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TJ Adams - Intimidation

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1TJ Adams - Intimidation Empty TJ Adams - Intimidation on Tue Nov 28, 2017 11:47 pm

(ooc: This is my first RP as the TJ Adams character in a long time, so I would love some feedback on it. Also, I apologize for the first scene. It was something I felt needed to be went into for an understanding of a bit of the backstory of TJ Adams and it acts as a motive for a lot of his decisions and how he goes about making them. If it's a little ... extra ... then just tell me so I know to tone it down a bit next time.)

It was a Saturday, but we were stuck in the middle of Mrs. Bellinger’s classroom, hoping for something to happen. It was my Senior year of highschool, and since my brother and I had missed a number of days from school due to the divorce of our mother and father, we were playing catch-up on a Saturday morning we could have been spending with our now mentally unstable father, or our vengeful mother.

Hours had passed in Mrs. Bellinger’s class before I realized the “something” we had been waiting for would never come, so I continued to work on my English paper entitled “Pro Wrestling: My Escape from My Tragic Life.” The assignment had been to write about something we were passionate about, and ever since I was 4 years old and saw my father bust heads with some of the best in the industry, I had wanted to be like him. Whether it was his darkest days, ring rats in the sheets of his bed and all kinds of harmful substances running their course in his body, or the times he could enter his own home and be seen as a hero, I had always wanted to be like my father.

“They say you should never meet your heroes, but I’m glad I get to see mine every day.”

Moments after this last line of my paper, a loud ringing noise shoots through my ears. It’s the 12 O’Clock bell. Ian and I are free to go. I pack my things and bound for the door, English paper in-hand so I can show it to Ian, but I am stopped by a wall of leather. Standing in front of me is Tex Jones, the toughest kid in school. He and his cronies, Skip and Tim (their real names are Damien and Alexander, but some people feel Tex’s IQ level isn’t high enough to comprehend names longer than three letters) are three of the ugliest motherfuckers you could ever wish to meet, and I wasn’t in the mood for their shit today. I never am, if you can believe that.

“Well well well, look what we’s has here.” smirked Tex. “The little baby forgot how to walk!” Tim added. I pulled myself off the ground and turned from the three of them, but the mound of muscle known as Tex Jones threw me into the nearest locker. I could feel the bruises forming on my body before I even hit the steel storage containers. Tex and his pals then grabbed me by the bookbag tightly locking itself on my shoulders and dragging me to the bathroom. I tried to fight them off. I tried to call for help, but who would stop them? Who could? I was dealing with the largest, foulest men in the school, possibly in the entire state. “Help” was only a figment of my imagination.

The largest of the three, Skip, pulled at my hair, yanking me back face-first into the wall of the nearest stall. As I hit the floor, I could hear the vibrating of my phone in my pocket. I reached into it quickly and hit the “answer” button. I wasn’t scared of what was collectively known as the “Bonesaw Brigade” finding out about the call, because my phone was on silent. They wouldn’t hear the horror on the other end, but whoever’s call I had just answered would know of the pain I was about to endure.

Skip continued his assault, pressing me up against the stall as Tim and Tex each grabbed an arm. Skip unloaded into my chest with strike after strike, each attack likely bringing a stronger call of disgust from the person on the other end. Skip continued on like this for what felt like hours before switching of with Tim, who first backhanded me, then told the other two to let go of me. Tim grasped the back of my head in the palm of his hand before slamming my head into the wall, doing a number to my eye. The three boys continued to beat me down, laughing at each other’s jokes before it was time for the main event. Tex set me on the floor of the stall, and told the others to hold me down. I continued my struggle, but it was no use. They had won the battle … and the war.

Tex turned to pull an object from his bag. When I saw what it was, I was filled with horror. In his hand was a butterfly knife, its platinum blade shining in the darkened stall. He bent down over my body, but at a distance, almost like I was going to fight him. There was no fight left in me. As the blade got closer to my chest, I began to sweat. My eyes began to bulge like I was a madman trying to squeeze out of his shackles before the electric chair was turned on. Tex moved the blade from my chest, and moved it to my shoulder. He drove the blade into my skin and began to carve out two B’s, essentially branding me. I screamed, but it didn’t matter. There was no one in that school right now besides the four of us and … Ian!!!

I was slowly regaining consciousness when I saw my older brother, standing over the bodies of the three Bonesaw Brigade members. His face was stained with bruises, blood, and … tears. He helped me to my feet, and walked me out of the school toward the car, vowing never to let anything like that happen to me again. I thanked him, but I knew that unless he and I moved away before the end of the year, we would be stuck in Beach City forever.

I was right.

It was your average night in Beach City. Drunks walked the streets. The sober ones stayed in-doors, getting laid or getting paid. I was getting made … into a better wrestler, that is. The Beach City Wrestling Academy is located in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. This place has been my home ever since my mother and father settled down here back in 2008, and after ten years of living in this place I can safely assure you that it wouldn’t bother me if a tsunami were to come crashing through. It’d give it a change of view, at least.

A hand slams into the wall beside me, and I am shaken from my day-dream. Standing across from me is Keith Wilson, the head trainer of the Beach City Academy, and a veteran of the game. The man next to me begins to laugh, and I shoot him a look. He stops laughing, and Keith continues to bore us to death about the “fundamentals” of professional wrestling. The only thing I can remember from this lecture is how Joe Dux, the big man from Germany, said something about it being “fundamentally flawed” … which is a terrible attempt at a play on words.

When Wilson was done with his schpeal, we were placed in groups of two for a tag team match, as we’d been in training for nearly 5 months now and ran practice matches nearly every day. It was myself and a British guy, a real punk-rock type of guy with an obvious chip on his shoulder, taking on Dux and a guy who’d just made his way into the academy moments earlier, one of Wilson’s former students, Brian Crucifix.

The match went well, we ended up losing after Dux completely ran through me and tagged Crucifix in to finish me off with a his new move, the Crucifixion, to pick up the win for their team. After the match Wilson gathered the four of us to give pointers on our technique and all that, but I wasn’t bothered by it. What bothered me was how my partner had been eyeing me the whole time like I was an animal at the circus that didn’t do any tricks. I pulled him aside and asked him what was up.

“Oh, nothing. I was just trying to figure out what was on your shoulder.”

“I don’t like to talk about that.”

“Ah, personal stuff. No problemo. The name’s Luke, by the way.”

“TJ. You did great out there, man. It’s a shame the same can’t be said for me.”

He chuckled in reply to that last comment. We shifted over to our bags and continued to talk. He had asked why I hadn’t been training with the XCW academy, which I found odd. He told me he had been contracted by my brother’s company as a wrestler, but Ian sent him to the Beach City Academy per request of Mr. Wilson. I shrugged. Ian had his ways with going about things. They weren’t my business. We continued to chat until Wilson came up to the two of us with an offer. “Look kids,” he began, “The two of you are real good in the ring and all, but XCW wants you both on Television by next week, so I decided the two of you could debut as the tag team for my new group: The Broken Ankle Club.”

The two of us stared at one another before turning back to Wilson. “Now, is this going to be like yours and Brian’s ‘Next Generation Army’ shit from last year?” Luke asked. Wilson began to laugh, as if he hadn’t caught that we were serious. The Next Generation Army was a group where Mr. Wilson would use young up-and-comers for his own personal game. He did it to Ian, he did it to Brian, and he was about to do it to us. “No, no! This is going to get you kids out of Beach City and into the eyes of a whole new audience. It’ll make you stars, man!”

Here we are, renting an apartment in Beach City, still waiting for a whole new audience.

"Beach City, you’re looking at the baddest man on the planet, the toughest son of a gun in the southern United States, “The Bad Boy” Tyler James Adams! Now, I was going to have this whole intro where I was out begging people for change, but I really need to start with one question: What gets under your skin?

Well, the thing that gets under my skin is when you work for months, years even, to get what you want, and then your own flesh and blood takes it away from you. That’s what happened to me in 2015 when my own brother took me out of action with a devastating verte-breaker, attempting to end my career before it began.

Another thing that gets under my skin is people who think their shit don’t stink. People like the asshats coming in from the CWF for the Sole Survivor match thinking they can get a world title shot for a promotion they won’t even be with by the end of the year. From an outsider’s perspective on the whole HSW/CWF thing, it seems that it’s another way to get Paragon to prove their dominance over the wrestling world. It’s another way for the HSW world champion to defend the thing that has given him somewhat of a career resurgence against anyone from around the world, and defend it with pride.

Now, let’s think of what a Sole Survivor is. A Sole Survivor is someone who outlasts the others, someone who outlives them. When it comes to the Adams family wrestling prodigies, I’m the only one left. My sister married Brian Crucifix and stopped wrestling to work as a nurse. My brother, Ian, has been missing for months since XCW closed, and I’m still here. I fought through everything anyone has ever put me through, and I asked for another round when I made it to my feet, so to me it doesn’t matter who’s the HSW Champion when all’s said and done. It can be Barney the fucking Dinosaur for all I care, because I eat, sleep, and breathe Professional Wrestling!

In this match it doesn’t matter if you’re a member of Paragon, ParaCON, or anything in-between. There are no allegiances in this match, and using your little friends to help you win is only a spit in the face to everyone who dare says they love professional wrestling. When I was a little boy, I dreamed of one day becoming a world champion. I dreamed of being adored by the millions and millions of fans out in the world, man, but what have I gotten out of this? I’ll tell ya’ what I’ve gotten: broken bones, torn ligaments, the whole nine yards. I’ve received more pain than it’s worth at this point, but I’ll never stop – not until I’ve got my arm raised and my name is being cheered over and over again by my adoring fans.

Don’t get me wrong, names like Amber Ryan and James Ceno raise the question of an intimidation factor, but I don’t believe in things like that. Intimidation isn’t a man staring you down with smoke leaving his barrel, no. Intimidation is coming home to a family that doesn’t love you, a little boy that forgot what your face looked like. A girlfriend that works two jobs to support three people because your dream isn’t bringing enough money in. Intimidation is having to face those people that you love and tell them that one day, everything’s going to be better. That maybe one day the three of you will have a house of your own and won’t have to live in some crummy apartment, and that you can finally leave fucking Beach City for the first time in your pathetic excuse of a life. That’s what intimidation is!

I face that every day, so the Sole Survivor match should be a walk in the park."

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