Post by Syndicate on Oct 26, 2021 22:25:11 GMT -5
SAN VICENTE BOULEVARD - LOS ANGELES, CA
OCTOBER 23RD, 2021 - 11:57PM
...for the second time this month, Syndicate wishes this could have been an email.
He should have called the police. He should have hired a detective. He should have done ANYTHING but actually show up. The Los Angeles Outlaw is a prideful man, however, and he's not one to let others meddle in his own personal business. No, he had to take care of this one himself, and thus, here he is, standing on the corner of San Vicente and Cynthia...just like he promised. Wearing a black Under Armour hoodie and blue jeans, you'd be forgiven if you thought HE was one of the stalkers that have been following the Outlaw around for months now, but in reality...he's here to hunt those brats down and kick them out of his life, once and for all.
Syndicate: Alright, fuckos, I’m here. Come and get me.
He hears nothing but absolute silence. Syndicate swivels around, looking for someone - ANYONE - to approach him, but there's no one there.
Syndicate: I’m RIGHT...FUCKING...HERE.
?: We know.
Suddenly, a hand reaches out from the shadows behind Syndicate and covers his mouth with a piece of white cloth.
Syndicate: What the he-
The Los Angeles Outlaw can't even finish the sentence before his nostrils inhale a sweet, artificial smell. Shortly thereafter, his mind dives into darkness, unable to remain conscious.
UNKNOWN LOCATION
UNKNOWN TIME
UNKNOWN TIME
Syndicate jolts awake and finds himself lying in a cold sweat. He doesn't know what the fuck happened or where the hell he is, but he can't think about that right now - as he emerges from his groggy state, all he cares about is what he can actually perceive. The Los Angeles Outlaw is lying prone on an old cobblestone floor, lit only by a singular spotlight coming from above. Looking down beneath his torso, he notices a familiar-looking tribal design carved into the rocks.
Surrounding him is nothing but the void, and although Syndicate would love to dismiss this as just a bad dream...he knows that this is exactly what he signed up for.
?: Hey, you...you’re finally awake.
A deep, gravely voice booms out from in front of the Outlaw, but Syndicate is still too far out of it to muster much of a response.
?: I see the chloroform actually managed to quiet you down for a few moments.
Syndicate: Where...am I…
?: In due time, Mr. Irvine, in due time.
The Outlaw is in no condition to stand, but he pushes himself to his feet anyway, ready to try and fight against whomever - or whatever - has brought him here.
Syndicate: I don’t give a fuck about “due time” - I’m only here to make sure that y’all don’t hurt Sophie.
?: Don’t worry, Sophie is quite fine - she’s still asleep in your bed, unaware that you ever left. The real question, Mr. Irvine...is if she’s worth protecting in the first place.
Syndicate looks around, trying to locate the source of the voice, but he's unable to see anything outside of the spotlight's glow.
Syndicate: What the hell are you talking about?
?: Haven’t you noticed? Anytime you talk about wrestling with her, she gets visibly upset. She won’t watch your matches, she doesn’t travel with you to events, and she sits at home without a job while you put your body on the line to provide for your family.
Syndicate: She’s my wife.
?: Oh, of course...but she obviously doesn’t want to be part of your life. Why should you want to be a part of hers?
Syndicate's voice takes an angrier edge as he responds, clearly becoming frustrated with the situation as a whole.
Syndicate: Stop...talking...about Sophie…
?: Oh, we don't intend to bug you, Mr. Irvine. We’re only asking questions.
Syndicate: See, there’s that “we” again. Who the FUCK is “we”?
?: We’re right here. We...are the Triad.
Suddenly, the lights surrounding the Los Angeles Outlaw come up to reveal no less than ten different people surrounding him on all sides, each wearing a matching sleeveless hoodie that obscures their face. Seven of these men lean against the wall of the circular room, void of emotion as they silently watch Syndicate's every move. The other three can be found at the front of the space, wearing their own sleeved sweatshirts and standing directly next to each other as if they represent a single unit.
One by one, each hooded man speaks out to the Los Angeles Outlaw.
Left: I am Oko.
Right: I am Ucho.
Center: And I...am Ruka.
Syndicate squints at the man in the center, recognizing his voice almost immediately. The stubble present on his chin is all that's actually visible in the dim light, but that's all Syndicate needs to see. This is the man that's been speaking to him this entire time, the man that he met out on the street last month, and the man that threatened Sophie Irvine's safety in order to get Syndicate here in the first place.
Syndicate: You…
Ruka: It’s good to see you again, Mr. Irvine. Welcome...to the Sanctum.
He extends his hands outward, as if to show off the apparent headquarters of the mysterious Triad, and as he does, Syndicate notices the signature tribal tattoo on the back of his left hand.
Syndicate: Oh, great, this glorified sewer system has a name.
Ruka chuckles at this - even in such a dangerous environment, Syndicate hasn't lost his quick wit.
Ruka: We search for individuals like you, Mr. Irvine. People that are being taken advantage of. Men and women that aren’t respected by their peers, or told to be someone they’re not. Souls...that are waiting to be freed. Once they are identified, a select few are brought here, to the Sanctum, to begin immediate rehabilitation before society can crack their hearts any further.
Oko: We can be your eyes, seeing parts of the world that you cannot see.
Ucho: We can be your ears, hearing conversations between your enemies.
Ruka: And we can be your hands, always acting in your own best interest.
Extremely suspicious of what they each just said, Syndicate glances between the three Triad leaders.
Syndicate: That's quite the fancy way of saying that you're about to kill me...I knew this was a trap.
Ruka: And yet, you still came here of your own free will, didn’t you? You could have walked away, you could have turned us in, but you didn't...and now, here we are.
This finally shuts the Outlaw up, giving Ruka an opportunity to continue.
Ruka: We merely wish to help you, Mr. Irvine. You surround yourself with people that take advantage of your lucrative professional wrestling career to further their own lives at your expense. People like Sophie, who only married you so that she would never have to work a day in her life. People like JJ, a man that pretends to be friends with you in order to sign you to more “friendly” deals than you would accept otherwise. People...like the administrators at Project: Honor, who seek to squeeze every last bit of profit out of your previously well-regarded name.
Syndicate: That’s bullshit - I’m fighting for the Legacy title this week. I EARNED that match.
Ruka: You were granted that match by Christian DeMarco, a man that no longer holds power. Your one supporter in the entire company is gone, replaced by someone that...isn’t likely to be as helpful, especially with his “True Society” aiming to take you down.
Syndicate: So? That’s my cross to bear, not yours. I can take care of my business myself.
Ruka: Oh, is that right? How did that match with Jason Long go for you?
Absolute silence from Syndicate - he's still obviously bothered by his loss to Long a few months ago, but he's not about to audibly admit that to a possible enemy.
Ruka: You are treading water in Project: Honor, Mr. Irvine, and while others may be content with letting you drown, we wish to help you. We wish to free your soul, to rid you of the burdens that bring you down in your daily life. Wouldn’t it be nice, Mr. Irvine, to not have to fight with your wife on a nightly basis over your chosen profession? Or, perhaps you would enjoy going to work and being seen as THE threat, THE top talent in the entire professional wrestling industry?
Ruka takes a step forward towards Syndicate, who, in turn, drops to his knees. The Outlaw looks down at the cobblestone below him, frustrated that his entire life is being dissected before his very eyes.
Ruka: You wish to be respected by your peers, and we can help you get that respect. We can provide you the resources, the manpower, and the training to bring you the success that you crave. So...what do you say?
The apparent leader of the Triad extends a hand, but Syndicate refuses to even acknowledge it.
Syndicate: What’s in it for you? You’ve been stalking me all over the world, you threatened my family to get here - there MUST be a reason why you’re offering all this.
At this, Ruka only smirks.
Ruka: That is none of your concern. All you need to worry about...is the immense opportunity that we can provide.
His hand remains outstretched as Syndicate gets back to his feet. Ruka's answer wasn't convincing in the slightest...Syndicate knows the Triad's got an ulterior motive, but he has no earthly idea what they would want with someone like the Los Angeles Outlaw.
Syndicate: I’ll think about it.
Ruka: Very well. But we will need an answer soon.
He begins to turn away from the Outlaw, but Syndicate interrupts his motion with a statement of his own.
Syndicate: I’ve got one question for you, though.
Ruka: Hmm?
Syndicate: You guys keep telling me that “those who wander are not lost”. What the hell does that mean?
Ruka: Why, you’ve only heard the first half of the phrase. “Those who wander are not lost...for they are merely waiting to be found.”
The Triad member moves his gaze to someone behind the Los Angeles Outlaw and nods.
Ruka: Goodbye, Mr. Irvine.
Syndicate: Wait, WAIT -
Once again, Syndicate isn't allowed to pursue his train of thought, as one of the many attendants reaches around from behind and covers his mouth for a second time.
THE IRVINE HOUSEHOLD - LOS ANGELES, CA
OCTOBER 26TH, 2021 - 5:10PM
OCTOBER 26TH, 2021 - 5:10PM
It's a few days later, and while Syndicate has recovered physically from his encounter with the Triad...it's clear that he can't shake their offer out of his head. Even now, as he stands alone in his home's garage - a place he's been escaping to more and more recently, given Sophie's general mood when he's around - he can't help but wonder what would happen if he said "yes". What could the Triad do for him? What kind of "rehabilitation" would he undergo? What does anything they said actually fuckin' mean? Those are questions that will have to go unanswered for the time being. After all, he's already got an opportunity lined up for himself...and by God, it's the opportunity of a lifetime.
Syndicate: I’m a fuckin’ fool, aren’t I?
Syndicate: I’m a fuckin’ fool, aren’t I?
Moseying on over to one of the garage's shelving units in the corner, Syndicate reaches into a clear plastic bin and brings out a black baseball bat. His signature weapon, this particular instrument of violence has been Syndicate's trusty tool since his WWX days. Every time he's involved in a hardcore match of some sort, he always packs it in his bag, just in case...and this upcoming match at Bloodbath is certainly no exception.
Syndicate: I’ve got a wife here at home that hates my guts. These Triad assholes won’t leave me alone. My peers want me out of this damn business entirely. I’m fighting, each and every day, just to keep my life and my sanity above water...and in the midst of it all, I’m the surefire idiot that decided to challenge Elena DeDraca for the Legacy Championship.
He takes a moment to glance up and down the barrel of the bat, noting a few random dinks and scratches that were undoubtedly caused by repeating bashings into the bodies of Syndicate's past opponents, before setting it down on the garage's workbench.
Syndicate: That’s what you all think, right? You’ve watched as people like Jason Long, Dickie Watson, and Mark Hunter - the BEST that Project: Honor has to offer - tried their hand against the British Raven, and one by one, they failed. Sooner or later, every single person that’s come into contact with Elena DeDraca has gotten themselves pinned at the end of the night, myself included. Jason was goin’ for the Triple Crown, and he couldn’t pull it off. Mark tapped into “The Evil Within”, and he couldn’t get the job done. Throughout it all, Elena has proven to be the most dominant competitor in this entire company, and I must be a purebred BUFFOON to think that I have a chance in hell of breaking that trend. I should just tuck my tail in between my legs, accept my inevitable loss, and walk away now before I ruin my career any further, right? I don’t “deserve” this match in the first place, right?
As the faintest outline of a smile creeps onto his face, the Outlaw slowly shakes his head.
Syndicate: Wrong. So...fucking..wrong. Regardless of the context, this weekend at Bloodbath, inside of a bonafide abandoned hotel, I’ve got the opportunity to shock the fuckin’ world and do what the other top guys in this company couldn’t. Isn’t that something? I mean, this is lil’ ol’ Syndicate we’re talking about here. This is the guy that already lost to Jason Long! This is the guy that got beat by Julius Fairweather! How the hell is he in a pay-per-view main event, let alone one for the Legacy Championship? Simple: I worked for it. Each and every week, I look at my opponent, observe their weaknesses, and exploit them to the fullest. Even if I can’t beat you physically, I’ll just keep talkin’ until your ears fall off, and I’ll beat you mentally before you even step into that ring. Sometimes that doesn’t work out in the end, sure, but who cares about that?
Syndicate's eyes twitch as he says this. Just like we saw a few days ago, Jason Long, and the massive loss that he provided, still lives in the Outlaw's head rent-free.
Syndicate: I certainly don’t. All I care about is what’s in front of me and the opportunities that are available, and the second I heard that a Legacy title shot was on the line a few months ago, I took care of business when it counted and got myself to where I am today. Silly geese like Ozymandias can piss and moan about how I don’t “deserve” this, but you know what, Ozy? Lemee tell you something. If you wanted this spot so badly, then you should have earned it. You should have grabbed reality by the balls and taken it from me, if this is truly what you wanted. But, as we all know, you didn’t - you waited for the opportunity to come to you, but it never did, and now? You’re gonna be watching Bloodbath from your couch at home while the Los Angeles Outlaw makes history in Las Vegas. Go bitch about THAT on Twitter, why don’t you?
Syndicate: But this isn’t about you, big guy. It’s never been about you. No, this match at Bloodbath concerns only myself...and the woman that I’ll finally be able to knock the fuck out. Elena, it sounds like you’re relishing this opportunity too, aren’t you? You’ve been hearing me talk shit about you for MONTHS, and I’m sure you’d love nothing more than to beat the disrespect out of me and knock me down a few pegs. But I’m afraid that what you’re going to find in the Los Angeles Outlaw is a bit different than what you’re expecting. Sure, I lost to Jason Long in close, close fashion, but last I checked, he ended up spending his one and only opportunity at your title by getting burnt to a crisp, whereas I survived to fight another day. Julius Fairweather tried so very hard to steal my thunder, but of course, we all know how that ended up going for him. Finally, James Ranger, a ghost from my past, tried in vain to stop the unstoppable force that is the Los Angeles Outlaw, and what happened? You guessed it - one, two, three, another man yeeted back to the locker room.
Syndicate: Notice a pattern? You’ve got all these men, all these challengers, coming after the obvious threat that I bring to this company, and NONE of them have been able to take me out, but you...you’re the exception, Elena. I can make excuses, I can say that I wasn’t able to retaliate, but let’s not beat around the bush. At Fallout X, you beat me, fair and square - I can’t refute that - but I’m not here to fall victim to the same fate a second time. I’m not here to lay down and accept the loss that some may see as inevitable. Put simply, Elena, I’m here to kick your ass...whether you like it or not. This match at Bloodbath is the culmination of my entire career - everything that I’ve ever worked for, every skull that I’ve cracked, every bone that I’ve broken, has led to this moment...and I’m not gonna let it slip through my fingers. Not this time.
The Outlaw's hair is pushed backward by the beachside breeze coming in from outside, revealing even more of his chiseled chin and steely, remorseless eyes.
Syndicate: But enough about me...let’s talk about YOU, Elena. You know, for someone that tries so very hard to come off as cool, calm, and collected, you sure do talk a lot of shit. Honestly, with all the winning you’ve done and assholes you’ve beaten, you’ve earned the ability to do so. But while I’d love to wade past all that and get to the heart of the matter here, one comment you made has really stuck with me over this past week. I’m “weak”, Elena? I’m a “liar”? Please. If I was truly weak, I would have turned away from the challenge of facing you, and we wouldn’t even be having this conversation. If I was truly a liar, someone else would be in my position right now. And yet, here we both are, standing face-to-face with your belt, your status, and your spotlight up for grabs. And isn’t that the funny bit? One misstep, one mistake, and everything you’ve worked for goes up in smoke. Yeah, you've stacked the odds in your own favor, and I'm sure Hydra will be lying in the shadows, ready to strike at the right moment...but that'll just make the explosion even hotter when they fail to protect you from a man that doesn't know how to stop inflicting pain. I'm not going to mislead you, Elena: I intend to hurt you and everyone else you bring into the picture, regardless of who they are...and regardless how close to death they become.
Syndicate: Of course, you could tell Alex, Lara, and Diedre to stay home and fight me one-on-one, like a TRUE champion would, but you're not going to do that, are you? You depend on your little girls’ club as insurance to make sure your spot is secure. You blindly dismiss anyone that dares to look in your direction, saying they will never be able to touch you in that ring. You come off as a strong competitor - the strongest in the business - but underneath that veil, I see a very different person than everyone else sees. I see a candy-ass that lets her friends handle her business, without providing them with equal benefits in return. I see someone that doesn't know what real failure tastes like, and will undoubtedly collapse like a house of cards once she experiences it. Most of all, I see a mother, desperately trying to protect her daughter from the horrors of this world. Throughout all of this, from the first day that we crossed paths, there is one image that has motivated me, one thought that kept me going: seeing poor, innocent Isabella, with tears streaming down that precious face of hers, as she watches you teeter on the verge of death inside that hotel of horrors. At Bloodbath, your sweet, sweet child is going to learn that not everything in this world is sunshine and daffodils. It’s not all perfect like what she may see watching Peppa Pig on TV. No, this world is full of evil men and women that will do anything to win...and you’re lookin’ at one of them. I’m no emperor, I’m no king, and I’m certainly no demon. I am an Outlaw - THE Outlaw - and I’m not here to play by your stupid little rules.
Syndicate: I’ve been watching you for a very, very long time now, and although you’re clearly adept in every fighting style under the sun, I couldn’t help but notice your specific preference towards making your opponents tap out. It’s a primal urge, isn’t it? Forcing people to give up their hopes and dreams in an effort to quell the temporary pain really is something worth waking up for. And while I would love to serve as another victim of the “Pale Horse”, “Black Hole”, or even the “Fist of Hydra” itself, I’m afraid that you’re gonna have to figure out another way to defeat me. Because my arsenal is a bit different, Elena. Sure, I know a few submissions of my own, but I'm not here to play around and wrestle a technical classic, especially not in this setting. No, I'm here to crack your skull with the Original Syn, bust you open with the Catalyst DDT, drop you right on the back of your neck with the No Signal, and send you to the hospital for emergency surgery. That's what I did to earn the right to face you in the first place - before that poor sap, Mason, even knew what was happening, his shoulders were down on the mat courtesy of yours truly. You want to make me quit? Too bad, because I'm gonna make sure you don't even make it out of the damn blocks. I'm just as adept in a fight as anyone you've ever faced, and while you can certainly continue to underestimate me at every turn, just know that the further you go with that Legacy title...the more you end up tempting fate.
The Los Angeles Outlaw looks around at the garage surrounding him, taking particular note of all the potential weapons that lie dormant. Chainsaw, lawn mower, shovel - any and all of those could easily come in handy in the Abandoned Hotel match. He makes a mental note to try and find a way to smuggle a lawn mower blade into his carry-on before switching topics entirely.
Syndicate: You know, I don’t get why everyone’s into horror movies. Around this time every year, all the big, fancy Hollywood studios put their thinking caps on to try and come up with the "next big thing" to draw the crowds in, and what do they do? Shovel out the same, predictable Halloween movies year after year, each one featuring the same plotlines and spooky shit as the last. And YET, people eat it up! They flock to the theaters like a horde of Left 4 Dead zombies, spending their hard-earned money to engage in the masochistic ritual of feeling scared for once in their cushy little lives. That's all it really is, after all: a pathetic ritual that helps its participants feel better about their dead-end jobs, hopeless marriages, and uncertain futures, because how can your life truly be worse than a couple of 20-somethings fighting against a CGI ghost? Yeah, safe to say I never enjoyed those kinds of movies...but even so, I did manage to glean at least a few lessons from them, lessons that are certainly going to come in handy in just a few days' time.
Syndicate: Look at you, Elena. As we've already established, your life's going great! You've got a wonderful husband and a beautiful little kid at home, you've got your dearest friends that would take a bullet for you, and perhaps most importantly, you're firmly standing at the top of the wrestling world with that Legacy Championship wrapped around your waist. You've beaten every single fuckin' person that's come across you, the sole exception being a man that got his ass fired before you could get your revenge. But this time...things are going to turn out a bit differently than you're expecting. Just like those fools in the movies, you went ahead and bought the creepy, abandoned house across from the cemetery, thinking that nothing could possibly go wrong. You thought that no matter what happens or who you come across, you’d be the one coming out on top. But sooner or later, you're gonna realize that things are different here. You should have heeded the warnings. You should have stayed away. But you didn't...and you're going to pay the price at the hands of the Los Angeles Outlaw. At the end of the day, you’re nothing but a jump scare - enough to send lesser men cowering in their mommy’s lap, but not enough to ward off someone like me. Someone that’s been around the block a few times, someone that’s seen it all, and someone that’s prepared to DIE in that damn hotel to get what he wants. Are you prepared to do the same? Are you prepared to leave Mark and Isabella behind and risk it all for that championship? You better be, because Elena, darling, light of my life, I’m not gonna hurt you...I’m just gonna bash your brains in. Welcome...to the Syndicate.
Reaching upward, Syndicate grabs the red emergency cord and pulls on it, slamming the garage door shut mere inches from the camera lens. As the edge violently hits the cement floor below, static breaks through and consumes the feed.
