[Foreward] Every man has several breaking points. Lines that are drawn deep within the spans of time. One for physical and another for psychological. I consider myself to be of the lucky offspring, for I have yet to find a stall in the pain portion. But there isn't a day that goes by that people don't test my patience complex... It's always about the past. About my ventures and struggles in Japan... About my accomplishments here in the states on the extreme independent circuits... But they're failing to realize that I'm still here. I'm actively paving the road to the future. Why don't people care? I'll tell you why... Because I no longer have to spill buckets to write checks. I no longer have to take massive chair shots to the head, dive off of balconies, free myself from skin-shredding barbed wire.. No, that's all in the past. I'm just now beginning to step completely into the room with the skills that got my foot in the door. Just as Dwight Maverick discovered yesterday; I'm not just hype. Not... just hype.
[Scene] Darkness engulfs the scene. A vague flickering light can be seen emerging from a room down the hallway. The camera moves toward the light, turning into a room with a huge TV. There's a man on the screen covered from head-to-toe in crimson liquid. He's smiling and appears to be slightly crying. Long, blood drenched hair sorrounds his face. You can see him raise a large trophy into the air and a large applause from the fans. The man falls to his knees, tucking the trophy into the pit of his stomach, coughing up a mix of blood and saliva. The man gets to his feet and stumbles to the barbed wire ropes, pieces of flesh hanging from selective barbs. The crimson-faced warrior hands his trophy to an attendant at ringside and requests a microphone. After the ruckus fans calm down, between light sobs of joy and pain, he speaks...
"Tonight... This... This is the greatest moment of my life! You people and that trophy make this all worth it! (you can hear the sounds of the fans; it's deafening) The blood that was spilt here tonight.. The talented workers who put their careers on the line... It was all worth...
[Scene] The Television clicks off. There's a cough, echoing an 'ahem' sound through out the room. The lights slowly begin to bring clarity. The camera pans to Josh Sutton whom is sitting in a recliner, his feet propped up and a beer in hand(surprising, isn't it?)
Sutton: They worshipped me when I was their martyr. What was it they called me that night... As I walked down that blood-soaked aisleway to the locker room the chants of "Barbedwire Messiah" echoed through the mass. Was that implication that I would die for them? Hahaha, ya know.. For a while I thought I would die for them. Because for six years of my career I wore my body down.. FOR SIX LONG FUCKING YEARS I PUT MY LIFE ON THE LINE! I'm tired of it. I've been tired of it. Well guess what? Papa's got a brand new bag. And if you don't like it, you're shit out of luck.
[Scene] Sutton sheds a wry smile as he glares into the camera. With a swoop motion he downs the rest of his beverage and tosses it back over his shoulder. A loud shatter is heard as shards of glass come flying over the chair, landing in a scattered pile on Sutton and the recliner. Sutton blinks as if nothing happened and continues speaking in a monotonish voice.
Sutton: How does one simply put all that they know behind them? I've been living the hardcore lifestyle for more than half a decade.. To say I regret doing the things I've done would be a bold-faced lie. I've enjoyed every sick, twisted fucking moment of it. There's not a feeling greater in this world than that of taking a spike and jabbing it repeatedly into the open flesh of another human specimen. There's nothing greater than tearing away at an open wound with your bare hands... Nothing can be more addicting than gripping that steel chair in your palms, awaiting your opponent to turn... The look on their face.. is priceless. I loved it.. I still love it, but the Hardcore movement is over. The train has collided with a power plant and the days of chair swinging, blood spilling death-defiance are over. The technical era of wrestling is emerging from the ashes, and I'm changing with the mood. Like it, or not.
[Scene] Sutton looks down at his chest and grabs a small shard of the glass. He stares at it for a slight second, bringing it closer and closer to his face. Sutton smirks at the camera widely as he digs the glass into his flesh, scraping away. A small crimson river begins trickling down his forehead... to his nose... to his lips... and then down his chin. Sutton brings his tongue out, running it over his lips.. tasting the copper flavor and grinning devilishly with delight in his own juice.
Sutton: Just kidding, tools. Hahaha.... Billy Blaze, I've found a new love for this shit. I've found a stronger bond in my blood.. I've dug deep within and exhaled the flesh. My physical form will feel no pain, for it is all psychological... On Wednesday I will bring new meaning to the phrase: "You bring the beer, I'll bring the blood." So with that said, Mr. Blaze, when the water hits and the pain surfaces YOU will have no where to go but beneath the bloody, red currents of the undertow... AND THAT my friends is the fucking...END!
[Scene] The camera zooms in on Sutton as the blood continues to drip down into his eyes. The camera continues to zoom until we get a close-up of the eye... He blinks and the scene fades... to.... black.