Media Darling ($50,000 Challenge)

[andy]

**Earlier in that day**

Andrew sets down his cell phone, strangely, smirking from what he had just done. Called... Star magazine... of all people. He'd managed to get a few backstage passes, asked if they missed him and putting him on the front page and said be at the United Center, tonight, 9:30...

And they bought it. Now they only had to show up...

***Present time***

Andrew was walking down the hallways of the United Center, preparing for his grand debut. Did he have a plan of attack? He... didn't know... was he supposed to? He had only met a few individuals from the locker room... but he sure as hell was going to make sure that more knew of him. Anybody and...

*Flash*

... everybody. Andrew shielded his eyes from the bright flash in front of him. Backstage passes received, and a scene surely to be made. He can see it now, billionaire playboy turns pro wrestler... Steroid scandals left and right. His dad's gonna be pissed, but the hell with it... have to live up a character in this business, right? It sounded fun to him, so why not...

*** The Arena***

The sounds of a guitar grinding to life echos throughout the arena before kicking itself into high gear, the song greeting the ear drums of the individuals before him? "She Builds Quick Machines" by Velvet Revolver, Andrew's chosen theme. The paparazzi spill onto the stage, not caring where they're at... they've got their prime target in their lens, they have a job to do and an obsession to fulfill... tear this bastard down as best they can. And he was going to love every second of it. He stops for a pose on the stage, dressed in an expensive, open, button up shirt, tank top underneath, large sunglasses and expensive gold chain. A huge ring graces his fingers as he hooks his fingers behind his belt, his baggy, expensively rugged jeans blowing in the wind machine that he had managed to find to assist this entrance in front of him. He loved every second of playing this up... bobbing his head slightly as he walked down the ring, pointing at the paparazzi, giving them every kind of cover shot they could get.

The crowd, in the mean-time, seems to actually be eating this up, as tabloid photos of the man appear on the screens behind him. Front cover Star appearances, National Enquirer, so on and so forth... it all started to make sense. The man in front of them, hooked over the ropes of the wrestling ring, sort of thrusting towards the camera was the "Billion Dollar Baby" of the tabloid scenes, grouped in with Lindsay, Paris, Nicole and all of them, heir to the Rose Hotel Empire, Andrew Rose. Playing up every single bit who he's been portrayed to be in the magazines, and every bit of who he had slowly been becoming. And, finally, loving every second of the paparazzi's camera flashes on him. You only live once, right?

He takes the microphone and takes "Center-stage" in the center of the ring...

"Ladies and Gentlemen... allow me...

... to introduce, myself.

You're looking at the true heir to the Rose Hotel Empire, that "Billion Dollar Bastard" you see on every magazine cover in the grocery line, the very ones gracing the table top of your mother's coffee table...

Andrew Rose.

At your wrestling service..."

A faked bow to the fans... talking on the microphone was easier than he thought... for him at least. He could only imagine what was going to come out to confront him...

"You want to ask how a man born with the silver spoon in his mouth, the man who doesn't even have to lift a finger to make more money than each and every one of you... the very man living off of my father's wallet EASILY at the same lifestyle for eight life-times, has chosen the dangerous career of professional wrestling?

Well, let me ask you this?

Why, not? Why not sample the competitiveness that is the world of Professional Wrestling, why not dabble in what is fast becoming the spot-light for every single sporting controversy? I mean, seriously... the MLB? Guess who started that mess? Wasn't McGwire, wasn't Sosa... check way back in the 90's between McMahon and Hogan! The very business that has more skeletons in the closet than it will ever admit, and now I get to live in it, experience it for myself...

it's so much better than dealing with those Wall Street Wolves and backstabbing CEO's, I'll tell you that.

Day in and day out, my rich ass will be out here in front of each and every one of you, city after city, country after country, absorbing blows that are reminiscent of being in a CAR CRASH of all things, just for your amusement and to relieve my boredom. And it's entirely simple, just why I would do that.

Simply, because I can. I have no reason not to do this, just as I have no reason to sit back in a posh hotel room, collect a pay-check, and maybe have bar night to be talked about on Entertainment Tonite... to me? This will be much, much more entertaining to watch from a hotel heir than a story detailing their last stay in rehab.

Now,

That I'm out here... I figure it's high time for me to do this right. I've done my job, and made myself known to both the fan at home, the management, and now, to those that actually pay attention, to the roster. I'm sure somebody's been watching in the back, here's what I'm going to do..."

He puts his fingers in his mouth, whistling shrilly. Cameras focus on the stage, and an individual comes out holding a briefcase, walking down the ramp.

"What this woman in front of you is holding, is my entirely, contracted yearly salary for Global Championship Wrestling. Up for grabs, my first match. I mean, come on... how much easier does it get, than to steal from a rookie? So come on out, make your claim... Winner gets the case."

[e]

.:A Few minutes pass and no response is in sight. Until, Coming Undone by Korn hits the PA. The crowd shocked? You could say that. Then out steps the massive frame of the 7'2" man known as Essence. A slight smirk on his face as he looks out towards the crowd trough his dark sunglasses... He had forgot what this felt like, even though this would officially start off his third season wrestling on television... be it every year was a different place.

Not wearing the usual black and red attire that he wore all season in FCW... instead, wearing a pair of jeans, with a skull on each side, and instead of Wrestling Boots he wore a pair of standard work boots. That whole 'Revenge' part of his life was over. His work boots hitting the steel of the entrance ramp as he made his way down to the ring.

Not paying any attention the fans on the side of the stage as he continued his way down to the ring. He didn't even look at this man. Essence just smirked as he got to the ring apron. Turning he walks over to the corner. Walking up the steel steps, taking his time as he saw no reason to rush for this man... Reaching the top of the steps, he takes a few steps on the apron before pushing the top rope down and swings one leg over, then the other.

He slowly walked over to the opposite side of the ring, the stage attendants quickly handing up a microphone to him. Getting a firm grip on it, he turned around and looked at the man. Raising the microphone he speaks...:.

"So, you're one of the new kids on the block I take it?"

.:He lowered the microphone for a second to catch a quick breath then brought it back up.:.

"And from what you said... another Rich Pretty Boy wanting to prove to people that he can actually do something productive with his free time."

.:Essence just looks at him... the size difference was quite visible... but, he knew not to determine strengths on height or size alone.:.

"See, I'm not one to waste time in ranting on about randomness that doesn't even relate to the topic at hand, unlike some others on this roster... So I'm going to make this perfectly clear.

I accept your challenge."

[andy]

"Well, you're just about the most un-entertaining person they could have sent out here. Why exactly should I even bother putting up my money against somebody who's phoning it in? I mean, seriously, right?"

Andrew shrugs, looking out to the audience...

"While I may be an heir to everything I've got, I've come from a family where I know you don't get jack shit without any work. And here you are, just coming out here, not even looking at me, paying me no mind, and half assing some kind of response to basically... a new car, in this briefcase. I'm sure if I went in the back and offered this to anybody and everybody... I'd have somebody blindside me. Plain and simple. The Mexican cleaning the toilets, the audio guys, the camera men...

And here you are half assing it. Know what? You don't deserve this briefcase...

But if it's a fight you want? It's a fight you're gonna get.

[e]

.:Essence just sighs. Like he wasn't expecting that sort of a reaction. He knew people of this man's type... all talk until some one bigger comes along then pulls out of the offer saying that he doesn't deserve it.:.

Honestly?

I could care less about your money.

.:Ess lowered the microphone again. Taking another small breath... what was it with Rookie's having no respect these days?:.

But on to you saying I'm half assing it... I know I'm not great on the mic. But see... this is WRESTLING, I don't have to claim how great I am... I don't have to come out here and run my mouth about others. My actions inside of this ring are how I prove myself.

But you see... I don't have to prove myself to you, or anybody in the back. But I damn sure, won't let some rich, spoiled punk just come waltzing in and say I'M half assing it.

So, for our match? Keep your money at home... and just bring the best you got kid... because, you are definitely gonna need it.

[andy]

"Right... you prove yourself by "Wrestling," well, for a guy your size, "McMahon-ing" it all up... instead of doing your job and being entertaining to the ones that are actually signing your pay-checks."

He claps lightly...

"Tell me... exactly who the fuck are you again? If you prove yourself by wrestling, surely you must be something great to have... any? Name value what-so-ever, am I right? You some kind of icon? A force to be reckoned with? Mr. "I've won so many championships you're nothing but a chump standing in front of me?" Is that who you are?

Please... you look like one of the guys that my dad hires to work for like a day in the grunt days of building one of his new hotels and then fires they're ass because they're not worth a fuck... which, you obviously aren't. You're unimportant, and from the lack of any name value you obviously fail to possess, you're just a constant piece of existance, nothing special. Am I getting somewhere with this? I truly hope that I am.

... Well, scratch that... I KNOW that I am. You've been around how long now, Essence? Three years?

Oh, that's right. I'm keeping tabs on some people... I read, I know my environment. And I know that I was right on the money. Aside from opening a worthless titty bar in Canada? Your only other accomplishment was some kind of "starter" belt of brain-dead stupidity... am I right, there? It doesn't take skill to land a lucky shot to knock someone out, I know that for sure. Done it plenty of times myself... And believe me... I'll do more in my first MONTH in this company AND this business than you've done your entire career. Know why?

I'm not some hand out. I'm not some lackey, I'm not some pawn. I'm Andrew fucking Rose. You look at me being an heir, but you fail to see past just that. You fail to see exactly everything that I've done. An undefeated mixed martial arts career, underground for a reason. Any obstacle the Earth can throw at me, I conquer. The very reason I'm here in GCW is to prove to myself once again, and to all of these worthless pee-ons that hog the spotlight on Dad's dime with a stay in re-hab, that once again, I'm better than my peers. And come January 7th, I'm proving I'm better than you, not only on the mic, but in the ring. Don't matter that you're more than a half foot larger than me. All you'll be in the end is another piece of shit at my boots, busted open from my fists, your back a mangled wreck, your vision blurring as you stare up at my fist being the one thing to block out the lights as it's raised in victory. See you in the ring."

With that, he tossed his microphone into the middle of the ring, staring down his opponent after removing his shades, while "She Builds Quick Machines" rises back up. A giant in front of him? Andrew was less than intimidated, especially by the lazy demeanor. He knew what it took to get the job done, and come Exodus, it'd happen. He steps through the ropes and walks up the ramp, heading into the back.