[Foreword] "Open up my eyes and I can see the glory… Now I’m alive and I’m gonna tell the story. Now I’m a superstar in the making. I ain’t fucking around and there ain’t no mistaking. I never ask for something worth the taking. Because I’m a superstar, baby!"
I rolled him up and it seemed as though the world had stopped in place. I heard the distant sound of a hand hitting the mat once, twice, and finally a trifecta. At that point, emotion shot through my body. Not because I had just won the United States title, my second championship in my short time with the company, but because I’d once again waved my middle finger in the face of adversity and doubt. Mr. Stevenson tried his hardest to take out a post-match temper-tantrum on me. But I once again, as always, had an ace up my sleeve.
In came the past… In came the Controlling Factor. A legendary stable that has seen its third resurrection. Drew McGatha made the save and rid me of the horrible Stevenson. The fans were in awe at the occurrence. They became even more confused as the prophecy was laid out before their very eyes. As if we were storytellers from the future, bringing forth the scrolls of tomorrow. And in a way, we are. Control is the 13th step to cleansing, and CHZ is in desire need of an anemia.
[Scene] The scene opens with Josh Sutton pulling up into the driveway of his ranch in the outskirts of Chicago. He pulls up into the garage and seconds later emerges, hitting a button to close it. Sutton has a pair of dark shades covering his face, a grizzled smile spread across his lips, and the newly won United States title around his waist. He walks up to the house and enters, slamming the door behind him. The scene changes and we’re in the familiar kitchen where so many great Sutton promos have taken form. The cameras cut in on him talking to Ashley and cracking open a bottle of champagne. Josh busts the cork and it flies across the room, followed by a geyser of alcoholic fun. Sutton chugs down half the bottle then slams it onto the table.
Sutton: God damn! I’m a fuckin’ superstar, baby!
Ashley: You sure are, baby!
[Scene] The phone rings and Ashley walks over, picking it up. Sutton on the other hand, picks up the bottle of boose.
Sutton: I came... I saw... and I achieved. Once my music hit and I ventured to that ring, I knew. I knew I would be walking out with this title, the United States gold, around my waist. I stand here before you, a man with all the confidence in the world. There's nothing.. and I mean NOTHING that can change that.
Ashley: Honey, that was one of Matt Helms' assistants. Your opponent for this week is Curtis Callaway.
[Scene] Sutton spits out a big mouthful of champagne, looking at Ashley in outrage.
Sutton: Are you fucking kidding me?! Curtis Callaway? Curtis Callaway? As in Stetas?
Ashley: Yes, the same guy you've beaten before. It's the same guy, sweety.
[Scene] It seems to be raining on Sutton's happy parade. He recaps the champagne bottle and puts it in the refrigerator, pulling out a stronger liquor in the form of Dark Eyes Vodka. He puts it on the table, and grabs a shot glass then sits down. He pours a shot and quickly downs it. The sermon continues.
Sutton: Week after week after week THEY throw these weak ass bogies at me. I'm taking nothing away from Curtis Callaway, but let's face it, this kid had a better chance working with the Devil.
Sutton: Callaway, you can run around here all you want, playing this ridiculous church act. You can put on the holy cloth, the cross, and teach us scriptures from the book of God, it makes no difference to me. I can beat you when you're talking in tongues. I can beat you when you're on your knees, high on spiritual guidance. I can beat you on your best day, son.
[Scene] Sutton pours another shot and downs it. His eyes are watering at this point from the potency of the alcohol.
Sutton: God damn! Amen! That's some strong stuff. Callaway, I'll get back to you momentarily but I want to send out some thanks to Vincent Lyger.
[Scene] Sutton does a mock cry, poking fun at Lyger.
Sutton: I guess, in all honesty, I should be thanking Drew McGatha, since he's the one that put you on the shelf. But to whom it may concern, thank you. You saved me the trouble of facing Lyger and undoubtedly stinking up the arena with his no-talent ass. You see, Lyger, you're a damn cherry picker. You got a lucky victory over Xtreme Rebel. It was one of those 'oh, my shoe's untied...' and you caught him sleeping.
Sutton: I know you're sitting at home, whining about how you never lost this title. And I know you're going to come back eventually, whining about how you were robbed. Well, consider this an open invitation, precious. Consider this your saving grace. You sit there in that recliner, and you rest up. Then you hobble your broken ass back to my world. I'll be more than happy to open up a forum of pain with you. And to spice it up a little, we'll put this title on the line. Saving you the trouble, little man. Get well soon.
[Scene] Josh gets real serious, or atleast tries to.
Sutton: On Wednesday, the beating I unleash on you is going to set you far away from your walk of righteousness. It could even be considered blasphemous. But who cares? I'm the United States champion... I set the pace... This is my time. Our time, the Controlling Factor's time.
Sutton: Stetas, Curtis, Callaway... Whatever you're calling yourself these days... On Wednesday, when the water hits, and the pain sufaces... There will be no where to go but beneath the currents of the undertow... The aenima is now...
[Scene] The scene begins to fade out with a close up on the cynical smirk of Sutton.