. Soon, very soon, I will make my grand debut at Voltage. Though, there won’t be much to look forward to for everyone besides myself. Allow me to introduce myself, I am Harvey Yorke, the Devil of Ultraviolence. We’ll get to why that name exists quite soon, but let’s focus on the task at hand. This Sunday, I arrive in the ‘land of elite.’ Now, for your sake, it’s best that you don’t know a damn thing about me outside the ring, and brace yourself for what I can do in it. Ever since 2012, I’ve taken the world of wrestling by storm. They say man cannot walk on water, but hey, I was able to survive a fucking explosion and walk out a champion. That, of course, was in a different place at a different time. We’re not there now.

Harvey smirks, which that then turns into a laugh.

I know what you’re thinking. You may say, “Piss off! You’re only twenty years old, you couldn’t have possibly managed to accomplish so much in such a short amount of time.” To that, I say, try harder. For far too long, I’ve had the likes of older in-ring veterans look down upon me, only to fall victim to the Devil of Ultraviolence. In this sport, you’ve got people who want to underestimate you, who want to make generalizations. But here’s something you don’t know: what I do to people inside the ring, is not for the faint of heart. Generalize me all you want, but at the end of the day, I am nothing but an unpredictable force to be reckoned with. Just when you think you have the upper hand on me, I’ll claw your eyes out so bad, you’ll be begging for some sort of sympathy. But alas, devils do not give out sympathy, in fact, I know of no such thing.

Recall that nickname I alluded to a few minutes back, the ‘Devil of Ultraviolence?’ I didn’t just chose the nickname just to be some sort of king of the edgelords. Nor did I make it up to make myself more intimidating. No, they call me the Devil of Ultraviolence because of what I have done to people. ‘Devil,’ because there’s no such thing as goodness within me - I gave up that shtick a long fucking time ago. And here’s a newsflash for you: we are all monsters. We all have a Hell in which we retreat to, be it a temporary stay, or a permanent dwelling, just like I’ve made it for myself. And what does Ultraviolence mean to me? Simply put, it’s a way of life. A power that supersedes all man-made powers, like pride, bravery, courageousness. Ultraviolence is much more. It is a combination of the world’s deadliest sins, and with it, I am unstoppable. Soon, I shall teach the world what Ultraviolence means to me, and why it’s important that you take notice of my abilities sooner rather than later. You wouldn’t want to end up like the men I’ve faced in Britain. And after this Sunday, no one would want to end up like Ahren Fournier.

There is a slight pause. At the same time, a few lights begin to turn on, though they flicker due to old electrical system in the factory. Harvey laughs again, but is quickly cut short as he’s on the offensive once more.

Now, men like Ahren Fournier, they’ll never understand. Hell, it’s not even worth trying to convince this man to step into the light, to the power of the ol’ Ultraviolence. You see Ahren, there’s not much for me to really “prove” here in EAW. For I was chosen to do to you what I did back in my years in Britain and Europe. I was banished by my old country. See, what I did to people down there will not be the same as what I’ll do to you, Ahren. No, this is what people call the big leagues. What I did back then, I’ll be doing at a much larger scale, to the biggest joke in Elite Answers Wrestling. Winning my debut match against the ‘Trill Fairy’ seems easy enough, but I’d much rather showcase what I’m truly capable of to the world before I do so. Through brute force, you will fall to the Devil himself. And hey, I’m getting paid a good amount of cash just to win, so I better make it worth my while. I’m afraid you won’t call yourself the most sexiest man alive after our match, because I’ll leave your body so unrecognizable, people won’t be able to tell you apart from all the deformed miscarriages at the local hospital. Hell, why even bother taking a fool like yourself so seriously? You’ll be no different from all the other cocky pricks I’ve had the duty of beating senseless - you’ll end up in a bodybag come this Sunday. You’re the Hardcore Champion? Great. I, however, don’t need a championship to prove how ‘hardcore’ I truly am. For years, I’ve thrown caution to the wind and put my body on the line, and I must say, it has paid off well. Here I stand, in America. And now, I have the pleasure to debut in a company that was built off the hardcore side of wrestling, the same side I have exposed for the world to see for nearly half a decade.

Harvey paces towards a rusted countertop, the camera follows as he walks.

Ahren Fournier is a delusional man. I would say that I pity him for that, but I don’t. He calls himself the measuring stick of EAW. Ha! Don’t make me laugh. Good to know that it’s not a measuring stick for your dick otherwise there wouldn't be much to compare to. Yeah, I’ve got jokes too. But none of them will ever compare to the living, breathing joke known as...oh what did he call himself again? ‘Big Dick Fournier?’ I think you fail to realize that I am not here for the popularity, Mr. Fournier. I am here for glory. I am here to steal away any and all accolades all for myself. You can call me a rookie all you want, Ahren, but you’re only underestimating me, and that, is yet another fatal flaw that will lead you to your demise come Sunday. That squared circle is mine for the taken, make no mistake about it. I know how to take advantage of my surroundings, it’s what makes me unpredictable. See, you can study my moves all you want, but you can never predict how or when I’ll hit them. Think you can out pace me? It’ll only make you grow tired, and by then, I’ll be taking my time to dismember you, limb by fucking limb. But do not fret, both are common mistakes previous opponents have made when facing the Devil of Ultraviolence. I exceed generalizations because a man of my caliber cannot be tamed. I cannot be bound by labels, names, and the like. I almost feel sorry for those who will be in attendance in Orlando this Sunday. They do allow live murder on television, right?

The countertop holds what is most beloved to Harvey: his Yorkshire lager. He takes a bottle, and twists the cap off with his bare teeth.

You wouldn’t know what this company would do without you? Well, first of all, without Ahren Fournier, the Hardcore title would actually hold some sort of prestige. Without Ahren Fournier, the ratings for Voltage would increase by a bloody good amount. Hell, I would be keen on taking your place, because an ignoramus such as yourself has no role in the ‘land of elite.’ You wouldn’t know what this company would do without you? I’ll give you a preview of what it’s like, lad. After our match, you will fall victim to the Devil, and you shall fade into a hideous irrelevancy, knowing that you couldn’t get the job done against a so called ‘rookie.’

He takes a long gulp of alcohol before continuing.

You are right about one thing, now that I think about it. You said I do not belong in this era. In an era where clowns such as yourself are champions, where intelligent men like Ryan Marx are pushed aside in a match that ultimately means nothing. That’s not the era I belong in. Not one bit. No worries though, soon, we will see the turn of this rancid era when I take over with my many talents. And after this week’s edition of Voltage, we shall all bear witness to the Era of Yorke.

I sense that you are far too scared to come down from your ‘trill’ ivory tower. You may carry the title of Hardcore Champion, but after our first encounter, you’ll only be carrying the dead weight of who you once were. For after you meet the Devil of Ultraviolence, you will no longer be the same. I am not a man, I am not a monster. But I am made of filth; what lies within me is purely sin and destruction. You think you can beat me senseless, yeah? Stick in a few jabs here and there and then cut my forehead wide open? Been there, done that. After this Sunday, you, along with everyone else in EAW will recognize that I truly am a demon. We are all made with a heart full of darkness, but I am here to free you from society’s crutches.

I shall expose the darker side of humanity. Next, I will let the darkness consume mankind whole. Then, and only then, will the power of Ultraviolence be able to seep through and infest everyone with its wickedness. Am I getting ahead of myself? No. I am only preparing for the worst that is yet to come. And if you accept me as your shepherd, Ahren, your fate will be far less humiliating.

Harvey downs the rest of the bottle, then smashes the bottle against the rusted metal floor. He treads off-screen, the sound of broken glass sliding about on the ground echoes throughout the lobby. The lights finally flicker one last time before shutting off completely with a buzz. Cut to static. Fade to black.

[Deleted]

VOLTAGE I | STRANGE AND WONDERFUL TRUTHS | JUN 3, 2017

The scene opens up to yet another harsh, dark, abandoned territory. Void of any and all life, except for the man before the camera, Harvey Yorke. It is very clear that this is not The Underground, but rather, a smaller dwelling. A lot which consists of ashes as a floor, vintage sepia photographs for walls, and an improperly placed studio light acting as sunlight. As Harvey paces closer towards the light, unhealed cuts and welts form his face - damage. But Harvey? He wasn’t damaged yet.

We stepped off on the wrong foot, as simple as that. But I am here to remind you all, I am not defined by losses. Need I remind you, my time has only just begun in EAW. And like some cliche “Rome wasn’t built in a day” shit, I can and will have success in this company. Others would probably hang themselves, knowing that they lost to a ‘top’ champion in their debut match. Not me lad. I fought, attempted to conquer, fell short. I’ve been silent for a few days, but not in mourning! No, I’ve taken the time to thoroughly assess my character, if you will.

You see, last Saturday saw my first loss whilst in America. I’m not upset, and if I was, I’ve allowed myself let go of those feelings - try self-healing with alcohol, sounds insane, doesn’t it? But I am not insane, I am far from it. I am, however, a very maniacal man. And with my madness, I was able to find a moment of silence, an escape. It was through that very deafening silence that I discovered some very, very crucial truths. Yes my brothers and sisters, strange and wonderful, these truths are.

Harvey pauses, his wounds now more visible without all of his excessive movements.

Letting go can do many wonders. I know now for a fact there is only one heart of darkness inside me, one that contains the unholy presence of Lucifer himself. He doesn’t enjoy company, you see. So there I was, doing a bit of housekeeping, abolishing these false demons out of my system. Now I stand before all of you, addressing my upcoming match as a new man with a cleansed state of mind. To purify the mind means purification of the soul, it is quite a lovely thing. And as I stood motionless, flesh and bones exposed, vacant of human emotion, I saw the light. Or rather, I saw the opposite. Next thing you know my brothers, I was consumed by a vast darkness. For hours, I felt myself falling deeper and deeper.

And then, back to my motionless state as before.

See, you cannot damage what’s already been destroyed. Ahren Fournier may have walked out with his hand raised high above his head, but my enlightenment has only brought me far beyond his win over me. What many have been referring as a loss, I call a rebirth. I’ve only stepped farther into my own wickedness and my own darkness. The latter of which will be left to consume my opponents this Sunday.

He grins as he continues.

I love the game these so called ‘Elitists’ love to play, the one where they assume I’m in the “same boat” as they are. That’s what I am, according to Abelard Becker. This man couldn’t be farther from the truth he so desperately tries to preach onto the masses. And if you’ve been paying any attention in between writing vague unaddressed love letters on your pathetic blog, you’d know I have perfected Ultraviolence, a belief system which will lead society to its horrid demise, and then to its beautiful rebirth. I don’t know what’s more pathetic here, your attempt at a pretentious metaphor, or how oblivious you are to even look the devil himself in the eyes!

How foolish of you, to truly think you are safe from my wickedness by playing the role of a middle man. Not only that, but you believe that by making yourself invisible, you’re invincible to madness which I am composed of. I’ll give it to you lad, no one wants to hear about past achievements around here. Hell, look where it got me! Left battered and dismissed as a fluke by the rest. But oh, how beauteous man can be sometimes, presenting me with a chance at revival! Because after this Sunday, I’ll demonstrate that there was simply a cog in an otherwise unstoppable machine. Darkness takes time to manifest in its most brutal state, but after my own enlightenment, the destruction of Abelard Becker will be inevitable. You see, Abelard - a foul tasting name by the way - you’re unwise for shielding yourself with the impossible. You may consider yourself a wanderer, an invisible man, but the power of Ultraviolence will find you. And the fist of Lucifer will reign down, crumbling first your physical state, then your mental state. Do keep up with this pessimistic attitude, because once I drag your soul through Hell and back, there won’t be any goals left for you to chase after in this industry. No, not after I claim them all for myself. In fact, take your little boat, yeah? Set your damn sails, and abandon all forms of navigation. Then make that U-turn right about now, because by the sound of it, you’re not ready to step foot into my personal inferno.

There was a moment of silence, but that was soon interrupted by the familiar sound of his laugh.

It seems to me, Abelard, you’re just as lost as you paint yourself to be. It’s pitiful at its core, but do remember: devils hold no sympathy. Then, you say that if we dare underestimate you, so much as present you with a shed of ignorance, that you’d “give us the cold harsh truth.” Ha, you’d better hope these ‘truths’ you hope to expose actually strike a chord with me. I’ve grown tired, people left and right have attempted to psychoanalyse me in attempts to find these so called ‘truths’ to expose. But you see, there’s not much to dismantle here. I speak my mind, and let my actions speak for themselves. But poor Abelard Becker? He leaves us with cryptic messages in attempts to gain some sort of “solidarity” between he and I. Mark my words Abelard, the devil has and will always walk on his own. The only solidarity I see for you in the foreseeable future, is if you were to accept this fate of yours; bow to the Devil of Ultraviolence. Only then would we be united, with you being victim of the devil and witness to my path of destruction. Lost you may be, but through the wickedness that lies within my heart, I will set you free.

I am not lost, Abelard. But as you’ve stated, you are forever lost: be it on voyage, be it the little impression you’ve left on the masses - you better hope you steer your boat towards your private El Dorado, and leave the real ‘voyages’ for myself and the other men clawing and dissecting others at a chance for recognition. You do not want to travel down my path, its darkness will consume you, and you will become far more irrelevant than you already are.

At the end of the day, you’re as insignificant as can be. And hey, you said it first. At Voltage though, you’ll soon find out what it’s like to plummet into an unforeseeable fall from grace. Not that there’s much grace to you already, I’m only trying to put this as poetry in motion for you to understand. So go ahead, continue to throw false claims and continue to lead your blind journey to an island that does not exist.

I will continue to pave my path the only way I know how. Ultraviolence: the way, the truth, the life.

Facing away from the camera he paces out of the light, blending with the dark abandoned building. The light flickers off almost abruptly, but Harvey pays no mind. Cut to static. Fade to black.

[Deleted]

VOLTAGE I | VIOLENT RECKONING | JUN 8, 2017

The scene opens up to the usual setting of The Underground. This time, we are presented with a space far more cluttered than a fortnight ago. Whilst the building usually remains dark (due to the lack of proper electricity), large windows at the top of each brick wall are cracked open just enough to provide a ‘spotlight’ to rain down on Harvey Yorke. He stands tall among the remnants of what used to be a ceiling. Nodding, he begins to speak.

Maero, is it? I hoped you would perhaps present a better ‘challenge’ against me, in comparison to my other opponents I’ve faced since coming to Voltage. A former Hardcore Champion, leader of the most prominent stables EAW has to offer, The Sanatorium. Knowing this, I believed that you would be a bit more observant, more wise. And as I play your tape over and over and over again, it gets harder distinguishing it from a cryptic, holier-than-thou message on how you’ll drag my already rotting corpse around town from an instructional video on how to tie the noose and take a great leap. It gets quite amusing, every now and then. How you beg and plead for me to show you respect and to not pull the ol’ ‘sadistic’ card on you. Very surprising.

Harvey smirked.

See, you’re not the first one to ridicule me on my beliefs or why they call me the Devil of Ultraviolence. And seeing as though you claim to be my smartest, most craziest opponent yet, it intrigues me as to why you chose to bring about the same argument that, well, everyone has made against me since arriving here. And of course Maero, you’re walking into this match with just about everything on stake: your claim as the Priest of Life and my future teacher, your momentum against Keelan Cetinich, and your reputation as a fearless leader. Me? Just as you’ve said before, I’ve got nothing valuable to my career. I’m walking in with nothing to lose. But if I do lose, you say that I’ll be ‘changed’ by it.

Ha! Like your fancy little gun you seemed to taunt me around with, Ultraviolence happens to be as indiscriminate as the bullets that exit from it. But unlike a pistol, it is not a matter of aiming, pulling the trigger, and hope that you’ve shot your target. No, it’s far more complex. Essentially what you say is that in comparison to your career, mine is as good as a pile of rubbish. Losing to Ahren Fournier, then using that to gain a win over an ‘off-brand’ version of him, and a ‘bridge troll.’ Funny, I don’t recall anyone around here having a memorable stint when they first arrived in EAW. That in itself seems a bit ironic, don’t you think? Here you are, your first contract with a worldwide corporation. You figure, “Bloody hell! I just won the lottery!” And yeah mate, it’s all fun and games. A couple of appearances here, couple over there - but something inside you starts to linger after a while.

He pauses as he extracts a bottle of lager from his hoodie.

What does Harvey Yorke have to do in order to be noticed around here? Is it perhaps something more than just snapping the fingers of each and every opponent set out to face me? Perhaps I have to go ahead and do everything ol’ Maero here has done whilst being here. But then again, it’s all about relevancy. How to keep man entertained without repeating yourself or repeating what others have done before you.

You may believe your own wickedness when I go out on a limb and say this: neither you nor the Sanatorium are better than me, for I stand firm in my beliefs and have never strayed from my self-lead path of darkness. Not even your power-hungry cult could try and dethrone me and my heart of darkness. And oh, how you say that the Sanatorium is composed of the most maniacal individuals EAW has to offer! But you see, I am the one true infestation this industry has to fear. I don’t have to fall in line, kiss the boot, and hail. No, I said it last week and I’ll say it again: the devil has and will always walk on his own. You play the role of a leader because, let’s face it: without it you’re just another man. Just another fucked up individual with a tragic backstory. Another man made from faulty stitches, waiting for the right person to come around and rip him apart limb by limb to finally liberate him from his poor “woe is me” sob story. Well Maero, I’ve found just the right individual for the job: the Devil of Ultraviolence.

He chuckles as he takes a swig from the bottle. After muttering about, he continues.

So much for allowing you to be my teacher, right? You’re only a victim of your diluted thoughts. What, so now you think you’re playing God? Think you’re going to be the one that makes me fall down and serve some sort of punishment? Maero, you call yourself the Priest of Life not just because of how ‘alive’ you claim to feel once you step inside that ring, but because like all other wise men, you would know that Life ultimately comes to an end which we call Death. That’s why around here, I’m known as a demon. You claim you’ll be the one to make me fall, only problem being is that I’ve already beat you to it. I’ve sent the Devil to Hell. I’ve already allowed myself to die over and over again, becoming a stronger version of myself with each rebirth.

Get this: rather than wasting my energy trying to see who’s truly the darker out of the two of us, I’ll let you play the role of some blood-thirsty killer. You’ll buy into your own hype as this untouchable vigilante, and you’ll allow yourself to be blinded by all the lights you’ve created. Doesn’t take a lunatic to realize that once you’re blinded by false prophecies, it’s much easier for you to fall.

He paces towards the camera, eyeing it down with a menacing look.

So be ready and willing to testify Maero. The Devil of Ultraviolence defies any and all forms of exorcisms. You can bring a gun, your mindless sheep, or whatever it is that you call a ‘defense.’ But this? This is your crucible. Your wickedness against my very own. I’ll defy you; take your precious book from which you preach, burn it, and then dance all over the ashes.

Harvey then steps back, eventually stepping out of frame. The sound of glass shattering is all that can be heard shortly thereafter. Cut to static. Fade to black.

[Deleted]

SHOWDOWN I | IMAGINARY ENEMIES | JUN 14, 2017

The scene opens up to a dull, grey boiler room. In the background, we are graced with broken windows and the sounds of a noisy Chicago night echoing throughout the room like a mantra. Rusted, worn-out gym equipment is scattered all over the room, or at least so it seems. Before the camera stands the silhouette of Xander, a close friend and mentor.

“You lost, again.”

Xander steps aside, and now we see Harvey Yorke sitting on a metal chair, head in his hands.

“Don’t grow frustrated, you can’t give your opponents any signs of weakness.”

Harvey removes his hands from his face, lifting his head up slowly. Scars from last Sunday’s match are present, though there appears to be new scars and bruises - perhaps they were self-inflicted? I’ll let the question linger. Harvey exhaled with what seemed like a long sigh-slash-growl.

“Stand your ground, prove your worth, and demonstrate once more how the power of Ultraviolence supersedes man-made powers such as determination, self-confidence, honor and respect. When compared to the rest of mankind, you’re different...you’re the devil among men.”

Harvey then stands. The scene cuts to static.

The next scene cuts to current time. Harvey Yorke is seen in the dully-lit lobby of The Underground, where he stares at the cold floor beneath him.

He said this loss would change me. And yet here I am, unchanged and still the same unlovable mustachioed douchebag that can’t seem to get the ‘big win’ in order to skyrocket his career into the right direction. I’m sure Maero believed his win over me allowed him to boast and say he has momentum going into Pain For Pride. But in the end, it was Keelan Cetinich who would be the one to put a halt to that. “But Harvey, you clearly lost! If it truly didn’t bother you, you wouldn’t be talking about it now!,” you cry. And sure, I could do the same by further lamenting my defeat and say things will be better next time. But that isn’t the case, especially for my opponents this week.

Truth be told, the only real “lesson” Maero taught me this Sunday is that unlike him, I have another chance to prove myself worthy of battle. This week, Lethal Consequences, Scott Diamond, and I are presented with the task of arriving on Showdown and facing the team consisting of Prince of Phenomenal, Darkane, and Theron Nikolas. I cannot speak for my teammates, but already I see cracks and faults where the team is supposed to be held together. The team consisting of Showdown’s roster are not a challenge in my eyes. Rather, all it takes is for one man to make the wrong move, and they’ll realize they’re all just sheep on a path that leads towards the same ride straight to Hell. Who better to drag them to Hell than the Devil of Ultraviolence? This Saturday, we’re merely presented with what I would call ‘imaginary enemies.’ ‘Imaginary’ because we have one man led on his own ego, another led by his own spite and cruelty, and lastly one led by his own inner savagery.

There was a pause as Harvey lifted his head up for the first time, revealing a sinister smile.

We begin with the lesser of three evils. The man none other than the supposed legend - and soon to be myth - Prince of Phenomenal. A man so oblivious, living off his own hype in his own world where anything and everything is about him. Fuck, and people get off on calling me narcissistic and delusional. Clearly, they haven’t seen delusional until they’ve heard the bullshit that spews out of his own mouth. First, he claims it was a tragedy that he “wasn't able to get in the ring” last week. Ha! I’m sure we all remember how his ‘grand’ return to Showdown went a while back, with his shoulders down on the mat for the count. And just like that, he disappeared for a good while and returned just in time to suck management’s cock for a place at Pain For Pride X. Oh, don’t think I haven’t been paying attention to your pathetic interviews! You know, the ones where you act like a fucking wanker in order to come off as this icon, this future World Champion here to “fill the void” that is Showdown. Hey, at least you’re stepping foot in the right direction. Unfortunately, they threw all of the jobbers onto Voltage - Showdown could use a few of those, if that’s the void you’re looking to fill.

I know, you’re probably looking for me to get all serious with you, but why bother? At least when I lost to Maero last week, I didn’t fuck off for an entire month only to return with with a system rigged with steroids and a new hairdo. Is that what it takes to be known as ‘Phenomenal?’ I’ll tell you what will be phenomenal: when either me or the other two members of my team defeat you, and send that massive ego of yours straight to Hell. If you really want to keep drinking your own Kool Aid by shoving interviewers and proclaiming the “jokes on us” for daring to step into the ring with the Prince of Phenomenal, and that I’m nothing but another rookie in your way that should get bent, then you’re spelling out your own demise here. Let's not forget where that argument got you last time. In your eyes, Showdown may be your show, but as the Devil of Ultraviolence, I’m only there to infest the rotting corpse that forms its brand.

He pauses once more as he glances around at the darkness that surrounds him, then continues.

It wouldn’t take an autopsy to see that your ego is the only thing keeping your heart beating. Prince of Phenomenal? The real Prince of Phenomenal died off years ago. Now that he’s back, all he has to his name is one loss and an opening match at Pain For Pride. That’s it. So choose wisely Prince of Phenomenal: will you dig your own grave, or shall I dig one for you once I’m through with you this Saturday?

Then we have Theron Nikolas. Unlike your dead partner over there, and unlike yourself, I refuse to leave you out of the equation. And seeing as though that now makes two of you who refuse to acknowledge the Devil of Ultraviolence, that should give me all the reasons to wallow in my misery and act as though I’m not receiving the treatment I deserve, right? Ha! Wrong. What it does is give my team the advantage. Disregard me and my talents, and you’ve already lost sight of getting your hand raised in victory. I’m not sure if the two of you got the memo, but it’s a three-on-three tag team match. This isn’t Prince of Phenomenal versus Lethal Consequences, this isn’t even Theron Nikolas versus Lethal Consequences and Scott Diamond.

A faint chuckle escapes the demon.

Perhaps you did you research and found out that we share a similar upbringing in the industry. We both entered our first poorly-built ring out in the middle of nowhere at the age of fifteen. Determination was the driving factor, and a fire brooding deep inside us, but I’m afraid that’s where our similarities end. You believe the world owes you something, correct? Perhaps you feel you deserve all the accolades that men like Lethal Consequences and Scott Diamond have earned in their career, and you overcompensate by reducing all your victories as “feathers” in your “already illustrious cap.” A great fucking metaphor by the way. If I somehow end up losing to you, remind me to pull a Prince of Phenomenal and turn to dust for a good month or two - I refuse to let the name I’ve built out of nothing but red flames and the torment of a hundred other men, be reduced to something as pathetic as a feather in a cap.

Have you ever stopped to ask yourself: what happens if the very individual you ignored is the one who not only beats you in your own battleground, but does so with your blood masking my fists as you lay vulnerable, just as vulnerable as you happened to paint my teammates for the week?

Finally, we have Darkane. The Graveworm. Now this man has brought up an argument similar to mine, about how this match seems to involve “a bunch of egos thrown together.” Congratulations Darkane, you seem to be the only one on your team with brains. That makes two of us. As far as I’m concerned, this is the one man my team should be concerned about. For one, you’re not hanging onto your own ego in order to remain relevant. Hell, you don’t even boast about defeating The Burned Man like a broken record. Like Theron Nikolas, there are elements from your being that echo with my own. To most men, we are savages. Constantly putting our bodies on the line in order to steal away any accolades set before us.

And rather than letting our personal efforts do the talking, instead we are forced to linger like shadows among these greats, these legends known as Hall of Famers. You went as far as to calling me the “dark horse” in this match. Not that I’m starting to believe it, but it looks as though all three of you thus far have decided to think of me as an afterthought. And why is that? Would it make you feel more intimidating if you’re able to pick up a victory against the living ignorance known as Lethal Consequences? Perhaps you cannot wait to drive Scott Diamond back into retirement? Either way, it’s safe to conclude that these men live inside their own deluded world. Hell, I wouldn't even stop you from introducing them to the brute savagery you’re capable of.

But when you step into the ring with me? That all changes. “But you’re young and have been easily defeated before. It’ll be easy for me to manipulate your mind using cheap tactics,” you say. I shall demonstrate the opposite if our paths dare to cross this Saturday. Let’s see, what do I have to lose? My health, my sanity, but I certainly don’t have any momentum to lose heading into Pain For Pride. But see, I gave everything up when I first stepped foot into this company. I’m not going to care much about any of it this Saturday.

Harvey lets out a sigh as he checked his wristwatch: it was time to wrap things up.

Unfortunately, I walk into this match with no form of momentum. No guaranteed spot at Pain For Pride. But you three do, congratulations! Oh, but don’t get too cocky yet...ah fuck it, you already have. Do you three understand what this means? It means there’s a lot for you to prove. A lot for you to lose, and a lot to risk. If my team reigns victorious, then everything I can and will say will be true: the three of you hide under these ‘strengths’ to make yourselves seem unstoppable and un-fuck-withable. Imaginary enemies, the three of you are.

Oh, but in due time, I shall be the one to expose the darker side of humanity, sedating each and every single one of you 24/7 Contract Battle Royal contestants with a bit of the ol’ Ultraviolence.

The lights flicker off, and the image of Harvey is now distant, though he is not alone. Together, he and Xander step into the bright white outskirts of Chicago. Cut to static. Fade to black.

[Deleted]

SHOWDOWN II | AMONGST THE RUST | JUN 16, 2017

The scene opens up to another cloudy, grey Chicago day at The Underground. We see cans of paint scattered in the corner of what appears to be a vacant office space. The camera then explores the details of the room: a six-pack of Yorkshire lager, books that appear to be in inferior conditions, and last but not least, the silhouette of Harvey Yorke standing in front of a white canvas. With his back towards the camera, he begins his speech.

Perhaps I ought to break the barriers of silence my teammates have begun to construct. There’s a certain thrill - a rush of excitement, if you will - about witnessing the chaos between the men involved in this match. Every word that they speak slowly crescendoing into a deafening silence, as if they had spoken the very words of God himself.

It has come to my attention that the likes of Lethal Consequences and Scott Diamond do not have their hearts nor their heads in this match. And yet, like the savages the opposing team are, they target my partners as though they were real threats. As if they truly had something to prove here. Well, newsflash gents! Pain For Pride X has yet to fall upon us. I suppose that, like the ‘leaders’ the two of you claim to be, you’d wisen up.

A spin of the heels, and Harvey begins by staring down the camera with a far-from-innocent smile on his face.

Prince of Phenomenal, long time no see! Still cutting promos with reporters, luggages, and the like. It’s almost as if the setting in which you chose to address your opponents is the only constant in your life. “Who the fuck are you talking to?,” you ask. Perhaps I wasn’t clear enough earlier. I’m speaking to the same man who returned earlier this year at Grand Rampage. I’m speaking to the man who, later that same week, lost to a man who has been on a losing streak as of late. I’m speaking to the man that, because he’s a Hall of Famer, by default he’s allowed to perform at Pain For Pride, only to further reassure his own fragile ego that he still has ‘it’ in him to attain victory during his ‘long awaited’ return. Prince of Phenomenal. That’s who the fuck I’m talking to. You say that I’ve yet to make a name for myself, but after Showdown, you’re going to remember my name for as long as you live. I will not approach you as a nightmare when I scatter your broken body, ego, and soul across the canvas. No, I’ll simply hover over you as Harvey Yorke, the man whom they call the Devil of Ultraviolence.

There was a pause as Harvey picked up a paintbrush from the cluttered office desk. The bristles touched a can of black paint, then finally the canvas. As he creates, he continues.

It’s always black and white with you, is it not, Prince? It’s so bold of you to finally come down from your ivory tower and assign me to the lowest caste society has to offer. And I just adore how you degrade me by saying my stereotypical British insults don’t affect you. Ha! Guess what mate? Your stereotypical Hall of Famer comebacks don’t affect me either. But what more would I expect from a man whose brain seems to live in the shadow of his own ego. Apparently, this return isn’t about you, it’s about your fans. Oh, how you have the crowd at your feet! I am not worthy of stepping foot in your presence! Bullshit, all of it. When has Prince of Phenomenal ever cared for the masses? You boast about fighting for their benefit, but all I hear is, “I don’t care who’s watching, I get to go to Pain For Pride X this year!” Pathetic.

You say it’s because “nobody knows who I am,” but oh, how I hate to break it to you. The less you know about Harvey Yorke, the less you know of what degree of punishment the bloody devil shall inflict on you this coming Saturday. Yes, I am outmatched in terms of accolades and popularity. You could say that I’m outmatched when it comes to our physical descriptions, but those are merely outlying factors in the portrait I’m inviting you to gaze at. Within these past few days, you’ve already proven that when it comes to intellect, I shall have the upper hand. Live in the dark underground I may, but unlike you, I see in color.

We’ll see how much your career set in stone truly matters from here on out. You know, it wouldn’t hurt to use a better metaphor. Stone is malleable, easy to tear away at - especially for individuals such as myself who find it rather easy to destroy what took years to create. And once I tear away at the stone foundation you built your legacy around, I’ll expose to the world that you’re not “phenomenal,” hell, you won’t even be recognized as a “prince.” Instead, you’ll be left to rot, vulnerable like the mongrel you are. You’ll find yourself scraping off bare bones of all the enemies you’ve managed to put away years ago, but that’s when you’ll realize that those bones have become dust. Just like you’ve said, the past cannot be revived, so who will you go to when your very being has been destroyed? Fuck, I’d say I’ll take the remnants of your stone legacy and rebuild my own from it, but even that is an insult to what I’ve yet to accomplish in this industry.

Taking a step back, he reveals a poor outline of what appears to be a human heart. He then splatters red paint over the canvas with his bare hands.

We move on to a man who still has yet to listen. A man by the name of Theron Nikolas. For a man who seems to set a goal and then accomplish it, you surely haven’t succeeded in an attempt to bring me down. Rather, you did the opposite. Was it your intention to waste your breath on a man who’s as good as filth? Was it your intention to bring my spirits down? If so, I applaud your valiant efforts. Sure, we can discredit Ultraviolence because of my fall last Sunday. But you see Theron, that’s where you’ve already severely underestimated what Ultraviolence is capable of. What was said to Prince of Phenomenal also applies to you. The black and whites. The wins and the losses. The rise and the fall. What’s with the obsession? Who knows, maybe it’s men like you who rely on their own hype in order to keep from falling. To keep from losing. To stray away from the black. But come this Saturday, I shall paint you a world of black, the very world that I live in. I see that you’re no stranger when it comes to entering new worlds - how you were able to conquer Darkane’s world of violence. However, this world of mine knows no barriers. One minute, you call yourself its conqueror, the next, you find yourself trapped in the vice of darkness.

Harvey paces to the center of the office space, appearing as though he is the only one who seems in order among the mess.

I am not the first person you’ve faced who hopes to become a star, is that right? No, wrong again. In fact, I don’t ‘hope’ to become anything of the like. Stars? They shine. People gaze at their light in hopes to one day see their wishes come true. But when you look into the sky at night, those orbs of light and energy are long gone. Dead - and yet people wish to one day become a star themselves. Knowing this, it’s simply illogical for me to compare myself to a star. Speaking of cosmic entities, I suppose I do find one that speaks to me the most. That is the black hole. A place in which gravity pulls so much, not even light can escape. People can’t see them. Just like black holes, I head into Showdown as an invisible entity. Unknown to the masses, relentlessly pulling people down with his words and the weight of his own wickedness.

You say you cannot wish to see the person I am when you strip away the things I pride myself on? Perhaps if you were to listen, you would know that I’ve already addressed the matter. What lies deep inside me is a heart of darkness. It’s men like you who believe I was driven to my own madness simply because I‘ve lived in isolation for a good portion of my life. Or, simply because I 'rely’ on the teachings Lucifer has taught me. When really, it is the seeds of madness that are to blame. The seeds of madness - ambition, obsession, and greed - are always present inside my heart. And just like how easy it was for me to counter your argument, I’ll be the one to bring you down to reality. When I see men such as yourself who pride themselves on the light that is known as victory, I see it as darkness that has yet to be dominated. This Saturday, I welcome you to step into my world of darkness - no remorse will be spared once you’re consumed by the black horrors.

And lastly, there's Darkane. Truthfully, my opinion on you hasn't changed since our last encounter. I mean really, the whole animal comparison thing has gotten old quickly. First you compare me to a dark horse, due to the fact that I lack what my partners have: fame, legacies, reputations. That of course, makes me stronger than them. I don't have to fear about ruining anything, hell, look at who I've crossed paths with thus far! One pathetic victory over two opponents who didn't stand a chance against a man of my abilities. So whilst everyone in my corner is busy protecting their decaying legacies, I’ve been pondering on how to start my very own. Who knows Darkane, maybe I am the dark horse after all. Perhaps at Showdown, Lethal Consequences and Scott Diamond leave me to fend for myself against the supposed ‘best’ of Showdown. But mark my words, I am the definitive leader of my team as it stands right now. Forget about Scott Diamond, because clearly, he doesn’t give a shit. And Lethal Consequences? Someone pull the trigger on the man already! You, Theron Nikolas, and Prince of Phenomenal can unleash Hell on the two apparitions I am forced to call my partners. But once you stand face to face with me, you’re staring straight at the eyes of Lucifer himself. “You’re going way over your head mate,” you say. Yet unlike my partners, I know where I stand in this company. The very bottom, literally crawling at the surface of the earth hoping to make it out alive.

Harvey proceeds to walk towards his ‘masterpiece.’ He motions at the cameraman to follow as he exits the office. As he walks, he continues to speak.

But you see Darkane, that's the thrill of it all. You think that isolation from my partners is going to be my demise? Ha! The devil only fends for himself, leaving only victims and followers at his feet. So tell me Darkane, which one will you be come Saturday? You had a lot to say about the Devil of Ultraviolence. What I preach and what I am capable in the ring is not for the faint of heart, make no mistake about it. Does this moniker only exist to scare away my opponents? No. In fact, it exists to teach men a lesson or two. Not quite the devil I depict myself as, yeah? I don’t hide behind an elaborate kingdom, nor do I have horns popping out of my bloody head. Nah, I’m more of a “what you see is what you get” sort of chap. Believe me Darkane, I’ve seen Hell with my own eyes time and time again, so even if you somehow manage to put me away this Saturday, I’ll dwell in Lucifer’s fiery den, and arise more enlightened than ever.

Harvey finally reaches the outside of the abandoned malt factory, where a pit of fire stands before the building. He tosses his creation into the flames and glares menacingly at the camera.

At the core of it all, you three are poorly assembled men who shall fall victim to Harvey Yorke. Go ahead and hit me with all that you’ve got, gentlemen. It’ll only make me look stronger once I take all three of you down to Hell and emerge as the victor. Not only am I proving myself at Showdown, but I am proving three other things: Prince of Phenomenal, I’ll prove that your ego cannot save you from my wrath; Theron Nikolas, I’ll allow you entry to my world, though you’ll never last; and Darkane, there’s only room for one true wicked individual in this company, and that’s me. You all take me as a false prophet, but come Saturday, I shall show you that I was the salvation Voltage needed all along.

Harvey gives a snarl towards the camera, then continues by shoving it down. The last frame sees a pair of dirty boots treading along the broken pavement, whilst Harvey’s laughter is heard echoing throughout the vacant lot. Cut to static. Fade to black.

[Deleted]

VOLTAGE I | SPILL THE BLOOD | JUL 4, 2017

The scene begins with various shots of downtown Chicago at night. The city drowned in orange fluorescent lighting - almost as if it was on fire. Harvey Yorke walked down the streets, careless of who or what glared back at him. This may be the place he calls home, but the blinding lights say otherwise. He made his way towards The Hawk & Sparrow Pub, a place littered with drunken lowlifes. Upon entry he was greeted by Nicky with a pint in hand. Perks of being a usual: you get free booze.

Grabbing the pint, he made his way to an empty corner of the pub.

A new beginning has come, rejoice! No really, I couldn’t give less of a shit. It’s that time of the year when EAW hits the elusive ‘reset’ button, and everyone pretends to turn a new leaf - and everyone begins to sing the same mantra, “This is my year! This season, I’m destined to do great. No one is getting in my way!,” they chant. But what they do not see, is that everything remains the same. It has for me, anyhow. I am still a failure to the masses. I’m still the same lad that loves to run his mouth as if it’d change a goddamn thing. At least but not least, I still remain on Voltage. I mean, hell, if it ain’t broke don’t fix it, right?

I’ve heard it just about everywhere: I’m a broken man, I was made to fail, I’m not ready. And that’s funny to me, wanna know why? Because those same people claim that I need saving. Ha! My salvation already came to me in the form of pain. Even the most ancient of philosophies and religions can confirm that without suffering, there is no life. And me? Pain does not faze me. I’ve been put through it, and put others through even more. I’ve carried this ideology with me since the first time I’ve step foot in a ring. And it shall be the ideology that brings the EAW Interwire Championship home with me faster than you can scream “bloody murder!” I’d be willing to go to hell and back for a bottle of booze right now, but for a championship? I’d do a whole lot more. Why even stop there, when I’m willing destroy every limb that makes my body in order to pave a legacy in my own image.

Harvey took a drawn-out swig from the glass, and then slammed it onto a nearby table.

Shaker Jones, you and I will be the first men to compete in the Interwire Championship tournament. You know, I was starting to think people do like me after all, considering that I have the duty of kicking your arse all across town, wondering just how you able to earn a shot at the Interwire Championship. Perhaps management have begun to show pity to men like you and I, the losers - the dirt of the industry. Only difference between you and I, Shaker, is I learn from my mistakes. I dwell in the darkness, and I’m also wise enough to escape it, and make it enslave others.

I take it that the moniker of the ‘Hardcore Hero’ came about when you tossed someone into a pile of thumbtacks, drove them through a glass table or two, then left the match with a couple of cuts. I’ve even done a fair share of those few things myself - only I’ve done it better, because I’m not spilling blood to help others, I’m doing it because I care only for myself. Incase you didn’t understand, I’m no hero. There’s a world of difference between you and I, Shaker. I call myself a hardcore fighter because I know what I must do in order to get ahead in this land of savagery. My legacy in this industry is formed by a single trail of blood, and no, it is not my own. To be exact, the blood of a thousand men has been shed in order to create it. In your head, you probably take this as a game, but this is not a game. This a battleground, where the better man will be one step closer to attaining the Interwire Championship.

He took a look at the people all around him. Great, now the whole world’s watching the single destruction of one man. However, the alcohol had begun to set in the ‘audience’s’ head, as they all appear to look lost.

Y’know, when I received word that you’d be my first opponent of the season, I laughed. I’ve heard of what you’ve done over at Dynasty, and truth be told, glorified jobbers shouldn’t be given championship opportunities. And sure, you’re probably looking at my record and saying “touche,” but need I remind you that you are not on my level. You’re not a path of treacherous water I have to swim across in order to get what I want. Hell, you’re not even the gum underneath my shoe - no, what you are is another stepping stone that I will gladly walk over in order to earn a shot at the Interwire Championship. And once I take one step closer towards that opportunity, I’ll burn each and every step I took so that no one may ever be able to reach me.

As Harvey stops to take another swig of booze, the crowd had begun to cheer him on. But before the first round of applause could kick in, Harvey was on the defensive yet again.

What is it that’s driving you to defeat me in the first round of this tournament? You think that because you’re the hero, that I need my arse kicked to serve justice to a world that’s already turned to shit? Look around you Shaker, justice has blinded you! To almost everyone, there exists a person, force, or group that represents evil incarnate. Few wish to carry the stigmas of ‘the villain,’ but not I. The same people who pledge to save, heal, and cleanse - they’re a plague that’s begun to manifest this world. And me? I’m the one sent to eradicate it. See, I embrace the darkness. I allow it to manifest within me. Come this Sunday, Shaker, you will fall victim to this brutal darkness.

In fact, you getting drafted to Voltage won’t be the turn of a new leaf. You’ll remain the same as you were on Dynasty: a loser, and a liar for letting down the people who truly depend on him. At Voltage, you won’t be standing in the ring with the Devil of Ultraviolence, you’ll be in there with Harvey Yorke: the true signal of change, a man with nothing to lose and everything to gain. Brace yourself for the sign of the times, Shaker Jones.

A roar of applause fills the pub, and with a grin on his face, Harvey lifted his pint in the air. The scene fades out with approval of the crowd as Harvey stands tall amidst the noise. Cut to static. Fade to black.

[Deleted]

VOLTAGE I | CLARITY AND CONTROL | JUL 11, 2017

The scene opens up to the Sanguine: a ‘locals only’ nightclub located in Las Vegas. We see jump cuts of two shady figures conversing over a glass of wine, dancers performing in cages suspended from the ceiling, and a dancefloor full of Sanguine’s usual partygoers. The camera pans from the DJ booth at the front, to the side of the main floor. There, Harvey Yorke leans against the wall with a cigarette in his mouth. An unfamiliar voice calls out, “No smoking,” to which Harvey simply responds with a middle finger as he proceeds up a staircase.

He stands in the center of the VIP area. The leather booths around him are vacant, though some guests wander around in the background. He tosses his cigarette on the ground and stomps on it before beginning.

I see everything. I hear everything. Observation is the key, because without it, people begin to dilute themselves in lies; stay away from the truth. How dangerous it is, to avoid and believe what is truly never there. Last week at Voltage, my doubters deemed it wise to speak out. But what they do not understand, is that I have been speaking the truth all along. Issuing warnings, but alas, people can be so naive. Not only did I warn Shaker Jones, but I warned the whole world that the Interwire Championship is mine. See, not only do I have intentions of walking away with the Interwire Championship in a few weeks time, I seek to set the standard for eras to come. The world was given a sample of my work, as well as a small warning - and in due time, you will all look back wishing there was still a time when Harvey Yorke hadn’t taken over the industry.

A chuckle, and Harvey continues.

It all starts with Chris Elite. Chris is a man too corrupted by his own hype and lies to see that what lies before him is not a walk in the park: I will not be fighting you, Chris, that’d be far too easy. I am here to win and take your hopes and dreams of becoming champion with me as I walk out that stage for the final time on Sunday. Many will view this man as a cheat, a fraud, and a coward. Chris, you’re someone who claims to be a man of greatness, one so great, he should be handed the Interwire Championship over. But it’s this same “greatness” that has blinded you, and made you a victim of your own web of deceit. Don’t you see, Chris? You’re already poisoned, you’re already weakened. You may be convinced that you’re safe in the arms of Big Mike, but in actuality, you use him as a crutch to propel you into where you are today. If you’re so fucking great, tell me Chris, why was I given a chance at both the Interwire and New Breed Championships this early on in my career, meanwhile you hide behind your bodyguard? We both know you would never admit it, but allow me to spit it out for you: you’re half the competitor I am.

You have the luxury of having Big Mike to fight your battles for you. You might see me as a disadvantaged man: my win record shows little promise and there’s no one fighting on my side for me. See Chris, this is where you truly become half the man I am. I don’t rely on others’ beliefs to provide me with the strength I need to overcome you. I am not controlled by my own deluded ego like you are. I show confidence even in the face of defeat, I have a dark power hidden inside me - I’m giving you the choice to face it for yourself, like a real man. I said last week on Voltage, and I shall say it again this time: I don’t need anyone on my side besides myself. That’s who’ll be leading Elite Answers Wrestling to the one true Interwire Champion it deserves.

Harvey takes a moment to walk around the area, surveying those who shared the floor with him. They are unaware of his speech, possibly dismissing him as another madman. He focuses his attention on one man in particular, the only man who is paying any attention to him, mesmerized by his words.

You know, I’ve made a small revision to my speech after my match with Shaker Jones: “I’ll keep you all in mind when I am standing on the top”? Ha! The only thing on my mind has always remained the same, that is, the vision I have for my era. And after this Sunday, that vision will be just one step closer to arrival once I consume Chris Elite whole with my darkness. Am I growing a little too comfortable in my position as a threat? No, I am confident in the words I preach and I trust that the power of Ultraviolence will be the weapon to bring Chris back to reality. After all, I wield this power - nobody else does. I will overwhelm you Chris Elite, and before you know it, the Interwire Championship will be in my grasp.

And yet, you insist that you’ll be the better man come Sunday. Don’t make me laugh! Like you said, this may be a regular match, but you’ll be stepping into my ring. You can count on your cheap tactics all you want, but I have something that you lack: control. See, this is a match where I can do whatever the hell I want in order to come out on top. You “don’t care” about how sadistic I am? I suggest you invest in a better bodyguard, one that actually takes the time to research who the fuck you’re spitting in the face of. People in England have spread my name around like wildfire - all because of my reputation. My victims thought they could make themselves stronger by underestimating me, but out of nowhere, the Ultraviolence took them by surprise. Gold has been handed to me drenched in my own blood. Chris Elite, if you think I’m losing to your sick, cocky arse in a tournament where the end prize has my name written all over it, then you’re as deluded as they come.

Oh, you’re “Sicker Than Your Average,” alright. Sick in the fucking head, but they call me the insane one! The root of your addiction to gold lies in the fact that you think you’re great. Perhaps I am being a bit too harsh on you, after all, you’ve made it this far into the tournament. But I’m afraid that this will be as far as you’ll be able to take your false claims, because they won’t mean jack after I hurt you and your ego during our encounter. Chris, you have questioned my abilities. “I don’t know what this guy’s about,” you basically said, “I don’t give a damn about his troubled past.” Well, maybe you’ll find out for yourself when I drag your soul down to Hell with me. I have no doubt in my mind that I can beat you into a bloody mess - not just because I can - because unlike you, I actually fight for what’s mine. You ask why am I still in this tournament, the answer is quite simple: I’m willing to start from the bottom and rise to the top, all without anyone’s help but my own. I hope you choke on all your doubts once you’re knocked out from yet another tournament, because I’m not going to listen to unless you’re on the ground screaming for mercy.

He slouches over a nearby seat, where the same man from before sits. Harvey glares at the man, before continuing to steal his glass of whiskey. Returning the glass to the man, he continues.

Chris Elite, you’re controlled, but I am the manifestation of control. See, you’re controlled by your pride, controlled by what people think of you, and controlled by the need of becoming champion. You’re the type of man to call himself great, and why? Because you forced Mr. DEDEDE into handing his title over? Because you’re great in comparison to me and the other wankers in the tournament, that’s why should’ve been handed the title? You’re forgetting something here, Chris: I can hang with the greatest competitors the company has to offer. That’s why, not only am I given a chance at winning the Interwire Championship, I also have a chance at becoming New Breed Champion. A title you’ve been fighting for months for, and me? It only took a few weeks, no cock sucking. And no, that wasn’t a jab at your fragile sexuality.

The man sets the glass back down on the table. Harvey notices, and before he could begin to question the stranger, he leans forward giving him a kiss. He laughs before returning his attention to the camera.

Banter aside mate, you can be the best in this tournament. But you’ll only remain ‘the greatest’ until you lay on the canvas a beaten pulp, with my hand raised in victory towering over you. That’s the thing with you, Chris. All this talk and all the hype, but for what? You know damn well there are people out there who don’t even consider you to be ‘great,’ all they see is a cheat and a child sewn from the most fragile of stitching. They see how you were unable to capture the New Breed Championship on multiple occasions, and they shall see that I was right when I shatter your ego on the ground at Voltage. But me? I could give less of a shit about your wins and losses, the years of expertise.

I want to see how much pain you can withstand, how much punishment I’ll have to inflict before you crack. That, Chris Elite, is the real beauty of facing a man of my caliber. “Throw everything you’ve got at me,” you say, but just don’t say I didn’t warn you: being the greatest hurts. Once I’m through with you Chris, the world will not only be a witness to the Devil’s creation at work, but they will see that you’re just a man. And just like everyone who has fallen victim to my Ultraviolence, you can be beaten. You can be manipulated. You will fall into a darkness that you won’t be able to escape from.

And that, Chris Elite, why that Interwire Championship belongs to me. I see that they call Voltage the “land of opportunity” now, and me, I’ll be there to steal away any and all opportunities given to me. Best part of it all? I don’t have to prove myself. Chris, I’m asking you to prove yourself worthy of facing me this Sunday.

The stranger pulls Harvey in for another intimate kiss, this one being more intense than the last. Harvey gently pushes the man aside though, standing with his gaze unwavering as he stares at the camera one last time.

Hell awaits for those who underestimate.

Hell awaits for those who fail to know the truth.

The two men step out of the booth and into the open space of the VIP area. Harvey leads the stranger down the staircase, grinning, as the camera pans across the blacks and reds of the Sanguine. Cut to static. Fade to black.

[Deleted]

VOLTAGE I | BITING THE BULLET | JUL 28, 2017

The scene fades in, where a bright beam of light shines as we hear the roar of a film projector. The camera pans over the silhouette of Harvey Yorke, who is dressed in a navy blue suit. Before him, we see a projection of him taking on an opponent in what seems to be an inferno match. Harvey laughs as an image of him throwing another man into the flames plays. With his back turned towards the camera, he begins to speak.


True beauty lies within the filth.

Last week, the hands of Lucifer delivered Hell onto Chris Elite. It has been said many times that I would be the one to fall to Elite - but I now stand before you as one of the two men who will fight to become Interwire Champion in Voltage’s main event. Harvey Yorke versus Amadeus in a ladder match. Lovely. I listened to what my opponent had to say about me, and I am far from surprised. Spewing ‘poetic’ garbage left and right, like a typical member of the slowly-decaying Sanatorium. At least Amadeus got one thing right, I am a man full of many surprises. Everywhere I have fought, I’ve been known to bring controversy along with me. You could even say that I am hardcore personified, because Amadeus, I don’t hold back. I know no boundaries. You say that it’s in your blood to be in a match with such high stakes, but you’re also a walking contradiction, Amadeus. First you say you wouldn’t underestimate me again. Then, you go ahead and do just that, humor me!

Amadeus, you can stand in your room, climb up and down your ladders, but that will be as close as you will ever be to my Interwire Championship. But I have taken your words into consideration. You say you’re not in this fight for a title, well guess what lad, neither am I! I have been quite vocal about the Interwire Championship, how I have now made it mine, and how I would be willing to use the most sickening methods in order to accomplish just that. See, I will not simply stop once I’ve acquired that title, because the reason I arrived to EAW is quite simple. I am here to mold a legacy in my likeness.

You speak of falls Amadeus, but you already took the fall when you allowed yourself to be ‘enlightened’ by the wandering herd of sheep known as the Sanatorium. Unlike you, I did not need the likes of Eclipse Diemos to ‘awaken’ the darkness inside of me. You see, I made a deal with the Devil - I made a deal with myself. The times for soul-searching is over for me, because the truth is, I do not have a soul. I have let the darkness consume me, and now I only seek to drown others in this crippling power. Talk about all the similarities we share, but know this Amadeus: we are not the same. I resent any and all claims you have said in regards to my temperament and my motivations heading into this match. You fail to recognise that I am an unpredictable fighter, a man who will undergo tremendous pain and suffering as long as I walk out the victor. It is just like you to find all of these similarities in your opponents, Amadeus. It makes you quite predictable. I truly do believe that you are a smart man deep down, but alas, you are burdened with the greatest flaw of them all.

A different clip is projected, this time displaying Harvey performing a series of mounted punches on an opponent, with both of his hands wrapped in tape and glass.

You, Amadeus, are a man dependent on many things. Dependent on getting the last word; dependent on comparisons; dependent on the supposed legacy your forefathers left generations before you; dependent on making your opponents believe your false claims, that way you make yourself believe that you have the upperhand before an upcoming challenge. It is one thing for me to listen to you and the words you bestow upon me, Amadeus, but it is another to obey your every command; to let you take advantage before our encounter this Sunday. For every perceived outcome, I am there to give you the unexpected. It is a mistake to let your perception of me overshadow who I truly am, but I shall enjoy delivering reality to you in the form of Ultraviolence. You are far too busy struggling to find your own identity, here, in the vast world of wrestling. I, however, have risen to great heights on my own. No changes in persona, no abiding by the words of some lunatic - unless of course that lunatic is myself - in order to find my true potential, and no actions made out of desperation. No, no, no, Amadeus, I like my puppets the way I like my men, with no strings attached.

I hear that you are no longer a man with anything to fear, but there is something that you are not revealing to to the public. That is, without the aide of Eclipse Diemos, the broken body of Dynamo Go would rot and decay into the ground, making yourself and the very little impact you’ve made since joining the Sanatorium disappear and fade away. You fear to be left alone in the dark. Just as I told Chris Elite two weeks back, I cannot be controlled because I am the manifestation of control. Yet here you stand, a literal benchwarmer for the Sanitorium, telling me I have had an easy route to the Interwire Championship. Demanding a war...one which will leave you wondering just where you went wrong.

Becoming the Interwire Champion is a symbol, just as you have said before. It is a symbol of great leadership, but I have only one question for you Amadeus. What good is a leader who changes himself in the face of battle? “They change in order to adapt themselves,” you may say. But when I look at you, Amadeus, you have proven to only adapt to the manipulation of the other forces that control you - whether it be the teachings of Diemos’ family or your own convoluted lies. Dynamo Go, ONI, Amadeus...whoever the fuck you are, you most certainly are not ready to lead. No, you are far too busy being handed opportunities and seeking the greatest challenge of them all. As for myself, I will be there to tear away at the malleable foundation you’ve built your image around. And I’ll expose you as another vulnerable puppet carefully reformed by the Sanatorium. You’ll find yourself scraping off bare bones of all the former faces and personas you’ve managed to put away years ago, but that’s when you’ll realize that those bones have become dust.

You say that you want my title, along with my hopes and dreams. Oh Amadeus, it looks as though that once again, you were wrong about me. I have spoken time and time again about leading a division. About setting a new standard of violence for the rest of this industry to follow. You can take a look back at my past speeches, all the warnings I have issued out. The non-believers defied the Devil, but at in the face of battle, it was they who would fall victim to the wrath of my Ultraviolence. It seems reasonable to me that I become the leader of this division, of this generation. That is not a dream nor hopeful wishing as many may insist, but I have the power to manipulate those who stand before me - turning the non-believers into witnesses of the truth. The future always reigns supreme in the face of history. Allow me to take account the Sanitorium, and how their rise to authority came crumbling down. And what a fall that was indeed. But then, once the false prophecies and false truths became far too redundant, the Sanatorium was simply just that. A shadow of its former self. First, they lure you in with how great they once were, but before you can escape, you have already diluted your mind in their propaganda. There is a great need for power and control in the ever changing landscape of EAW, which is why the future is dependant on me: the rightful leader of Voltage, and the only man powerful enough to carry the Interwire Championship. See, no matter how high the ladder, no matter how great the impact, I will never fall as heavily as your newfound family.

Harvey laughs.

As for the ‘Radical Dreamer’ you claim to be, please continue to call yourself that moniker for as long you can. Maybe then, you will convince yourself that main eventing Voltage, having the opportunity of becoming Interwire Champion, begging Harvey Yorke to bring you a war - that this is all a dream. Eclipse Diemos will not be the one to pick up your broken body again come Sunday. In fact, this time around, I shall be the one to awaken you, and prove it to be a terrible nightmare. One which will play constantly in the back of your mind before you meet your fall.

They say the champion makes the belt, and come Sunday, when I unhook the Interwire title, I shall set forth the new standard of violence, and I shall start by tossing out the undesirables of my division, starting with you, Amadeus. Simply put, I am a part of a highly efficient breed. A breed who doesn’t rely on hopes dreams in order to take over. I have proven time and time again that pride and greed can set me to greater things. The seeds of madness - ambition, obsession, and greed - are always present with me in the face of battle. And with that being said, I’m not fucked up, I’m not crazy. I only have a twisted imagination. Hell-bent on bringing destruction to those who stand in the way of my legacy.

Harvey pauses for a moment, looking at the footage which now depicts him on the receiving end of a piledriver through a bed of glass.

“But Harvey,” you object, “what if you become the fallen this Sunday?” Perhaps you outsmart me and earn the Interwire Championship, and its powerful symbolism. Like you said Amadeus, I attained my position by facing “poor sport” in this tournament. It seems only logical that I would take my place as Voltage’s glorified ‘talent enhancement’. You could even say I’ll go back to losing opportunities, just as I have lost the 24/7 Contract Battle Royal at Pain for Pride X, and most recently the number one contendership towards the New Breed Championship. But the fact of the matter is, the Interwire Championship holds much more meaning. I am not here to settle for such a position. No, not when the odds are so ever in my favor. There will always be people like you who will try to ignore my warnings, turn a blind eye to the truth. Which in turn makes you nothing but a miserable liar, Amadeus. You said you wouldn’t underestimate me, you have spread lies about my name. But just as easy as it was for me to counter everything you have said thus far, I will become the new Interwire Champion that EAW deserves, no, needs. You will take you chain and try to choke me with it, but I will be able to overcome its clutch. And as I snap and break the links that hold that chain together, you will follow it. Under the power of Ultraviolence, and through my unpredictable power, you will be the one that falls at Voltage.

Harvey turns around to reveal his eyes smeared in eyeliner. His gaze unwavering as he snarls towards the camera for the first and last time during his speech.

Ladder matches are known to make or break someone. Our strengths, our weaknesses, all exposed for the masses to see. And in myself, you shall see that I was speaking the truth all along. Once you realize that all of your feeble attempts at escaping from the suffocating darkness, you will fall victim to the Devil of Ultraviolence. Amadeus, you can continue to fight for the last word before your inevitable demise, but I shall remain focused on my legacy. I am the next Interwire Champion - and I shall prove to lead its division, as well as the rest of Voltage, under my era.

The projector flickers off as Harvey walks out of the shot. His laugh can be heard, but only for a couple of milliseconds as the camera begins to distort and glitch. Cut to static. Fade to black.