In Promo by Luke Storm

When I first came to Hollywood, I found it a lot like church.

See, when you go to church, you’re stepping into a hallowed hall, built on the backs of those who came before. Their words, ideas, and even their garb all hold a shackling influence over the actions of today.

Guys trip over their own feet to emulate the titans whose legend they honor, despite having never actually known them.

On top of that, you have the church leadership, who seek to manipulate their parishioners. Their entire motivation is do that which brings them the most success.

All because of pride. Pride in themselves, in the institutions that they’ve inherited. It makes them look down on everyone else that refuses to conform.

When I went to Hollywood, it was the same thing. Churches became Studios. The titans weren’t saints, but actors. And the leadership weren’t preachers, but Studio Heads.

But I persevered, conquering that world. When it wasn’t enough, I turned to OSW, to fighting for real instead of pulling my punches.

And once again, I find myself in church.

Sir Bellator views OSW like its some hallowed hall, built on the back of his father and the other Templar Knights who defended it once upon a time. He’s taken his name, his words, and even his symbols.

He might as well be shackled to the pews of the past, man.

Because Sanctus didn’t know his daddy, did he? He wasn’t there when Holy War broke out, or when the temple was the epicenter of judgement day.

But he trips over his two left feet trying to be just like them, like a kid playing dress-up, ‘cept his dress-up includes being a judgmental prick.

All because he’s too fucking prideful to see the error of his ways.

And Simon, fucking Simon, fancies himself like some kind of leader, doesn’t he? He’s bought the services of Jet Set Radio, and manipulated their dumb asses into a war they couldn’t fathom. They killed a man, for fuck’s sake.

All for his own success.

All for his own goddamned pride.

So here I am again, standing in the middle of a fucking church that’s trying to rule the whole world.

But just like Hollywood, I’m going to persevere. Because the time for pulling punches has passed. It’s time to get real.

And no one is more Real than Luke fucking Storm.

Because Sir Bellator is right. Pride does come before the fall.

But it ain’t my fall that’s coming.

No, it’s the fall of the two pricks who think that the shackles they wear so boldly make them better than those who run free.

Bellator’s shackles are the blood running through his veins, the mission of a dead god that he believes makes him judge, jury, and executioner.

They’ve turned him into the slave of an old man chasing past glory.

Simon’s shackles are his faith in his own intelligence. The time for plotting is over. It’s time to put up or shut up.

And Luke Storm always puts up.

Because I’m the Real Fucking Deal.

And I’m not pulling a goddamned punch.