Post by Syndicate on Oct 12, 2021 22:06:11 GMT -5
SPORTSMAX HEADQUARTERS - LOS ANGELES, CA
OCTOBER 12TH, 2021 - 8:18PM
Jesus Christ, couldn't this have just been an email?
The Los Angeles Outlaw, Syndicate, certainly didn't want to spend his Tuesday night sitting in the fancy-schmancy office of his devoted agent and friend, JJ Kline. In fact, Syndicate would be rather be doing pretty much anything at this hour of the evening, but of course, JJ just HAD to reschedule their weekly meeting for pretty much the only time that the agent wasn't booked up with other clients. The utility of the meeting itself has always been questioned by the Outlaw - after all, JJ always travels with him to all Project: Honor events, so they don't really need a separate time or place to meet - but JJ has always insisted on one-on-one time like this. It's part of his style, giving every client the "personal touch", as JJ brightly puts it in his recruitment pitches.
Nevertheless, Syndicate currently finds himself in JJ's office, wearing a black V-neck t-shirt and blue jeans along with gray Under Armour sneakers. He leans back in his chair, yawns, and looks over at the man behind the desk: JJ Kline himself. Dressed in his signature pressed blue suit with matching red tie, the ever-dapper sports agent can be seen putting the finishing touches on an email to one of his colleagues. See? This meeting COULD have been an email. But, it wasn't, and as the sun shines through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows that make up a corner of the spacious office, Syndicate is only left to chuckle to himself as he watches his longtime friend from across the room.
Syndicate: "Most important client", my ass...
This comment prompts JJ to glance over at the Los Angeles Outlaw - he chooses to respond with a quip of his own.
JJ: Hey, you can start complaining once you start making millions for this company like some of these other guys do.
Syndicate: Well, you won't have to wait very long for that.
Bloodbath. Elena DeDraca. The Legacy Championship. Those three images have consumed Syndicate's mind since making it past Julius Fairweather a few short weeks ago. He and JJ both recognize the opportunity that lies ahead for the Outlaw, although Syndicate is clearly more bullish on his chances than his agent is. Syndicate thinks he has the ability and drive to come out on top, but all JJ sees is exactly what we've seen out of the Los Angeles Outlaw thus far in Project: Honor: a few quick wins sprinkled between some tough losses to high-level competition. Elena DeDraca? She's the toughest competitor this company has to offer, and JJ Kline knows that it's going to take everything Syndicate's got in order to beat the unbeatable. After a few short moments, JJ presses "send" on the email and finally turns towards Syndicate with a smile.
JJ: Thanks for comin' in late today, Syd. I really appreciate it.
Syndicate: Yeah, yeah, whatever.
JJ: What, you got better places to be than hanging out at your ol' stomping grounds?
Syndicate: JJ, I'm not coming back to work for the agency. I've told you that a million times.
JJ: Well, sure, but hey, nothing beats being back in-person after this long pandemic, right?
Syndicate: You know as well as I do that any home is more comfortable than this place.
The two friends share a chuckle at this - it's the same kind of banter that they'd share when they were both active agents here, and even though those days are long gone, it's still fun to reminisce sometimes.
JJ: How's Sophie? I heard things were rough when you got back from Japan.
Syndicate hesitates for a moment.
Syndicate: She's...fine.
This wasn't a total lie. Sure, the mood within the Irvine household had gotten better since that fateful night two weeks ago, when Syndicate left an enraged Sophie Irvine behind in order to avoid further confrontation about his behavior - but that's like saying that a dirty pot will get cleaner if you soak it in soapy water for a week. Back at home, Sophie is still incredibly upset with Syndicate's disappearance, return, and subsequent escape, but both of them know that there isn't really a good solution to the problem. Thus, they've let the conflict hang in the air, causing a bit of tension to worm its way into every interaction. It sucks, and Syndicate definitely doesn't want to talk about it...especially not to the one person that could potentially relay it back to Sophie.
Syndicate: Listen, man, I'd love to talk about my marriage with you all night long, but it's almost 8:30 and I would very much like to be anywhere but here. Can we move on to the important stuff - you know, the reason why you chose to have a fuckin' business meeting at this hour?
As the light from the sun finally sets on the oversized painting of George Washington that's hung up behind Syndicate, JJ stands from his chair and begins pacing back-and-forth across the room, as he typically does when talking about important matters with his clients.
JJ: Alright, alright, let's get down to brass tacks: this Fallout match against Steel & Venom. You've gotta treat it as a serious tune-up bout.
Syndicate: Kagome and James are both dangerous, absolutely. They can beat a lot of people in this company...but that lot unfortunately doesn't include me. I've kicked both of their asses numerous times before, and it's not gonna be any different this time around. I'm sure they'll bring their A-game, but in the end? Well, James should know better than anyone just how lethal I truly am.
JJ: What about Havoc? Sure, he's your partner, but he's also a scummy little weasel, and to be honest, I wouldn't be surprised if he tried to make a name for himself by taking you out.
BUZZ...BUZZ...
A phone starts vibrating in the Los Angeles Outlaw's pocket, but he chooses to respond to JJ's concern rather than answer it.
Syndicate: Ehh, I'm not worried about him. He belongs in a psychiatric ward, but he's not stupid. Hell, he said it himself: he's got a lot more to prove this week than I do, and if he wants to throw himself at James and Kagome and do all the heavy lifting, then by all means. Besides, he can stick to his own affairs with the bottom-feeders of Fallout...I've got my own fish to fry.
BUZZ...BUZZ...
Syndicate: Okay, what the hell is -
He finally pulls out his phone and sees a mysterious notification from Twitter telling him that's he's been tagged. Wondering who the hell would want to socialize with him, of all people, he unlocks the phone and taps on the notification, bringing up a singular Tweet from an unknown...yet familiar-looking account.
Syndicate shakes his head in disbelief as he notices the account's avatar: the same crimson tribal logo that has infiltrated into every aspect of the Los Angeles Outlaw's life. First. he finds it emblazoned on the hand of the mysterious stalker that cornered him during a late-night walk. Then, after his recent match with Julius Fairweather, he sees the design carefully placed upon a water bottle by an anonymous crew member, one that he had never seen backstage previously. Now, the design takes the form of a Twitter account...one that doesn't appear to be remaining silent.
JJ: Hmm?
Syndicate: I...I just...
Should he tell JJ? On one hand, the agent has always been a bit of a jokester, and Syndicate's not sure that his concerns would be taken seriously. On the other hand, he's getting fucking stalked, and he could very well end up being killed by these wackos before anyone else can notice what's been going on. Syndicate glances upward at his friend, but before he can make a decision, the Tweet completely vanishes from his phone screen. Quickly, Syndicate types in "_the_triad_" into the search bar, but nothing comes up. The account has disappeared, and he's got no proof of what he just saw. Shaking his head in disbelief, Syndicate's left with nothing to do but turn to JJ and sigh, deeply concerned with what's been happening over the past number of weeks but unable to put that concern into words.
Syndicate: Nevermind.
JJ: Cool, cool. Now, let's talk branding. People in that audience may not be paying attention to you just yet, but after this match with Elena? That's all gonna change REAL fast. I've been in contact with the marketing people over at P:H, and they sent over some t-shirt ideas...
JJ Kline keeps pacing and talking, but Syndicate isn't paying attention. All he can think about - all he could POSSIBLY be thinking about - is this group of people that won't leave him alone. By the looks of that Twitter username, they're known as "The Triad", and they keep saying that they'll "free his soul", but what does that mean? What the hell does any of this mean? Syndicate hopes that he'll never have to find out, but judging by their persistence...he knows that won't be the case.
NORTH FAIRFAX AVENUE - LOS ANGELES, CA
OCTOBER 12TH, 2021 - 9:01PM
OCTOBER 12TH, 2021 - 9:01PM
We cut to the exterior of SportsMax headquarters, situated on the busy corner of Santa Monica Boulevard and North Fairfax Avenue in the City of Angels. Underneath a large sign that displays the company's logo in bright red font, two tall glass doors swing open to reveal Syndicate stepping out of the building and onto the bustling sidewalk. As the nearly stoplight turns green and cars honk at each other to get moving, the Los Angeles Outlaw glances to his left and right before abruptly turning left, walking down the sidewalk at a determined pace as he speaks to the camera that's currently documenting the aftermath of his visit with JJ Kline.
Syndicate: You know, I’m not religious, but if I was...I’d think God was playing a trick on me. First, you’ve got these fuckin’ alleyway assholes that won’t leave me alone, but now? It seems as though I’ve got someone else that I can’t seem to escape: James...f’n...Ranger.
Syndicate: Eight years. For eight long years, I had to trudge through the depths of the World Wrestling eXistence with you standing either by my side or directly in my path. No matter how many management changes occurred, or how many wrestlers came and went, you were always there, always finding a way to mess with my career, and just when I thought I was finally able to move on, here you are, right back in front of me. Now, let me get this out of the way real quick, James: I respect the hell out of you. You’re a tough little asshole, and unlike pretty much everyone else in this company, you know exactly how to beat me. You know my strengths, my weaknesses, and what it takes to take down the Los Angeles Outlaw, and I’d be lying if I said I’m not considering that in my gameplan for this week. But just like there’s two sides to the same coin, James...you’re also going up against the one man in this company that understands exactly how to kick the piss out of you.
A man passes Syndicate on the left, and while he would normally just ignore someone like this, recent events have caused the Outlaw to leave nothing to chance. He hesitates and looks over his right shoulder, watching as the passerby continues past without incident. "The Triad", whoever they are, won't corner him again.
Syndicate: Let’s analyze your character, for a moment. You’re a great competitor, no doubt about it - multi-time champion, finding success everywhere you’ve gone. But isn’t that the problem, James? It seems like every year, you’re bouncing from place to place, company to company, without finding someplace to really settle down. Sure, the WWX filled that role for a time, but look what happened: I had to spend the better part of my career saving that place from the trash compactor while you and everyone else dragged it through the mud, and even then, it shuttered under your supervision. You just can’t find a home in this business, especially as of late, and now? You’re here in Project: Honor, trying to recapture the magic that you barely ever had. You cling onto your pal Kagome’s coattails, hoping that she’ll bring you back to the promised land, but instead? You got brought right back to where you were before...at the feet of one Sydney Maxwell Irvine.
Syndicate: I haven’t needed to keep leaving and re-entering the business. I don’t need to hide away in management just to stay relevant. I don’t even have to rely on what I once was just to get a booking, because in that ring, win or lose, I put on a damn show, and that’s more than anyone’s ever been able to say for you. I think that's what gotten to you, James: you've spent the last eight years sitting on the sidelines and watching while I've found the same success that you WISH you could've had. Then, once I leave your bubble and join Project: Honor, what do you do? You follow in my footsteps, just like you always do, and you try to replicate what I'm already doing. Problem is, you're out of gas. You don't have what it takes anymore, James, and I think you know that just as well as I. Hell, you had to be CONVINCED by Kagome to join Fallout, and for what? So that you can spend the final days of your in-ring career in a worthless tag team at the bottom of the card? Pathetic. That's not the Black Mamba that I once knew, and that's certainly not the Black Mamba that deserves a spot on the Fallout roster.
Glancing upward, Syndicate sees a lit green sign that reads "SELF PARK" in bold, capital letters. Nodding to himself, Syndicate slips through an open doorway and begins walking up a dark, depressing stairway that clearly hasn't been cleaned in months, if not years.
Syndicate: You and I used to be pretty good friends, James, so I'm going to give you a piece of advice, one that I sincerely hope you take to heart. Walk away. Go back home, go take care of your mother, and move on with your life. Kagome doesn't need you, I don't need you, and Fallout doesn't need you. As much as I wish to firmly put you and everything you've done to me in my rear-view mirror, I don't want to be the one responsible for ending your career in that ring - I mean that. All I ask, James, is that you heed this warning: if you continue to meddle in my affairs, get in my way, or God forbid, decide to show up to Fallout this week, then I will do what I should have done a long time ago and knock your lights out for good. The Black Mamba is running out of venom...and come Fallout, the predator is going to become the prey.
Syndicate: Of course, I don't mean to leave out your partner. Kagome, I'd like to call your attention back to my very first televised match on Fallout - the dreaded "CLUSTERFUCK" match for the Ascension title. Take a look at this one.
Reaching into his right pocket, Syndicate pulls out his trusty Galaxy S20. Swiftly unlocking it via face scan, he motions for the Project: Honor cameraman to stop moving for a moment before raising the phone up to the camera's lens. He presses play on a video, where we see a replay of the aforementioned "Clusterfuck" match from Fallout IX.
DING! DING! DING!
ALARA ADAMS: This should be inter-
Kagome charges Syndicate quickly, who ducks under an attempted clothesline by the Blade of Nagasaki. Akaibara stops on a dime and turns around. Syndicate lands a hard boot to her midsection…
KAYDEN ELLIS: CATALYST DDT BY SYNDICATE!!! HE HOOKS KAGOME’S LEG!!!
ONE!
TWO!!
THREE!!!
CLARA OLSON: KAGOME AKAIBARA HAS BEEN ELIMINATED!!!
The Los Angeles Outlaw taps the pause button and slides the device back into his pocket, leaving only one thing left to do: give Kagome Akaibara a slow, slow clap as he continues to climb the garage's stairs.
Syndicate: What a performance. Truly one for the ages, I must say. Tell me, did the Catalyst DDT knock you out, or was it the shame of having lost a championship match in about five seconds flat? Now, you can absolutely make the argument about that being over three months ago, and I'd agree. It WAS three months ago. But looking at your most recent escapades, you managed to bring your good friend James back into wrestling, and for what? So that he could almost single-handedly lose to The Massacre while you stood watching from the apron, relatively unscathed? From my point-of-view, you’re just using James as a shield to pass your in-ring failings onto someone else, and as we just discussed, putting your hopes and dreams into the hands of James f’n Ranger isn’t exactly the safest investment.
Syndicate: You know, the question has to be asked, Kagome: what are you actually searching for in life? You went to Japan to become a pop idol, and from the looks of things, you’re barely treading water in that world while hundreds of your contemporaries pass you by. You get into wrestling to try and build your fanbase, but all your potential fans see is failure after failure. No matter what career you dedicate yourself to, you never amount to anything special, and you know what, Kagome? I feel bad for you, I really do. You shouldn't have to go through the torture of being a good-for-nothing washout. And so, as a gift from me to you, I'm happy to say that in the very near future, all that pain is going to go away and you'll be able to walk away from all of this...when I knock you out with another Catalyst DDT, just like I did three months ago. This Thursday at Fallout, I'm gonna show you why a little pop idol like yourself should never have gotten into professional wrestling in the first place. And do you know what the best part is? I don't even have to touch you to beat you, because my makeshift partner, Havoc, has decided that he wants to take you out himself. Sure, he'll probably fuck it up in the end, but when he does...your own personal hell is only gonna get hotter, once you're standing across the ring from the Los Angeles Outlaw.
He reaches the third floor of the garage and pushes open the stairway door. A rush of air flows forward, blowing his long blonde hair backwards as he walks past a row of vehicles.
Syndicate: And that leaves only one person. Someone that's not involved in this match. Someone that has yet to officially acknowledge me as the singular number-one contender for her precious Legacy Championship. Someone...that's already got one foot off the edge of the cliff. Elena, I understand that I'm not as well-regarded as your previous challengers. I get it. I wrestled for eight years in a promotion that nobody watched, and after showing up in Project: Honor, I'm granted a match for the company's top championship within three months of walking through the door. Since day one, everyone in the locker room has been asking, "who the fuck is this Syndicate guy?" I don't blame them, and until very recently, I don't know if I'd be able to answer that question either. For years, I was just a guy, another name on a list of names where everyone's fighting for the same spot at the top of the mountain. I used to think that I "deserved" to be the best, that I was destined for greatness...but three months in Project: Honor put that to bed real quick. Yeah, that's right, I've gotten my ass handed to me a couple of times, including one time where you yourself put me down, but through those losses, I've only become stronger. I'm not the same guy that got taken down by a bunch of wrestling wannabes, and I'm not the same guy that fell in heartbreaking fashion to Jason Long. I'm not Ozymandias, I'm not Mark Hunter, and I'm not like any other person that you've faced previously. I am Sydney Maxwell Irvine, I am the Los Angeles Outlaw, and while you may be looking ahead at future opponents and other challengers, I'm standing right here, ready for my crack at the British Raven.
Finally, Syndicate reaches his destination: his 2012 Chevy Cruze LTZ, meticulously parked between the lines in this crowded parking garage. Painted a dark maroon color, Syndicate has depended on this car for years to get him from place to place, especially in a city that's as sprawling as Los Angeles. It's in near-perfect condition, save for some visible marks on the back bumper from a recent rear-ending that has yet to be resolved...but that's neither here nor there. After glancing at that damage and mentally cursing himself for not calling the insurance guy again, the Los Angeles Outlaw looks back up at the camera lens in front of him.
Syndicate: Sure, there are others who have done more to "deserve" this opportunity. There are those that don't believe I have a shot in hell to win at Bloodbath. But it's like I once asked you, Elena, just a few months ago before the last time we came face-to-face: "why...not...Syndicate?" The question applied then, and it sure as hell applies now. So before you take that next step forward, make sure you look where you're walking...otherwise, the legend of Elena DeDraca may just suffer a dramatic fall from grace. Welcome...to the Syndicate.
With a soft, confident smile, Syndicate opens the door to his prized Chevy Cruze and steps inside. As he turns the car on and adjusts the rear view mirror - it seemed a bit off-kilter compared to its normal positioning, for some reason - the camera feed is consumed by television static.
