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 "The Slayer" Tails

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Tails
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Number of posts : 157
Registration date : 2006-12-31

PostSubject: "The Slayer" Tails   January 1st 2007, 9:05 pm

* Wrestler Name: Tails

* Nickname: The Slayer
* Age: 26

* Hometown: Baltimore, Maryland

* House (WHERE HE LIVES): Boston, Ma

* Weight: 273 lbs

* Height: 6’6

* Favorite Specialty Match: crazy ones, like hardcore, cage, hell in the cell, stuff like that.

* Entrance Music: Go To Sleep Bitch By Eminem

* Alignment(face/heel): tweener

* Years Wrestling: 2 years

* Quote: Optional: Heads or Tails u still lose

* Finisher: Split Decision

* Finisher Description: The pedigree

* Bio/Backround: While Tails lived in Baltimore, Maryland he was mixing with gangs and a life of crime, never felt right to Tails. His father always made Tails do sports, and when Tails was little he was captain of his football team, and his baseball team. But when he drop out of school, he just wanted to fight. On hearing of an underground fighting scene, Tails inquired and joined. He spent three years fighting for money and with this learning street Boxing, this was turned into the original Fight Club. He made great amounts of money and grew quite a reputation. But having a reputation is not the best thing to have as people want to break it, along with bones. Tails had always been a fan of wrestling from a young age, and began his journey there. He backed out of the fighting scene to chase a wrestling career. Tails join a federation and stayed with them for a while. Than went to 3 federation, but they were not what Tails was looking for. Than one of Tails friends told him about the WWA. So now Tails think he found the right federation.

Tails as of late recaptured a skill he thought he once lost. street Boxing. Wrestling made him limit his usage and by the end of it, it was none existent. But now his talent is back, and ready to be unleashed on whoever he meets in OR out of the squared circle.
Tails has taken his ‘not giving a shit’ who you are attitude to nearly every federation in the business and been successful. Tails is coming to the WWA to start over, to become one of the best there is, and there no one going to stop him from doing it.



* Attire: Tails wear just black tight that says one the left side Tails, and the other side Kid Flash in red. He has no shirt on. He has tattoos on both arms. On the left one he has a sleeve, with crazy designs. On the right side its a half a sleeve, of stuff that means things to him. Like family things and stuff. He also has face paint on. Some time the face paint will be black, and white, and other times it'll be black, white, and red.

* Fighting style: Tails like to fight like a boxer, but he can do power house, and hardcore if he needs to.

* Move List:

1. DDT
2. Power Bomb
3. Big Boot
4. Sleeper Hold
5. Running Power Slam
6. Camel Clutch
7. Sidewalk Slam
8. Multiple Punches To The Face And Body From His Street Boxing Experience
9. Body Slam
10. Belly So Back Suplex
11. Double Belly To Belly Suplex
12. Figure Four Leg Lock
13. Snap Suplex
14. T-Bone Suplex
15. Top Rope Bulldog
16. Boston Crab
17. Death Lock STF
18. Ankle Lock
19. Indian Deathlock
20. Jumping Piledriver
21. Cradle Piledriver
22. Spinebuster
23. Brainbuster DDT
24. Double Arm DDT
25. Frankensteiner



Desired Brand (War Zone or Breakdown): I don’t care what show I go on, any show I go on I will make the best

*Sample Roleplay for General Managers: This is just a sample.

The rain was pouring down upon my head, washing away the grime from my march. I had started two weeks ago in the western part of town, marching without reason towards the center of town. I had not known that this was my purpose, nor was I given any warning into what would happen to me as I entered the inner-city. The weeks passed quickly, each new step bringing a new piece of human garbage to my feet. Pimps, drug dealers. gang members, and even politicians. If I was to rid my city of these troubles I would have to do it my way.


No mask. No cape. No name. I was simply "The Kid Flash" to those that I saved. Few had anything to offer me, but the ones that did gave me valuable items and information. The homeless man on eight street had given me a rust switchblade that I had been using since I started, but it was the police shotgun that I had grown to love. Police, just as corrupt as any other villains. The sad thing is that unlike Lex Luther and The Joker, they were real. Their punches didn't leave sound effects for the children to enjoy. No, they left bruises that turned into scars, scars that would forever remind me of how some men can use justice for evil. Lady Justice was crying, indeed. Her soldiers had committed murder, theft, and rape. This was not what I was offered in life. My great grandparents had come from Italy for "The American Dream", some stupid dream that put us all in the spotlight.


The dream was different for me, all I dreamed of was survival. A few months ago I was barely clinging the ring in my underground fight spot, people already wanted to kick me out, all because I was on stoppable . Whatever happened to the worth of a human? Seems nowadays things have gotten too easy, too simple. We don't even feel bad when we murder, and when we do we always make it quick. Guns, a coward's weapon. If using it made me a coward, than so be it. Guns make murder easier, something I needed. I didn't have the frame of a gang member, I was the small dog in a fight I could not win. But if fighting meant dying than I would meet Death head on. They would not judge, they had no right.


The information they gave was useless, information someone could already gather just by looking around. They called this streets dark, evil, and even demonic. It wasn’t hard to tell that this part of town was a cesspool, it has the very stench of death at each street corner. Sometimes I had to stop myself, it was overpowering. You couldn’t see the dead bodies on the outside, but you knew they were there. You knew. Not even the human scum could hide that, but it's not like they tried. They took pride in the dead and in the violence. It made them men in the eyes of their corrupt leaders, the same leaders that turned these streets into Hell and, by default, made them human scum. Their faces were never seen but their power was always felt. They were the ones who sent the soldiers to die on these streets, the ones who killed every soul they came into contact with. Maybe it was instinct, maybe it was my honorable upbringing; something made me want to end the corruption. It was time for those who built this hell to pay. I was the reaper who would bring them swift death. I was the hero who protected the weak.


I would find The American Dream, those who lived on these streets deserved that much. All I had to remind of what that dream really was the old golden pocket watch that my father had given to him. Just looking at it gave me enough strength to continue, enough strength to fight. It was the only thing my grandfather had to give to the family, his most prized gift. In giving it to us he showed us how to live, how to fight, and how to find that dream. He was a good man, all the men in my family were, but somehow I was given less of a chance in life. I fought like they did, I followed their examples, but the world had changed since they found success. It was a different world.


A hero is not made of his flesh, but of what drives him. Honor and faith, I would protect my fellow man.

There no one who can beat me!
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