Icon, Legend, Trouble

Impulse 2.4
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

Trey Vincent was in the ring. When the cameras returned to the LCW Club Evo ring....he was there. Microphone in hand, smiling, looking around at the crowd as if he BELONGED there.

"Monitors, monitors on the wall....who is the greatest sports entertainer of them all?"

Trey Vincent smiled and looked around at all the fans in the club. He mockingly waved to a few of them. He then motioned for one woman to flash him by pulling up his own black iAd T-shirt. She didn't budge. So he flipped her off with a middle finger. She responded in kind.

"I know what some of you are thinking," Vincent began with a light-hearted laugh. "Who in the hell is this handsome man with the physique of a sports entertainer, and what is he doing in THIS place. And all the longtime Trey Vincent marks are in awe, it's OK, you can cheer. I'm a 'cool heel,'" he said with a laugh. "After all, if I wanted to be a monster heel, all I'd have to say is jOlt was the greatest promotion of all time...

"But for the new viewers of TV, you are looking at Trey Vincent. The Sports Entertainment Icon. The epitome of entertainment. Some have called me a politician. Some have called me a cancer or a poison. Some have called me egotistical. Some have flat out called me an asshole. There is a pile of dead federations behind me. As far as you know, I work nowhere. But yet, security has yet to take me out of this ring. I wonder what that means...." he said, drifting off as he noticed his face on the 15-monitors. He paused to stare at himself and smiled before continuing.

"So then the question becomes, is LCW stupid enough to sign Trey Vincent to a contract. I don't know, what do you people think?" he said walking around the ring. "Do you think LCW would be stupid enough to sign Trey Vincent to a contract? Do you? Huh? Does LCW see the Sports Entertainment Icon or the fed killer? The man who guarantees ratings through the roof or the floor depending on his mood. The man who doesn't like working with anyone inferior to him. Which is, let's face it, everybody," he said with a smile.

The fans, most likely more bored than annoyed with what he was saying, began to boo him.

"Trey Vincent has come here to fuck this place up. Because LCW sucks. I cannot believe this place was even stupid enough to call me. All you loser hardcore fans can blow me."

Now the fans were mad. The boos rose in volume.

"Edward Olmstead thought he could sign the most coveted free agent in sports entertainment. A man with so many offers on the desk he can't even see past them when he's sitting down? You've got to be kidding yourself Eddie. I've been sitting at the bar, drinking all night, and not one....not ONE, sports entertainer have I seen other than myself, right now, in this ring. That is truly pathetic. I cannot believe you fans waste your money on the garbage performers here.

"So fuck you Eddie. TV came for the booze, but he ain't staying for the sports entertainment, unless you can jack up the price. Trey Vincent was in jOlt! Do you know how much I made in jOlt? For what you offered, I might as well go back into private investigation. Oh no, no, no," he said with a chuckle. Trey Vincent doesn't even work for this company, and you're looking at the biggest legend to ever grace this ring," he said pointing at the mat. "Pathetic."

Vincent looked around at the hardcore fans he had managed to throroughly upset.

"Not one icon, not one legend, not anything...."

The lights went out in the club, except for two spotlights on opposite ends of the far wall. They shone on TR Saxton, who emerged from the first floor elevator and strode out in a thick black leather jacket to the cadence of Diamond Head's "Am I Evil?". On the monitors, video played of him in the more momentous hardcore matches of his career, one screen at a time, while cycling to the right and down. Then, the screen became a single image, one of a bloodied TR holding up the LCW hardcore title. TR is seen to be holding a microphone as the house lights return to normal. Saxton replies to Vincent thusly:

"I'm ALREADY a legend! I will smack you in the mouth! GET OFF THE SHED!"

Vincent looked at Saxton. He appeared baffled by what Saxton had just said. Baffled, but never speechless.

"What the fuck did you just say?" Vincent asked bluntly, staring directly at Saxton.

"You know what I mean," Saxton responded. "Get off the damn shed!"

Vincent looked around at the crowd. He cocked his head. Repeatedly to the left then the right and back and forth. Then he shook his head and put the microphone to his lips, pausing for a few seconds before continuing the....conversation?

"Who's on what shed? And who in the hell are you?" Vincent asked, moving closer and pointing his middle finger right between Saxton's eyes.

Saxton didn't flinch. At first. Then he quickly wound up and punched Vincent in the jaw with a solid right hand. Saxton looked down at Vincent and kneeled down closer.

"I'm the guy who just punched you. Next time you want to play 'legend', try and back it up."

Vincent slid out from underneath the bottom rope of the ring and looked back at Saxton. He chucked the microphone he had been holding in his hand at Saxton, who avoided it and a *PZZZZT* was heard as the microphone landed in the ring. Vincent then backed into a pair of security guards. He turned around and put his hands straight up as if they were cops about to arrest him, then walked between them, heading for the nearest exit.

NEXT CHAPTER: The Price Is Right >>