Cameron Tyler ~versus~ Amir Al-Hassan

Amir Al-Hassan, an anti-American protester, faces the future of The Tyler Family in the ring of the Asylum Wrestling Society.

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The arena lights dim, a haunting chant echoes through the speakers, then BOOM—pyro explodes as Amir Al-Hassan steps onto the ramp, draped in the Iraqi flag, wearing a smug, arrogant grin. The boos rain down like a storm, but he soaks it in, raising a defiant fist. Microphone in hand, he strides into the ring like a lion claiming its territory.

Amir Al-Hassan:
“SHUT YOUR MOUTHS!”
The crowd grows louder with jeers.

“You pathetic sheep cheer for this country like it’s done a single thing to earn your loyalty! ‘Land of the free’? Please. More like ‘Land of the deluded!’”
He points to a fan wearing a stars-and-stripes bandana and scoffs.
“You wave your flags, you sing your anthem, but tell me—what has America done for you lately, huh? Your cities are crumbling, your people are broke, and you worship celebrities while your government sells your future one war at a time!”

“And speaking of brainwashed losers...”
He turns his attention to the titantron where a picture of CAMERON TYLER, all-American babyface, lights up. The crowd pops for him. Amir rolls his eyes.
“Oh, yes. The golden boy himself. The clean-cut, flag-hugging, cheeseburger-chomping, apple-pie-dripping Cameron Tyler. A walking propaganda poster. Look at him, so proud to be American—he probably cries during the national anthem, doesn’t he?”
He mocks wiping a tear from his eye.

“But I ask you, Cameron, and I ask all of YOU!”
He leans into the hard cam, seething.

“What has America done for you lately?!”
He paces furiously in the ring.
“Did it protect your jobs? No. Did it stop your kids from getting shot in schools? No. Did it stop wasting your money bombing my homeland for twenty years? HELL. NO.”

“You people HATE me because I speak the truth. You BOO me because I remind you of the blood on your own hands. But Cameron Tyler?”
He smirks.
“He’s gonna find out that waving a flag doesn’t save you when you’re trapped in the Camel Clutch, begging for mercy from the man you thought didn’t belong here. I LIVE in this country, but I don’t love it—I DOMINATE it.”

He throws down the mic as his theme blasts, climbing the turnbuckle, shouting over the crowd:

“This is MY ring now! And next week, Cameron Tyler... you’ll be just another fallen soldier in America’s long, ugly list of failures.”

He spits on the mat, grinning like a man who knows he’s already won.

The night has arrived! The very first AWS Proving Ground show is just starting with the various AWS federation superstars wanting to get their wrestling careers started . One of the said AWS federation superstars that's ready to get his career at the federation started is the man who is known in the Asylum federation as " The Rock Star God " himself, and the brother to both "Dangerous " Dean Tyler and "Sadistic " Sami Tyler, Cameron Tyler. He just came out of the General Manager, Charlie Feigel 's office after signing his official contract. He decided to go to the area where the upcoming match cards would be posted and lo and behold!! He's already is been placed on the debut episode of AWS Proving Ground facing a man who truly hates America: Amir Al-Hassan. Suddenly, his ears perked up at what Amir was heard saying right in front of the fans who was watching the promo inside of the famous The Crow's Nest in historic Las Vegas, Nevada. What ever was being said made the blonde haired man blood boil inside. He wanted to make a statement about what was said.

The fans was wanting for someone to shut Amir's mouth straight up. Suddenly, The song Ladies and Gentlemen by Saliva starts to blast over the PA system as a throne is seen coming out. Sitting on the said throne is the man who is known in the AWS federation as "The Rock Star God" Cameron Tyler. He gets up from the throne and mouths the words into the nearby camera "The Rock Star God Has Arrived!". He gets inside of the ring, goes to the middle turnbuckle and does a Devil's horns symbol. After that, he goes to the nearby camera and talks Trash about what he wants to do to his opponent with a wicked smile seen on his face. He asked for a microphone to speak into. He got one and thanked the person. He stood in the middle of the Ring and said into the microphone with a serious look seen seeping through his eyes.

"The Rock Star God " Cameron Tyler: Well, hello there AWS federation!

The fans started to cheer for the very much handsome man seen standing in the ring and chanted.

Fans: Welcome to AWS Cameron Tyler!!

That made him smile so he said right back to the fans.

Cameron: Thank you all so very much for the warm welcome! I'm " The Rock Star God " Cameron Tyler and I'm so very much thrilled to be wrestling in AWS. As you all know, my brother's are Dean and Sami. Merxy Black is not only the family's manager but Merxy is with Sami. Moving forward, Amir, you American hating troll! I do love America and I'm so damn fucking proud to call myself a American! We American people are allowed to speak our minds so why don't you shut the fucking hell up!!

The fans wildy cheered at what he said. The blonde haired man continued to say.

Cameron: We all are not brainwashed at all. We do think what we want to think. I can't wait to beat you Red, White and Blue just like America's colors on OUR flag. I'm Cameron Tyler and I approve this message!

He slammed down the microphone out of anger. He looked right into the nearby camera and say.

Cameron: Amir, you're dead!

[Scene opens in a dark, sandstorm-drenched desert with an Iraqi flag fluttering in the background. A lone torch flickers against a cracked stone wall carved with Arabic script. Amir Al-Hassan steps into frame, wearing a traditional keffiyeh and his black-and-gold wrestling robe, eyes cold, intense, unblinking.]

Amir Al-Hassan:
["In Arabic-accented English"]
Heh… You say you are a god, Cameron Tyler? A Rock Star God? [scoffs]

Do you hear yourself; you are arrogant, delusional fool? Do you truly believe that dressing like an overgrown glam puppet from a forgotten era makes you divine? Is that what passes for godhood in your country now? Leather pants, spray tan, and dollar-store eyeliner?

Ha! You are not a god, Cameron. You are not even a man of conviction. You are the byproduct of a rotting empire. An empty vessel filled with loud music, cheap perfume, and broken promises. You prance around arenas like a peacock — all feathers, no fight.

But at Proving Ground, you will learn the meaning of reality.

[Amir paces slowly in a half-circle, torchlight casting ominous shadows across his face.]

You see, I come from the cradle of civilization. From a land older than your flag, richer in blood and sand than your spoiled country could ever comprehend. Mesopotamia — my home — where empires rise and fall. Where every man who claimed divinity was buried by truth. And truth, Cameron Tyler, is coming for you.

You… you dare call yourself a god?

You are comical.
A parody of strength.
A false prophet wrapped in glitter and lies.

You sing your little songs, strut your little struts, and bathe in the adoration of ignorant fools. But in that ring, under the lights, under the weight of your own illusion… you will break. Not because I am stronger. Not because I am faster. But because I am real.

[He jabs a finger toward the camera.]

You are manufactured.
I am forged — by war, by blood, by the fire of every drone strike and shattered city my people have endured because of people like you. You, the face of the West. You, the smiling villain. You are no god. You are the reason gods go silent.

You are everything wrong with your dying culture.

But let me be clear. This is not just about you, Cameron Tyler. This is judgment.

You stand on a stage built by liars. I walk with the weight of a thousand ancestors. While you play air guitar, I carry the stories of martyrs in my fists. I am Amir Al-Hassan, the Punishment of the East. The Desert Storm Reborn. The Walking Reckoning. And at Proving Ground…

I will expose you.

[Camera zooms in on Amir’s face, sweat starting to bead across his forehead as he speaks with even more venom.]

You want to talk about “star power”? Pfft. The only stars you’ll see after our match are the ones spinning above your empty skull when I drive your head into that mat. You want to talk about “godhood”? When you feel your joints twist, when your spine screams under my grip, when your lungs beg for air and I show no mercy — then you will pray. Not to your so-called god-self, but to anyone who will listen. And no one will.

Because in that ring… there will be only me.

And there is no salvation for the false.

You see, this is what you don't understand. Wrestling, to you, is a stage. A circus. You perform. I punish. You entertain. I inflict. You prance for attention. I fight for retribution. You carry a guitar on your back? I carry rage.

The rage of a generation. The fury of stolen oil, of toppled statues, of cities turned to ash. Every cheer you receive is a slap to the face of the forgotten. And that is why I must silence you.

I will not just beat you. I will make an example of you.

You may be AWS’ golden boy — its glittering idol — but when I’m done, there will be nothing left to worship but broken bones and bitter tears.

[Amir pulls a steel chair into the frame and slowly sits down, draping his arms over the backrest like a lion ready to strike.]

You see, Tyler… Rock Star God… this isn’t personal. Not yet.

But it will be.

When you look in my eyes and realize your gods have abandoned you…
When your fans fall silent and watch their idol crumble…
When your screams echo across the arena and are swallowed by silence…
Then, and only then, you will understand what you were up against.

I am not coming to wrestle you.
I am coming to humble you.

You think this is a gimmick? A game? Do you think I wear this keffiyeh for show? That I speak in riddles and rage for entertainment?

No.

This is not a costume. This is not an act.
This is who I am.
I walk with generations behind me. With holy vengeance in my veins.
I will drag you from your artificial heaven, down to the sand and grit where men become monsters.

And I will drag my boot across your throat as a reminder…

That the gods of America are fragile.
And the gods of the West… bleed.

[He leans closer, eyes piercing through the camera like twin daggers.]

You call yourself a Rock Star God?

Good. Because false gods make the sweetest victims. And I have come to build an altar of broken idols. You will be the first.

Let the world see it.

Let the world watch as their loudest voice is silenced. Their golden boy turned to bronze. Their “chosen one”… exposed.

When I lock in the Chains of Babylon (Rings of Saturn)… and your limbs beg for mercy… there will be no encore.
When I drive your face into the mat with the Desert Verdict (BFT), no crowd chant will revive you.
No guitar riff.
No bright lights.
Just silence.

Just the truth.

And I… I will stand over you, triumphant, as the world sees what happens when illusions clash with inevitability.

I am the storm coming to your arena. I am the reckoning that cannot be stopped. While your people chant “USA! USA!” in blind devotion, I will answer with every suplex, every submission, every sickening impact that screams one simple message:

Your gods are false.

And at Proving Ground, Cameron Tyler, I will tear your altar down with my bare hands.

[He rises slowly, turning his back to the camera, the Iraqi flag rippling in the background as thunder rumbles faintly in the desert sky.]

You may be a star in your land, Cameron.

But in mine… stars fall.

Fade to black.