Razzia

I want the world and I want it now

{{{Note: This RP is from a fed called Extreme Risk Wrestling. It closed before it opened. I wrote this before joining MEW with Trey Vincent. This was when I first tried the popular (in angle-feds) novel type RP.}}}

The middle of the screen is a black O, surrounded by an odd blueish-white light. But then the O is lifted up and away from the camera, revealing a man built like a bull holding a rifle. He wears a plain black baseball cap which leaves his eyes deep in shadows. He also wears a black long-sleeved shirt, pants and combat boots. His sharply focused brown eyes show no emotion from deep in the shadowed darkness. He has a scowl on his face.

The sun hides behind a blanket of gray clouds. The skyline seems miles away, as if it retreated in fear from the man in the foreground. Far in the distance a line of trees with bright orange leaves are violently whipped by an intense wind.

"The name is Razzia. Learn it. You'll be telling the doctors who sent you to them later."

He drops the rifle to his side, rests the butt on the ground and holds the barrel with his left hand.

"You just stared down the barrel of a gun. A rifle. An instrument of death. Now you know what it's like for every victim who steps in the ring across from me."

He quickly tosses the gun straight up into the air, catching it around the trigger, and rests the rifle on his shoulder.

"I don't need this though," he says eyeing his gun without moving his head. "I don't need any weapon. You see, when they named this company, they must have had me in mind. Extreme risk? If anyone risks getting into the ring with me, I will teach them new levels of extreme. I will take their bodies to Hell, back, and send them to Hell again."

He tosses the gun to his left. It falls into a blanket of dying orange, yellow, red and brown leaves.

"I may only be 5-11, but I am 250 pounds. I am a tank. What I lack in height, I make up for in pure rage and viciousness. How do you plan on stopping me from crushing everything in my path? How? What was that?" he says looking as if expecting a reply from the camera. "I can't hear you," he says angling his ear toward the camera and cocking his head. He then returns to staring directly at the camera. "You can't."

Razzia looks down at the blanket of leaves and then raises his eyes to look at the camera.

"I come to work to hurt people. The president knew that when he hired me. Some people get joy out of watching people inflict pain. They're called wrestling fans. And I do what I do to make them scream in ecstasy while I make my victims scream in agony. It's almost poetic. Their joy comes from my enemies sorrow."

He crouches down and picks up his weapon. He puts his left eye to the cold steel eye of the rifle and stares down it. He reaches for the trigger.

"There are only two kinds of people in this world. Those who can breathe, and those who can't. Breath is a weakness. There are so many ways to die and hurt people. But the gun is the cowards way. It's much more entertaining to take the breath away from my opponent, with his own arms. I use his own body against him."

It's how Razzio wins. The move? Asphyxiation. After beating up on his opponent, he gets behind him, wraps his opponents arms around his own throat, pulls back brutally, choking them out, until they tap or they lose consciousness. Legal? Razzio isn't choking anybody. They're doing it to themselves. Of course, it's kind of hard to tap out when he's got hold of both their arms. And they can't exactly say they quit when their throat is being collapsed.

Quietus at the will of Razzio. It's only a question of if his opponents are going to the hospital, or the morgue.

"There is only one thing I'm interested in here. And that is being the world champion. I am in this business to be the best in this business because I AM the best in this business. And if I'm not given me my rightful spot, then I will gladly take it, body by body, until there are stacks and stacks of bloody, bruised and broken victims. I will fill up hospitals in city after city. I'm declaring war on everybody.

"You're either on my side, or you're in my way. Make your choice wisely."

Razzia turns around and holds the gun parallel to the ground as he walks to the woods. As if to say, I have a gun, but I'm just as willing to hunt you with my bare hands if the need be. You want to come try me? That's fine. Bring it on. Who will he face in the woods? Will it be man or animal? Does it matter? Not to Razzia. A fight is a fight.

There are no winners and losers.

There are only survivors.