Post by Vince McMahon on Jul 21, 2016 15:33:00 GMT -5
TAKEN FROM HIS SIGN UP
"Retaliation" by CFO$ begins to play throughout the arena, as the fans rise to there feet. A single man steps out onto the entrance stage. He is plainly dressed, there are no suits or bow-ties to be had in this moment. By no means does he appear to be any more wealthy or well-to-do than any of the people in attendance,from the wear in his blue jeans and the strings of fabric hanging off the sleeves of his denim jacket. His medium length, dirty blonde hair hangs partially in front of his face. As he surveys the scene in front of him, tongue pressed firmly towards the inner corner of his mouth, he offers a grin, with a soft manic hint. This man, known to many by a couple of different names, takes off from the entrance stage and begins to make his way down to the ring.
His stride is lazy and yet, diabolical, in nature. He takes long steps, bobbing his head (presumably to the music) and wears that same grin, though it is slowly becoming more unnerving by the second. He reaches the ring and plants on foot solidly on the steel steps which lead up to the ring, taking another glance out around the stadium. What happens next is not only unusual, but serves to make the crowd even more uncomfortable than before. This man does not simply walk up the stairs, like any normal person would. Instead, he takes violent stomps for each step, across the apron, and then nearly throws himself between the ropes as he steps into the ring. He takes a few more lazy, calculated strides towards the opposite side of the ring and then actually shows some semblance of humanity.
"Retaliation" by CFO$ begins to play throughout the arena, as the fans rise to there feet. A single man steps out onto the entrance stage. He is plainly dressed, there are no suits or bow-ties to be had in this moment. By no means does he appear to be any more wealthy or well-to-do than any of the people in attendance,from the wear in his blue jeans and the strings of fabric hanging off the sleeves of his denim jacket. His medium length, dirty blonde hair hangs partially in front of his face. As he surveys the scene in front of him, tongue pressed firmly towards the inner corner of his mouth, he offers a grin, with a soft manic hint. This man, known to many by a couple of different names, takes off from the entrance stage and begins to make his way down to the ring.
His stride is lazy and yet, diabolical, in nature. He takes long steps, bobbing his head (presumably to the music) and wears that same grin, though it is slowly becoming more unnerving by the second. He reaches the ring and plants on foot solidly on the steel steps which lead up to the ring, taking another glance out around the stadium. What happens next is not only unusual, but serves to make the crowd even more uncomfortable than before. This man does not simply walk up the stairs, like any normal person would. Instead, he takes violent stomps for each step, across the apron, and then nearly throws himself between the ropes as he steps into the ring. He takes a few more lazy, calculated strides towards the opposite side of the ring and then actually shows some semblance of humanity.
