$150,000 Worth of Pain – July 17, 2018

July 17, 2018
Indianapolis, IN

It ain’t Creed’s fault, but goddammit, Paul Banter is in a foul mood today. Okay, maybe for the month. Some dipshit of a manager stiffed him out of 150 large for taking out his top competitor and Paul hasn’t seen a dime of that money since and while that doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with Creed or IWS as a whole, it still irks Banter and digs at his very soul.

He’s driven in from Houston after getting off an airplane from Zanzibar for some tag team tournament that he decided would be a quick pay day. Teaming with some rookie named Jansen, but what the hell. He’s been in the business long enough, figure maybe he can learn the youngster a thing or two. What she really needs is fire. She’s got heart but heart only will get you so far in this business. She needs killer instinct or she’s gonna get swallowed up whole. You’d figure with an uncle as Dandy Myrrh, she’d have learned it. He wasn’t World Champion cause he was a nice guy or anything.

As he gets out of his rental to grab some gas, the frame of the SUV groans a sigh of relief as the large man gets out of the vehicle and starts to pump his gas. He managed to get to Indy on fumes and figure he better get some fuel before he heads to the arena. Maybe grab lunch. He’s got a damn First Blood match for IWS tonight against the tool Creed and Paul Banter hated First Blood matches.

Why?

Cause making someone bleed is not an actual wrestling talent. One lucky shot and Banter could be out of the winner’s share of the purse tonight.  He finally finishes up pumping his gas and gets back in much to the protest of the vehicle and he heads towards the arena to get ready for tonight


Once he gets there, a cameraman meets him. “Got anything to say about tonight’s match and your opponent Creed?”

Paul considers brushing past the camera and going to the locker room, but something changes his mind as he turns towards the camera, putting on a scowl.

“Let me tell you something, Creed. You’re a piece of crap! You got some talent, but you run around here thinking you’re something special when you’re just a glorified gymnast. You might get lucky and you might be able to make me bleed, but let me tell you something. When it’s all said and done, all it’s gonna take is one SPLAT and blood or no blood, you’re gonna be jelly,” Paul growls as he sticks a finger towards the camera.

“So, go ahead. Try and make me bleed. I’m gonna do more than make you bleed and when I’m done all of your bleeding will be internal!” Paul pushes the cameraman aside, “Now get out of my damn way!”