JAMES KITSON vs CHRIS KNITE

FUTURESHOCK [4] - Main Event
Standard Match

VS

Voting Begins: Wednesday 3rd June 2015
Voting Closes: Saturday 6th June 2015

Shoot Limit: 2
World Limit: 100 min. - 1,000 max.
Deadline: Friday 5th June 2015 - 11:00pm GMT / 6:00pm EST

James Kitson

Let's get one thing straight, kid... you ain't no Lost Hero.

That trophy you're carrying is a symbol of everything you're not. But then, I think you know that. In fact, I think you revel in it. Just another 'fuck you' to the people that made this business. And why? Well, we'll get to that. 

A barren hill stands facing the authoritive structures of a distant city centre. Between the two giants, grey clouds loom over a plethora of sub-cultures that make up the Mancunian town, sterilising the streets with the bitter winds and rain of a traditional British summer. At the heart of the scene rests the Old UCW Arena. As the camera zooms out to reveal more of its surroundings, the calm East Coast accent of Chris Knite is heard.

This building... this place... this is where it all started for many of us. It's where I made my pro-wrestling debut outside of Japan. It's the birth place of the Brody's and of the Strachon's and of the Taylor's. Look to the left... you'll see the rugby field where half the roster would sleep in their cars 'cause they couldn't afford a hotel. On the right is the charred remains of the Last Call Inn, burned down during a fight between FWF and UCW. Because that's what this business was back then... a fight.

The reason I say all this: In a city filled to the brim with stories, not all of them get the chance to be told. Well here's one for ya. Before New Wave, the Old UCW Arena was the training ground for the FWF Academy. Amongst the students there... James Kitson.

An alternate angle shows Knite armoured in a royal blue tracksuit, battling against both gravity and the elements. He power-hikes up the steep footpath of the hill, lugging a heavy backpack through swirls of fine rain. Maintaining a steady pace and controlled breathing, he soldiers on.

I taught a few sessions at the Academy. I don't know if you were there for any of those lessons, Kits, but I can honestly say I don't remember you. That's not a knock on your talent. You've shown that you're a perfectly able competitor. But when the competition is as fierce as it was, you've gotta do something pretty fucking amazing to get noticed.

You were in the same generation as Marcus Thomas Brody Jnr, James Stall and 'Dragonfly' Daniel Telmah - all incredible athletes - all stood out. There's a direct relationship between them no longer being on the scene and the rise of James Kitson. This had the makings of being a triumphant tale of one man's struggle through adversity, but somewhere along the way, the story got tainted.

Reaching the apex of the hill, Knite flings his rucksack off of his broad shoulders, immediately collapsing beside it, laughing in relief. Taking a moment to catch his breath, he opens up his bag and pulls out a large rock. Discarding it, he pulls out more rocks and tosses them to one side before pulling out a bottle of unbranded beer. Throwing away the screw top, he takes a victory sip

This tastes so much better knowing I earned it.

He takes another sip.

Y'know... I can probably see your house from here.

In one valiant motion, he polishes off the rest of the bottle.

Okay. Enough bullshit. I don't like you, Kitson. The fact that you're the current holder of the NW:WU Lost Heroes Trophy is an insult. It's an insult to New Wave and FWF. It's an insult to the real Lost Heroes. And it's an insult to me.

Since you made your debut here you've been hellbent on getting your revenge on legends for reasons that you've concocted yourself. You blame them for never giving you a chance when you should be blaming yourself for not deserving one. This vendetta has got out of hand now. People will always remember you as the man who blinded an FWF legend with his own walking stick and you damn near blinded another at Ring Rust. Before that, your biggest accomplishment was an unhealthy obsession with the son of another legend, MTB. Well it ends here.

There's not a god damn psychiatrist in the world that'd clear you to wrestle, yet here you are in possession of one of its most prestigious awards. It's time the peole were saved from your reckless and pernicious behaviour before smeone else gets blinded. Well it won't be me. I've got the eyes of a warrior, Kitson, and they're looking right at you.

A grin stretches from ear to ear on Knite's rugged face. As he pulls out another beer, the camera pans across to another shot of the Old UCW Arena as the scene fades out to black.

The scene opens up on a long, echoing hallway. The camera pulls back to reveal Kitson limping slightly as he strides forwards with purpose. He has just finished a match at a local independent show and has thrown on some jeans and a hoodie before hurrying to the exit with his gymbag in hand. As he turns a corner, the silence is broken by dozens of fans who have lined up at the exit to meet their favourite stars. The sight of this causes Kitson to jump back behind the corner.

Kitson:
Shit.

Kitson looks around before realising this is his only exit. Taking a deep breath he turns back round the corner and makes a beeline for the exit. The fans get louder as Kitson opens the door and storms through. Several fans reach out their hands and try to grab James' attention but he just brushes them aside and heads out into the street. There is a pre-arranged taxi and he heads straight to the car. Then, in one slickly-rehearsed motion, he opens the car door, throws his bag into the far passenger seat, enters it and slams the door shut. He scowls at some fans who have tried following him before urging the driver to start moving.

The driver does so leaving the gathering of fans fading off into the distance. As routine as this situation seemed, it was a fairly recent phenomenon for James. Up until now, these same fans would drop silent whenever Kitson was around. The same fans would cross the street and do their best to avoid him. Is all this a result of Kitson gaining more popularity and fame as he rises the ranks? Or is it something more sinister? Perhaps the fans were warming to him. James had spent many a booze-infused evening pondering that question, and an uneasy feeling would beset him whenever he came close to figuring out an answer.

With the adrenaline caused from his latest match still running through his veins, James takes the opportunity to whip out his video camera and shoot a promo for his upcoming match at New Wave.

Kitson:
Christ Knite...

Kitson licks his lips.

Kitson:
I seem to have been waiting a long time to cross paths with you. This is a match-up that I've been relishing for quite some time. One might even go as far as to say I was looking forward to facing you, Mr Knite. Your tales and accomplishments certainly precede you. Despite those who say that I, James Kitson, am a man with no respect for anyone or anything... that, my friend, is not quite true. There is a list, a small list, of names who would fall under my definition of 'respected' and you sir, were one that list...

Kitson's face, which through the last 2 minutes was unusually joyful and upbeat, promptly changes to a distinct frown.

Kitson:
That was all until that cute little video I've seen recently...

James' expression has not returned to its usual unpleasant demeanor.

Kitson:
So far, 2015 has been a pretty good year for me. I've won a few matches, made a few heads turn, even won myself a little trophy... that was pretty cool. But yet people still don't seem to be able to take me seriously. That's not quite as cool.. not cool at all... and you are one of them Chris.

Kitson's voice starts getting more disgruntled and his eyes start darting around as he speaks.

Kitson:
You really seem to like to talk. I've heard you talk a lot recently and I haven't paid much attention except now, it's being directed at me. I don't quite know what 'pernicious' means but I'm pretty sure it's not a very nice word. I've heard you say that I don't deserve this or I don't deserve that...

Kitson's face engulfs the camera as he shouts down the lens.

Kitson:
Who the fuck are you to decide what I have and haven't earned?

Kitson's rant continues on.

Kitson:
The last time I checked, the way to earn the Lost Heroes Trophy is by defeating the Lost Heroes Trophy holder. Unless your dementia has well and truly caught up with you that is exactly what I did. You make it sound like I have some sort of vendetta against these so-called 'legends'. I don't. It doesn't matter who it is that is standing in front of me whether its Predator, Oswald, Sade or Knite... if you are standing in my way than you had better be prepared for me to do everything in my power to knock you down.

Eventually, Kitson's voice softens and he starts to talk in a slightly calmer tone.

Kitson:
It's pretty difficult to get in my way. I'm hardly a man with a plan. I'll be the first to admit that I don't really know what the endgame is, I'm just really here for the ride. Until recently, I've never really concerned myself too much with wins and losses. However now... now I seem to have racked up a couple of consecutive wins and you know what? I kinda like the taste of it. I think you are under-estimating how serious I view my Trophy, Mr Knite... I'm not just carrying it around for photo ops. After my phone and my by beer it is the third most important thing in my life right now.

Kitson looks off into the distance as he thinks to himself for a moment

Kitson:
The Lost Heroes Trophy is my life right now. I'm on the roll of my life and I somehow can't shake the feeling that Mr Sharp is rolling through his book of contacts trying to find that one Gladiator who can beat me. I'm not an idiot, I know there are a couple who on their day just might be able to do it... but I swear to fucking God that I am not gonna let it be you.

The camera lingers on Kitson's piercing stare as the scene slowly fades to black.