The Rkdawn Invasion
A long, long time ago... no, honestly, it wasn't all that long ago. Fifteen years, maybe? Something like that.
There was a promotion called EZW.
Eastern Zone Wrestling.
This indie promotion, headquartered in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, hit the absolute jackpot the moment it brought in one deeply problematic individual.
That man was Paul Hagan.
The revolutionary of the industry.
Up until that point, mainstream pro wrestling was still stuck in its Golden Age — an era when performers in cartoonish face paint marched out and brawled in flat, simple battles of good versus evil.
And then, out of EZW, a revolution swept through the business.
It could be summed up in two words.
Technician. Hardcore.
Even the debut of Rockcold, the Icon of WWF, took place in an EZW ring.
Eddie Viterero first unleashed his technical wrestling mastery there, in EZW.
And at the center of it all stood Paul Hagan, writing the scripts, directing the characters, and teaching the performers more than they'd ever learned anywhere else.
Wrestlers who had never fit the old pro wrestling mold found a home in the industry by flaunting their own singular personalities.
...And then, astonishingly, our dear Mr. Bart Maxen tore EZW down with dirty tricks, snapped it up for pocket change, and repackaged every last piece of it as his own.
And so the Bad Attitude Era began. Truly a crying shame.
Even after all that, though, Paul Hagan kept giving everything he had inside WWF.
These days he oversaw Rkdawn, playing the role of the man Bart came to whenever he needed something approved.
Which meant it really wasn't so strange, when I thought about it, that he liked me.
I, after all, was a man who sparked revolutions in the industry simply by existing.
Holding that arrogant — and entirely correct — thought, I turned to Hagan, whose cheeks were still flushed, and spoke up.
We had just left the locker room.
With the leader, Casket-Taker, joining us, the three of us had taken over an office.
"First, a question — I never received a script for tomorrow."
"Ah, that! Haven't written it yet!"
"...I beg your pardon?"
"There's a frame for you invading Rkdawn to stir things up, but I wanted to hear your ideas first!"
What a remarkably wise man.
And the thought flashed through my mind that there couldn't possibly be a better person to work alongside.
'Unfortunately, that's not in the cards.'
Come next year, Bart would deem his position far too large — far too dangerous — and fire him.
Which meant I needed to make the most of this moment.
One day, just a single day — but couldn't I craft something magnificent out of it?
But first.
"I'd like to hear from Casket-Taker before anything else. You're the most senior man here, so I imagine you have ideas."
"...Cheeky little whelp."
He patted my head.
Um, Dad?
"But fine. Paul seems to trust you, so I'm curious what you have in mind."
"Even coming from the head of the creative team—"
"Ah-ah, enough of that. Burning Kong may be different, but around here, a performer's ideas matter more than anything."
A wise philosophy.
The age of walking on eggshells was over.
I began laying out the idea I'd sketched out roughly on the way over.
"To start — at Ring Survival, the line between face and heel gets blurry, doesn't it?"
"It does."
"So my thought is, we flip it — let the brand identities themselves be what divides the faces from the heels."
"Ha. Interesting notion."
"This Ring Survival is top dog Burning Kong versus underdog Rkdawn, correct?"
Hagan's eyes went wide at my proposal, and then he broke into a grin.
"You're saying we drive the entire storyline through the contrast between the two brands?"
"It'll help when booking across brands, too. Like, Sinna tells me she hates my guts, but she's the champion representing Rkdawn, so she begs me to give it everything I've got at the pay-per-view."
"So you want to cement that image on tomorrow's Rkdawn."
"Exactly. On Monday, I denigrated Sinna as some green rookie I used to boss around back in GCW. We build the storyline off that."
The truth was, this was a booking approach that wouldn't become industry standard until years later.
I was simply presenting these people with that direction a little ahead of schedule.
"Then how's this — on tomorrow's Rkdawn, I ambush Casket-Taker in the most cowardly way imaginable?"
"How so?"
"I steal his bike key, and while he's scrambling around in a panic, I jump him from behind."
"...Amusing."
Casket-Taker said shortly.
"If it's anything less than that, the sequence of me ambushing you wouldn't hold together."
"Hmhm. But Casket-Taker cherishes that bike of his more than life itself."
"Paul, that's just the character. For the sake of the show, I'm happy to part with it."
"Ah — I've never actually ridden that bike once. Will it be alright?"
"...Yes."
Casket-Taker's expression hardened.
Is it actually going to be alright?
"In any case, that's how I end up dragging the bike out to the ring to taunt you. And then Sinna appears to take revenge on your behalf."
"A fascinating picture. Sinna — locked in a ferocious feud with you until now — stepping into the ring to avenge Casket-Taker."
"It could even set up a turn. I'll be getting deafening boos, after all. And in that moment, the story of Sinna — who came to respect Casket-Taker through their past rivalry — getting payback for him. Pretty good, right?"
"Well, I'll be. Without even asking, our performers have gone and booked themselves."
"...Did I overstep?"
"No, no — it's a phenomenal script. But that would make Burning Kong the heels for this Ring Survival, wouldn't it?"
"I think that's the way to go. And if not, how about this — the following week, Casket-Taker invades Burning Kong, ambushes me, straps me to his motorcycle, and rides me down the corridor."
"Magnificent! Now that's a sight worth watching! A man like Casket-Taker ought to be owed at least that much revenge!"
"...This kid worries me. Does it really have to go that far?"
"People want to watch me get punished for doing that to a great like Casket-Taker."
"..."
Silent, Casket-Taker patted my pomade-slicked hair once more.
It seemed to be his own peculiar way of complimenting a junior, so I couldn't say I minded.
"Good! Good! Now all that's left is getting Bart's approval!"
Paul whooped with delight.
With a revolutionary like Paul Hagan at the helm, Rkdawn's operations moved with impressive efficiency.
To keep things moving fast, Paul picked up the phone and called Bart directly.
Approval came back far quicker than expected, and the script was finished in record time.
After that, the performers and crew ran camera-angle checks and all manner of rehearsals.
Taking part in the process, I found myself thinking Rkdawn wasn't half bad.
Maybe because Paul delegated to the staff and simply let things run, instead of obsessively combing over every detail the way Bart did?
But even seeing all that, I didn't feel any particular urge to transfer to Rkdawn.
The reason was simple.
The man I had to fight my way past to climb to the top was Bart Maxen.
And no matter what I accomplished here, Bart would never acknowledge my talent.
And so, unlike Burning Kong, the show kicked off amid a warm, easygoing atmosphere.
Once the opening video rolled, the screen showed Casket-Taker storming out into the parking lot, seething with rage.
[Yeaaaaaaaah!]
The crowd roared its approval.
But his face was wild with fury in a way that wasn't like him at all. Shoving past nearby staff, boiling over and thrashing about, he finally seized one of them and bellowed.
[Where is that punk!!]
[Y-yes?!]
[That son of a bitch stole my bike key! Damn him to hell!]
At that very moment, a long wooden plank came crashing down across Casket-Taker's skull.
The camera swung sideways to reveal the attacker. I held up the keys with a smile.
[That'd be me, Casket-Taker.]
"...Whew."
Watching the footage, which had been shot just before tonight's show, I had to admit I was genuinely impressed.
So I had actually pulled off an ambush on the Casket-Taker — and humiliated him on top of it.
Just like when I'd beaten Hunter, it felt like another confirmation of my standing within the company, and I liked it.
I kept watching the video as if seeing it for the first time.
The crowd hurled monstrous boos at me, just like my GCW heel days.
[You saw what Sinna did on Monday, right? Well, I wanted to do something even prettier.]
After muttering that, I stomped the (fake) blood-dribbling Casket-Taker into the pavement a few more times and walked away.
The screen cut back to Casket-Taker, and leaving him writhing in agony behind, the roar of an engine soon swallowed the frame whole.
Then I appeared, mounted on Casket-Taker's bike, sunglasses on.
A black Harley-Davidson.
A masterpiece of the motorcycle world — the very symbol of the American outlaw biker.
"I'll, uh, give you the signal."
I was sitting on the bike right now, since my plan was to roll out to the ring at the exact moment that video ended.
The engine thrummed beneath me, and the raw charm of that enormous machine came through loud and clear.
Which meant I was worried, too.
'I got a crash course from Casket-Taker yesterday, but will I really be okay?'
Eh. Nothing's going to happen.
With that thought, I turned my attention back to the video. On screen, I had just rolled the bike through the arena entrance.
A staff member gave me the signal.
"Five, four, three, two, one! Now!"
My music hit.
Just as Casket-Taker had 'demonstrated,' I choked down on the throttle and dumped the clutch, then sat there waiting for the music.
The moment the solemn hymn began riding the dubstep beat, I roared out through the curtain on the Harley.
[Boooooooooooooo!!]
[Yeeeeaaaaaaaaah!]
Boos and cheers in equal measure.
The crowd welcomed the Burning Kong superstar making his Rkdawn debut — but they couldn't stomach my brazen behavior.
I tore down the entrance ramp and yanked hard on the brakes.
The Harley screeched to a halt, and I killed the engine, then hugged the bike close and flashed a lingering smile before dismounting.
And then I planted a full kiss on it.
Casket-Taker had once said in an interview that a bike was like a lover who never nags.
Handling his bike this way would be, to him, an insult beyond measure.
[Booooooo......!]
Just as predicted, the boos swelled even louder.
Snickering at them as if they weren't worth my attention, I climbed straight into the ring.
My heel days came flooding back, and honestly, their reaction was pure joy.
Gripping the microphone, I began working the crowd from the center of the ring.
"You all know I—"
[F-ck you! SIN! F-ck you! SIN! F-ck you! SIN!]
[A-s hole! A-s hole! A-s hole! A-s hole! A-s hole!]
"Scream all you want! The cowards of Rkdawn aren't coming out here anyway!"
Just as John Michaels once famously did, I parked my backside on the top turnbuckle and sprawled out flat between the ropes.
"Keep it coming~ come on~. I'll just nap to the sound of your boos!"
The boos died down a little.
Which meant they wanted to hear my mic-work.
Thousands of people set their anger aside and focused on what I had to say instead.
I smirked, propped myself up, and kept going with the mic in hand.
"Why do you people even watch this?"
I had gone full heel again.
And my original character — the back-alley punk who'd do anything — fit that mold perfectly.
"This is the JV show, isn't it? The varsity show I'm on is way more entertaining!"
But I never actually insulted the crowd. If anything, it was the situation itself that cast me as the villain.
Ambushing Casket-Taker was simply one part of a strategy to strip the enemy of their strength.
Looked at that way, there wasn't a single illogical piece to anything I was doing.
"Just like Sinna said on Monday — I've come to declare war. We, Burning Kong, promise to obliterate every last fool of this JV show at Ring Survival! Okay?"
[Booooooooooo!]
"Come on, the show's over. Stop watching Sinna's boring-as-hell matches and go home. Go home, watch me on Burning Kong, and buy my T-shirt."
The crowd's boos grew uglier still.
I drove the situation to its absolute limit, stoking their thirst. Tearing at the turnbuckle structure, I urged them to wrap this up already and head home.
But Sinna didn't come out.
I understood what that meant, smirked, and kept the segment rolling.
'Hagan's handiwork, huh.'
From Gorilla Position, he was ordering me to push things to the very brink.
Having caught on, I hopped down to ringside entirely and started corralling — or rather, coaching(?) — the audience.
In moments like these, the key is winning over an audience member who can give you a good answer.
With that in mind — men are out, first of all. Some joker might just say something unfit for broadcast purely for kicks.
By the same logic, women are out too.
An elderly woman or a child.
Those were the optimal picks.
And a child was the very best of all, because crowds instinctively warm to them.
I approached a little white kid standing just behind the barricade.
The boy, tucked against his father's side, was wearing a Sinna T-shirt.
"Hey there, little man. Who's gonna win this Ring Survival?"
"Shawn~ Sinna~."
"No, no — Burning Kong or Rkdawn? Burning Kong, obviously, right?"
"Sinna~~."
"Okay, so, Burning Kong it is!"
The crowd erupted in laughter.
Having turned their reactions friendly yet again, I kept flexing the might of Burning Kong.
The ring was completely mine.
Belittling the Rkdawn roster one by one, I declared victory with certainty.
The crowd's thirst kept building, and it finally hit its breaking point.
Just as I was starting to think pushing any further would be risky, Sinna's music detonated through the arena at the perfect moment.
[Yeeeeeeeaaaaaahhhh!!!]
Greeted by the biggest pop of the night, Sinna appeared.
She understood this storyline inside and out, and she answered the crowd's reaction in full — waving both arms, playing to every last one of them.
A textbook babyface performance.
'She knows what she's doing.'
Grinning, I waited for Sinna to climb into the ring.
Just as we had on Monday, the two of us stood face to face once more.
But the situation had changed.
From here on out, I was the villain.