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Who is Grimfamos? Part 1; Amos RP vs. Nero
Topic Started: Feb 17 2011, 06:28 PM (205 Views)
Samuel Amos
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..wha.. what happened?

His eyes fluttered open. Everything was blurry.

The first thing that came to mind was how bad he felt at this very moment: His head hurt, especially in this particular spot where a large bump had formed. He knew this after his hand instinctively reached for the spot in pain. At first touch, Sam winced. Then, he more carefully examined the point of impact with the palm of his hand forming with the contour of the bump. It felt large enough to be used to force cars to reduce speed if he were so inclined. The headache that accompanied the bump was bad, but nothing compared to the infamous headache that Samuel Amos was used to having for the longest time.

His next motion out of instinct was a sit up. His abs tightened until his torso rose off of the wooden bench; until reaching a fully seated position. He turned so that both feet touched the floor on the same side of the bench. He rubbed his eyes to cure the blurriness. He looked around. It was his dressing room. How did he get here? His wrestling trunks and boots were the only things he was wearing, nothing more.

The last thing Amos had remembered, or could remember at this time, was his confrontation with Matt Anderson before being jumped by two company members. He remembers James Von Drake and Benedict Wilson coming out of nowhere to attack. He remembers trying to fight off both men until one attacked him with a trashcan. The very last thing Sam could remember (vaguely) was being hooked with a double under-hook and being lifted into the air, before..

..Sam winced again as the memory of the double under-hook piledriver on the concrete played back through his mind like a video tape recording. That attack must've been where the large bump came from. Sam's next thought had him wondering how he went from being in the hallway in front of Candi Cross to being back in his locker room. His next thought was his Main Event match with Ray Rosario..

Shit!

Sam jolted up to his feet but quickly found that his legs were wobbly, nearly falling forward. After catching his balance, Amos stumbled his way forward to the locker room door, falling into it. His hand nervously slammed the handle downward before he could push his way through.

Is it all over? Did I miss it? It better not be over.. I swear to god if it is..

Sam burst out into the hallway quickly making his way toward the backstage area. He needed to find a staff member on duty.. someone who knew what match was going on right now. He blew past a clock.. it said 11:30. That's usually well after the Main Event has been finished.

..I'm going to kill Anderson! This is the last straw.. he's going to wish that he had never been..

Just as he had turned the corner, he noticed Candi Cross going over some post-production notes with a few staff members. She looked up and noticed Amos staring at her. It was a bit unsettling, but she stood her ground as Amos made his way over to her. She asked the other staff members to give her a moment, sending them away. Sam was out of breath when he approached her.

"Hi." She said shyly, keeping her eyes away from his.

"Candi.." Amos took a few deep breaths. "Is the Main Event over already?"

She had an unsettled look about her.

"Amos.. you're joking.. right?"

"SHIT!!"

Sam quickly turned away from Candi, looking for a trashcan to kick or a wall to punch. There was nothing for him to release his frustration on. Amos turned back towards her and instantly could see that Candi was even more unsettled than before. For some reason, something in Sam's subconscious didn't want to leave her like this. After a short mental debate, he sighed.

"Well anyway.." Sam peered into her eyes. "Thank you. I'm just going to have to make sure Matt Anderson pays for what he has done."

Candi nodded. "You're welcome Amos."

"..attacking me backstage is one thing. Costing me my rematch for the World Title is another. It's an unacceptable practice and it's uncalled for-"

Candi's expression suddenly changed. Sam didn't know what to make of it.

"What are you talking about?"

"This will be the last time that Anderson fucks with me. He'll be in a body bag."

"Amos.. you're the number one contender."

Amos eyes widened like saucers. His pupils dilated like he had just seen a ghost or something.

"What?"

"That stunt you pulled." Candi smiled. "Grimfamos was it? Pretty cool. Maybe a bit overdone here in SVO with Night and Nightmare doing it first, but still.. maybe I can get an interview with Grimfamos at next week's show?"

"Grimfamos? What the-"

"Hey Candi," a voice shouted from across the hall. "Can you come here a second!? I need you to take a look at something!"

"Okay!" She shouted back. "Gotta go Amos. Good job by the way; can't wait to see the rematch!"

"Candi.. wait-"

She smiled and blew a kiss to him with a cute little wave at the end, before turning away. There, she left Sam wondering what exactly had happened in the moments he can't remember.



Who is Grimfamos..? - Part 1



How could this be? Those same words echoed through his mind as he made his way back to his locker room, feet shuffling as if being dragged by his weary legs. He felt the soles of his boots glide across the tiny layer of dirt particles on the concrete surface. He saw the eerie glow of fluorescent lights down a distant seemingly uninhabited hallway. The only thing occupying this hallway is a janitorial cart of some sort. Each sliding boot across the floor made a subtle echo that coincided with each new thought of who this Grimfamos guy might be and why someone would do such a thing. A shot at the SVO World Championship is enough to make anyone backstage do just about anything.

Sam reached his locker room door with a sigh after realizing that it was indeed locked. Everything he owned, including his keys, was locked inside. In a moment of frustration, his heavy boot met the door but the door didn't budge. Sam didn't have any intention of kicking the door down anyway, as far as he was concerned it was his door and his locker room even though it is located in the Goodfellas Casino.

Suddenly, a sound is heard. The doorknob begins to move and the door swings open as well. Sam is surprised to see a 30 year old Hispanic female standing through the threshold. Sam's first reaction was quite simply that he wasn't pleased.

"What the fuck are you doing in my locker room?" Sam blurted as he took a few steps into the doorway, pinning the woman into the room.

"Me.. clean. Me clean. You. Room. Yes?"

Great. Not a fucking lick of English. The poor old girl was shaking too. Upon further investigation it seems as if the lady was telling the (broken) truth too. Her bottle of blue window cleaner matched perfectly with her microfiber cloth and her Goodfellas Casino employee badge.

"Tu salir, por favor."

Sam said as he sidestepped out of the doorway. The woman quickly nodded and complied. She made her way out of the locker room and Sam shut the door behind her. Sam let out another sigh. Now he had another thing on his mind: what did this woman steal while she was in here?

He made his way over to his locker and found his leather jacket still hanging where he had left if. He quickly reached into the pockets. Money, Cell-phone, and Keys were all there. After slipping the jacket on, he grabbed his wrestling gear bag. There was nothing important in there that he couldn't replace. Sam didn't even feel like changing into street clothes. He just wanted to leave.

Sam positioned the long strap to the bag over his shoulder and quickly double checked to make sure all of his personal effects were in order before leaving. They were, so Sam made his way toward the door. He flipped the light switch off, opened the door and exited through it. On the other side of the doorway, Sam reached for his keys to lock the door from the outside. He searched through the different keys until he found the one with a GC on it. He had to bend down a bit to insert the key into the hole and to lock the door.

Sam then turned toward the exit at the other side of the hallway. Sam didn't actually think about it but the janitors cart was nowhere to be seen. Very strange. Sam was maybe five feet in front of the exit that lead to the parking lot, when a voice stopped him.

"Mister Amos!" A voice called out from down the hallway. Amos sighed again. The sound of footsteps running down the hallway was cause enough for Sam to turn around. It was an SVO Employee holding an envelope. "Here Sir, your week's pay!"

"But I wasn't in a-" Sam realized what he was saying, and cut himself off. He didn't remember being in a match, but apparently this Grimfamos was. "Oh right. You're paying me for the main event?"

"Yes sir." The man said, very respectably. "Four thousand."

"Four thousand is winners pay. Are you sure this doesn't go to Grimfamos instead?"

The man laughed heartily. "Haha.. that's funny." He smiled, placing his hands on his hips. "So, are you excited about getting a second chance at Jay Wildman?"

Sam didn't remember the main event at all. This made answering this question quite difficult, quite simply because Sam hasn't considered it yet.

"Uhh.. yeah. It'll be nice because the World Championship means exactly that to me.. the World. There's no excuses this time. Wildman has held it long enough."

"Well," The man replied frankly. "I like your chances as Grimfamos a lot more to be honest. Something about him just seems like it could really get under Wildman's skin."

Sam was beginning to get frustrated. This Grimfamos stuff, everyone was talking about it, and Sam knew nothing about it.

"Look. I have to be honest. I don't think Grimfamos was me."

"What?" The man responded with surprise.

"I was attacked by the company.."

"Yeah..?"

"Backstage.."

"Yeah I saw that.. yeah.."

"I was knocked out.."

"Yeah, it looked rough."

"I wasn't anywhere near the ring for the Main Event."

"No Amos, that had to be you. We couldn't see your face, but you have these scars all over your body."

"Uhh.. We're what, not that far away from Hollywood? The fake capital of the World? Scars are easy to produce. Someone's trying to take my title shot, just like Wildman took Grimnirs."

"If that's the case Amos," The man replied "Then they fucked up. Cause you, Amos, are getting the rematch and the winners cash."

The facts stumped Amos for a few moments, but then he decided on a test.

"Look. If I truly were Grimfamos, I'd have a mask in my wrestling bag." Amos said with an air of confidence as he pushed his bag forward, reaching for the zipper. "I didn't leave anything in my locker room and I'll take you back there to make sure." Sam tugged on the zipper, until the flap of the bag came open. "Now tell me, do you see a mask in there?"

Sam opened the flap and the first thing the man did was reach in and pull out a mask. It was red on one side, grey on the other.. the colors of Grimfamos. Sam's eyes opened wide, the exact mask he had only seen before in his apartment (in his last promo).

"This is it." The man routed through the bag more. "And these elbow pads.. and this red tape. It's all here. This is what you were wearing.. but nice try."

"I swear I.." Sam had never seen those articles before in his life. "Those aren't mine.. who the fuck is playing.. this is some kind of joke! I swear.. wait.."

"Wait what..?"

"That stupid Mexican bitch! Janitor.. someone.. Grimfamos paid her off to put these things in my bag!"

"Sure she did." The man said in disbelief, while returning the items. "Well anyway, good luck Amos. I hear you have Nero next week. Maybe Grimfamos will make another appearance?"

"..."

Sam turned, slamming the exit door open, and stomping his way out of the Goodfellas Casino.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

My dearest Nero,

From doing research I found two things. One is that you are a sick, sadistic, maybe even homoerotic bastard that believes he has cornered the markets of the occult and hardcore here in the Sanctioned Violence Organization. The second is that you like to write letters. So I thought I'd write you a letter, the same way you wrote Roscoe Shame a letter.

In typical fashion, you promised to snap his neck, break his body in two. Bite the head off of a bat and bite Matt Anderson in the neck, because the blood of virgins always tastes sweeter to vampires. Am I right? Well, pardon me and the rest of humanity if we simply don't believe in your bat-shit crazy bullshit. I guess the reason that sticks out for me (and everyone) the most must be that I've both heard it already, and have yet to see it happen.

But don't mistake me for a non-believer. Just attempt to understand me. I'm sure you're a good competitor, with quite the future in sVo. I'm sure you would permanently scar someone without hesitation because I believe that you believe it's in your nature. But Nero, this alone I do not fear. I have plenty of scars across my body from battle. When you and I face, we will do battle.

Much like Rosario thinks, Amos is too self-absorbed. Amos cares about what the people think of him. He wants so desperately for someone other than himself to call him Infamous, that it's the driving force behind his existence, but not mine. What the people think, what you think, what Samuel Amos thinks.. all trivial to me. I don't try to force anyone to believe anything. I just am.

Nero, bring your fire. Bring your threats of broken bones and I will leave you with a broken heart. A broken soul. I will make you feel the pain that Samuel Amos felt when he realized that he could not beat Jay Wildman alone! You will quit sVo.. put a gun to your head.. and pull the trigger. You'll want the pain to stop, the worst pain a man could possibly imagine. You could claim that your heart is blackened and you have no soul.. but those claims would be as ridiculous as snapping necks and broken backs.

In the end Nero, you're just an unlucky fellow in the middle of the Goodfellas Casino. This week, you're supposed to face Amos, but I'm sure Amos will be.. incapacitated. This week, you face me.

And I am.
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