No More Gimmicks

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No More Gimmicks

Post by Howell Saxon on Sun May 21, 2017 9:40 pm

The titantron lights up, revealing a room full of punching bags hanging from the ceiling. Standing tall in the middle of the room, back straight, arms folded and arrogant smirk on his face, is Howell Saxon. As the camera zooms in closer, we catch glimpses of the punching bags and see that Howell has stuck a printout of Kevin Owens’ face on every single one of them.

Finally, the camera reaches Howell, his head and shoulders filling the frame. He stares down the lens and his grin widens.

Howell Saxon
Owens, I cannot wait to put you in your place tonight.

Howell unfolds his arms and swaggers out of frame. The camera moves to catch up with him as he moves between the dangling punching bags, studying them like a tiger stalking its prey. He looks over his shoulder to address the camera again.

Howell Saxon
You know, I would’ve thought you’d get the message pretty quickly that I’m not to be messed with. Between winning the RPW World Champion title over Stevens, putting Sydal in his place and beating the shit out of you and Jericho during your highlight reel, I really thought you’d take the hint. But no. You keep antagonising me. Ganging up on me. Trying to humiliate me. Well, you know what, Owens?

Howell stops, and turns around to face the camera head on. It tracks out to show the four punching bags currently surrounding him – one to his left, one to his right, and two behind.

Howell Saxon
You can keep trying if you want, but it’s not going to work.

Howell turns fast to face the punching bag to his left. Directing his blows directly onto the printout of Owens’ face, he lands two powerful punches and the punching bag falls off its chain, tumbling to the floor. He turns to his right and does the same again. He leaps into the air and swings his leg round in a reverse turning kick, the momentum of the blow immediately taking out both bags behind him. Howell lands smoothly, straightens up and marches over to the camera, his face now intense.

Howell Saxon
You hear me? What you’re watching now is as gimmicky as I’ll ever get! Because, as I’ve made abundantly clear, I don’t care about theatrics. I don’t care about being liked! I don’t care about the behind the scenes drama, like your oh so precious friendship with little Jericho… all that matters to me is that the man with the most skill win the fight. And that’s going to be me.

Howell crouches, then leaps out of frame. The camera jerks to the side to follow him, just in time to catch him slam down on another punching bag, knocking it to the floor with a flying punch. He’s back on his feet quickly, and stares the camera down once more.

Howell Saxon
No games, Owens. No gimmicks. No clowns, no skits, none of your childish bullshit. Tonight, it comes down to pure talent and training. Two men in a battle for the RPW World Championship title. And believe me, I don’t plan to lose it anytime soon. For your sake, Owens, I hope they’ve got an ambulance or two parked outside.

With a final cocky grin, Howell marches out of frame, leaving the camera to scan over the fallen punching bags. The titantron fades to black.
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Howell Saxon

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