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Author Topic: LOUDER. CLEARER. STRONGER Loco Martinez {i for WHC vs. Maya}  (Read 305 times)

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LOUDER. CLEARER. STRONGER Loco Martinez {i for WHC vs. Maya}
« on: November 12, 2014, 09:23:51 PM »
A sweat soaked Loco Martinez sits in on the apron of the ring inside the center of the Epicenter.  He gazes down between his knees.  Yellow Nike cross trainers dangling at the end of his tanned legs.  Black work out shorts and a sleeveless sweat ringed t-shirt cling to his physique.   

Gone are the television lights and crowd.  In its stead, house lighting and a few employees milling around doing some prep work for the upcoming SHOOT Project Extravaganza.  He showed up to the Epicenter two hours ago to work out in the ring where he’d have the opportunity of opportunities, but more importantly than the physical aspects of training, he wanted to engage in an age old tradition. 

For all his years as an athlete. Be it on the pitch, in the pool, or in the ring… Loco Martinez found a serenity in throwing himself into physical endeavors.  That the “happy hurt” as a long ago age group swim coach put it… that pleasure in the pouring of ones self into something mentally and physically and the physiological endorphin rush that followed.  That he could lose himself in whatever it was he was doing and his mind would shut off.  For… however long.  So he came to the place where he could do that.  It was beyond physical preparation.  By this point someone doing this as long as he has his body is ready… His mind on the other hand?

For months as he was granted a title match, and while he got closer and closer to the thing inside this industry he wanted most he watched fans, friends, and people he cared about slip through his fingers.    Like a fist full of sand.  His desperate pleas.  His passionate defenses.  It was him trying and trying and TRYING to squeeze each grain.  To keep it from getting away.  And yet?  Here he was.  Alone.  No one believed him.  His closest friends didn’t believe him.  Hell, he’d be hard pressed to find ANYONE who believed him. 

For Loco Martinez where do you go when you feel like you have no one?  What do you do?  You throw yourself into something familiar.  Something without judging. Where maybe, just maybe you can get some respite from your own mind.  Who at this point time is spending as much time saying “WHY?!”  as “WHY NOT?!”  That is slowly working that thread that becoming the monster everyone assumes he IS, kills two birds with one stone.  Everyone is proved right.  He gets that precious precious championship wrapped around his waist.  A life long dream come true.  “Just give in”, -THAT Loco Martinez says.  “They’re not going to believe you.” - He pulls and pokes and prods.  “You know YOU can’t get it done.  Let ME take care of things.” - The taunting voice in the recesses of his head. A ghost of Loco Martinez’s past has haunted him for weeks, and with each passing day as we get closer to Master of the Mat?  That voice is getting LOUDER.  CLEARER.  STRONGER.

He rubs his hands across the mat with a loving quality.  He looks up.


Loco Martinez:  You know when I heard you speak about me being such a SHOOT Project Soldier that I could actually have enough equity that I COULD pull strings like this… in a weird twisted, totally fucked up way, it was one of the nicer things you could say to me… about me.  See?  I wanted that.  Because up until this most recent history there isn’t much chance someone would even dream of thinking I could “call in favors” in SHOOT.  I had a couple “cups of coffee” years and years ago.  I’ve wrestled and succeeded in lots of places, but?  Not here.  Not until a year ago, and Master of the Mat.  My first taste of success inside the SHOOT Project.   Then the Primus and I’m within reach.   Smell the leather.  The smell of polish so strong I could taste it, and I couldn’t have been happier when that boiled down to you and I.  That I knew the next SHOOT Champion would have earned it.  Worked his ass off for it, and would carry and defend it with a fighter’s spirit.  He would be everything RIGHT about the world of Wrestling and SHOOT. 

He could lead SHOOT into an era of competition.   That champion would be someone all of SHOOT and the world of wrestling could look to… a beacon of light.  Turns out?  It was YOU that given night.  You were the better man, and while I fell short?  I know I was proud of you, and happy for you.  At that time there was no jealousy boiling up.  Disappointment?  Sure.  LIke you pointed out I have a history of falling short.  THIS Loco Martinez, especially which, like you realize... can result in THAT Loco Martinez.  But even then... that night... with the disappointment of having that opportunity slip through my grasp?   THAT Loco Martinez wasn’t a nagging voice chirping away.  No.  THAT Loco Martinez hasn’t been heard up here *taps his index finger to his temple* - until recently.  Until YOU started pointing the finger in my direction.  So now you, the SHOOTiverse, other friends, family… they all wonder if this exercise will become self fulfilling prophecy.  That ALL this will be an exercise in inevitability.  that I’ll be the monster everyone… “KNOWS” I am. 

He lets the prospect hang heavy in the air with a noncommittal shrug for a few moments.

Loco Martinez:  The trophy case was a nice touch though, right?  I mean… man…  SOMEONE did his, or her homework.  Motherfucker brought out THE Trophy Case.  A damn near exact replica of the manifestation of everything evil I’ve done. 

He chuckles disbelieving.  Its unnerving.

Loco Martinez:  I mean… I mean… shit…  I WOULD do something like that.  I mean… I would… *He trails off and shudders at the image of a past version of himself*  have.   Years ago.  Federations ago.  There IS a part of me, and I know you know THAT Loco Martinez. Which is… why… to this point I’ve been so damned patient.  I GET IT!  I do.  But, dammit… You’re not giving me even the slightest benefit of the doubt.  You’ve written me off and its a foregone conclusion that I AM everything you think I am.  That I am every bit the dickbag that the fans think I am.  That I have masterminded everything.  Each Revolution another step towards me becoming the SHOOT Project World Champion, and another step away from you and everything I’ve worked tooth and fucking nail to BE inside SHOOT.  That I did all this.

He throws his hands out wildly.  Holds them for a second before dropping them.  Like they can't hold up to the weight a second longer.  He closes his eyes briefly.  Takes a breath.  Opens them slowly.   His eyes go steely.  His jaw clenches.

Loco Martinez:  But.  I.   DIDN’T!  You sat there as you have the last few weeks and pointed the finger at me.  Accused me.  Every possible explanation I give, gets dismissed.  And while I’ve said I totally understand and SEE how badly looks for me?  I… I… just… 

He’s desperate.  His fingers wrap around the edge of the apron.  He squeezes tight.  The color drains out of his knuckles.  They whiten as he tries to hold onto that sand.  Holding on to the edge.

Loco Martinez:  I didn’t do that.  Any of that.  The ten on one.  The Anarchy handicapped match, another stroke of brilliance, by the way… Your attack.  Zex and Omar’s attack. I mean, like I somehow got the Scavengers to do MY bidding?  Like I'd have SHIT to do with Jason Riley?  C'mon dude.  STOP.  But yeah... that, and the The fucking trophy case… didn't do... ANY. OF. IT! 

He takes a pause.  He looks back down.

Loco Martinez:  I may lack your physical wounds, Maya, but I’m not coming into this match unscathed.  Everything that’s going on is impacting me.  I came to SHOOT to try to “get the red out of my ledger”.  Because I know I can’t just show up and slap on a smiling face and act like a better person and have people to just forgive and forget.  That I went out of my way to do everything to try to put some balance into karmic scale.  that I couldn’t let the lasting impression be how I acted in Legacy.  Which is why… those years back, when we had a birthday party in Brazil?  I made sure I came up to you.  Despite KNOWING you had no reason to trust me with how horribly I treated with. And you didn’t spit in my face DESPITE that AND everything you were going through at the time.  I offered an apology and you accepted it, and forgave me.   I offered a hand, and you took it.  We were friends… or as you pointed out… BROTHERS.   Which makes it all the more painful when you can’t even for a second stop to think.. maybe… JUST MAYBE I don’t have anything to do with this.  That maybe, just… MAYBE I have continued to be the man I have been since coming into the SHOOT Project. 

He takes a deep breath and lets it out through his teeth in a sigh.

Loco Martinez:  Maya, in the interest of friendship? *mutters*... even if its in ruins...    I will come clean.  I WILL admit that I am guilty of TWO things:  *He holds his right thumb out.*  I won the 2013 Master of the Mat, and *Holds his right index finger out.*  I  am winning that SHOOT Project Championship at the 2014 Master of the Mat.  That’s it.  I know I’m just wasting my breath.  I can hear the scoffing.  See the eye rolls.  I’m gonna walk back through the bowels of the Epicenter and I’m gonna HEAR the whispers.  Gonna HEAR “I can’t believe he’s still going with it”,  “Can’t believe he’s this dedicated to denying this”,  “Clearly its him, how delusional does he have to be to think he can fool us?”    But when… WHEN… I put you down for a three count, my hand is raised, and I’m given that beautiful championship belt?  Fans are wide eyed and slack jawed when everything they KNEW is wrong-wrong-wrong... ... WRONG!   It'll dawn on you…

You lost EVERYTHING.   

EVERYTHING. 

some FANS, who believe I had anything to do with this simply because YOU told them so. 

 the match.

 the SHOOT Project World Heavyweight Championship.
 
and…

He stares hard into the camera.  A pained expression crosses his face before he delivers this line.

Loco Martinez:  You’ll have lost ME. 

Loco Martinez shakes his head negatively.  He hops down off the apron and walks off.

black.