The (Kuro)bane of my existence and my Drive(er) to succeed (Cynthia Rose Death Sentence Promo 1)

(The camera opens on pitch black as the tooth grinding sound of metal rubbing plaster echoes through darkness.)

"For nearly four months I've sat at home wondering where it all went wrong. Was there a mistake I made? a faux pas I committed? or some ancient unspoken locker room law that went broken? But then I remembered..."

(The screen flashes the still image of Cynthia clocking Layne square in the nose, sending his head into a swiveling whiplash before going black again.)

"You're not a locker room rules kinda guy, are ya Layne? In fact, since joining Ghost Organization the locker room hasn't claimed you at all. Lately you've been more akin to an evangelical preacher out in a circus tent, thumping the good word of King Jimbo as you exploit those you perceive as weak on your march on Calvary towards your self-serving revival."

(The image of hand x-rays flicker to life, as if someone had turned a switch to a doctor's light board somewhere in the darkness.)

"As they put me under to apply the cast, I heard a sermon in your voice ring through my brain: 'If thine right hand offends thee, cut it off and cast it from thee: for it is profitable for thee that one member shall perish, and not that thy whole body should be cast into hell.' I heard you deep in my slumber quote Matthew 5:30, as if reprimanding me for breaking under your testing of my temper. I know it wasn't you because Percy would've murdered you if you came anywhere near my hospital bed: but if it were really you saying it, then you'd be right to say so. But I couldn’t help but notice in my dream state as your pious voice cut through me, that I heard a lack of self-awareness in what you were saying. I realized that you had no idea what God's words applied to our situation actually meant."

(The sawing noise grows louder as the x-ray lights flicker off and a scene comes into focus of Cynthia Rose kneeling poolside under the night sky at Eden, taking a hacksaw to her own cast as she bites down on her own tongue in frustration.)

"That verse doesn't mean that I should be put on the shelf because I dared to touch the hem of Layne Kurobane's garment. It doesn't mean I deserved to get hurt because I broke one of my own rules when pushed into a corner where I had no other alternative but to fight back. It means that I should learn from my mistake if I wish to achieve salvation. That European Championship has been a lot of things to me. It's been condemnation when I took it off of Colt Montoya in his last match. It's been vindication when I defeated you Layne by playing by my own rules. Now? Now it's my key to the kingdom; my saving grace. It's the one thing that can absolve me of my actions when I win it back on my own terms. I was a fool to fall into your trap the first time, and in doing so I committed sacrilege against my own doctrine. Never again, Layne. Never again will I come at you with balled fist and my heart on my sleeve, only for you to trap it under plaster to mend after you've tried to break it. You've cost me four months of my prime. But it's not just that, is it? You cost me a side eye from the fans who believed in me after I knocked the snot out of that schnoz of yours. You've cost me the goodwill and hope of my hometown as I went back for the holidays without gold in my carry on bag. You've cost me countless 'I told you so' leers at Thanksgiving supper, Christmas dinner, and New Year's lunch from my ma and pop. They don't say anything, they just give me that stare and then glance resentfully down at their little girl's arm in a cast and roll their eyes over me putting a fresh new tinge of worry in their stomachs. Whatever belief there was in me isn't there anymore. Their hands grew raw from trying to clap this Bell-to-Bell Tinkerbell back to life."

(Cynthia lifts the hacksaw, only to reveal a mere dent in her cast and worn down teeth on the saw's blade. She shakes her head in disbelief and frustration, trying to fight back the tears as she violently throws the saw aside and starts brutally pounding her cast against the edge of the pool in last-ditch desperation to free her hand from it's prison.)

"The only way I'm going to win any of that back is by revealing you for the weakling that you are. I'm going to suplex, dive on, and stretch you until you finally admit to the world that you're a coward by saying 'I Quit'. And I'm going to do it all my way so that, come what may, there won’t be any excuse for a rematch for either of us. I'm ending what's between us once and for all. These feelings of betrayal and resentment coming from both sides of the argument? I put them to rest at Death Sentence, and I plan on doing so without having to sit on a shelf for another quarter of a year."

(After one last weak rap of her wrist in desperation on the side of the pool, Cynthia collapses forward into herself like a boneless rag doll. Her body heaves as she sucks in air with her face buried into her knees. Percy appears from off-screen and attempts to put a towel over her, but Cynthia yanks it away and throws it in the water as she continues to seethe and clutch her cast clad forearm to her stomach as she keels over again in anguish, letting out a muted scream.)

"You wanted me to do it all for myself just like you, huh Layne? You wanted me to throw away any qualm or worry about letting anyone else down: no more fans, no more Percy, no more calling home at the end of the night to let my parents know that their daughter is fine. You wanted that as you preached to me under the guise of giving me veteran advice as you tried to make me weak, but in truth you know that my support system is what's gotten me where I am today. I'm nothing without my parent's love and acceptance. I'm zilch without the Wrestleworld faithful clapping and cheering me to get back up and dust myself off when bullies like you knock me face down in the dirt. As for Percy, I'm not a former or soon-to-be two time European Champion without his coaching and moral support. He believed in me as European Champion at a time where I couldn't even get out of bed and look at that hunk of leather and metal without thinking about the horrible things people were writing about me on social media because I didn’t give Colt Montoya a graceful exit. Percy keeps me grounded, level-headed, and above all else he knows more about what I'm capable of than I am myself sometimes. That man's drug me kicking and screaming through so many trials and tribulations, guarded me from my harshest critics, and told me the truth whether I came to him for it or not. It's sad to me that the only person you can claim such a relationship with is the very man who brainwashed and manipulated you into giving up on being the best wrestler in the world. But that's always been the problem with you, Layne. It's either one extreme or another. You're either the best or your nothing, and that mindset's driven you to a desperate and sad state of calling yourself 'The Landlord' when in truth you've just relegated all responsibility for yourself and made yourself someone else's property."

(Cynthia snaps out of her pity party and lifts her cast overhead, ready to send it crashing down on the pool's edge once more with a mighty swing. Before she can do so, Percy quickly rushes in and snatches her up by the waist. Cynthia flails and screams into the prerecorded void of silence as her mentor lifts her off her feet and drags her away from poolside as the camera cuts to black once more and pans out to reveal Cynthia standing in all black next to a monitor on a trolley with her left hand in her pocket and her right still snugly secure in a cast.)

"What you just saw was my weakest moment since joining Wrestleworld, Layne. Percy filmed it to show me what rock bottom looks like so that I could find and land on my own two feet when I start to spiral again. I think he initially filmed it just to mock me, like a parent showing their bratty child a video of themselves acting out to embarrass them before they can throw another tantrum. Maybe I deserve that kind of treatment after the past few months of sitting around and sulking, feeling back about what you've done to me and regretting the fallout of what I perceived as being your reaction to my actions. In truth, I'm not to blame for you putting us in a situation where your only way of winning was breaking my arm. I see that now, just as I see that you would've done it regardless of if I got that one surprising haymaker in on you. You put me in a desperate situation and I acted desperately, so I guess you win on that count, Layne. Good for you. I'm sure I'm not the first nice girl you've goaded and harassed into decking you and I probably won’t be the last. However, like those other women who've turned you down and knocked you out in the past, I plan on walking away for good once I take my European Championship back. I’m done feeling like a battered spouse who blames herself or makes excuses for an abusive husband. At Death Sentence, I put you on trial for the crimes against Wrestleworld, the European Championship, and myself. Take my word as sworn in oath when I say that when it’s time to pass down the verdict and announce your sentencing, I’ll be there to make sure you won't walk.”

(Cynthia lifts her cast up and gives the camera a cruel but sad smile as it begins to fade to black.)

“Hand to God, Layne.”