Post by Syndicate on Dec 20, 2021 23:32:03 GMT -5
THE IRVINE HOUSEHOLD - LOS ANGELES, CA
DECEMBER 18TH, 2021 - 1:52PM
?: Chicken or pulled pork?
Leftovers. Fuckin' leftovers. Of all the things in this accursed world, and of all the problems that the Los Angeles Outlaw and Project: Honor Legacy Champion, Syndicate, has to face on a daily basis...the one he hates the most, BY FAR, is having to eat leftovers. No matter how it's warmed up - microwave, oven, whatever - and regardless of what type of food we're talking about, it's never as good the second time you eat it. As a kid, Syndicate would be forced to consume them, mostly because his mom wouldn't give him a choice, but now? He's a fully grown adult, and there's is nothing he'd rather do than throw both of those options into the void, never to be reheated again.
This afternoon, however, Sophie Irvine had other ideas. The husband and wife had just gotten back from the local gym, and with both having just completed a grueling two-hour workout, they were desperate for some nourishment. They could have stopped somewhere to eat on the way back, but Sophie wants to save room for the upcoming holidays...and thus, Syndicate - dressed in a white tank top and blue jeans - now finds himself leaning against his kitchen's double-stacked ovens as Sophie looks into the open stainless steel refrigerator, calling out options while wearing a blue t-shirt and black volleyball shorts.
Syndicate: Uhh...chicken, I guess.
Sophie chuckles - her husband always picks chicken.
Sophie: Figures.
She pulls out the two aforementioned options - one plastic container holding two cooked chicken breasts from a few nights prior, and the other with a hearty helping of barbeque pulled pork. Shutting the fridge, Sophie sets the dishes on the counter, right next to Syndicate's most prized possession - the Project: Honor Legacy Championship. Clad in silver plating and glowing in the sunlight streaming through a nearby window, the title has been propped up against a block of knives, done so that Syndicate has numerous weapons at hand should anyone come and try to take it from him. Sophie pops the top off the pulled pork container, but just as she does...the doorbell rings.
***DING-DONG...***
The married couple stops what they're doing and look over at each other.
Syndicate: You expecting anyone?
Sophie: No...you?
Suspicious, Syndicate walks over and peers through the thin window to the left of the front door - but once he sees who's arrived, the Los Angeles Outlaw smiles and opens the door for their surprise visitor.
Syndicate: Hey, JJ, how's it hangin'?
Sure enough, none other than JJ Kline - agent to Syndicate and personal friend to the Irvines - barges into the home in his usual brash fashion. Wearing a plaid brown suit with a gray undershirt and matching tie - his "casual" look, if you can call it that - Kline hops up onto one of the metal stools in the center of the kitchen as Syndicate shuts the door behind him.
JJ: Not great, Bob.
Sophie: Hello! Everything alright?
JJ: Not even close. I've got thirteen clients out with COVID, another twenty quarantined because of exposure, and worst of all, Jersey Mike's got my order wrong again! I always order the #8 WITHOUT tomatoes, but they always put them on anyway. So no, I'm NOT doing alright!
That last remark gets a bit of a chuckle out of Syndicate, but this only draws JJ's ire towards him.
JJ: Watch it, buddy. Project: Honor sent over a new contract for you to sign, so unless you want the paychecks to stop comin', you better stay on my good side.
Setting his briefcase on the kitchen counter, he begins to undo the clasps.
JJ: That reminds me - how's the dark side treating you, Syd?
Syndicate freezes in his tracks as Sophie tilts her head slightly.
Sophie: Dark side?
Pausing, JJ blinks a few times before closing the briefcase back up.
JJ: …you didn’t tell her?
DECEMBER 18TH, 2021 - 1:52PM
?: Chicken or pulled pork?
Leftovers. Fuckin' leftovers. Of all the things in this accursed world, and of all the problems that the Los Angeles Outlaw and Project: Honor Legacy Champion, Syndicate, has to face on a daily basis...the one he hates the most, BY FAR, is having to eat leftovers. No matter how it's warmed up - microwave, oven, whatever - and regardless of what type of food we're talking about, it's never as good the second time you eat it. As a kid, Syndicate would be forced to consume them, mostly because his mom wouldn't give him a choice, but now? He's a fully grown adult, and there's is nothing he'd rather do than throw both of those options into the void, never to be reheated again.
This afternoon, however, Sophie Irvine had other ideas. The husband and wife had just gotten back from the local gym, and with both having just completed a grueling two-hour workout, they were desperate for some nourishment. They could have stopped somewhere to eat on the way back, but Sophie wants to save room for the upcoming holidays...and thus, Syndicate - dressed in a white tank top and blue jeans - now finds himself leaning against his kitchen's double-stacked ovens as Sophie looks into the open stainless steel refrigerator, calling out options while wearing a blue t-shirt and black volleyball shorts.
Syndicate: Uhh...chicken, I guess.
Sophie chuckles - her husband always picks chicken.
Sophie: Figures.
She pulls out the two aforementioned options - one plastic container holding two cooked chicken breasts from a few nights prior, and the other with a hearty helping of barbeque pulled pork. Shutting the fridge, Sophie sets the dishes on the counter, right next to Syndicate's most prized possession - the Project: Honor Legacy Championship. Clad in silver plating and glowing in the sunlight streaming through a nearby window, the title has been propped up against a block of knives, done so that Syndicate has numerous weapons at hand should anyone come and try to take it from him. Sophie pops the top off the pulled pork container, but just as she does...the doorbell rings.
***DING-DONG...***
The married couple stops what they're doing and look over at each other.
Syndicate: You expecting anyone?
Sophie: No...you?
Suspicious, Syndicate walks over and peers through the thin window to the left of the front door - but once he sees who's arrived, the Los Angeles Outlaw smiles and opens the door for their surprise visitor.
Syndicate: Hey, JJ, how's it hangin'?
Sure enough, none other than JJ Kline - agent to Syndicate and personal friend to the Irvines - barges into the home in his usual brash fashion. Wearing a plaid brown suit with a gray undershirt and matching tie - his "casual" look, if you can call it that - Kline hops up onto one of the metal stools in the center of the kitchen as Syndicate shuts the door behind him.
JJ: Not great, Bob.
Sophie: Hello! Everything alright?
JJ: Not even close. I've got thirteen clients out with COVID, another twenty quarantined because of exposure, and worst of all, Jersey Mike's got my order wrong again! I always order the #8 WITHOUT tomatoes, but they always put them on anyway. So no, I'm NOT doing alright!
That last remark gets a bit of a chuckle out of Syndicate, but this only draws JJ's ire towards him.
JJ: Watch it, buddy. Project: Honor sent over a new contract for you to sign, so unless you want the paychecks to stop comin', you better stay on my good side.
Setting his briefcase on the kitchen counter, he begins to undo the clasps.
JJ: That reminds me - how's the dark side treating you, Syd?
Syndicate freezes in his tracks as Sophie tilts her head slightly.
Sophie: Dark side?
Pausing, JJ blinks a few times before closing the briefcase back up.
JJ: …you didn’t tell her?
Syndicate looks down at his feet and places his hands in the pockets of his jeans, refusing to answer.
JJ: Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Sydney.
Sophie: …tell me what?
JJ Kline sighs, rubs his temple, and turns to a confused Sophie.
JJ: You familiar with "True Society", Soph?
Sophie: No...why, should I be?
JJ: Nah, you've got no reason to - you're smart enough to not watch your husband wrestle.
Turning back to a silent Syndicate, the acclaimed agent gets up from his stool and takes a step towards his client.
JJ: True Society, Soph, is THE predominant evil, soulless faction in Project: Honor today. Led by a general manager best known for nearly stabbing one of his roster members to death, the group attacks, maims, and destroys anyone that dares to stand in the way of their vision, one where "society" is torn down and rebuilt in their image...whatever the hell THAT means. Put simply, True Society is a menace, one that threatens to ruin the lives of countless innocent people and may lead to one of their victims getting fuckin' KILLED...
Now standing directly in the Los Angeles Outlaw's face, JJ presses an index finger into his chest.
JJ: ...and your wonderful little husband is now a card-carrying member. They are a cult, they are a disease, and Mr. Irvine here thought it would be a GREAT idea to start drinking their Kool-Aid.
"Of course I accepted Arik's offer," Syndicate thinks to himself in this moment. "I didn't have any choice." That's certainly what the Los Angeles Outlaw believes - with an entire roster gunning for him and his title, and with a world around him that seemingly rejects his very existence, how could he say no? True Society provides an opportunity to make a difference - to TRULY change the very world that's been holding him down for years - but he should have known that JJ wouldn't see things that way. He certainly knew Sophie wouldn't...hence why he hadn't brought it up previously. As far as Sophie knew up until this point, Syndicate got a bit banged up during his recent trip to Minnesota, but he was largely successful in his matches, and that was that...of course, that's all about to change.
Sophie: That true, Syd?
Syndicate: ...I did...what I had to do.
JJ: Bullshit. You were already Legacy Champion - you didn't need them!
Syndicate: Winning a title is one thing...keeping it is another. A little extra support in that endeavor won't hurt.
JJ: You've got support! You've got me, you've got Sophie, and you've got the entirety of SportsMax!
Syndicate: Ah, the same SportsMax that left me out to dry while all its other clients got twice the amount of attention?
JJ: Syd, I'm sorry, but it's like I told you: COVID's really been wrecking things for our NFL and NBA players, and -
Syndicate: You're my friend, JJ...but when I won that Legacy title, you didn't even bother to congratulate me until a week after.
JJ: But I DID congratulate you! What, you want me to bake you a fuckin' cake too?
Syndicate: For all the millions of dollars I've made you over the years, yeah - I'd take any sign of appreciation right about now!
JJ: Well, tough shit! You've done your job well, and I expect you to continue doing your job well WITHOUT you choosing to hang out with your insane boss.
The two men's foreheads are now nearly touching as they both refuse to break eye contact.
JJ: You always need someone to hold your hand, don't you? You try to come off as this tough guy, but I've seen the real you, and I know that you can't handle the pressure of being champion. After all, the only reason why you're a ten-time champ...is because you lost the belt nine times, and you'll certainly lose it again if you keep doing what you're doing. Do I make...myself...clear?
Syndicate: GET THE FUCK OUTTA MY FACE!
Using both hands, Syndicate reaches up and violently pushes JJ Kline backward, sending him careening into the side of the counter island sitting in the center of the kitchen.
JJ: AGH!
Sophie: JJ!
JJ winces in pain as he reaches for his lower back, where the edge of the granite met his torso. In obvious discomfort, he looks up at Syndicate with an anger unlike anything we've ever seen from him previously.
JJ: WHAT THE FUCK, MAN??
Syndicate eyes widen as he comes to terms with what he just did...but knowing that nothing he could say would fix the situation, he neglects to respond. What happened? Why did he push JJ? Was this Arik and the Triad's words finally getting to him? Syndicate has no fucking clue, and as the Outlaw stands in silence, JJ simply shakes his head in a mix of frustration and disappointment.
JJ: You've changed, Syd...and not for the better. Call me whenever you figure your shit out.
Breathing heavily, the agent glances back at a shocked Sophie Irvine before grabbing his leather briefcase and hobbling towards the front door. Not even taking a moment to say goodbye, Kline leaves the Irvine home and violently slams the door shut behind him.
***SLAMMMM***
It's quiet now...it's finally quiet now. Syndicate, stunned by his sudden inability to control his inner rage, has no words - instead, he walks over to the counter, picks up his coveted Legacy Championship, and blankly stares into its silver faceplate. Seeing this, Sophie - who had been waiting for an explanation, or an apology, or SOMETHING - marches over and presses the title into her husband's chest.
Sophie: You're sleeping on the couch tonight - that way, you can spend more time with what you REALLY care about.
Looking up at Syndicate with a glance filled with immense disappointment, Sophie walks past her husband and makes her way up the stairs towards their bedroom, clearly wishing to be left alone for the foreseeable future.
JJ Kline sighs, rubs his temple, and turns to a confused Sophie.
JJ: You familiar with "True Society", Soph?
Sophie: No...why, should I be?
JJ: Nah, you've got no reason to - you're smart enough to not watch your husband wrestle.
Turning back to a silent Syndicate, the acclaimed agent gets up from his stool and takes a step towards his client.
JJ: True Society, Soph, is THE predominant evil, soulless faction in Project: Honor today. Led by a general manager best known for nearly stabbing one of his roster members to death, the group attacks, maims, and destroys anyone that dares to stand in the way of their vision, one where "society" is torn down and rebuilt in their image...whatever the hell THAT means. Put simply, True Society is a menace, one that threatens to ruin the lives of countless innocent people and may lead to one of their victims getting fuckin' KILLED...
Now standing directly in the Los Angeles Outlaw's face, JJ presses an index finger into his chest.
JJ: ...and your wonderful little husband is now a card-carrying member. They are a cult, they are a disease, and Mr. Irvine here thought it would be a GREAT idea to start drinking their Kool-Aid.
"Of course I accepted Arik's offer," Syndicate thinks to himself in this moment. "I didn't have any choice." That's certainly what the Los Angeles Outlaw believes - with an entire roster gunning for him and his title, and with a world around him that seemingly rejects his very existence, how could he say no? True Society provides an opportunity to make a difference - to TRULY change the very world that's been holding him down for years - but he should have known that JJ wouldn't see things that way. He certainly knew Sophie wouldn't...hence why he hadn't brought it up previously. As far as Sophie knew up until this point, Syndicate got a bit banged up during his recent trip to Minnesota, but he was largely successful in his matches, and that was that...of course, that's all about to change.
Sophie: That true, Syd?
Syndicate: ...I did...what I had to do.
JJ: Bullshit. You were already Legacy Champion - you didn't need them!
Syndicate: Winning a title is one thing...keeping it is another. A little extra support in that endeavor won't hurt.
JJ: You've got support! You've got me, you've got Sophie, and you've got the entirety of SportsMax!
Syndicate: Ah, the same SportsMax that left me out to dry while all its other clients got twice the amount of attention?
JJ: Syd, I'm sorry, but it's like I told you: COVID's really been wrecking things for our NFL and NBA players, and -
Syndicate: You're my friend, JJ...but when I won that Legacy title, you didn't even bother to congratulate me until a week after.
JJ: But I DID congratulate you! What, you want me to bake you a fuckin' cake too?
Syndicate: For all the millions of dollars I've made you over the years, yeah - I'd take any sign of appreciation right about now!
JJ: Well, tough shit! You've done your job well, and I expect you to continue doing your job well WITHOUT you choosing to hang out with your insane boss.
The two men's foreheads are now nearly touching as they both refuse to break eye contact.
JJ: You always need someone to hold your hand, don't you? You try to come off as this tough guy, but I've seen the real you, and I know that you can't handle the pressure of being champion. After all, the only reason why you're a ten-time champ...is because you lost the belt nine times, and you'll certainly lose it again if you keep doing what you're doing. Do I make...myself...clear?
Syndicate: GET THE FUCK OUTTA MY FACE!
Using both hands, Syndicate reaches up and violently pushes JJ Kline backward, sending him careening into the side of the counter island sitting in the center of the kitchen.
JJ: AGH!
Sophie: JJ!
JJ winces in pain as he reaches for his lower back, where the edge of the granite met his torso. In obvious discomfort, he looks up at Syndicate with an anger unlike anything we've ever seen from him previously.
JJ: WHAT THE FUCK, MAN??
Syndicate eyes widen as he comes to terms with what he just did...but knowing that nothing he could say would fix the situation, he neglects to respond. What happened? Why did he push JJ? Was this Arik and the Triad's words finally getting to him? Syndicate has no fucking clue, and as the Outlaw stands in silence, JJ simply shakes his head in a mix of frustration and disappointment.
JJ: You've changed, Syd...and not for the better. Call me whenever you figure your shit out.
Breathing heavily, the agent glances back at a shocked Sophie Irvine before grabbing his leather briefcase and hobbling towards the front door. Not even taking a moment to say goodbye, Kline leaves the Irvine home and violently slams the door shut behind him.
***SLAMMMM***
It's quiet now...it's finally quiet now. Syndicate, stunned by his sudden inability to control his inner rage, has no words - instead, he walks over to the counter, picks up his coveted Legacy Championship, and blankly stares into its silver faceplate. Seeing this, Sophie - who had been waiting for an explanation, or an apology, or SOMETHING - marches over and presses the title into her husband's chest.
Sophie: You're sleeping on the couch tonight - that way, you can spend more time with what you REALLY care about.
Looking up at Syndicate with a glance filled with immense disappointment, Sophie walks past her husband and makes her way up the stairs towards their bedroom, clearly wishing to be left alone for the foreseeable future.
Syndicate: The world’s gotten a bit quieter, hasn’t it?
He takes a moment to symbolically "listen", pointing to his right ear as he does.
Syndicate: If you spend your entire day watching cable news and letting your soul get sucked out by all the propaganda found there, you may disagree with me. After all, there’s still COVID and hunger and wars to deal with, and there’s plenty of people that are shouting from the rooftops about each of those subjects, and more. Look even further, and you’ll hear babies crying because capitalism forbids their families from obtaining food, cars and trucks crashing into each other on overcrowded freeways, and fingers hurriedly typing on cheap keyboards as America wastes away their lives in beige cubicles. So, with that in mind…how could I possibly assert that the world’s getting quieter?
Syndicate: Because with each passing moment, as True Society strengthens its hold and continues to rebuild civilization from within…the resistance dies out just a little bit more. Distractions come into play, the weak become afraid to act, and God watches helplessly as his creations stand oblivious to what’s happening around them. Take my good friend, Jason Long, for instance - he so very much wishes to take us down, but instead of using Wired Consequences to further that goal, he’s instead embroiled himself in a meaningless, purely emotional feud with Jacob Steele. Of course, he believes that he can quickly dispatch Steele and move on to the rest of us True Society folk, but all I see is someone that’s about to run out of time. Because while Jason is busy indulging himself in frivolous pursuits such as that…we here at True Society are knocking down this company’s final defenses, brick by brick, and by the time our little golden boy is all finished up? He’ll be too…damn…late.
Syndicate: Wired Consequences is the next step - the next phase - of our endeavor. Other men and women of my stature may say that facing off against people like Latoya Hixx, Bianca McBride, and Nick Danger is a fruitless endeavor, as they contribute absolutely nothing to society as it stands, but to me? It’s all about whittling down the resistance, and even though it’s not likely this happens, these three competitors could end up being the last ones standing at the end of it all. That’s something that I -
Syndicate pauses for a second, smiling, as he corrects himself.
Syndicate: …we - can’t risk. Right now, though, Latoya, Nick, and Bianca are just bystanders, blissfully unaware of the war occurring around them, and you know what the saddest part is? Their screams will go unheard by the very people that say they’re on their side. You just can’t save everyone, Jason. You can try, and you may be able to cause a little damage and make a bit of headway, but sooner or later, you’re gonna realize that you’re simply not enough. The people you choose to ally with will not be enough, either. You’ve wasted too much time…and True Society is ready to crush you and everyone else that chooses to take your already-condemned position. That starts now, with…this trio of idiots that has been placed in front of me.
Syndicate: Latoya, I’m gonna say this as respectfully as I possibly can: you’re fucking insane. Each and every week, you sit down with Alyssa Nguyen or Timothy Daniels or whatever, and you try to push this narrative that you truly belong here on Fallout. Sure, you've lost your first eleven matches in a row, and sure, you go out there each week and manage to find new and interesting ways to fall flat on your face, but man, nothing brings a tear to my eye more than seeing you call yourself the "Hoeski" and walk away, thinking that things will change this time around. But they won't, Latoya, and no amount of blue hair dye is gonna make things better for you and your professional wrestling career. You say you've got all those people in the "Project: Honor Universe" that love you and are chanting your name at every turn, but ma'am, they're not with you...they just feel sorry for you. Those idiots in the crowd give up their hard-earned money not to watch you finally earn that elusive win, but to see you set new standards for ineptitude. After all, when a person spends their entire day with angry spouses or terrible jobs - lives that they'd very much like to escape - there's nothing they'd rather do than come and laugh at someone who's doing far, far worse. And thus, while you may wanna be a “role model” for all the little girls watching at home, I can assure you that all they’re learning is how to be an absolute failure of a human being.
Syndicate: You know why you keep getting those Ascension title shots with Valkyrie? Because you're the only one that's stupid enough to keep trying. She has held onto that title with an iron fuckin' fist, annihilating anyone that tries to lay a hand on it, and yet, you just keep coming back for more. Why? Back to that "insane" thing from earlier. See, in just a few short months, you've hit a HARD ceiling, one that you've been unable to break through, and while a small part of me respects you for continuing to fight, the rest of me just feels bad that I didn’t come and smack any sense into you earlier. You need to take a step back from it all, Latoya, and evaluate your approach to your professional wrestling career, because as it stands? Sure, you dyed your hair, and sure, you’ve adopted a few new nicknames, but when I look past the persona that you display to the world and peer under all that makeup, I see the same pathetic weakling that’s always been there. You may be “the Hoeski of Thursday Night Fallout”, but to me, that just means you’re more focused on having fun in your personal life than actually being competitive in the ring. That clearly hasn’t worked out for you thus far, and nothing’s gonna change this go-around when you’re facing someone that DID manage to reinvent themselves, that DID switch things around for the better when their back was against the wall. That right there’s the difference, Latoya– at Night of Honor, I looked at myself in the mirror of my Tokyo hotel room, and I knew I didn’t like what I saw. I saw a man that was content with losing, a man that simply hadn’t done enough to make it to the top…and I did what I had to do to change that. Will you do the same? Will you FINALLY justify the contract that the late, not-so-great Rock Johnson signed his name on? Or…will you continue to be the same sad little gal that you’ve always been, lose this match at Wired Consequences, and go on to talk with Alyssa again like nothing ever happened? I don’t know about you…but my money’s on the latter.
The Legacy Champion stands up from the gray couch and meanders on over to the floor-to-ceiling window to his right. Glancing outside, he's greeted by a picturesque view of the California coastline, lit only by moonlight from above - an image that made this particular house quite expensive to obtain.
Syndicate: And then you’ve got the other member of this rogues’ gallery of losers, Bianca McBride. The queen of showing up, getting beat down, and going home like nothing ever happened. You know, you say that you’re here to carry on your family’s legacy in professional wrestling, and that’s all well and good, but for a third–generation wrestler, you sure do make your parents and grandparents look like idiots for putting you in that ring in the first place. Each and every week, you drag both the McBride name and your “old-school” wrestling style through the mud, and you know the best part? I’m not even sure you realize it. I’m not even sure that anything I’m saying right now is getting through your fuckin’ skull, Bianca, because you seem to be as checked out as anyone I’ve ever come across, and that ain’t gonna cut it when you’re going against the #1–ranked competitor across all of Project: Honor. Relying on the old ways of doing things won’t save you from your fate, especially when the man across the ring has a million ways to make you give up, and as much as it pains me to have to give a moment of my time to someone like you, I promise you that I will relish in every last drop of blood that I draw from your skull as I rain punches down upon you like God himself wishes he could.
Syndicate: The really sad part, though...is that you do actually have some talent. I'm not blind - I've seen you show flashes from time to time, individual moments that indicate something greater within you. You could be great, you COULD be a champion...but your work ethic holds you back. Something you should have learned on your first day on the job is that we don't exactly like to give out freebies around here, and yet, you seem to be expecting opportunities to be gifted to you, as if YOU, of all people, deserve a chance. But you're fresh out of chances, Bianca...Arik Holt's given you plenty of opportunities to make a difference, and you squandered them all away. You're part of the problem with this world, you know - there are FAR too many people expecting handouts at the expense of those who have WORKED for those shots, and you're one of them. You occupy a roster spot, a section of the Project: Honor yearly budget, that could and should be allocated elsewhere, and for what? So that you can put on your LinkedIn profile that you're a pro wrestler? Please. You'd be better off setting your Facebook account to "memorialized", because this Boxing Day...the Los Angeles Outlaw is finally gonna put your precious little family name out of its misery.
A few bumps can be heard from upstairs - likely Sophie walking around - but Syndicate pays them no mind. After all...she doesn't want him up there anyway.
Syndicate: Finally...Nick Danger. Another third-generation wrestler, you call yourself the "Rising Ace" of professional wrestling. Now, I don't know what physics classes you took in high school, but in mine, they taught me that when something is "rising", it's usually - you know - going somewhere, and as far as I can tell, you and your career are stuck in neutral. Sure, you've spent the better part of your entire life preparing for this job, but just like how so many college freshmen switch their majors after their first semester, you should have found something better to do with your life, because you're clearly not cutting it here. Your "Nick Danger" name is really cute - I'm sure all of America's edgy third graders have already fallen in love with you - but can I ask you something? What does "danger" mean to you? Do you really think that YOU'RE the instigator of chaos around here? Because the way I see it, the only thing you're doing is putting yourself in danger of losing your job. Look around you, Nick; do you see Elena DeDraca, Julius Fairweather, or Jason Long - the TITANS of this business - sitting atop the mountain...
Syndicate does what he always loves to do - hold up his Legacy Championship belt for all to see.
Syndicate: ...with this? No...no, you don't, because I pushed them all aside. You wanna talk DANGER, Nick, let's do it - you ever make a man bleed? You ever willingly cause someone to be concussed? Have you ever looked into another person's eyes, see all their hopes and dreams flash in front of them...and crush those dreams with a well-placed knee to the skull? Thought not.
That's the kind of experience you should expect here on Fallout, and if you can't cut it, then you should leave now while you still can. Wrestling's your "passion", kid? Prove it. The best wrestler in the game is standing at your doorstep, and you've got a chance to make a name for yourself. In fact, I'm sure you'd be doing a REALLY big favor for a lot of people by taking me out. Can you handle that pressure? Can you look me in the eye, one-on-one, and prove yourself to be my equal? I mean, you've got the name, the look, and the training to do it...right? We'll have to see. But I leave you with this, Nick...if a man refuses to speak up, does he truly have a voice? Just like your partners, you've remained silent for so, so long...and due to that silence, you've been largely forgotten by the world around you. You've got one final chance at Wired Consequences to change that fate, Nick...and if you don't choose to act, I'll make sure that you learn what "danger" really is within the world of the Los Angeles Outlaw.
Syndicate: You know, I've been watching a lot of "The Matrix" recently - gotta prepare for the new movie, and all - and I can't help but notice the parallels between their story and ours. Here in Project: Honor, you've got a group of people that have clearly been "jacked in", blindly living in a world that doesn't belong to them. Rock Johnson controlled hundreds of lives, and with one dash of his pen or a single swing of his mood, he had the power to destroy everything that we had all worked for. How is that fair? Why do you all choose to defend a society that spends every waking moment actively working against your best interests? I was once one of you, helplessly wandering through each day without a purpose...without a soul. But then, just like Morpheus broke Neo out of his virtual prison, Arik Holt was kind enough to show me the light. He and the Triad proved that we all have agency, that we can fight back against those that hold us down. Of course, the machine running it all doesn't like that - the rich and powerful crave power like a hungry dog searches for a bit of kibble, and they'll do whatever it takes to squash any resistance to their rule - but you have nothing to fear. Ladies and gentlemen, True Society is here to show you how deep the rabbit hole goes...but will you take the red pill and join us? Or, will you take the blue pill, believe what you want to believe, and stay helpless as the people above you suck you dry? The choice...is yours. Welcome to the Syndicate.
With a cold smile across his face and his eyes staring blankly into the camera, Syndicate nods and rushes forward, lifting his knee for a Original Syn directly into the lens and immediately sending the feed into the embrace of black-and-white static.
