Post by Syndicate on Nov 21, 2021 23:42:36 GMT -5
ARBY'S - REDONDO BEACH, CA
NOVEMBER 16TH, 2021 - 8:11PM
Man, nothing distracts you from your problems quite like a Jamocha Shake.
It's the only item on the Arby's menu that the Legacy Champion, Syndicate, can stomach. He's never enjoyed their roast beef offerings, and gyros aren't exactly his thing either, but a half-coffee, half-chocolate milkshake? Hell yeah. He takes a sip, thinking about what brought him here, to an Arby's parking lot after sundown. Leaning against the hood of his car, he's the only person in the vicinity - as is normal at this time of night - and he often comes here when he needs to get away from things. Tonight...is certainly one of those nights.
As has been the theme of the past two months, the Los Angeles Outlaw has a lot on his plate. He's been spending most of his personal time dealing with a disapproving wife, a demanding agent, and a cabal of dangerous men that seem to be following his every move. That last one is Syndicate's primary concern, as "The Triad" has requested his presence in order to begin his "rehabilitation"...whatever the fuck THAT means. If he doesn't accept their "help", he could be destined to lose the Legacy title in quick fashion and never reach these heights again. Problem is, the championship is all he has left, the one thing left for him to cling to...he cannot let it slip away, at ANY cost. It's this desire that prompts him to reach into his pocket, take out his phone, and open the dialer app. Tapping a saved number at the top of the screen, Syndicate holds the phone up to his ear - as he does, the call is immediately answered.
?: Are you ready?
Of course he picked up right away. The Triad seems to know everything about Syndicate's life already, and it shouldn't shock him that the group's mystifying leader, Ruka, would already be expecting his call.
Syndicate: ...as ready as I'll ever be, I guess.
Ruka: Good. Close your eyes.
Syndicate: Come on, can't you just show me -
Ruka: Now.
Syndicate takes a deep breath and does as Ruka asked - and as expected, a piece of sweet-smelling cloth gets pressed against his mouth almost immediately.
Ruka: Welcome back to the Sanctum, Mr. Irvine.
Syndicate: Fuck off.
Chuckling to himself, Ruka ascends back up to his throne and sits between Ucho and Oko.
Ruka: You agreed to participate in rehabilitation, Mr. Irvine - although you may refuse to openly admit it, a part of you recognizes how oppressed your soul truly is, and thus, you have returned to the Sanctum. Over the next number of days, you will undergo a series of trials, each intended to strengthen your body and mind for the fight to come. There is no turning back at this stage, Mr. Irvine...one way or another, we shall free your soul.
The Legacy Champion squints his eyes at Ruka, confused.
Syndicate: DAYS?? You don't think Sophie are JJ are gonna wonder where I am?
Ruka: Oh, don’t worry - we have that covered. They're both under the impression that Porject: Honor needed you for a promotional tour - they'll be none the wiser. Your employer has been taken care of as well.
Syndicate lets out a heavy sigh. He could say no, and walk away from all of this bullshit before it goes any further...but the allure of keeping gold around his waist is too strong to ignore.
Syndicate: ...fine. Let’s just get this shit over with.
Ruka: Very well. Attendants!
On cue, the accomplices holding Syndicate's arms each release their grip, causing him to unceremoniously fall to the floor. As he pushes himself up, two other Triad members walk three people - each with their hands tied behind their backs and burlap sacks covering their heads - into the center of the room.
Syndicate: The fuck is this?
Ruka: These are three normal people that live here in Los Angeles. Your first trial, Mr. Irvine...is to knock them out.
Syndicate is silent for a moment, shocked by this request.
Syndicate: ...what?
Ruka: You heard me.
Syndicate: I’m not going to attack three rando’s off the street. They did nothing wrong!
Ruka: Ah, but is that really true?
Ruka steps down and removes the burlap sack from the head of the left-most person, revealing the profile of a young man with a look of absolute terror in his eyes.
Ruka: Andrew, 29, from Long Beach. Works in marketing at BOND, the same ad agency that happens to feature Project: Honor as a client. Andrew here was responsible for approving Project: Honor’s most recent campaign...one where your image and likeness were conspicuously absent. He saw the momentum you’ve been building, he witnessed you win the Legacy Championship, and yet, Andrew here decided that you weren’t “marketable” enough. His decisions have reinforced the negative perception of the public towards you. Take...him...out.
Syndicate: No.
Ruka: Do it.
Syndicate: I don't understand...
Ruka: FUCKING DO IT. TEACH THIS MAN WHY YOU DESERVE RESPECT.
The Legacy Champion looks down at the ground for a moment, grimacing. He shouldn't do this...he knows he shouldn't do this...
Syndicate: I’m sorry, Andrew…
Refusing to look him in the eye, Syndicate charges forward and nails Andrew in the head with an "Original Syn" running knee strike. Unable to shield himself from the blow, Andrew crumples to the ground.
Ruka: Good...good.
Two attendants rush in to drag Andrew away as Syndicate, in a state of shock, steps back. As he grapples with what he just did, Ruka takes off the second person's hood, revealing the face of another man.
Ruka: Next up: Jake, 44, living in Santa Monica. One of the program directors at AMC, the very network that YOUR show, Fallout, airs on. This man's company directly profits off of your sacrifices in that ring, and yet, he has a higher salary than you do. Shouldn’t it be the other way around, where the person doing the work and putting their life on the line is placed at a higher value? Now is your chance to right that wrong.
Syndicate shakes his head, in disbelief that this is all happening...but unlike with Andrew, he doesn't hesitate to rush towards Jake and nail him with another "Original Syn" to the head. Once again, the victim collapses to the ground, prompting two more attendants to tend to him.
Syndicate: They don’t deserve this.
Ruka: Yes, they do. All three of these people have contributed to the machine that holds you down. You need to understand one thing: everyone, from the hot dog vendor on the sidewalk to the big wigs on the 50th floor, are part of the world that takes you for granted. If you want to be given the respect that you’ve rightfully earned, then society has to change. This...is your first step towards that.
Stepping forward, Ruka removes the sack from the head of the third man...but unlike the others, Syndicate feels as though he's seen this person somewhere before.
Ruka: And finally, you may recognize James here from your old job at...SportsMax, was it?
As soon as Ruka says "SportsMax", it all comes flooding back. This is James Burke, an associate at Syndicate's old sports agency job. The two never worked together directly, but due to James's desk being placed right next to the coffee machine on the first floor, he and Syndicate have certainly crossed paths.
Ruka: This man...works for your friend, JJ Kline.
Syndicate: No…
Ruka: He works for a company that only sees you as an opportunity to break into the wrestling business.
Syndicate: That’s not true…
Ruka: Has JJ managed to brainwash you, Mr. Irvine? He may be your friend, he may be your agent, but he and the company he manages isn’t there to help you. They’re not there to work “for” you...you’re working for them. Regardless of your choice to be a professional wrestler or a sports agent, SportsMax USES you to further their own goals, and the second you’re no longer “worth the hassle”, as they’ve told you previously? They’ll throw you away without a second thought. Now, tell me, Mr. Irvine...is that fair?
Ruka walks back over to Syndicate and places a hand on his right shoulder.
Ruka: SportsMax has demanded that you return to your old job as an agent for quite some time now, correct? JJ even ruined your own birthday party by trying to bring you back into the fold, and only when that failed did he offer to become your agent. If he were truly your friend, he would allow you to make your own decisions, and yet, JJ Kline INSISTS on latching onto your ship.
He turns and points towards a horrified James.
Ruka: James here is no different. He is just another cog in JJ’s machine, determined to benefit off of your own success. Wouldn’t it be nice...to teach James, JJ, and SportsMax who’s REALLY in control?
Syndicate understands the problem...and he also knows what the solution is. Breathing heavily, as if momentarily in a trance, Syndicate once again runs forward towards the helpless person in front of him. However, this time, he twists his arm around James's neck and locks in "The Vault", choking the man out. James struggles briefly, but like so many of Syndicate's past opponents, he is powerless to escape.
Ruka: Yes! Very good work, Mr. Irvine. You have passed the first trial.
The Legacy Champion releases James's neck and pushes him away. He sits up and stares over at James, checking to make sure that he's still breathing.
Syndicate: What’s going to happen to them?
Ruka: They’re going to...disappear...for a while. Don’t worry - we’ll see to it that none of this is ever linked back to you.
Syndicate stands up and backs away, while the man he just attacked is carried away by attendants.
Ruka: One test in, and you’re already excelling, Mr. Irvine. It seems the money being invested into this training shall be worth it.
Syndicate: What's that supposed to mean?
Ruka: ...you’ll understand soon enough.
He turns and motions back to his compatriot, Oko, who immediately stands up from his throne.
Ruka: Oko will show you to your holding cell, where you shall remain until the second trial is to commence.
Oko gestures towards an archway at the left side of the Sanctum. Syndicate takes one glance back at Ruka, shakes his head slightly, and exits as directed.
It's the only item on the Arby's menu that the Legacy Champion, Syndicate, can stomach. He's never enjoyed their roast beef offerings, and gyros aren't exactly his thing either, but a half-coffee, half-chocolate milkshake? Hell yeah. He takes a sip, thinking about what brought him here, to an Arby's parking lot after sundown. Leaning against the hood of his car, he's the only person in the vicinity - as is normal at this time of night - and he often comes here when he needs to get away from things. Tonight...is certainly one of those nights.
As has been the theme of the past two months, the Los Angeles Outlaw has a lot on his plate. He's been spending most of his personal time dealing with a disapproving wife, a demanding agent, and a cabal of dangerous men that seem to be following his every move. That last one is Syndicate's primary concern, as "The Triad" has requested his presence in order to begin his "rehabilitation"...whatever the fuck THAT means. If he doesn't accept their "help", he could be destined to lose the Legacy title in quick fashion and never reach these heights again. Problem is, the championship is all he has left, the one thing left for him to cling to...he cannot let it slip away, at ANY cost. It's this desire that prompts him to reach into his pocket, take out his phone, and open the dialer app. Tapping a saved number at the top of the screen, Syndicate holds the phone up to his ear - as he does, the call is immediately answered.
?: Are you ready?
Of course he picked up right away. The Triad seems to know everything about Syndicate's life already, and it shouldn't shock him that the group's mystifying leader, Ruka, would already be expecting his call.
Syndicate: ...as ready as I'll ever be, I guess.
Ruka: Good. Close your eyes.
Syndicate: Come on, can't you just show me -
Ruka: Now.
Syndicate takes a deep breath and does as Ruka asked - and as expected, a piece of sweet-smelling cloth gets pressed against his mouth almost immediately.
THE SANCTUM - UNKNOWN LOCATION
NOVEMBER 16TH, 2021 - 10:01PM
NOVEMBER 16TH, 2021 - 10:01PM
***SLAP***
Syndicate is unceremoniously awoken with a hard strike to the face. The Outlaw is still drowsy from the chloroforming - one that he wishes he could have avoided - but after shaking his head and opening his eyes, he's able to fully come to. He instantly realizes that his arms are being restrained behind his back by two Triad attendants, each dressed in sleeveless black hoodies. Glancing upward, Syndicate's greeted by the familiar sight of three hooded men at the front of the room, each sitting in their own blackened throne. This is, of course, the Triad - they purportedly want to "free his soul", but it's never been made clear what their methods are for accomplishing that. The three men in charge - Ucho and Oko on the sides, with who Syndicate sees as Head Stalker Supreme, Ruka, in the center - are all facing the Legacy Champion, but only Ruka is smiling.
Syndicate is unceremoniously awoken with a hard strike to the face. The Outlaw is still drowsy from the chloroforming - one that he wishes he could have avoided - but after shaking his head and opening his eyes, he's able to fully come to. He instantly realizes that his arms are being restrained behind his back by two Triad attendants, each dressed in sleeveless black hoodies. Glancing upward, Syndicate's greeted by the familiar sight of three hooded men at the front of the room, each sitting in their own blackened throne. This is, of course, the Triad - they purportedly want to "free his soul", but it's never been made clear what their methods are for accomplishing that. The three men in charge - Ucho and Oko on the sides, with who Syndicate sees as Head Stalker Supreme, Ruka, in the center - are all facing the Legacy Champion, but only Ruka is smiling.
Ruka: Welcome back to the Sanctum, Mr. Irvine.
Syndicate: Fuck off.
Chuckling to himself, Ruka ascends back up to his throne and sits between Ucho and Oko.
Ruka: You agreed to participate in rehabilitation, Mr. Irvine - although you may refuse to openly admit it, a part of you recognizes how oppressed your soul truly is, and thus, you have returned to the Sanctum. Over the next number of days, you will undergo a series of trials, each intended to strengthen your body and mind for the fight to come. There is no turning back at this stage, Mr. Irvine...one way or another, we shall free your soul.
The Legacy Champion squints his eyes at Ruka, confused.
Syndicate: DAYS?? You don't think Sophie are JJ are gonna wonder where I am?
Ruka: Oh, don’t worry - we have that covered. They're both under the impression that Porject: Honor needed you for a promotional tour - they'll be none the wiser. Your employer has been taken care of as well.
Syndicate lets out a heavy sigh. He could say no, and walk away from all of this bullshit before it goes any further...but the allure of keeping gold around his waist is too strong to ignore.
Syndicate: ...fine. Let’s just get this shit over with.
Ruka: Very well. Attendants!
On cue, the accomplices holding Syndicate's arms each release their grip, causing him to unceremoniously fall to the floor. As he pushes himself up, two other Triad members walk three people - each with their hands tied behind their backs and burlap sacks covering their heads - into the center of the room.
Syndicate: The fuck is this?
Ruka: These are three normal people that live here in Los Angeles. Your first trial, Mr. Irvine...is to knock them out.
Syndicate is silent for a moment, shocked by this request.
Syndicate: ...what?
Ruka: You heard me.
Syndicate: I’m not going to attack three rando’s off the street. They did nothing wrong!
Ruka: Ah, but is that really true?
Ruka steps down and removes the burlap sack from the head of the left-most person, revealing the profile of a young man with a look of absolute terror in his eyes.
Ruka: Andrew, 29, from Long Beach. Works in marketing at BOND, the same ad agency that happens to feature Project: Honor as a client. Andrew here was responsible for approving Project: Honor’s most recent campaign...one where your image and likeness were conspicuously absent. He saw the momentum you’ve been building, he witnessed you win the Legacy Championship, and yet, Andrew here decided that you weren’t “marketable” enough. His decisions have reinforced the negative perception of the public towards you. Take...him...out.
Syndicate: No.
Ruka: Do it.
Syndicate: I don't understand...
Ruka: FUCKING DO IT. TEACH THIS MAN WHY YOU DESERVE RESPECT.
The Legacy Champion looks down at the ground for a moment, grimacing. He shouldn't do this...he knows he shouldn't do this...
Syndicate: I’m sorry, Andrew…
Refusing to look him in the eye, Syndicate charges forward and nails Andrew in the head with an "Original Syn" running knee strike. Unable to shield himself from the blow, Andrew crumples to the ground.
Ruka: Good...good.
Two attendants rush in to drag Andrew away as Syndicate, in a state of shock, steps back. As he grapples with what he just did, Ruka takes off the second person's hood, revealing the face of another man.
Ruka: Next up: Jake, 44, living in Santa Monica. One of the program directors at AMC, the very network that YOUR show, Fallout, airs on. This man's company directly profits off of your sacrifices in that ring, and yet, he has a higher salary than you do. Shouldn’t it be the other way around, where the person doing the work and putting their life on the line is placed at a higher value? Now is your chance to right that wrong.
Syndicate shakes his head, in disbelief that this is all happening...but unlike with Andrew, he doesn't hesitate to rush towards Jake and nail him with another "Original Syn" to the head. Once again, the victim collapses to the ground, prompting two more attendants to tend to him.
Syndicate: They don’t deserve this.
Ruka: Yes, they do. All three of these people have contributed to the machine that holds you down. You need to understand one thing: everyone, from the hot dog vendor on the sidewalk to the big wigs on the 50th floor, are part of the world that takes you for granted. If you want to be given the respect that you’ve rightfully earned, then society has to change. This...is your first step towards that.
Stepping forward, Ruka removes the sack from the head of the third man...but unlike the others, Syndicate feels as though he's seen this person somewhere before.
Ruka: And finally, you may recognize James here from your old job at...SportsMax, was it?
As soon as Ruka says "SportsMax", it all comes flooding back. This is James Burke, an associate at Syndicate's old sports agency job. The two never worked together directly, but due to James's desk being placed right next to the coffee machine on the first floor, he and Syndicate have certainly crossed paths.
Ruka: This man...works for your friend, JJ Kline.
Syndicate: No…
Ruka: He works for a company that only sees you as an opportunity to break into the wrestling business.
Syndicate: That’s not true…
Ruka: Has JJ managed to brainwash you, Mr. Irvine? He may be your friend, he may be your agent, but he and the company he manages isn’t there to help you. They’re not there to work “for” you...you’re working for them. Regardless of your choice to be a professional wrestler or a sports agent, SportsMax USES you to further their own goals, and the second you’re no longer “worth the hassle”, as they’ve told you previously? They’ll throw you away without a second thought. Now, tell me, Mr. Irvine...is that fair?
Ruka walks back over to Syndicate and places a hand on his right shoulder.
Ruka: SportsMax has demanded that you return to your old job as an agent for quite some time now, correct? JJ even ruined your own birthday party by trying to bring you back into the fold, and only when that failed did he offer to become your agent. If he were truly your friend, he would allow you to make your own decisions, and yet, JJ Kline INSISTS on latching onto your ship.
He turns and points towards a horrified James.
Ruka: James here is no different. He is just another cog in JJ’s machine, determined to benefit off of your own success. Wouldn’t it be nice...to teach James, JJ, and SportsMax who’s REALLY in control?
Syndicate understands the problem...and he also knows what the solution is. Breathing heavily, as if momentarily in a trance, Syndicate once again runs forward towards the helpless person in front of him. However, this time, he twists his arm around James's neck and locks in "The Vault", choking the man out. James struggles briefly, but like so many of Syndicate's past opponents, he is powerless to escape.
Ruka: Yes! Very good work, Mr. Irvine. You have passed the first trial.
The Legacy Champion releases James's neck and pushes him away. He sits up and stares over at James, checking to make sure that he's still breathing.
Syndicate: What’s going to happen to them?
Ruka: They’re going to...disappear...for a while. Don’t worry - we’ll see to it that none of this is ever linked back to you.
Syndicate stands up and backs away, while the man he just attacked is carried away by attendants.
Ruka: One test in, and you’re already excelling, Mr. Irvine. It seems the money being invested into this training shall be worth it.
Syndicate: What's that supposed to mean?
Ruka: ...you’ll understand soon enough.
He turns and motions back to his compatriot, Oko, who immediately stands up from his throne.
Ruka: Oko will show you to your holding cell, where you shall remain until the second trial is to commence.
Oko gestures towards an archway at the left side of the Sanctum. Syndicate takes one glance back at Ruka, shakes his head slightly, and exits as directed.
As the door closes behind him, Syndicate takes stock of the room that he's been moved to. It looks much more like a "jail cell" than a "holding cell", with a single twin bed, toilet, and barred window providing the same desolate atmosphere that the Triad has given off throughout each of their encounters with the Los Angeles Outlaw. Syndicate sits down on the edge of the bed, noting its worn-out springs and lack of sheets, before leaning forward and placing his head in his hands.
Syndicate: You know, they say that all men are created equal...
A small chuckle escapes his lips.
Syndicate: ...but I don't believe that. Equality and parity, especially in this business, is a myth, and if there's one thing I've noticed during my short stint here in Project: Honor, it's that no position is truly safe. Since day one, I've spent every waking minute climbing up the company ladder, making my presence felt on level after level, step after step, until I finally stood alone at the very top of it all. Meanwhile, I've seen wrestler after wrestler come and go from Fallout, trying and failing to secure a spot of their own. Sure, you can point to men like Earl Boyde, who have carved a niche as the "gatekeepers" of this company, or you can look at people like Savannah Sunshine, who stay near the top of the food chain but never break through to the final tier above, but outside of them? A bunch of bums. Point is, no, all men are NOT created equal...but that just makes this Purge match even more special.
Syndicate: The Purge doesn't care about feelings. It doesn't pretend to worry about anyone's ambitions or desires. It stands alone in the pantheon of Project: Honor matches, functioning not as the means to an end...but as the end itself. It's no secret that this isn't going to be some walk in the park - I'm not under some naïve impression that I'm going to walk away from this hellhole unscathed, and neither should anyone else. No, people's careers are going to end at the Purge - men and women are going to lose their damn lives, fighting for what they want - and while a part of me respects their effort, another part of me just wishes that they'd save themselves while they still can. Live to fight another day, and all that. But no...no, foolish people are going to throw themselves towards foolish endeavors, and nearly get themselves killed in the process. Is that fair? Maybe not...but maybe they should have just made an honest assessment of their own abilities before going for broke in a deathmatch such as this.
Looking over at the windowsill, he notices a small, unopened bottle of water placed at the edge. Thankful for a bit of refreshment, he stands up from the bed, rips open the cap, and takes a sip before continuing.
Syndicate: Hell, you can run up and down the names of people that are gonna be purging this Thanksgiving, and you'd be forgiven if you're left scratching your heads a bit. I've got friends like Billy Bennett, the same swamp-ass bitch that'll be too busy squeezing every last bit of notoriety out of her backwoods upbringing to actually accomplish anything out there. Billy says she was the one that did the work for our team in our little exhibition last week - sure, I was the one that made Thanatos pass the fuck out in the end, but we can skip over that little detail. This time around, though? She'll have no one else to blame for her own failings but herself, when I personally see to it that her ass gets sent right back to the bayou. Elsewhere, I'll face off with old enemies in Jason Long and Julius Fairweather, people that may think they have me all figured out...but really don't even know the half of it. The man you both defeated last month, I'm afraid, is nowhere to be found, and as much as I'd love to reminisce about the old days...times have changed, and so have I. Jason, in particular, can bitch and moan about how he's the King - the EMPEROR - of Project: Honor, but as far as I'm concerned, you've gotta have gold around your waist if you wanna back up claims like that, and last time I checked, Jason Long comes up a bit short in that regard. If he wants to change that by beating down on the Ascension or Gatekeeper division, fine, but until he or Julius or anyone else beats me and becomes Legacy Champion, then they're just going to continue to sit in second place behind the Los...Angeles...Outlaw.
Syndicate: I can - and will - keep going. You've got the Proving Ground contingent - Annie Logan, Douglas Crane, Emmanuelle, and the rest - that are coming over for their own little slice of the pie, and honestly, I can't fault them for that. After all, the payday's bound to be a bit nicer when you're on the 'A' show for once...it's just too bad that me and everyone else here isn't really in the "welcoming" mood. They're all tough competitors, no doubt, but not a single one of them have even been in the same room as the Los Angeles Outlaw, and once they are, I don't think they're gonna like what they see. There's James Ranger, who continues to live in the forgotten past and cling on to what once was. While he may not have moved on from the WWX, I sure as hell have, and the Legacy Championship I carry over my shoulder proves just that. And then there's this little "True Society" group I hear so much about. Havoc, Slade, Valkyrie, and the lot of you...it's become abundantly clear to me that I'm your next target, that you're all coming for the Legacy Championship that I hold so near and dear, and you know what? That's fine. My ol' buddy James will be the first to tell you that I've made a damn CAREER out of breaking up tag-teams and stables, and yours is no different. You may have the general manager on your side, but that won't matter when the Legacy Champion leaves your broken bodies in a pile on the side of Highway 16.
He takes another swig from the water bottle, his throat likely parched from all the talking.
Syndicate: But enough about everyone else...what brings silly ol' Syndicate to Whalan, Minnesota, on Thanksgiving night? After all, I don't really have much on the line here...I'm not defending my title, and I sure as hell don't have to justify my position as the RIGHTFUL Legacy Champion to all of you. But it's like I said during my little celebration on Fallout last week: I got to the place that I'm in by taking advantage of opportunity after opportunity. Just because I accomplished my end goal doesn't mean I'm going to rest on my laurels, like so many other champs have done in the past, and wait for people to come to me. No, no, no, this time around, the Legacy Champion, the Los Angeles Outlaw, is coming for each and every one of you, and I'm not afraid to do whatever it takes to strengthen my grip on this damn show. You people don't want to respect me? That's fine. But don't you dare go on social media and cry about it while I walk into Whalan, grab some of those damn tokens - maybe a Universal Briefcase or two, who knows - and walk out, STILL the top dog in this company and STILL your Legacy Champion.
Syndicate: Don't you get it? This isn't a fuckin' game to me. That little bitchass Arik Holt isn't here to mess around, and neither am I. This represents a chance for me to - quite literally - purge my own history from the record books, and show each and every one of you just why THIS Los Angeles Outlaw isn't one to mess with. I may have started at the bottom here in Project: Honor, and yeah, it took me a lot longer than expected to finally break through. But now, all the people who have wronged me, all the men and women that put me down and told me to walk away from it all, are being placed in front of me like a turkey on the Thanksgiving dinner table...and believe me, I'm hungry as fuck. This is your reckoning, ladies and gentlemen - by the end of the night, this Purge shall become your Judgement Day, and I shall be your sole judge, jury, and executioner. You shall each be placed at the foot of the Los Angeles Outlaw's throne, and while I may not be a god...you're going to find that no other god is going to come down and save you from my wrath. You think I'm lying? You think I won't do ANYTHING to get what I want? Fucking try me. Welcome...to the Syndicate.
***BANG, BANG, BANG***
Just as the Legacy Champion finishes saying his catchphrase, a thunderous knock can be heard on the cell’s metal door.
Ruka: Time’s up, Mr. Irvine! Prepare for your second trial.
As Syndicate stares blankly ahead, wondering what's in store, we fall into the abyss of black-and-white static.
Syndicate: You know, they say that all men are created equal...
A small chuckle escapes his lips.
Syndicate: ...but I don't believe that. Equality and parity, especially in this business, is a myth, and if there's one thing I've noticed during my short stint here in Project: Honor, it's that no position is truly safe. Since day one, I've spent every waking minute climbing up the company ladder, making my presence felt on level after level, step after step, until I finally stood alone at the very top of it all. Meanwhile, I've seen wrestler after wrestler come and go from Fallout, trying and failing to secure a spot of their own. Sure, you can point to men like Earl Boyde, who have carved a niche as the "gatekeepers" of this company, or you can look at people like Savannah Sunshine, who stay near the top of the food chain but never break through to the final tier above, but outside of them? A bunch of bums. Point is, no, all men are NOT created equal...but that just makes this Purge match even more special.
Syndicate: The Purge doesn't care about feelings. It doesn't pretend to worry about anyone's ambitions or desires. It stands alone in the pantheon of Project: Honor matches, functioning not as the means to an end...but as the end itself. It's no secret that this isn't going to be some walk in the park - I'm not under some naïve impression that I'm going to walk away from this hellhole unscathed, and neither should anyone else. No, people's careers are going to end at the Purge - men and women are going to lose their damn lives, fighting for what they want - and while a part of me respects their effort, another part of me just wishes that they'd save themselves while they still can. Live to fight another day, and all that. But no...no, foolish people are going to throw themselves towards foolish endeavors, and nearly get themselves killed in the process. Is that fair? Maybe not...but maybe they should have just made an honest assessment of their own abilities before going for broke in a deathmatch such as this.
Looking over at the windowsill, he notices a small, unopened bottle of water placed at the edge. Thankful for a bit of refreshment, he stands up from the bed, rips open the cap, and takes a sip before continuing.
Syndicate: Hell, you can run up and down the names of people that are gonna be purging this Thanksgiving, and you'd be forgiven if you're left scratching your heads a bit. I've got friends like Billy Bennett, the same swamp-ass bitch that'll be too busy squeezing every last bit of notoriety out of her backwoods upbringing to actually accomplish anything out there. Billy says she was the one that did the work for our team in our little exhibition last week - sure, I was the one that made Thanatos pass the fuck out in the end, but we can skip over that little detail. This time around, though? She'll have no one else to blame for her own failings but herself, when I personally see to it that her ass gets sent right back to the bayou. Elsewhere, I'll face off with old enemies in Jason Long and Julius Fairweather, people that may think they have me all figured out...but really don't even know the half of it. The man you both defeated last month, I'm afraid, is nowhere to be found, and as much as I'd love to reminisce about the old days...times have changed, and so have I. Jason, in particular, can bitch and moan about how he's the King - the EMPEROR - of Project: Honor, but as far as I'm concerned, you've gotta have gold around your waist if you wanna back up claims like that, and last time I checked, Jason Long comes up a bit short in that regard. If he wants to change that by beating down on the Ascension or Gatekeeper division, fine, but until he or Julius or anyone else beats me and becomes Legacy Champion, then they're just going to continue to sit in second place behind the Los...Angeles...Outlaw.
Syndicate: I can - and will - keep going. You've got the Proving Ground contingent - Annie Logan, Douglas Crane, Emmanuelle, and the rest - that are coming over for their own little slice of the pie, and honestly, I can't fault them for that. After all, the payday's bound to be a bit nicer when you're on the 'A' show for once...it's just too bad that me and everyone else here isn't really in the "welcoming" mood. They're all tough competitors, no doubt, but not a single one of them have even been in the same room as the Los Angeles Outlaw, and once they are, I don't think they're gonna like what they see. There's James Ranger, who continues to live in the forgotten past and cling on to what once was. While he may not have moved on from the WWX, I sure as hell have, and the Legacy Championship I carry over my shoulder proves just that. And then there's this little "True Society" group I hear so much about. Havoc, Slade, Valkyrie, and the lot of you...it's become abundantly clear to me that I'm your next target, that you're all coming for the Legacy Championship that I hold so near and dear, and you know what? That's fine. My ol' buddy James will be the first to tell you that I've made a damn CAREER out of breaking up tag-teams and stables, and yours is no different. You may have the general manager on your side, but that won't matter when the Legacy Champion leaves your broken bodies in a pile on the side of Highway 16.
He takes another swig from the water bottle, his throat likely parched from all the talking.
Syndicate: But enough about everyone else...what brings silly ol' Syndicate to Whalan, Minnesota, on Thanksgiving night? After all, I don't really have much on the line here...I'm not defending my title, and I sure as hell don't have to justify my position as the RIGHTFUL Legacy Champion to all of you. But it's like I said during my little celebration on Fallout last week: I got to the place that I'm in by taking advantage of opportunity after opportunity. Just because I accomplished my end goal doesn't mean I'm going to rest on my laurels, like so many other champs have done in the past, and wait for people to come to me. No, no, no, this time around, the Legacy Champion, the Los Angeles Outlaw, is coming for each and every one of you, and I'm not afraid to do whatever it takes to strengthen my grip on this damn show. You people don't want to respect me? That's fine. But don't you dare go on social media and cry about it while I walk into Whalan, grab some of those damn tokens - maybe a Universal Briefcase or two, who knows - and walk out, STILL the top dog in this company and STILL your Legacy Champion.
Syndicate: Don't you get it? This isn't a fuckin' game to me. That little bitchass Arik Holt isn't here to mess around, and neither am I. This represents a chance for me to - quite literally - purge my own history from the record books, and show each and every one of you just why THIS Los Angeles Outlaw isn't one to mess with. I may have started at the bottom here in Project: Honor, and yeah, it took me a lot longer than expected to finally break through. But now, all the people who have wronged me, all the men and women that put me down and told me to walk away from it all, are being placed in front of me like a turkey on the Thanksgiving dinner table...and believe me, I'm hungry as fuck. This is your reckoning, ladies and gentlemen - by the end of the night, this Purge shall become your Judgement Day, and I shall be your sole judge, jury, and executioner. You shall each be placed at the foot of the Los Angeles Outlaw's throne, and while I may not be a god...you're going to find that no other god is going to come down and save you from my wrath. You think I'm lying? You think I won't do ANYTHING to get what I want? Fucking try me. Welcome...to the Syndicate.
***BANG, BANG, BANG***
Just as the Legacy Champion finishes saying his catchphrase, a thunderous knock can be heard on the cell’s metal door.
Ruka: Time’s up, Mr. Irvine! Prepare for your second trial.
As Syndicate stares blankly ahead, wondering what's in store, we fall into the abyss of black-and-white static.
