Martin Karloff- More Sinew than Sense

We are in the office of Martin Karloff in the Paris estate. On behalf of his beautiful wife, Martin is representing France in this tournament so it has been strange that fans in town seem to be so positive toward him.

“I really see no need to show you all myself working out as my opponent has. Really the results should speak for themselves shouldn’t they?” Martin says, wandering around his office which is covered in memorabilia and collector’s items from horror films. The small fraction of his collection he kept in Paris.

“And so another day has passed. Ronald North has been bested and made an example of with little effort and now I move on to another individual with more sinew than sense. Another individual feeding me the same old line about how I’m not an actual monster and am just a man in paint as if I’m going to put on a shocked expression and cancel my subscription to ‘Actual Literal Monster Weekly’. I am less than impressive since my return? I have been nothing but dominant since I have returned to the ring. You may have noticed this if you weren’t so concerned with making passes at involved women on twitter and mocking the mentally deficient though let me be clear that, yes, I agree that Travis Blake is terrible.” Martin says. He takes a seat at his desk and pours himself a glass of water from a filter pitcher. He glances up at the

“Now I could sit here and explain that I’m actually from Amityville, New York or the circumstances of my being an orphan and being legally allowed to select my own last name at a young age. Perhaps I could add a bit about how I was doing the whole ‘horror movie’ thing years before even when Matthew was speaking in a fake-y accent and claiming to be a king. Instead I have chosen to take a sip of my water and dismissively roll my eyes. Watch me go.” Martin says. He takes his water glass to his mouth and has a sip, rolling his eyes. He even manages to throw in a sigh after he’s finished drinking.

“There is always a weakness to exploit. There is always a crack in the foundation somewhere. If you pull a muscle doing bench? I will know. If you skip leg day? I’ll know. I pride myself on going to great lengths to research my opponents. Eyes everywhere and all that.” Martin says. He takes another sip of water before setting the glass down.
“No doubt about it, Jaxon. You are big and bad and every bit the powerhouse you say you are. I mean of course, you have to be if you want to even come close to living up to your surname in this company. I’ve grown accustomed in the past to being overlooked by bigger opponents. Do you think I am unprepared? I am capable. Other people may look at you and see muscle. I see tendons and joints. I see a world of possibilities when it comes to inflicting pain. And let me make that aspect very clear, Jaxon. I am going to hurt you. I am going to hurt you not just because it will allow me to win this match, but because I enjoy hurting people. I enjoy asserting and enforcing my superiority in the ring in whatever manner is available to me. In this case? That is not strength. I will have to settle for demonstrating my superior mind and tactical aptitude. This is a compromise I am more than willing to make. I am representing France IN France so I am committed to bringing more than my A-game in honor of my dear wife and children.” Martin says. There is a scary confidence in his voice.

“I’ll beat you and then I’ll watch my lovely wife massacre Johnathan Maverick because without a doubt Johnathan deserves it more than anyone on this planet. I will move on to the finals amidst every joke about my body paint and I will bring that title to my father. I will ascend to his level, perhaps beyond. You should consider speaking to Mr. Daemon, Jaxon. The Destroyers are all but directionless and I’m sure he has a direction for you in mind.

“I know who I am Jaxon. I know what everybody says. I know how I am perceived. I still keep winning. Sun Tzu said in The Art of War that if you know the enemy and know yourself you need not fear the results of a hundred battles. I know myself, Jaxon. I know you. What do you really know about me though? You seem to think you have everything figured out, right? Jaxon, you know exactly what I want you to know. This is my Sermon.” Martin says. He sits back in his chair and begins to hum ‘La Marseillaise’ the French national anthem to himself as the camera fades out.