Kayfabe A Conspiracy Victim

[CiV]

Diamond enters the 3Arena at the mid point of Precision looking visibly flustered as he walks down the ramp, only growing more irritated as he enters the ring. Before he even grabs a microphone he yells “TURN THE MUSIC OFF!”, he must really not be in the m. Diamond has returned to wearing red sunglasses after suffering defeats the last two times he wore the turquoise, I guess it’s like a bad omen to him or something. Diamond makes his way across the ring and demands a microphone to be handed to him, “or else”, and after much discussion he gets what he wants (a microphone, in case that wasn’t clear) and he waits just under a second before beginning to speak. As he talks, Diamond paces around the ring, corner to corner, side to side, you name it, he walked there. He’s clearly bottled some stuff up.

Diamond: I’m sorry if I seem a little ill-tempered tonight, it's just that...well, to be frank, I'm feeling a little ill-tempered. Three weeks. Three matches I get put in within those three weeks. And every one. I get screwed over. Jack Rogue got the ref to distract me so he could hit his finisher on me. Jason St. Pierre bribed the referee to keep the Intercontinental Championship AWAY from me, not noticing my leg UNDER the bottom rope. And then last week, in a tournament match for a shot at the Precision Title, a match I had in the BAG, when Chris Young kicked out AFTER the referee's count of three, but it wasn’t called. I complain about it ONCE and I get taken off the card. Well here’s a forward to the upper management of Precision; you can’t keep me away. The public demands Diamond, and that is why I’m out here, to let them know that the way I’m being treated isn’t going to stand. The talent within this company has shown that they need to cheat in order to beat me. They know, management knows, that if I was allowed to compete at the fullest of my ability, there’d be no competition. This show would turn into Diamond TV, and while I would love that I understand why they take issue with that. To try and step up, only to be completely and soundly decimated by me. It's a conspiracy against me, to try and keep me away from the top of the show. They know that everybody else up there can't hang with me. They realized that when I took the Intercontinental Championship to the top of the show when it was scraps before. They know, that if I got I faced off wit-​

 

[Psycho Rangers]

Diamond enters the 3Arena at the mid point of Precision looking visibly flustered as he walks down the ramp, only growing more irritated as he enters the ring. Before he even grabs a microphone he yells “TURN THE MUSIC OFF!”, he must really not be in the m. Diamond has returned to wearing red sunglasses after suffering defeats the last two times he wore the turquoise, I guess it’s like a bad omen to him or something. Diamond makes his way across the ring and demands a microphone to be handed to him, “or else”, and after much discussion he gets what he wants (a microphone, in case that wasn’t clear) and he waits just under a second before beginning to speak. As he talks, Diamond paces around the ring, corner to corner, side to side, you name it, he walked there. He’s clearly bottled some stuff up.

Diamond: I’m sorry if I seem a little ill-tempered tonight, it's just that...well, to be frank, I'm feeling a little ill-tempered. Three weeks. Three matches I get put in within those three weeks. And every one. I get screwed over. Jack Rogue got the ref to distract me so he could hit his finisher on me. Jason St. Pierre bribed the referee to keep the Intercontinental Championship AWAY from me, not noticing my leg UNDER the bottom rope. And then last week, in a tournament match for a shot at the Precision Title, a match I had in the BAG, when Chris Young kicked out AFTER the referee's count of three, but it wasn’t called. I complain about it ONCE and I get taken off the card. Well here’s a forward to the upper management of Precision; you can’t keep me away. The public demands Diamond, and that is why I’m out here, to let them know that the way I’m being treated isn’t going to stand. The talent within this company has shown that they need to cheat in order to beat me. They know, management knows, that if I was allowed to compete at the fullest of my ability, there’d be no competition. This show would turn into Diamond TV, and while I would love that I understand why they take issue with that. To try and step up, only to be completely and soundly decimated by me. It's a conspiracy against me, to try and keep me away from the top of the show. They know that everybody else up there can't hang with me. They realized that when I took the Intercontinental Championship to the top of the show when it was scraps before. They know, that if I got I faced off wit-​

However, before Joey Diamond could continue to air his grievances, a figure shrouded in an Arizona Cardinals hoodie appeared from the crowd and made its way into the ring, a shadow in the shape of one-half of the tag team champions. Pulling down his hood, Gabriel Kirkshaw grinned evilly before elbowing Joe in the back, knocking him down to his knees. Raising up his foot, he pushes him down with the sole of his boot before going over to an object that he had leaned against the ring apron behind where he had formerly stood…a table.

With the evil grin still plastered across his face as if it had been taped back that way, he carried the table in his hands to the center of the ring, setting up the legs and wheeling around to the prone Diamond on his knees. He brings Diamond up to his feet, still having him stand bent over while adjusting him so he stood to one side across his lower abdomen. No--he had him set up for his signature fallaway slam! And with a heave and a grunt, Kirkshaw hurled the man up over him into the table behind him, breaking and splintering the wood as Diamond’s full weight fell through it.

Once he surveyed the work he had done, he walked over to the microphone that had fallen to the canvas and picked it up before kneeling aside Joey Diamond, watching in glee as the man groaned and writhed in pain. He held the microphone up to his lips and began to snarl, as if a hungry rabid wolf.

“Go ahead and leave then,” he snarled behind gritted teeth. “Tuck your tail between your legs and leave. Because no matter how much you whine and complain about how you’ve been done wrong, Precision belongs to us.”

Letting the microphone roll away from his fingers, Gabriel rolled out of the ring and trotted triumphantly up the ramp. And the last thing that could be seen before the camera cut away was Gabriel’s toothy smile, his trophy of his “victory” over the fallen Diamond.