Taking Matters Into My Own Hands{Mr. Taylor}

[dick]

//The soft opening of Paralyzer strikes up over the P.A. System and then the drums kick in as he makes his way from behind the black curtains to a crowd that is cheering, very faintly and booing, also faintly. He strides down to the ring, microphone in hand. Quick and cocky steps along the way, looking at the crowd every other second, snapping his head in their direction, nodding his head in a cocky manner. He makes his way to the steel steps, stomping his way up them and taking the apron on the left, walking it for a bit before stepping through the middle and top rope and walking to the far right corner, mounting it and raising his unoccupied hand into the air, not getting much responses from the crowd at all, but what did that matter? Nothing. Stepping down he moves to the center of the ring and motions for the music to be cut. It was. He cleared his throat before raising the microphone to his mouth.\\

"Well, well, well... It seems that Mr. Taylor is quite the tough one indeed doesn't it? I mean, lets take a look at what he's done thus far.."

//Pointing to the 'tron a video clip begins to play, showing his almost sheer dominance over Mark Cross in their handicap match, of course, editing was done to the clip to make it seem like Taylor was nothing but in control the entire time. During one of the moves he hit to Cross, it faded into him battling it out with Markus Klipz, again, nothing but edited to show Taylor's prowess. Fading back to Cross it showed him hit the move to net him the victory followed by the pin, as soon as the ref's hand hit the mat it jumped back over to him, midair with the DDT that bloodied Klipz. The clip ended as the camera was zooming in on the bloodied face of Klipz.\\

"It seems both of the soldiers I sent at Taylor had become... Well... Taylor Made or whatever that line he uses is. Well, I'm out here to say that that's going to stop and its going to stop come Blood Bath... Mr. Taylor... Get your ass out here right this instance! We have business to discuss..."

["Ironman" Michael Taylor]

Hey Man, Nice Shot hits the speaker system and out comes Taylor. The shower of boos were not quite as bad as usual. Did they like seeng this guy one up Hugh? Who knows. He made his way down the ramp, cocky grin on his face as he kept his eyes locked on Hugh. He ascended the steel steps and made his way into the ring, walking up to Hugh. He kept the grin present as he looked him in the eyes. Quickly, he ripped the microphone from Hugh's hands, the lifted it to speak.

How's it goin' dick? You hangin' in there? Or you shriveled up because you can't get the job done? What jobber you sending after me now? Please tell me it's someone of "talent". I'm tired of these nobodies I keep beating.

[dick]

//Chuckling he shakes his head and reaches forward, motioning with his hand and surprisingly, Taylor hands the microphone back over to him, albeit relunctantly. Lifting the microphone to answer Mr. Taylor.\\

"So, you yourself are growing tired of this little game of cat and mouse as well are you Mr. Taylor? Well, I must say... So am I. I'm tired of incompetent people such as Cross and Klipz slipping up when something important is at stake... They will not be reprimanded for that though. However, Blood Bath... You're without an opponent and yes... I do have someone in mind. However, I don't think you deserve to know who it is. I will say that this person has twenty five plus years of knowledge of wrestling, in and out of the ring... Do you think you could handle someone of that magnitude Mr. Taylor? Can you make them just another notch on your belt or stick or whatever you have?"

["Ironman" Michael Taylor]

Taylor is brought a microphone by a stagehand. The man quickly leaves the ring as Hugh and Taylor continue their war of words.

Game of cat and mouse? How can it be a game when all the mice are laying dead before me? That's no fun at all. And if this guy has 25 plus years of experience, he must be quite the old geezer. Hell, I may even be afraid of breaking him into after I hit the Taylor Made. His blood is probably pretty thin as well. I bet he'll bleed easily. The fans don't want me to beat up some old man for a quick victory. No. They want me to punish some "big, tough" wrestler like I did Klipz for almost 20 minutes.

Taylor chuckles for just a moment. He could tell Hugh was not pleased with him beating Klipz both times. After the moment of silence, he continues.

But, if that's what you want Hugh, to see me beating the hell out of some old fart, go ahead and bring them to Blood Bath. I'll be sure the mat gets covered with the crymson liquid that will be pouring from their body.

He lowers the mic, waiting for Hugh to now say his piece before he goes.

[dick]

//A sigh escapes him as he shakes his head and looks to each side, looking at the crowd which seems to be waiting in anticipation of a name to be dropped or even a hint of some kind. He smiled and looked back to Taylor before clearing his throat.\\

"Yes, big and strong Ironman you are... But just because your opponent is older by a couple of decades, don't count them out because of that. There are still plenty of great wrestlers nearing their fifties that still put on great performances. I'm sure you'll have your hands full with this one when the time comes... Until then read all the articles you want and try and find out just who he is... You wont even see it coming I assure you Mr. Taylor."

//He lowered the microphone with a smirk on his face as the crowd murmured contently to themselves, friends conversing with one another to try and figure out who it could be.\\

["Ironman" Michael Taylor]

He chuckles for a moment. Hugh just didn't understand.

Hugh, your missing the point. It doesn't matter who you place in front of me or how good they are. At the end of the day, they all get Taylor Made.

His cocky grin returns as he drops the mic in front of Hugh. He laughs a little to himself, then turns his back on the Co-General Manager to exit the ring.

[dick]

**Permissioned**

//Oh how foolish the young ones were... He smiled and dropped the microphone from his hand, it hit the mat and static echoed over the P.A. System. Seconds seemed like minutes to him as he shot his left hand into his pants pocket, pulling out something shiny... Metal? He affixed it onto his right hand and charged Michael. He swung his right hand out and it nailed Taylor right in the back of the head, dropping him like a sack of potatos. Brass Knuckles they were. He stood over Taylor's almost lifeless body. He straightened the arms of his suit out before he gave Taylor a few stomps to the arms and back, even giving him a kick to the side of the head before marching back to where he dropped the microphone he scooped it up and made his way back to Taylor, bending down slightly as he rose the microphone to his lips.\\

"Figured it out yet, Mr. Taylor?! I'll see you at Blood Bath myself. You piece of garbage."

//With that he dropped the microphone once again and spat onto Taylor before stepping out of the ring and dropping out to the floor below, the crowd which was once silent was no more... Now they were raining down boos and jeers towards him. He didn't care. Matters needed to be taken care of, even if that meant doing them himself... He dissappeared behind the black curtain, leaving the booing crowd to boo and leaving Taylor in the ring.\\

["Ironman" Michael Taylor]

The paramedics ran down to check on Taylor as Hugh made his exit, laughing all the way up the ramp. Taylor had slowly began to recover, a hand holding the back of his neck. He stared a hole through Hugh as he grit his teeth, the pain from the shot quite evident. His breathing was heavy as his anger began to rise. You could see his chest and back expanding and compressing and his shoulders rising and falling. Hugh just made his last mistake. Taylor would make him pay for it. He shoved the medics away as he began getting up, using the ropes for leverage. An arm hung over the middle rope, Taylor on a knee as his eyes burned into Hugh's just before he disappeared backstage. Taylor kept a hand on his neck, wincing with the pain as he rolled out of the ring and slowly began making his way backstage as well.