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Jonathan last won the day on April 15

Jonathan had the most liked content!


About Jonathan

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    I Love You
  • Birthday September 24

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  1. “You wanted me campaigning isnt that right Brenden, in the middle of this square addressing you and Sameer, and only the two of you. I’m granting your request, my solely on you two, no mentions of any other pursuit shall arise tonight, I have enough to say about the Big Ballers.” “Bemusing is a word that comes to mind instantly when I consider exactly what it is that these men try to preach. It’s so incredibly egotistical, yet they’re adored, so uncompromisingly self-centered, each and every narrative supposedly crafted around them. The world, in their view, is out to get them. Brenden, Sameer, it’s with all so respect that I admit that your names mean nothing to me. It’s not about you, we just want what’s fastened around your waist.” “This isn’t the BPZ of old, where everything revolved around what The Authority did, where the changing of the guard only came when somebody could dethrone Brenden and company, this isn’t the world you created. But I didn’t have to tell you that did I? Perhaps it’s simple coincidence that you take months off after being pushed to the brink by this new generation who concern themselves less and less with the weight your name carries, but view you as just more competitors trying to stop them. You can feel it in every strike, every slam, the Ruthless Aggression coursing through every person that takes the ring with you. They just want what you have, and you’re the only people preventing that. No longer the unstoppable forces capable of being BPZ to their knees, you’re just another tag team, holding onto the world you knew for dear life.” Jonathan smiles up at Sheridan, the two intensely locking eyes as Jonathan tugs the microphone out of her grasp, moving towards the entrance ramp, directing his next words to the back, wherever the Big Ballers could be coupes up. “The two of you come out here, perform the charade that nothing has changed, that you’re the same two men from this company’s infancy. Your half hearted battle cries won’t save you, your promises to endure and endure like it’s a Rocky movie will be unable to rescue you from the situation you’re in. Perhaps it is a Rocky, perhaps it’s Rocky 4 and Drago is comprised to two of us in the ring. How confident are you that you’re Mr. Balboa, because it’s be quite the shame if there was nobody there to throw the towel in for you.” Jonathan allows the microphone to fall to the mat, retreating back to the corner with Sheridan, clearly satisfied with the message the Royal Flush delivered.
  2. Jonathan


    The Carnage Center is enveloped in black. Only a dim backlight from the titantron provides some sort of reasonable lighting. The titantron is as dark as everything in the arena, the only thing visible is an outline of a shrouded figure. Silence ensues. It’s not a silence of peace, but one filled to the brim with anticipation and anxiety, goosebumps begin to trickle down the arms of everybody in attendance, the expectation continues to build past every potential climax as people begin to become impatient, wanting nothing more than to be released from the wait. Finally, their request is obliged as the shrouded figure’s words roll through the arena. “I wanted nothing more than to secure my place in the history of the company.” The voice belongs to Jonathan, but there are no protests to his words. There’s a certain desperation that line his words, one borne out of disappointment. This desperation is what drove Jonathan mere months prior, pushing him to his breaking point where he radically transformed from champion of the people to champion of his own heart. The words rattle in the midst of the attendees, echoing what Jonathan would ramble about, his desire to be immortalized not only in the eyes of the people but undisputedly by each and every record book, that nobody could ever refute his impact on the industry. The desire to be good enough to be remembered that led him to run headlong into every title match he could, despite loss after loss. The shadowy silhouette of Jonathan drops it’s head, as he begins to speak once again. “You could say that you killed me, Julius. You did what I proclaimed no man would ever be able to accomplish, you took my spirit and snapped it into innumerable pieces. After my chance encounter with you, there was nothing left but a decrepit husk to challenge Bart and Echo and lose twice over. I couldn’t cope with the staggering reality of the situation, that when I most needed vindication from my peers and devotees, I wasn’t good enough to gain it. You took everything I built and turned it to smoldering ashes because I couldn’t make good of my promises. That shattered every narrative I’d grown to believe, that made me realize that my best was nothing in the grand scheme of things, that I was yet another flash in the pan, sharing in the same fate as the rest, not an incredible sendoff which captivated the mass but just like every other goddamn wrestler, violently fazed out a business that I was no longer capable of competing in.” “That was my Death Julius, three hundred and trout days ago. Buried underneath the feet of a new era of captivating talents that ran circles around the generations of old, I was just the last to stand of the equally disappointing, not transcendent assembly of talent. Unfortunately, Julius, the story didn’t come to a close there.” Jonathan lifts his head, and rummages through his pockets, producing a lighter that he holds in front of him. It small flame irradiates the face of Jonathan. There’s a new level of focus displayed in his features, no smile nor smirk but an aura of absolute self-assurance. “Julius, you took something from me far more precious than any gold plated belt. You took everything I thought I was as part of your conquest and tossed it aside, this no longer angers me. You snatched the soul from my body and left me for all but dead, and I would’ve done the same. But now Julius, I get to strip you of the same when I dismantle you Julius; piece by piece, brick by prick, limb by limb, I will pull you apart until I find myself in possession of the one thing I needed. I’m going to rip your goddamn heart out when we see each other Julius.” For the first time in what feels like a century, the riveting words spoken by “The Ace” send the audience into a frenzy, the battle cry spoken by the former hero causing a clamor for what can only be an absolute war to come on in two weeks time.
  3. Jonathan


    As the trap drums begin to boom through the bass of the arena speakers, the infamous figure of Jonathan emerges from the guerrilla, hailed by a thick chorus of boos. Jonathan continues down the ramp, as usual, head hoisted proudly above his shoulders with his devilish grin intact, strutting to the ring as the fans voice their hatred for the once beloved superstar. Jonathan makes it to the ring, receiving a microphone from a crew member. He pauses though, as the fans grow louder in the expression of their displeasure for “The Ace”. His grin fades as his eyebrows tilt downward, he looks out to those in attendance with the hatred painted across his face as he pulls the microphone to his mouth, sending a hush across the crowd, as he launches into his tirade with a growl. “I’d hope that you all understand the nature of choice. It’s one of the more straightforward doctrines, that you are in control of your own actions, you cannot be prompted to act against your nature unless you choose to. Nobody can make you do anything. I say this to say, I don’t think that Prince grasps this simple concept. That nobody made him throw his name into the hat for this tournament, nobody forced him to seal his fate by advancing and booming himself a match against me. I’ve waited for him to produce any self-pitying message, some narrative to spew about how he’ll prevail in a way that nobody has before. Instead, he chose to all but forfeit the match.” “Why would you bring yourself to this point? You believe that this will make you better in some twisted fashion, recognizing your lack of chance against me? Why would you put yourself through this whole ideal when you recognize that there’s hardly of a sliver of a chance that you’ll find yourself the victor when the match ends? You could’ve said no, you could’ve waved the metaphorical white flag. But instead, you wanted to be heralded for trying? Prince, I will have no trouble kicking your ass. Beating you to the point where you feel like you have no choice but to give up. All your hoping will be useless in the end.” Jonathan pauses as the crowd begins to drown him out, the hate on his face begins to fade through his lips stay curled downwards, he pulls the microphone close, raising his voice to bypass the ruckus crowd. “You want to know my choice? I’ve chosen to pull myself up by my own accord, to guarantee my success without ratification in the process by anybody else. I’ve chosen to match my way through this tournament with the knowledge that there’s nobody involved that can shine my shoes. I’ve chosen to realize exactly how good I am, exactly who I am. I’m the accumulation of nightmares, the antithesis of things wished for. I’m the one you prayed wouldn’t realize their potential because you understood that they couldn’t be stopped when they did. No matter who you pray to, where you run, or what you seek to believe, I’m the nagging realization stowed in your heart. The one that regardless of what you do, just: Never. Dies. Some could say I’m inevitable, I just say I’m the Ace of the goddamn universe, you’ll see soon enough.”
  4. We’re taken back to the spacious property of Jonathan, where the “Royal Flush Castle” is sprawled out. As the cameraman walks through the door, he finds Sheridan, obviously occupied. She notices the camera and cocks a brow, then points the man wielding the camera down a hallway, assuring that he’ll know where Jonathan is. He moves through the wing, walking past countless doors when he finds one ajar. He enters to find a Jonathan and Bart murmuring about something, shrouded in darkness. Jonathan nods towards the camera and Bart rises from his seat, taking his leave and leaving Jonathan alone in his home theater, the only light provided from the projected images. “The Ace” motions the cameraman forward as he leans forward in his seat, eyes fixed on the lens. “Did it surprises you that my gospel rang true? Were you hoping, praying even, that I would lose myself in the idea of what’s to come that I neglect what’s right in front of me? There’s nothing I’ll do to jeopardize any opportunity that falls to my feet. Despite the obvious success I’ve attained whilst in this company, I have to continue to work twice as hard for half the credit, having the deck stacked against me makes me remember that. So I’ll put whoever I have to through the mat to take what I want. I’ll put in a mile more to take what I should be given.” Jonathan reclines back into his seat as he lifts his eyes towards the match on the screen. The video dances across his face, and though only illuminated by the blue light, the snarl on his face is visible. The cameraman pans around to find the battle between Prince and Josh on screen, “The Ace” gives an exasperated sigh as the camera turns back towards him. “Then we have the man who advanced out of this shit heap, Prince. It’s not be long since your Golden One days, has it now? I can almost remember, Bailey’s infatuation with you that led him to guarantee that you were the one destined to guide Carnage into the future, so many things promises with him at your side. You were supposedto be one all superstars envied, the Golden One of One. Instead, you waited hat in hand for more guidance, to be handed everything, you never even thought to take what you desired. How do you let the world slip through your fingers?” “You haven’t changed Prince, you’re still the same promised Messiah with nothing under his belt but the key of disappointing those who already lost faith, that’s quite an ability to have. To be so complacent yet so reckless in the check you write with your mouth, to not even care to settle for a prize, but instead, fade to black. I’ll show you what taking your career into your hands looks like, to have even a shred of responsibility for how your career is viewed when it’s all wrapped up.” “It’s all but settled that you’ll fall at my feet and get pinned like so many before you, yet another underwhelming performance to notch on your belt as continue through the tournament. You can watch on, examine, study, see how I cut through any semblance of competition on route to the final, were I’ll be crowned as the winner of the Power Trip Cup. You could even stop earlier, watch the incredible duo of myself and Sheridan pull Big Ballers apart at the seams and be the ones to end that tumultuous partnership. You can see what being a true One of One is, see what a day in the life of an Ace is, and maybe at the end, you’ll find that you no longer want to be a colossal disappointment, then again, you probably wouldn’t even know how to make a jump even that big. This was supposed to be your World, Prince, but now it’s Johnnywood, and you’re living in it.”
  5. 1. How old are you? 20 2. Where are you from? (What Country) Poland/England/Ireland 3. What is your favourite colour? Pink 4. What is your natural hair colour? Brown  5. How many pets do you have? 1 6. What is your favourite food? Idk what vegans eat 7. When is your birthday? (Month) March 8. What is your favourite music genre? What does Disney music qualify as? 9. What is your biggest interest/hobby outside of the forums? Astronautical Engineering 10. What is your favourite sport to watch? UFC 11. What is your dream job? Astronautical Engineering  12. What is/was your favourite subject at school? Engineering 13. What is your favourite soda? Sprite 14. What animal would best represent you? Penguin 15. Who is your favourite current day wrestler? Mandy Rose
  6. Jonathan no longer remains expressionless, as a smirk works its way across his lips as he watches on as Costa nears the curtain. He brings to microphone to his lips one more time and speaks, freezing the charismatic Costa in place. “Delusions of grandeur aren’t only a you problem Costa. It’s how you were raised, a special snowflake no doubt. Your parents probably echoed every self-help book ever written, teaching you that if you Wish It, Want It, And Say It, it’ll happen. This ill-found confidence is fascinating. You have to balls to address me in my ring, telling me, in fact, not how the match will be tightly contested but instead, how I’ll fall at your hands and succumb to your narrative. It’ll be my pleasure beating this confidence out of you.” “Perhaps I told you too much to soon, shattering ones world view tends to drive them off the deep. Maybe you found it so offensive that you felt that you needed to speak against me, have your mic drop with all these people in attendance chanting your name to invigorate you, something— anything to grant you enough confidence so when we enter the ring together in days time, that you’ll be convinced that I’m not the model BPZ Superstar, that the heights I’ve reached didn’t reflect my genuine ability. You needed this moment didn’t you? Telling my your plans to scratch and claw your way to victory as if this idea is foreign to me. Your philosophy is ill-fated, attempting to reduce me so the impending reality doesn’t seem quite so scary. I’m the monster you don’t want to admit I am Alex, your fears are precisely right.” Jonathan approaches the ropes, staring daggers to the part of the stage Costa occupies. No amount of jeers or support of Costa from the BPZ Universe can even rattle the focus in his eyes, his smirk grows into a psychotic grin as he pulls the microphone to his mouth once more. “I have to show everybody that I’m the same man who scratched and clawed his way past five other stars to pull that Money in the Bank briefcase down, that I’m the same man who caved Nebakos’s head in. That I deserve the Hall of Fame ring. I’m far past tired of having to prove my worth, prove that I’m who I say I am. You think I’ll allow these bastards to be right? Show all these fans they were right about me all along? I will NOT lose to you. All this momentum you think you garnered will be gone in a flash, and you realize that you’re placed back in start. Pray to whatever gods you even think could exist, that you receive some semblance of mercy before I pin you, 1…2…3.”
  7. Jonathan


    Jonathan swaggers into the view of the crowd, who've already begun their high volume boos, much to the delight of Jonathan. "The Ace" continues his strut down the ramp, composed in spite of the harsh reaction of those in attendance. He receives a microphone as he clambers atop the apron, and enters the ring, still unfazed by the deafening boos. He wastes no time before beginning his tirade, swelling his voice to subdue the combined volume of the crowd. "Underdogs are so very overrated. The same story of undying perseverance and gritty spirit trumping talent and preparation just because somebody really, really wanted to win. It's the story of the belief that everybody deserves a happy ending, that we should ALL experience a taste of victory because of our humanity. It's the story, Alex, that you've attempted to tell. Bragging about how you aren't supposed to win as though that's uniquely impressive solely to you. Attempting to paint me as the hare, whose oversight will be his undoing. This fable, like your narrative Mr. Costa, is an attempt to breath new life into the failures of this world, and it always produces the same result, utter decimation." The roar of the crowd grows louder as Jonathan enunciates his final syllables, no inkling of an expression crossing his face. There's an absence of cockiness to his words, as well as any sense of arrogance. Despite this, there's also no doubt, no small sign of fidgeting or tapping, just the absolute certainty of self-assurance. "This isn't anecdotal. This is a certainty. Underdogs have never prospered, they're the first to have their lights snuffed because they will never realize what they are. So content on hanging back, enjoying what they're told is "success" and never aspiring for anything greater. It's a horrendous existence, too afraid to take so you allow the crumbs to satisfy you. Perhaps one day down the line you'll lament on your wasted opportunities and realize every word I spoke never strayed from the truth. But allow yourself to be humble for now, pray that I have mercy on you when we step in the ring together and you realize that I can't be beaten by you." "I refuse to have my throat stepped on by the supposed champions of this company. Big Ballers and many of the sort attempt to weaken my resolve with claims of my true intentions. They expect that they know who I am, that they know what I'm thinking. It's always funny when they find that they weren't anywhere near right. Brenden, how many times have you heard the shallow shouts that brand me a usurper of the youth, seeking only to glorify myself. It won't save you. It won't save you, Alex. I won't allow chances to slip through my grasp, won't stop at the first sign of trouble. Call my bluff Brenden, and when you realize that I had the Ace in hand, you won't have to wait for your suffering to end. I have the Queen right by my side."
  8. The greatest diary of all-time: Rise of the Tyrant. Once I can actually hold myself to some form of discipline, I'll return the Reboot which is written much better and more human, but the original will always hold a place in my heart for how much I loved writing every second of it. It was a grind, but each episode being posted put a smile on my face, I'll never forget the support it got nor how ridiculously bad I was at writing when I was 12.
  9. Jonathan


    Jonathan is in the middle of the titantron, seated on the steps of his home, staring out to a hodgepodge of exercise devices. His chest heaves as he seems to be recovering from a workout, sitting in nothing but a pair of shorts and shoes, every vein in his body on full display, his faraway look melts away as the camera comes into his view. He motions for the cameraman to come closer, staring through the lens with a measure of displeasure as a smirk dances across his lips before he opens his mouth, launching into his tirade. “This injection of new talent into BPZ is something. These upstarts attempting to make an honest name for themselves through admirable measures, sacrificing tooth and nail in order to break into the clump of established superstars. I’d imagine seeing a rejuvenated BPZ Wrestling with fresh faces is enjoyable for all of you, whether you like them or not. They aren’t happy settling for being next, they want to be now. They’re brash, bold, and most of all, idiotic.” Jonathan’s tone of voice dramatically shifts at the end of his sentence. He’s no longer exhibiting a sense of pride in the new faces wrestling around him but now grimaces at the camera, a fiery temper blazing wildly in the eyes of the “Ace” as he beings to speak once note. “Yet another one of these supposed professionals is set to match up against me, this one isn’t like the two in the SSW Club, he knows to respect me. In fact, he believes he knows a lot about me. Alex, I’m sorry to inform that your idolization of me will not spare you from your fate of Friday. There’s no advantage to be gained by watching my tape time and time again, seeing my ascension, or making note of any weaknesses that seem apparent. Unfortunately for you, the last thing I’d do is overlook you. I’d much prefer to show you exactly where having nothing to lose gets you against me, I want to teach you how a man in a corner falls at the feet of a man on a mission.” “You’re right. You are nothing in my sight. You’re a distraction, a pest in my path of redemption and like Bulldozer and Birdman can attest to, those directions are disposed of with the utmost prejudice. I don’t have time to waste battling competitors that don’t deserve to tie my boots up. I’ll enjoy every moment of showing you that your desperation energizes me, that talking your last shred of good gives me immense joy, that you couldn’t touch me on my worst day. Mayhem is a long time from now, which doesn’t help your cause. I’ll dismantle you with no thought on the match that I and my “little girlfriend” will no apart of. Perhaps I’ll even let her fight you in my place, it’ll show you that your arms are too short to box with gods.”
  10. Fans do not randomly select people who they want to see succeed. Fans cheer for the people who can engage them the most, tell them stories which interest them, give them a reason to cheer/boo, and are talented. This obviously isn’t equal between superstars, some people like Becky Lynch, Daniel Bryan, CM Punk, etc, do this marvelously and the fans enjoy them. They cheer wildly for the people who can engage them and don’t stop when WWE begins pushing them. Not every superstar can do this as well as others, so when WWE pushes those who shouldn’t be at the top quite yet to the top? They garner an opposite reaction. Roman Reigns is the perfect example, he’s grown in time but when WWE stubbornly attempted to push him down our throats, it wasn’t received because he wasn’t doing the things that stars did. He didn’t have classics every match like AJ Styles, he didn’t have an iconic Pipebomb or Shield Betrayal, not even a Yes or The Man movement. He didn’t do anything to garner a reaction for the push he was receiving and people voiced their opinion, the very thing they’re supposed to do. Getting mad at the fans for addressing the shortcomings of a superstar is hilarious in my opinion. Would you be cheering if WWE pushed Eva Marie to be a Woman’s Champion? Despite the fact that she isn’t as talented as others, isn’t compelling which is the entire point of wrestling? Blaming fans for WWE pigeon holing talents is so lazy. There is no other entertainment outlet where the fans are blamed for not enjoying bad content. It falls on WWE to give us reasons, and it also falls on the wrestlers to continue to intrigue us enough to keep cheering them PS: It’s funny that you mention Cesaro and Rusev like fans didn’t try their damndest to push them with massive reactions week in and week out, like attempting to say the fans didn’t care about them is blatantly dishonest.
  11. Renders: Hiroshi Tanahashi & Mandy Rose Name: Royal Flush Color Scheme: dealers choice
  12. Jonathan doesn’t even raise his eyes to the titantron as Bulldozer concludes his rant, the craze which consumed him early seems to dissipate and the goofy smile which can only be birthed by absolute arrogance reveals itself. He shakes his head as his lips twist to an irritated scowl, pulling the microphone to his lips. “Friends? That crude sentimentality is what I can’t stand. That you would waste time imagining alternate realities where you have a pleasant relationship with the person you’re supposed to put down. The idiotic ideal of finding the humanity of your opponent instead of their weakness. You encapsulate those that you seek to make despise you, you so desperately just want to be friends with your opponent, to be accepted. Don’t worry, I’ll grant your wish.” Jonathan looks out at Toxik, bemused with the words spoken and almost chuckling as he looks at him, seeming more composed than he was a mere matter of minutes ago. He protrudes his lower lip, marking a patronizing pity as he begins to speak as if he’s addressing a child. “Me and my little girlfriend will give you everything you ever wished for. A supportive group of people admiring your every action, a sympathetic connection which means they’ll never let you down, and a lengthy vacation to commemorate the occasion. You won’t have to imagine a universe where you’re liked anymore buddy, we’ll change your world for the better. The pain part of it will just be a slight side effect.” “I know that you want to be tag champ so bad little buddy but it’s just not realistic. I’m sorry to tell you but I’m going to have to crush the dream, Royal Flush are just better. And sometimes in life, you meet people who are supremely talented. You meet Aces and goddesses carved from gold, and it’s no fault of your own. You’re the best you can be, but your best isn’t enough. One day little Bulldozer, you’ll accept this truth and know that the names of royalty shouldn’t exit your goddamn mouth.” Bulldozer evidently grows more infuriated at the end of every condensing syllable. Jonathan just cackles at the sight of Bulldozer boiling in his own blood and once more turns his back to the titantron, looking out towards the audience. “You’re nothing. You realize that? Absolutely nothing but a pissant that stands in our way, believing in that by some miracle you’ll reign victorious. You come out here and tell me that you’ll do what I said I’ll do to you as if you’re threatening? Reiterating my words in order to what? Shock me? Scare me? Hint at some sort of functional brain hidden underneath your skull? Listen Bulldozer, you’re a loser. A loser who keeps digging himself deeper into a false identity with misplaced, unfounded arrogance. You’ve accomplished nothing noteworthy, you’ve failed time and time again yet you have the gall to look all these people in the eyes and guarantee success? It’s pathetic really. My little girlfriend and I have battled legends of this industry, but you believe that you’ll put us out of commission? Please, try to dismantle every bone in my body at Backlash; knock the makeup off my ‘little girlfriend’s’ face. No matter how hard you struggle, you’ll find yourself in the same place you’ve always been. Square zero, nothing to show your efforts but a trail of broken dreams and shattered promises.”
  13. The arena lights fall without warning, causing some exclamation from the fans. The very nature of many BPZ Superstars means that this could quite possibly be anybody, all seem adept at appearing from the shadows. Small beams of light begin to form from the rafters, as fans seek to find out what exactly is occurring. More of these candle esque lights appear around the squared circle, a foreboding image as the ring becomes more unveiled, centimeter by centimeter until the center of the ring is dimly illuminated. A single spotlight shines down from the web of lights in the ceiling, directed at the middle of the ring where a hooded man is seated on a stool, guitar in hand, to the confusion of the sell-out audience of tonight’s send-off show for BPZ’s Backlash. The anonymous man begins tuning the guitar in the middle of the ring as the fans begin to become impatient to the peculiar situation they find themselves in. The man appears to finally finish tuning his instrument and begins strumming a C-cord, two beats per measure before abruptly stopping, dropping the guitar to the mat. He produces a microphone from his pocket and pulls it in tight, inches from his lips. “What's that metronome I hear? Perhaps the end is drawing near...You never hear the shot that takes you down.” The slow pace of the voice lulls the BPZ arena as the man places the microphone in his lap, before snatching the hood from his head, revealing the ever infamous Jonathan Kerse, who’s met with a chorus of boos for his performance. With a twisted smile painted on his lips, he stands, kicking the stool back as he cackles at the exasperated crowd. He steps over the guitar and approaches the ropes as the crowd continues to boo him relentlessly, though it doesn’t appear to faze “The Ace”. It's not until the chants rise in their volume that Jonathan brings the mic to his mouth, slicing through the noise with vitriol coating every word. “SSW Club has been tasked with testing the fortitude of a newfound tag team. It’s simply a matter of confirming the inevitable, a formality which all must undergo at some point. I’ve grown to accept this fact. It’s simply a thumbtack sized hurdle, it should bear no burden for me. Royal Flush should soldier through this match with no problem as expected. I’ve finally realized that it’ll never end.” Every person from the Carnage Arena to the Staples Center can detect the malice embedded in the final sentence that Jonathan speaks. Jonathan, however, continues smiling as though his lips have been drawn on to his face. This enmity causes a hush to sweep over the those in attendance as an increasingly red Jonathan looks out, one can almost see the smoke billowing from his ears. “The constant requirements, the constant benchmarks that I’m expected to pass through. The tasks that I have to endure to get what I want. This cycle has been perpetrated on my career, I’m SICK of it. You want me to prove myself to you all? You want me to dismantle starling careers in order to allow you to hedge your bets? Do I have to share MY RING with people who aren’t fit enough to drink my bath water? Is this what’s required of one of the best to step into this arena on a weekly basis? I don’t believe that you quite understand what you’re asking for here.” “You aren’t asking me to wrestle with Sheridan by myself, all these little hitches in the road no longer deserve the respect of a wrestling match. You want me to prove myself to you? How about I put Bulldozer and Meko on this very mat and only pin them after they stop breathing? Would that be sufficient? Should I put their careers on a shelf for an indefinite amount of time? Should I hit to injure, rather than hit to hurt? Should I instruct Sheridan to do the same so that when you see SSW beg for us to put an end to the match already, you understand that I’m fulfilling your wishes?” Boos once again rise from the BPZ Universe, the sickly smile on Jonathan’s tilts another couple of degrees. This is a rendition of Jonathan never seen before, not a dauntless upstart seeking to make a name for himself, a calculated intellectual seeking to burn everything to the ground, least of all a hero. You can see hinge after hinge break away from his consciousness as he continues to speak. He looks into the camera, invoking the name of the supposedly pestilent team he and Sheridan are set to face in a days time. “SSW Club, you’ve done nothing to deserve this fate. You simply have the forlorn luck to face somebody who’d want nothing more than to never have to prove himself again. Your dreams of grandeur will die at the feet of Royal Flush, stepped on and disregarded by those who make nightmares reality for the fun of it. So when you have had the fight sapped from you, don’t look towards me to be merciful, look towards all the thousands who insisted that I or anybody associated with me should ever have to prove themselves again. Ask them to make it stop, and maybe if they want to end your suffering, I’ll only prolong it for a little bit more.” The volume of the jeers multiplies tenfold as Jonathan allows the microphone to spike against to the floor. He retrieved the guitar he let drop before and begins to strum it once again before singing in a hushed voice once again. “Now, at last, the end has come, you are all alone. Out of time, so say goodbye. What was yours, now is mine." "I dream broken dreams, I make them come true”
  14. Jonathan


    As we transition from in-ring action, the titantron sweeps through the lavish furnishings of some BPZ Superstar’s humble abode. As the crowd becomes immersed by the home, one final room is entered. The room fans out into a huge space, a glint obstructs the view before its eclipsed by a pair of people. The camera takes a moment to adjust, before focusing on the duo of Sheridan and Jonathan, the team known as Royal Flush. “You know Sheridan, I can hear them now. Ruining their vocal cords in order to make me feel crawling in my skin. I wonder if they would continue if they knew it mattered so little to me what they thought of me.” As assumed, the fans begin booing relentlessly at the smirking team that envelops the lens. Jonathan strides forward and pats the cameraman on the shoulder, welcoming further into the room. The three make their way to a couch where Jonathan and Sheridan sit, Sheridan with her piercing eyes and Jonathan, not taking things seriously as usual. Jonathan sits up, goofy smile plastered on his face as he looks at the camera, long removed from the Johnny Kills of old, much closer to the man who referred to himself as a God. The smile is retracted into a smirk and Johnny finally begins to speak once again. “I can hear the questioning of my motives from all of you, who would Jonathan tag with a ‘flash in the pan’, a woman renowned for her losses rather than her in-ring ability. You see, short mindedness is why I cannot in good conscience pander to you. You view her as a loser? I know what she has in store, all the “Golden Girl” needed was somebody who understood her past the surface, a guide and mentors to extract the best from her. Somebody to warn her about the selfish nature of those so-called fans who will take all her best efforts and give pitiful applause as thanks. I showed her that there’s only one way to guarantee success, put your neck on everybody else’s and take whatever you want. Ask Echo if my lessons have worked so far.” “So knowing that I was staring in the eyes of the Queen of this company, I knew that she was an ally that I couldn’t afford to neglect. I knew that as soon as we agreed to tag together, we’d be in instant contention of that tag title I once held on my shoulder. You see I don’t feel a need to win this title as a measure of vengeance to anybody in particular, I simply want to have some fun and rip that title away from the Big Ballers, to put the owner of this business on the mat and keep my foot on his chest for three seconds.” An annoyed expression crosses the face of Jonathan as he shakes his heads, halting the visualization of Royal Flush winning the tag team titles and he pauses for a moment, before uttering three letters as if they were a curse. “S.S.W. I assume in an attempt to teach humility, we’ve been pitted against this wrestling fan club as if we need to earn our title shot. It can only be an attempt from that wretched trio to flex their authority by showing that the rules do apply to us, despite our ability to surpass anybody around us instantly and deserve the Main Event slot with far less of the ‘work’ put in. A mind-boggling move, only trying to show Sheridan and I that we aren’t special. Unfortunately for SSW, that’s precisely what we are. We are exactly what we say we are, an “Ace” and “Queen”, “Immortal” and “Aristocrat”. It’s unfortunate that you’ve been placed as a stop sign in front of a locomotive, I admire your spunk, your gusto so to speak but honestly, this nativity will land you only one result, your back on the mat as you watch the world close in around you after you’ve been put through the mat. There’s no warning to offer I assume, you both knew what you signed on for, and why? I couldn’t tell anybody, I hope you haven’t been promised a chance to make a name for yourselves, except for the first team of many that Royal Flush took all the chips from.”
  15. Name: Johnny Kills Nickname: Johnny, Bomaye Gender: Male Birthdate (Year): 1997 Debut (Year): 2015 Nationality: American Ethnicity: Black Based In - The Mile High: Denver, CO Hometown - Baltimore, MD Personality - Antagonistic, Short-Tempered Shit Talker Fighting Style - Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu Stance (Southpaw or Traditional) - Southpaw Height: 6’6 Minimum Weight: 180 Maximum Weight: 210 Best Stats: 1. Muay Thai 2.  Standing Strikes 3. Ground Offense (I’m Basically McGregor Attitude, Anderson Silva Fighter)

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