Post by Syndicate on Jan 18, 2022 23:50:35 GMT -5
Falling...
I never asked for this. I never asked for any of this.
…falling…
I started wrestling as an escape, a way to make my mark on this world in ways that no other field would allow.
…falling…
But even then, I’m surrounded by assholes that either don’t value me for the person that I am…or left me for dead when I needed them most.
…falling…
It’s over. I lost.
…splat.
It’s time to move on.
UNBREAKABLE RESOLUTION - COLUMBUS, OH
JANUARY 9TH, 2021 - 10:59PM
…despite Syndicate desperately trying to counter the move with some kind of inside cradle, Ozymandias powers him off his feet and drops him with a second Sinking Faith!
ONE…TWO…THREE!!
HOLLY PEREZ: Your winner of the match…and NNNNEEEWWWW Legacy Champion of Project: Honor… “The Butcher of Reine”...OOOOZZZZYYYYMANNNDIASSSSS!!!
The crowd cheered - CHEERED - as Ozymandias’s hand was raised. They supported Elena DeDraca as she came into the ring and dropkicked the now-former champion out, and as he leaned against the guardrail, trying desperately to ignore the pain coursing throughout his entire body, he was forced to watch as two of his absolute worst enemies raised their hands in triumph, just as the noise from the frenzied audience reached its crescendo. At last, the evil Outlaw had been toppled…but should they really be celebrating his replacement?
There’s a part of Syndicate that was surprised by this. Ozymandias and Elena, seemingly teaming up with one another? That’s absurd. They should be brawling up-and-down the aisle, each staking their own claim to the Legacy Championship, rather than continuing to beat down the man that just lost it. The other part of the Los Angeles Outlaw, though…absolutely saw this coming. After all, he had spent the better part of the past six months belittling Elena any chance he got - of course she’d want to get her revenge. And what better way to get said revenge on one of the biggest threats in the business…than joining up with another?
As the cameras continue to focus on the newfound devilish partnership in the ring, Syndicate takes his leave. Staggering up the entrance ramp, he walks through the curtain, where he’s immediately greeted not with a welcoming party or any of his True Society compatriots…but with the disapproving face of his “best friend”, JJ Kline. The acclaimed sports agent, dressed in a pressed gray suit and matching tie with his short brown hair gelled back, stands with his arms crossed in the middle of the short backstage hallway leading towards the ring, and as he shakes his head at the losing wrestler standing before him, Syndicate can barely muster up the energy to crack a signature cocky smile.
Syndicate: Took two of ‘em to beat the Outlaw, eh…they won’t get so lucky next time…
JJ: Bullshit. Ozy had you beat all by himself - Elena did nothing but watch you go up in smoke.
Syndicate reaches out to his friend, looking for a shoulder to lean on…but JJ steps back, refusing to give his client any relief. The Outlaw stumbles forward, forced to push himself up against a wall in order to stay standing.
JJ: You should have quit while you were ahead, Syd. You were so focused on running forward…that you didn’t notice the damn cliff.
Taking a few more steps back, the pure frustration present in Kline’s voice is apparent as he repeats his parting words.
JJ: You should have quit while you were ahead…
***RING, RING***
Upon hearing the ringtone, JJ Kline reaches into his suit pocket and pulls out an iPhone. He looks down at the screen, takes one last glance over at the bloodied Syndicate…
JJ: This is JJ.
…and chooses to take the call. Pressing the phone against his ear, the agent walks off, and as he does, Syndicate slumps to the concrete floor. As various stagehands rush past, anxious to pack up the Unbreakable Resolution set and ship it over to the next tour stop, Syndicate presses his face into his hands. What went wrong? How did everything go so, so wrong?
Syndicate knows the answer - he just doesn’t want to admit it.
Room 318.
As has become a common thread throughout Syndicate’s life, he’s faced with a choice: face his problems, or escape from them. Fourteen years ago, he felt as though his life in Apter, Tennessee wasn’t worth living, so he hopped onto a Greyhound bus and skipped town. Last year, he started facing problems in his marriage with Sophie - largely due to his previous wrestling career - so what does he choose to do? Get back into wrestling to try and distract himself. And now…now that everything has finally started to fall apart, now that he’s not only lost a major championship but also alienated the two people in his personal life that seemingly give a shit about him, he’s presented with the same choice. Right now, as he stares into the bronze handle placed before him, he can either open the door…or metaphorically close hundreds more.
Dressed in a combination of black leather jacket, white undershirt, and blue jeans, his right hand can be seen clutching to what has now become his most prized possession: the Fallout Ultimate Briefcase. With it, Syndicate has the power to immediately challenge for any of Fallout’s main three championships - anytime, anywhere. Now that he’s lost the Legacy title, this briefcase is the only item of value that Syndicate has left, the only piece of hardware that keeps him relevant within Project: Honor, and if he were to lose said briefcase…he worries that True Society would no longer have a reason to keep him around. Thus, Syndicate carries the case wherever he goes…with this random hotel being no exception.
Syndicate takes a deep breath, takes a few glances to the side to make sure no one’s watching, and reaches for the knob…but just as he does, the door swings open, revealing a familiar face on the other side.
Colt: Was wonderin’ how long you’d stand out there.
Syndicate: How’d you even know I was here?
Colt: Syd, come on - us Irvine’s are a lot of things, but one thing we’re not is late.
Syndicate: Shut up, shut up, shut up…
The greeter is, of course, Syndicate’s older brother, Colt Irvine. The two used to be close - best friends, even - but in 2008, a mock wrestling match between the two ended with Syndicate suffering major injuries to his cranium and shoulder. Even though the accident was just that - an accident - Sydney blamed Colt for the incident, and since that day, the two had only spoken on two occasions. One was a last-ditch attempt by Colt to break Syndicate out of one of his bipolar “Wrestling God” episodes, and the second was just last week, when JJ Kline revealed that he had hired Colt to be Syndicate’s “life coach”. Syndicate protested the decision, but it was no use - if he didn’t comply with JJ’s mandated therapy regimen, he’d almost assuredly be sent back to the Los Angeles Department of Mental Health for whatever treatment they deemed to be necessary…including the potential to be sent to prison. Syndicate’s known for taking risks, but that’s one that he’s not comfortable taking, and thus, here he is - standing outside his brother’s extended-stay hotel room, and for once in his life, doing as he’s told.
Colt: Well, no use in standin’ around! Come on in.
The man known previously to the wrestling world as “the Maverick” gestures for Syndicate to enter, and as much as the Outlaw wants to blow this off and go enjoy a grande caramel macchiato at Starbucks, that’ll have to wait.
Stepping inside, he sees what looks to be a pretty typical, if not modern, suite-style hotel room - a small kitchenette in one corner, a relatively outdated HDTV in another - but it’s clear that Colt’s made a few modifications to better suit his needs. Most notably, the suite’s pull-out couch has been repositioned against one of the walls, with an office chair pulled up right alongside. As the former Legacy Champion examines the environment - taking particular note of any escape routes should things go south - Colt shuts the door behind him and walks in.
Colt: Go on, take a seat.
Hesitating, Syndicate does so, sitting down on the edge of the expensive-looking couch and setting the Ultimate Briefcase down to his side.
Syndicate: I thought this was a life coaching session, not therapy.
Colt: Eh, California law doesn’t really define a difference between the two.
He cracks a smile, but Syndicate isn’t having it, instead choosing to blankly stare out the window. The Outlaw hasn’t made eye contact with his brother yet, and he isn’t looking to change that - but that won’t stop “the Maverick” from trying, as he opens up the kitchenette’s fridge.
Colt: Can I interest you in a drink? I’ve got Coke, Dr. Pepper, Gatorade…
Syndicate: No.
Colt: Ah, I see we’re already starting with the one word answers, eh? Hey, it's your funeral.
Closing the fridge door, Colt makes his way around the counter and sits down in the black office chair next to the couch. He leans backwards and smiles at his disinterested brother, obviously enjoying this to a certain extent.
Colt: So…how was the drive over here?
Syndicate: Fine.
Colt: Hit any bad traffic? Your neighborhood must just get slammed mid-day.
Syndicate: Eh.
Colt: What about Sophie? What’s she up to these days?
Syndicate: Dunno.
Any other “therapist” may find themselves getting frustrated by Syndicate’s lack of answers, but Colt only smirks.
Colt: Look, I know you don’t wanna be here, Syd. I know you’d rather be out there, going for a jog or training at the gym or whatever, and you’ll have time to do those things later, but right now, I need you to at least play along with this so that we can make JJ happy and move on.
Taking a moment to consider, Syndicate hastily stands back up from the edge of the couch.
Syndicate: You’re right - I’d rather be doing anything else. See ya around.
He tries to rush past Colt, but his older brother sees it coming, jumps up to his feet and pushes Syndicate back.
Colt: Now, now…need I remind you of our little “deal”?
Shit. Syndicate was hoping that Colt would somehow move on from what they discussed last time, but it’s clear that didn’t happen. At some point over the past few weeks, Colt was sent a DVD containing footage of all of Syndicate’s escapades with the Triad, a group of Los Angeles mobsters hired by Arik Holt to bring the Outlaw into True Society. At first, things were innocent enough - they offered to “rehabilitate” Syndicate’s soul and teach him how to fight back against the world that had corrupted him - but that quickly turned into attacking random people and knocking them unconscious. Even his mere knowledge of the Triad’s existence could get him incarcerated. And unfortunately, because of that mysterious DVD, the only outside individual that knows of what happened inside the Triad’s Sanctum - other than Arik Holt, of course - is Syndicate’s brother, Colt Irvine. Thus, a deal was made: Syndicate submits to Colt’s life coaching, and Colt keeps everything quiet. Simple as that...or so Syndicate hopes.
Colt: That’s what I thought. Take a seat, Syd - we’ve got a lot to discuss.
Begrudgingly, Syndicate obliges, and as he does, Colt reaches over to the nearby countertop and grabs a notepad and pen.
Colt: Alrighty, since small talk doesn’t seem to be making much headway, let’s start with something else, then. This “Golden Rules” match on Fallout. Any thoughts on that?
Syndicate absent-mindedly reaches for the Ultimate Briefcase propped up near his feet. His fingers contact the smooth metal handle of the case as he thinks of his response.
Syndicate: …no.
Colt: Jesus fucking Christ, Sydney - you’ve gotta at least try for me here! What about Ozy? He’s probably parading around Reine with what used to be YOUR Legacy Championship as we speak.
The outburst from his usually cool-and-collected brother startles Syndicate, causing any semblance of melancholy to fade away in favor of his usual tactic: spewing words out at a NASCAR-level pace.
Syndicate: That man…is an abomination to the sport. Sure, at the end of the day, he got what he wanted - he went home for the weekend, talked to his dead mom or whatever, and at the end of his “painful” journey, he received my Legacy Championship for his troubles. I’m not gonna beat around the bush here - he beat me, fair and square, and there’s no two ways around that - but to get the job done, it took a grueling match that pushed him to his limit, and help from ANOTHER devilish woman who should really be his worst enemy. Putting that aside, though, he’s still the same imaginary god-worshiping, Halloween costume-wearing piece of excrement that I pegged him as from the start…and yet, when he pinned me at Unbreakable Resolution…I heard cheers coming from the mouths of the masses. Really? THIS is their champion, the man that they support? I am but a common man, just like any other person in that crowd, and I’m simply trying to do what’s best for this world - is that truly more evil than someone that should honestly be in prison for the way he’s treated me, let alone his previous victims?
Colt: He’s just competing for a championship, same as you.
Syndicate: Exactly. So, then, why am I the one that’s vilified and hated?
Colt: Because you joined up with an evil group of henchmen and employed cowardly tactics to stay ahead. Seems pretty cut-and-dry to me.
Syndicate: Ah, but him teaming up with Elena DeDraca - a real-life wicked witch if I’ve ever seen one - is fair game? And as for Elena, she got the raw end of a deal that doesn’t benefit her in the slightest. Sure, she got her “revenge” on the man that took her title, and I’m sure that really served as a great learning experience for her cute little daughter back at home. After all, why forgive and forget when you can be a petty little bitch? The best part, though, is after all that, Elena gets to stand on the sidelines and watch as the man she ducked and dodged throughout both of her Legacy title reigns raises that very same title, right in her damn face. In my opinion, Elena gave into her emotions, and as a result, she jumped onto a sinking ship…and now, she’s pissed off the one Outlaw that can possibly save her.
Syndicate wants to keep going - he’s got plenty to say about the two people that he hates the most - but curiously, he instead slumps back into the couch, becoming a bit despondent.
Syndicate: Of course, none of that fuckin’ matters when it’s coming from the mouth of a man that’s already lost everything. My Legacy title’s gone, my momentum’s gone, and any sliver of respect that my peers may have been gaining for me…that’s gone, too.
Tapping his temple with the pen, Colt Irvine smiles at his younger brother - he finally sees the potential for a teaching moment…
Colt: Look, Syd, I get it -
…but Syndicate won’t give him the privilege.
Syndicate: No, Colt, you don’t get it. You never have, and you never fucking will. You were a professional wrestler for a cup of coffee, and to you, it was just a hobby and nothing more. You became a World champion just a few months in, just like that, because you, Colt, are the hero of your own story. Everything just comes easy to you - state titles, finding love, all of that - and because of that, you’ve never had to experience what I go through on a daily basis. You don’t have to go to work, each and every day, wondering if you’re actually as good as you say or think you are. You don’t have to suffer the way that I suffer EVERY…DAMN…WEEK, trying to prove that the work that you put in actually means something.
Colt: I don’t think we’re here to talk about me, Syd.
Syndicate: YOU’RE DAMN RIGHT, WE’RE NOT.
The camera zooms in on Syndicate’s face, where we can see the outline of a tear forming on the edge of his right eye. This is the most vulnerable we’ve ever seen Syndicate get, and the Project: Honor cameraman assigned to document his life isn’t about to miss it.
Syndicate: Every week’s the same. Days and days of just trying to push through, trying to justify everything that I do to people that don’t want to hear it. I fly from show to show alone, promising myself to spend the flight coming up with new ideas or ways to defeat my opponents…but always falling short until the last possible moment. And every single second of every single day, throughout all of that…I hear this ticking noise in the back of my head, getting louder and louder until the moment of truth finally comes. I enter that ring, I face my opponent, and I either manage to defuse the bomb…or everything finally explodes, and I go home, looking to pick up the pieces and figure out what I did wrong. Sure, I’ve got the hardware and the track record to prove that I "belong", but does any of that really matter when at the end of the road, I always end up losing it all? Is ANYTHING that I do worth a damn...when there are so many people around me that debatably do it better? There are some days that I wake up, and I think that I’m on par with the Elena DeDraca’s and Ozymandias’s of the world, thinking that I’m one of, if not THE, best wrestler in Project: Honor…and then other days, I think to myself, “am I really cut out for this?” “Is this really for me?” "Do I deserve my place at the table?" I don’t think I’ll ever find an answer.
Syndicate: I lost the Legacy Championship, and with it, months and months of positive momentum went down the drain. For other people, this would be the part of the story where they'd go home and get a hug from their wife, or a pat on the back from their friend, or whatever...but not me. I don't get those luxuries. No, I came home after Unbreakable Resolution and was greeted with the same death stares and lifeless greetings that I've become used to ever since joining Project: Honor. And you know what the worst part is, Colt? I knew this would happen. I knew deep down, from Bloodbath onward, that a championship belt wouldn't change my fortunes or the world's perception of me. Nothing ever would. And no matter what I'd do or who I'd hurt, I'd still be alone on this godforsaken planet. That was...until Arik Holt showed me a better way forward. So when you ask me why I joined True Society, Colt, there's your answer: it's because I had no other choice if I wanted to keep my fucking sanity.
Having been fidgeting with the handle of his Ultimate Briefcase for this entire time, Syndicate finally pulls the case up onto his lap and hugs it, as if coddling a newborn child.
Syndicate: I may not know what the future holds, Colt, but what I do know is that I’m not gonna let the children of this world go through all the shit that I’ve gone through. The people that come after me are not going to suffer like those that came before me, and with True Society and this briefcase, I alone hold the power to make that happen and end my pain...once and for all.
Colt: Oh, come on, Syd - it’s not like you got fired, or anything. You just lost a championship, not your life. You can absolutely rebound from that.
Syndicate looks over at his brother, tilts his head sideways, and sarcastically chuckles.
Syndicate: You see, that right there is what I’m fuckin’ talking about, Colt. You don’t understand what I go through because you’ve never had to fight for anything in your entire life. From day one, Mom and Dad handed you everything on a silver platter. You had the BEST toys, the BEST clothes, and once you grew up, they made sure you had anything you needed to succeed. I didn’t get that same treatment, Colt…but I did have to watch my undeserving, cocky, piece-of-shit brother get everything he’s ever wanted. You got those state titles, you got everyone's love and admiration, while I was FORCED to watch from the damn sidelines...and after all that, you have the balls to tell me that my experiences don't matter? You barely know who the fuck I am anymore.
Colt: Alright, fine. I don’t know what you’re going through outside of what I’ve seen on TV, but who’s fault was that, Syd? Was it mine for deciding to live my life to the fullest and respect your wishes for privacy, or was it your fault for refusing to talk to me for fourteen years?
Syndicate: Eight days.
Colt pauses as Syndicate looks downward at the case, as if in a trance.
Colt: …what?
Syndicate: When you put my head through that trampoline and changed my life forever, you didn’t come visit me for EIGHT DAYS. I was in the hospital, fighting for my fucking life because of what YOU did to me, and for eight entire, full-on, fat-ass days, you treated me like I didn’t even exist.
Silence. This moment, right here, is Syndicate’s first chance in fourteen years to tell his brother how he really felt…and he’s not letting it go to waste. Meanwhile, Colt’s scratching his stubbled chin with his right hand, a tear visibly forming up in his eye as well.
Colt: …I stayed away because I was scared, Sydney.
He briefly stands up from his chair before sitting down on the couch next to Syndicate, who refuses to acknowledge him.
Colt: After what happened, I could barely live with myself - all I could think about was that I seriously hurt my own little brother…my best friend. And I thought that if I showed up, you’d get all mad, and I’d somehow hurt you even more. I couldn’t work up the nerve to take that risk.
Colt places a hand on Syndicate’s shoulder - just like he did when they talked on the balcony last week - but Syndicate immediately shrugs it off.
Colt: I need you to believe me when I say that I never meant for any of that to happen. I said yes to the “match” because you wouldn’t take no for an answer, but I shouldn’t have. I absolutely shouldn’t have. I’m sorry for hurting you, and I’m sorry for being the spark that caused…all of this.
Another pause. After fourteen years of pain, Colt has finally apologized for what went down on that Irvine family trampoline - whether it was really his fault or not - but Syndicate, who’s still staring at his reflection in the side of the Ultimate Briefcase, doesn’t seem ready to forgive him just yet.
Syndicate: …I’ll see you next week.
Still refusing to make eye contact with Colt, the Los Angeles Outlaw jumps up to his feet and rushes out of the hotel room, Ultimate Briefcase in tow…running away from his problems once again. This hasty exit leaves Colt “The Maverick” Irvine alone, sitting on his makeshift therapy couch as he tries to evaluate what comes next. He hoped that extending an olive branch to his brother would help solve things…but it looks like more work still needs to be done to repair their tenuous relationship.
Well...that went about as expected.
We rejoin the Los Angeles Outlaw where you'd definitely expect to find a former Legacy Champion - the nearly empty rooftop of a nondescript parking garage just blocks away from Los Angeles International Airport. Normally, in a difficult, emotional situation such as this, he'd go for a long walk or try to distract himself by working out, but given that he took an Uber to Colt's hotel near LAX - and given that the popular ride-sharing app is backlogged due to the airport's general weekend business - Syndicate's got some time to kill. Thus, he finds himself here, staring out into the blue sky above...reminiscing about what once was.
Syndicate: Legacies…don’t last forever.
Chuckling, Syndicate turns and leans against the railing of the garage's roof, facing the camera lens head-on.
Syndicate: You can put in all the work, do all the right things, and perform all the tasks necessary to get yourself to the promised land at the end of the road…but once you’re there, there’s nothing saying that you can’t get kicked right back down to hell. And you’d think that I’d have learned that by now, now that I’m a ten-time World Champion across two different companies…but it’s amazing what power can do to your mind. That being said, while I may have experienced a metaphorical “fall from grace” at Unbreakable Resolution…
Reaching down by his feet, the Outlaw pulls up the Ultimate Briefcase and clutches it in front of his chest.
Syndicate: …I made sure to have a mattress ready to fall back on. You see, I’m not here to lament about what the past - God ordained that I’d lose the Legacy Championship, and so it was. If anything, losing the title seems to have freed up my schedule for…other endeavors, shall we say - ones that my True Society friends have been focusing on for quite some time. Because now that I’m left without a “legacy” to protect - and two brands to protect it from - I can direct my attention to two matters that are much more important than any individual endeavors: being the “Insurance Policy” that I promised I’d be…and making sure that the rest of the Fallout roster knows its fucking place.
Syndicate: But before I get to them, I have to address the elephant in the room - literally. Ozymandias, I’m sure you had a great week after winning that belt off of me. You probably took another trip back home to Reine and showed all your deceased buddies your new prize, and hell, maybe Meredith even gave you a bit of a “hard day’s night” as a reward for your efforts, if you catch my drift. Yes, I’m sure you’re riding high, but if you can take your attention off of your fictional god and glance down at us peasants for just one moment, I’ve got a few thoughts to share. You see, I can’t help but commend you on your ability to sniff out the possible threats around you, and respond to them accordingly. Back at Bloodbath, when I won the Legacy title that now grazes your shoulder, you most assuredly realized that Elena DeDraca was a threat to your goals of dominating Project: Honor from the top down, and thus, you splattered your logo on the abandoned hotel door, distracted the British Raven, and allowed me to sneak in with one final No Signal suplex. Ever since that moment, I’ve wondered to myself, “what could Ozy possibly have been hoping to accomplish?”...but last week, I finally got my answer.
Syndicate: Because over the last number of months, Project: Honor underwent a “changing of the guard”, and there was a new man at the top that you perceived to be dangerous…so what did you do? The same damn thing as before - using Elena as bait, you stacked the deck in your favor and stole a championship from its rightful holder. Again, I’ve gotta compliment you, Ozy - you truly do know how to efficiently get what you want, by hook or by crook - but sooner or later, the pressure’s gonna become too much. Sooner or later, you’re gonna run out of opportunities to be a fucking coward and use underhanded tactics to get what you want. You can go through the roster one-by-one, taking down all comers and defending that belt to the best of your ability, but one day, that mask of yours is gonna crack. The protections you put around yourself, and the partnerships you’ve made with your enemies, will fall apart. And when - not if, WHEN - that happens…yours truly is gonna swoop in, pick off the bones, and take back what I never should have lost in the first place.
Syndicate: Unbreakable Resolution did nothing to change my perception of you, Ozy. Sure, you’re strong and dominant and all that, but deep down? All you’re really doing is putting on your best Mr. Wright impression and playing pretend. Because as much as you may pray to Cthulhu himself, those people, your friends and family that died under your watch, are never coming back, and Big Silver sure as hell ain’t gonna change that. So you can let all that aggression out and you can spend your Legacy title reign beating down on all the poor saps over on Proving Ground, but after all that, you’re still gonna feel just as unfulfilled and pissed off as you did previously. And do you know what the saddest part is, Ozy? Do you know what’s really gonna keep you up at night? Knowing that at the end of it all, when you’re finally brought to the heavens to meet your maker…that no one’s going to even remember any of the people that you fight so dearly for. At this point, Reine is but a figment of your imagination, and while the rest of the world moves on, you’re still gonna be standing there, avenging the very deaths that you yourself caused all those years ago. So congratulations, Ozymandias, you did it - you vanquished your inner demons and vindicated your brethren. Question is…what happens next? What deep emotional issues will you pin your problems on this time? For your sake, I hope you’ve got a good answer, because if you don’t, all that dealing-with-the-devil that you did to take me down…is gonna come back to haunt you.
To Syndicate's left, a man can be seen walking up the parking ramp, likely to retrieve the singular red car present on the otherwise-empty roof. Syndicate, however, pays him no mind, continuing to focus solely on the imaginary strawmen he's mentally setting up in front of himself.
Syndicate: And as for your little assistant, Elena DeDraca…well, it seems like this is one instance where my past actions have backfired a bit. Elena, I really, truly hope that you enjoyed your time off from active competition, because I certainly did. After all, it’s nice to not have to come into work each day and hear the shrill, grating voice of a woman that’s too busy harping on her past successes to possibly consider what’s happened since then. Because while you were on your little sabbatical, hiding from problems that you couldn’t possibly solve, the man that took your precious little championship was busy kicking the absolute shit out of everyone else on the roster. Of course, because you were gone, you avoided another defeat at the hands of a person that you’ve NEVER beaten in one-on-one competition, and as if that wasn’t cowardly enough, you only decided to contract said person when he was at his absolute lowest point. And you’re supposed to be the unbeatable “British Raven”? Come on. I’ve seen tapeworms with more guts than you.
Syndicate: You can call me a whiny little piece of shit all you want, Elena, but deep down, you know what I’m saying is true. You used to be someone around here - the top competitor that Project: Honor had to offer - but since those days, everything has completely fallen apart. Just like your teammate this week, Jason Long, you became so focused on your own selfish pursuits that you neglected to notice the bullet train headed your way. You tried to protect that Legacy title with every fiber of your being, but while that was happening, True Society was taking hold of Project: Honor from right under your little nose, and now that you’ve finally realized what’s happened…you’re too damn late to stop it. And now that you’ve joined up with Ozy, a man that’s not afraid to kick your ass to the curb when you’ve outlived your usefulness? Your climb back up to the top just got a whole lot tougher. You’re right back where you started, waaaaaay down at the bottom of the ladder, and as far as I’m concerned, that may as well be a death sentence for your career. The world now sees you for what you truly are - an undisputed FRAUD that we never should have given the time of day. And after this match on Fallout, after I put my boot down your throat and show you your place in the new pecking order, the entire world’s gonna be saying the same damn thing that I’ve been singing this whole time: “ding dong, the Witch is dead!”
The Outlaw briefly hums to the tune of the Munchkins' famed chorus before switching his attention to another one of his opponents.
Syndicate: Of course, you and Ozy aren’t the only ones pretending to be something you’re not…because one of your “partners” takes that idea to new heights. You know, when I was a kid, I was a huge fan of Mister Roger’s Neighborhood, if you can believe it. My family’s house in the middle of nowhere didn’t get cable, and we barely got TV signals at all, but one channel we were able to watch was PBS. And every morning, while my grandma took care of us and my parents were out working, Colt and I would watch Mr. Roger as he taught us how to be better people and care for those around us. But Mr. Roger, bless his soul, had an idealistic view of the world, one that I know now…doesn’t exist, and never will. Not every government mule is as friendly as Mr. McFeely, and not every ruler is as benevolent as King Friday. And worst of all, the character that Mr. Roger plays is just that - a character, and underneath the guise sat a man that ended up being no different than anyone else on this planet. I’m telling you this, Mr. Wright, because just like I now see right through Mr. Roger, I too see straight through this little “playhouse” act that you’re putting on, and I recognize that underneath that tight sweater and behind that mischievous grin, you’re just an ordinary person like everyone else…a mortal that’s two feet away from the grave.
Syndicate: I’m not blind to what your goal is. You want all your opponents to be distracted by your “friendly” demeanor just long enough for you to jump in for the kill, and hey - for some of the dumber people on the roster, that may work just fine, but not for me. Because whether or not you choose to be a friend or foe, you’re an enemy regardless, and on Fallout, I’ll gladly kick your teeth out all the same. You’ve built up this entire persona to set yourself apart, but to me, you’re just another name in a long list of names that are just waiting to be made into victims. So you can come at me with your theatrics and your misdirections, but before you can even crack a smile, you’re gonna be knocked the fuck out by an Outlaw that isn’t here to play your little games. You’ve managed to descend into the deep, dark passageways of your mind, distracting yourself from the inevitabilities surrounding you, but this distraction of yours can only last so long. And when everything finally crumbles, when the walls of your little funhouse are burned to the ground…you’ll be left wondering why you escaped from the asylum in the first place.
Syndicate: You’re not the only mentally-lost person on your team, though - Henry Lee Hyde rivals you for that honor. Henry, it seems to me like you’re here in Project: Honor to satiate your own bloodlust and fulfill your fetish for pain, and that’s all well and good…but unlight Mr. Wright, nothing you’ve done up until this point has set you apart from the pack. You’re no different than Terry Savage, the broken-down brawler that I beat into retirement on day fuckin’ one - difference is, Terry was smart enough to realize he wasn’t cut out for this business, and quit while he had the chance. You…you’re sticking around, and while I certainly understand your desire to prove yourself in that ring and make your sister and nephew proud, that desire just points to issues behind the scenes that you’ve gotta deal with if you want to be successful here in the big leagues.
Syndicate: And that right there’s the problem, isn’t it? You’ve spent so much time fighting in “small ponds”, as you’ve so eloquently put it previously, that you don’t understand what it takes to make yourself stand out when swimming in the fucking ocean. Sure, punches, kicks, and grappling will get you decently far, but if each one of those maneuvers does not have an express purpose or reasoning behind them, then in the long run…they become meaningless. You can draw from your family as inspiration all day and night, but sooner or later, that well’s gonna run dry, and the reasons for why you came to dance in the first place are gonna fade away. No, you need to find that internal motivation, that driving force that sits inside you, if you want to stick around in this business, because if you don’t? Man, there’s already fifty people on the waiting list to join Project: Honor and replace your ass the second you slip up. Because these ARE the big leagues that you’ve so desperately searched for, Henry…and here in the big leagues, violence and pain are more common than you may think.
Finally, after a good bit of messing around with his phone and taking pictures of the sunset behind Syndicate, the man in the generic red Pontiac drives off, leaving the Outlaw - and the Project: Honor cameraman, of course - as the only visible occupants of the parking garage.
Syndicate: Alyssa Grace gets where I’m coming from. Believe it or not, I know a thing or two about leaving the comforts of home and becoming a professional wrestler against their wishes. I know how it feels to lose contact with those you love over the decisions that you know you need to make, and I respect you, Alyssa, for making the tough choice and doing what you heart told you to do. However, you better take that morsel of praise that you just received from the Los Angeles Outlaw, bottle it up real tight, and keep it close to you at night, because that’s the last bit of happiness that you’ll ever receive now that you’re finally crossing paths with a man that’s hoping to crack your skull at the earliest opportunity. Everyone backstage knows you as the “nice girl”, the one person on the roster that tries to be friendly with everyone, but that kindness is only going to lead to you getting run the fuck over by those that you tried to befriend. You think Ozymandias wants to “play nice”? What about Havoc? The only reason you’ve made it this far, and accomplished what you have, is because we all feel sorry that someone as naive and innocent as yourself somehow found your way into the professional wrestling business, and if I had a heart, I’d take this opportunity to extend a hand and help you out…but we both know that that’s simply not the case.
Syndicate: To quote one of my favorite movies of all time, the almighty Spaceballs, “now you will see that evil will always triumph…because good is dumb.” God has blessed you with extraordinary physical abilities, ones that have let you hang with the best of ‘em here in Project: Honor, but time and time again, you waste those abilities by focusing on your morals. Now, I don’t know what opponents you’ve faced in previous federations, but throughout my career, something I’ve learned is that asking “what would Jesus do?” won’t exactly help you when you’ve got a licensed killer breathing down your neck, and that’s exactly the situation you’re gonna run into on Fallout. Because as much as Mr. Wright may have you believe, this ain’t playtime anymore, folks, and there ain’t any mercy left for those that want to do things the “right way”. If you want to make a difference in this match, then you’re gonna have to show me that “killer instinct” that you’ve always lacked up to this point…trust me when I say that I’m not holding my breath.
Brushing back his shoulder-length blonde hair, a sick smile spreads across Syndicate's face...there's one particular piece of shit that he hasn't addressed quite yet.
Syndicate: And that leaves…you, Jason. Every week, I check the roster page on Project: Honor’s website, and each time I do that, I’m just a little more disappointed that I don’t see an obituary with your name listed at the top. No matter how many times I keep having to beat your ass into the ground, you keep coming back for more - you’re the pest that just never goes away, and while part of me respects that attitude of yours, the rest wonders if you’re about to run out of gas. You know, you’re the one that started all this, Jason - all those months ago, you could have accepted Arik as a person, someone that wanted the love and attention that you’ve clearly never received, and prevented all of this from happening…but, of course, you didn’t. Instead, you did what you always do - you let your massive fucking ego get in the way of the rest of your brain, and you kicked Arik Holt to the curb, unable to perceive the possible consequences for doing so. And now, you somehow have the balls to come after True Society, saying that you won’t rest until you put each and every one of us into the grave, saying that WE’RE the problem with Project: Honor? Bitch, you had the entire world in the palm of your hand, and it was YOU that let it all slip away, not any of us. You want to solve all your problems? Look in the fucking mirror and punch yourself in the face, then - hopefully that’ll knock some damn sense into you.
Syndicate: It says a lot that you spend so much of your time railing against a man that, to you, is theoretically beneath you in every possible way. After all, if I truly wasn’t a threat to you and your quest for vengeance, then you’d be dismissing me without another thought, and yet, week after week, I pop onto social media and hear you hurling death threats my way. Why? What did I ever do to you, Jason, other than prove to the world that you’re nothing but a selfish bastard that can’t possibly fathom anyone else being even a smidge better than you? Look at the history: Night of Honor, you got your ass beat by Elena, while I successfully took her down the very next month. At the Purge, you let external distractions get the better of you while your worst nightmare climbed the ladder and retrieved this briefcase, one that gives me the power to possibly affect your life even further than I already have. And then, just a few weeks ago on Fallout, what happened? Mmm, another L got fed into the gaping mouth of the man that never shuts the fuck up. Don’t you see, Jason? You can keep losing, and you can keep charging into the metaphorical brick wall, but each and every time you fail, you’re simply proving to the world that you were nothing but smoke and mirrors from the very start.
Syndicate: This week, Jason, you and the rest of your band of misfits have the chance to “fix” what you perceive to be wrong with this company. Honestly, I commend you for that effort - all human beings should receive the chance to fight against who they perceive to be their oppressors. But unfortunately for the lot of ya, that road goes both ways, and I have put up with far too many dismissals and complaints over the past week for me to stay silent on the matter. The bottom line, friends, is this: by becoming Legacy Champion, I did what none of y’all will EVER be able to do, and it clearly didn’t sit right with you all that this pretty little face was succeeding in ways that you had previously failed. But I’ve had enough with sitting on the sidelines, doomscrolling through Twitter, and listening to wrestler after wrestler crawl out of the woodwork and get their licks in on a man that’s already down. Forget True Society - if you want this damn Briefcase…then I dare you to come for it. I dare you to step into that ring and face the man that’s got nothing else to lose. Because the most dangerous type of person is a desperate one…and I’m desperate as fuck to put y’all in your place. Welcome…to the Syndicate.
As he breaks into a cocky little cackle, the Los Angeles Outlaw takes one last opportunity to shake the Ultimate Briefcase in front of the camera before walking past the cameraman and out of sight. The lens focuses in on the Los Angeles skyline prominently displayed on the horizon, and as it does, the shot is taken over by black-and-white static.
ONE…TWO…THREE!!
HOLLY PEREZ: Your winner of the match…and NNNNEEEWWWW Legacy Champion of Project: Honor… “The Butcher of Reine”...OOOOZZZZYYYYMANNNDIASSSSS!!!
The crowd cheered - CHEERED - as Ozymandias’s hand was raised. They supported Elena DeDraca as she came into the ring and dropkicked the now-former champion out, and as he leaned against the guardrail, trying desperately to ignore the pain coursing throughout his entire body, he was forced to watch as two of his absolute worst enemies raised their hands in triumph, just as the noise from the frenzied audience reached its crescendo. At last, the evil Outlaw had been toppled…but should they really be celebrating his replacement?
There’s a part of Syndicate that was surprised by this. Ozymandias and Elena, seemingly teaming up with one another? That’s absurd. They should be brawling up-and-down the aisle, each staking their own claim to the Legacy Championship, rather than continuing to beat down the man that just lost it. The other part of the Los Angeles Outlaw, though…absolutely saw this coming. After all, he had spent the better part of the past six months belittling Elena any chance he got - of course she’d want to get her revenge. And what better way to get said revenge on one of the biggest threats in the business…than joining up with another?
As the cameras continue to focus on the newfound devilish partnership in the ring, Syndicate takes his leave. Staggering up the entrance ramp, he walks through the curtain, where he’s immediately greeted not with a welcoming party or any of his True Society compatriots…but with the disapproving face of his “best friend”, JJ Kline. The acclaimed sports agent, dressed in a pressed gray suit and matching tie with his short brown hair gelled back, stands with his arms crossed in the middle of the short backstage hallway leading towards the ring, and as he shakes his head at the losing wrestler standing before him, Syndicate can barely muster up the energy to crack a signature cocky smile.
Syndicate: Took two of ‘em to beat the Outlaw, eh…they won’t get so lucky next time…
JJ: Bullshit. Ozy had you beat all by himself - Elena did nothing but watch you go up in smoke.
Syndicate reaches out to his friend, looking for a shoulder to lean on…but JJ steps back, refusing to give his client any relief. The Outlaw stumbles forward, forced to push himself up against a wall in order to stay standing.
JJ: You should have quit while you were ahead, Syd. You were so focused on running forward…that you didn’t notice the damn cliff.
Taking a few more steps back, the pure frustration present in Kline’s voice is apparent as he repeats his parting words.
JJ: You should have quit while you were ahead…
***RING, RING***
Upon hearing the ringtone, JJ Kline reaches into his suit pocket and pulls out an iPhone. He looks down at the screen, takes one last glance over at the bloodied Syndicate…
JJ: This is JJ.
…and chooses to take the call. Pressing the phone against his ear, the agent walks off, and as he does, Syndicate slumps to the concrete floor. As various stagehands rush past, anxious to pack up the Unbreakable Resolution set and ship it over to the next tour stop, Syndicate presses his face into his hands. What went wrong? How did everything go so, so wrong?
Syndicate knows the answer - he just doesn’t want to admit it.
EXTENDED STAY AMERICA HOTEL - LOS ANGELES, CA
JANUARY 13TH, 2021 - 2:12PM
JANUARY 13TH, 2021 - 2:12PM
Room 318.
As has become a common thread throughout Syndicate’s life, he’s faced with a choice: face his problems, or escape from them. Fourteen years ago, he felt as though his life in Apter, Tennessee wasn’t worth living, so he hopped onto a Greyhound bus and skipped town. Last year, he started facing problems in his marriage with Sophie - largely due to his previous wrestling career - so what does he choose to do? Get back into wrestling to try and distract himself. And now…now that everything has finally started to fall apart, now that he’s not only lost a major championship but also alienated the two people in his personal life that seemingly give a shit about him, he’s presented with the same choice. Right now, as he stares into the bronze handle placed before him, he can either open the door…or metaphorically close hundreds more.
Dressed in a combination of black leather jacket, white undershirt, and blue jeans, his right hand can be seen clutching to what has now become his most prized possession: the Fallout Ultimate Briefcase. With it, Syndicate has the power to immediately challenge for any of Fallout’s main three championships - anytime, anywhere. Now that he’s lost the Legacy title, this briefcase is the only item of value that Syndicate has left, the only piece of hardware that keeps him relevant within Project: Honor, and if he were to lose said briefcase…he worries that True Society would no longer have a reason to keep him around. Thus, Syndicate carries the case wherever he goes…with this random hotel being no exception.
Syndicate takes a deep breath, takes a few glances to the side to make sure no one’s watching, and reaches for the knob…but just as he does, the door swings open, revealing a familiar face on the other side.
Colt: Was wonderin’ how long you’d stand out there.
Syndicate: How’d you even know I was here?
Colt: Syd, come on - us Irvine’s are a lot of things, but one thing we’re not is late.
Syndicate: Shut up, shut up, shut up…
The greeter is, of course, Syndicate’s older brother, Colt Irvine. The two used to be close - best friends, even - but in 2008, a mock wrestling match between the two ended with Syndicate suffering major injuries to his cranium and shoulder. Even though the accident was just that - an accident - Sydney blamed Colt for the incident, and since that day, the two had only spoken on two occasions. One was a last-ditch attempt by Colt to break Syndicate out of one of his bipolar “Wrestling God” episodes, and the second was just last week, when JJ Kline revealed that he had hired Colt to be Syndicate’s “life coach”. Syndicate protested the decision, but it was no use - if he didn’t comply with JJ’s mandated therapy regimen, he’d almost assuredly be sent back to the Los Angeles Department of Mental Health for whatever treatment they deemed to be necessary…including the potential to be sent to prison. Syndicate’s known for taking risks, but that’s one that he’s not comfortable taking, and thus, here he is - standing outside his brother’s extended-stay hotel room, and for once in his life, doing as he’s told.
Colt: Well, no use in standin’ around! Come on in.
The man known previously to the wrestling world as “the Maverick” gestures for Syndicate to enter, and as much as the Outlaw wants to blow this off and go enjoy a grande caramel macchiato at Starbucks, that’ll have to wait.
Stepping inside, he sees what looks to be a pretty typical, if not modern, suite-style hotel room - a small kitchenette in one corner, a relatively outdated HDTV in another - but it’s clear that Colt’s made a few modifications to better suit his needs. Most notably, the suite’s pull-out couch has been repositioned against one of the walls, with an office chair pulled up right alongside. As the former Legacy Champion examines the environment - taking particular note of any escape routes should things go south - Colt shuts the door behind him and walks in.
Colt: Go on, take a seat.
Hesitating, Syndicate does so, sitting down on the edge of the expensive-looking couch and setting the Ultimate Briefcase down to his side.
Syndicate: I thought this was a life coaching session, not therapy.
Colt: Eh, California law doesn’t really define a difference between the two.
He cracks a smile, but Syndicate isn’t having it, instead choosing to blankly stare out the window. The Outlaw hasn’t made eye contact with his brother yet, and he isn’t looking to change that - but that won’t stop “the Maverick” from trying, as he opens up the kitchenette’s fridge.
Colt: Can I interest you in a drink? I’ve got Coke, Dr. Pepper, Gatorade…
Syndicate: No.
Colt: Ah, I see we’re already starting with the one word answers, eh? Hey, it's your funeral.
Closing the fridge door, Colt makes his way around the counter and sits down in the black office chair next to the couch. He leans backwards and smiles at his disinterested brother, obviously enjoying this to a certain extent.
Colt: So…how was the drive over here?
Syndicate: Fine.
Colt: Hit any bad traffic? Your neighborhood must just get slammed mid-day.
Syndicate: Eh.
Colt: What about Sophie? What’s she up to these days?
Syndicate: Dunno.
Any other “therapist” may find themselves getting frustrated by Syndicate’s lack of answers, but Colt only smirks.
Colt: Look, I know you don’t wanna be here, Syd. I know you’d rather be out there, going for a jog or training at the gym or whatever, and you’ll have time to do those things later, but right now, I need you to at least play along with this so that we can make JJ happy and move on.
Taking a moment to consider, Syndicate hastily stands back up from the edge of the couch.
Syndicate: You’re right - I’d rather be doing anything else. See ya around.
He tries to rush past Colt, but his older brother sees it coming, jumps up to his feet and pushes Syndicate back.
Colt: Now, now…need I remind you of our little “deal”?
Shit. Syndicate was hoping that Colt would somehow move on from what they discussed last time, but it’s clear that didn’t happen. At some point over the past few weeks, Colt was sent a DVD containing footage of all of Syndicate’s escapades with the Triad, a group of Los Angeles mobsters hired by Arik Holt to bring the Outlaw into True Society. At first, things were innocent enough - they offered to “rehabilitate” Syndicate’s soul and teach him how to fight back against the world that had corrupted him - but that quickly turned into attacking random people and knocking them unconscious. Even his mere knowledge of the Triad’s existence could get him incarcerated. And unfortunately, because of that mysterious DVD, the only outside individual that knows of what happened inside the Triad’s Sanctum - other than Arik Holt, of course - is Syndicate’s brother, Colt Irvine. Thus, a deal was made: Syndicate submits to Colt’s life coaching, and Colt keeps everything quiet. Simple as that...or so Syndicate hopes.
Colt: That’s what I thought. Take a seat, Syd - we’ve got a lot to discuss.
Begrudgingly, Syndicate obliges, and as he does, Colt reaches over to the nearby countertop and grabs a notepad and pen.
Colt: Alrighty, since small talk doesn’t seem to be making much headway, let’s start with something else, then. This “Golden Rules” match on Fallout. Any thoughts on that?
Syndicate absent-mindedly reaches for the Ultimate Briefcase propped up near his feet. His fingers contact the smooth metal handle of the case as he thinks of his response.
Syndicate: …no.
Colt: Jesus fucking Christ, Sydney - you’ve gotta at least try for me here! What about Ozy? He’s probably parading around Reine with what used to be YOUR Legacy Championship as we speak.
The outburst from his usually cool-and-collected brother startles Syndicate, causing any semblance of melancholy to fade away in favor of his usual tactic: spewing words out at a NASCAR-level pace.
Syndicate: That man…is an abomination to the sport. Sure, at the end of the day, he got what he wanted - he went home for the weekend, talked to his dead mom or whatever, and at the end of his “painful” journey, he received my Legacy Championship for his troubles. I’m not gonna beat around the bush here - he beat me, fair and square, and there’s no two ways around that - but to get the job done, it took a grueling match that pushed him to his limit, and help from ANOTHER devilish woman who should really be his worst enemy. Putting that aside, though, he’s still the same imaginary god-worshiping, Halloween costume-wearing piece of excrement that I pegged him as from the start…and yet, when he pinned me at Unbreakable Resolution…I heard cheers coming from the mouths of the masses. Really? THIS is their champion, the man that they support? I am but a common man, just like any other person in that crowd, and I’m simply trying to do what’s best for this world - is that truly more evil than someone that should honestly be in prison for the way he’s treated me, let alone his previous victims?
Colt: He’s just competing for a championship, same as you.
Syndicate: Exactly. So, then, why am I the one that’s vilified and hated?
Colt: Because you joined up with an evil group of henchmen and employed cowardly tactics to stay ahead. Seems pretty cut-and-dry to me.
Syndicate: Ah, but him teaming up with Elena DeDraca - a real-life wicked witch if I’ve ever seen one - is fair game? And as for Elena, she got the raw end of a deal that doesn’t benefit her in the slightest. Sure, she got her “revenge” on the man that took her title, and I’m sure that really served as a great learning experience for her cute little daughter back at home. After all, why forgive and forget when you can be a petty little bitch? The best part, though, is after all that, Elena gets to stand on the sidelines and watch as the man she ducked and dodged throughout both of her Legacy title reigns raises that very same title, right in her damn face. In my opinion, Elena gave into her emotions, and as a result, she jumped onto a sinking ship…and now, she’s pissed off the one Outlaw that can possibly save her.
Syndicate wants to keep going - he’s got plenty to say about the two people that he hates the most - but curiously, he instead slumps back into the couch, becoming a bit despondent.
Syndicate: Of course, none of that fuckin’ matters when it’s coming from the mouth of a man that’s already lost everything. My Legacy title’s gone, my momentum’s gone, and any sliver of respect that my peers may have been gaining for me…that’s gone, too.
Tapping his temple with the pen, Colt Irvine smiles at his younger brother - he finally sees the potential for a teaching moment…
Colt: Look, Syd, I get it -
…but Syndicate won’t give him the privilege.
Syndicate: No, Colt, you don’t get it. You never have, and you never fucking will. You were a professional wrestler for a cup of coffee, and to you, it was just a hobby and nothing more. You became a World champion just a few months in, just like that, because you, Colt, are the hero of your own story. Everything just comes easy to you - state titles, finding love, all of that - and because of that, you’ve never had to experience what I go through on a daily basis. You don’t have to go to work, each and every day, wondering if you’re actually as good as you say or think you are. You don’t have to suffer the way that I suffer EVERY…DAMN…WEEK, trying to prove that the work that you put in actually means something.
Colt: I don’t think we’re here to talk about me, Syd.
Syndicate: YOU’RE DAMN RIGHT, WE’RE NOT.
The camera zooms in on Syndicate’s face, where we can see the outline of a tear forming on the edge of his right eye. This is the most vulnerable we’ve ever seen Syndicate get, and the Project: Honor cameraman assigned to document his life isn’t about to miss it.
Syndicate: Every week’s the same. Days and days of just trying to push through, trying to justify everything that I do to people that don’t want to hear it. I fly from show to show alone, promising myself to spend the flight coming up with new ideas or ways to defeat my opponents…but always falling short until the last possible moment. And every single second of every single day, throughout all of that…I hear this ticking noise in the back of my head, getting louder and louder until the moment of truth finally comes. I enter that ring, I face my opponent, and I either manage to defuse the bomb…or everything finally explodes, and I go home, looking to pick up the pieces and figure out what I did wrong. Sure, I’ve got the hardware and the track record to prove that I "belong", but does any of that really matter when at the end of the road, I always end up losing it all? Is ANYTHING that I do worth a damn...when there are so many people around me that debatably do it better? There are some days that I wake up, and I think that I’m on par with the Elena DeDraca’s and Ozymandias’s of the world, thinking that I’m one of, if not THE, best wrestler in Project: Honor…and then other days, I think to myself, “am I really cut out for this?” “Is this really for me?” "Do I deserve my place at the table?" I don’t think I’ll ever find an answer.
Syndicate: I lost the Legacy Championship, and with it, months and months of positive momentum went down the drain. For other people, this would be the part of the story where they'd go home and get a hug from their wife, or a pat on the back from their friend, or whatever...but not me. I don't get those luxuries. No, I came home after Unbreakable Resolution and was greeted with the same death stares and lifeless greetings that I've become used to ever since joining Project: Honor. And you know what the worst part is, Colt? I knew this would happen. I knew deep down, from Bloodbath onward, that a championship belt wouldn't change my fortunes or the world's perception of me. Nothing ever would. And no matter what I'd do or who I'd hurt, I'd still be alone on this godforsaken planet. That was...until Arik Holt showed me a better way forward. So when you ask me why I joined True Society, Colt, there's your answer: it's because I had no other choice if I wanted to keep my fucking sanity.
Having been fidgeting with the handle of his Ultimate Briefcase for this entire time, Syndicate finally pulls the case up onto his lap and hugs it, as if coddling a newborn child.
Syndicate: I may not know what the future holds, Colt, but what I do know is that I’m not gonna let the children of this world go through all the shit that I’ve gone through. The people that come after me are not going to suffer like those that came before me, and with True Society and this briefcase, I alone hold the power to make that happen and end my pain...once and for all.
Colt: Oh, come on, Syd - it’s not like you got fired, or anything. You just lost a championship, not your life. You can absolutely rebound from that.
Syndicate looks over at his brother, tilts his head sideways, and sarcastically chuckles.
Syndicate: You see, that right there is what I’m fuckin’ talking about, Colt. You don’t understand what I go through because you’ve never had to fight for anything in your entire life. From day one, Mom and Dad handed you everything on a silver platter. You had the BEST toys, the BEST clothes, and once you grew up, they made sure you had anything you needed to succeed. I didn’t get that same treatment, Colt…but I did have to watch my undeserving, cocky, piece-of-shit brother get everything he’s ever wanted. You got those state titles, you got everyone's love and admiration, while I was FORCED to watch from the damn sidelines...and after all that, you have the balls to tell me that my experiences don't matter? You barely know who the fuck I am anymore.
Colt: Alright, fine. I don’t know what you’re going through outside of what I’ve seen on TV, but who’s fault was that, Syd? Was it mine for deciding to live my life to the fullest and respect your wishes for privacy, or was it your fault for refusing to talk to me for fourteen years?
Syndicate: Eight days.
Colt pauses as Syndicate looks downward at the case, as if in a trance.
Colt: …what?
Syndicate: When you put my head through that trampoline and changed my life forever, you didn’t come visit me for EIGHT DAYS. I was in the hospital, fighting for my fucking life because of what YOU did to me, and for eight entire, full-on, fat-ass days, you treated me like I didn’t even exist.
Silence. This moment, right here, is Syndicate’s first chance in fourteen years to tell his brother how he really felt…and he’s not letting it go to waste. Meanwhile, Colt’s scratching his stubbled chin with his right hand, a tear visibly forming up in his eye as well.
Colt: …I stayed away because I was scared, Sydney.
He briefly stands up from his chair before sitting down on the couch next to Syndicate, who refuses to acknowledge him.
Colt: After what happened, I could barely live with myself - all I could think about was that I seriously hurt my own little brother…my best friend. And I thought that if I showed up, you’d get all mad, and I’d somehow hurt you even more. I couldn’t work up the nerve to take that risk.
Colt places a hand on Syndicate’s shoulder - just like he did when they talked on the balcony last week - but Syndicate immediately shrugs it off.
Colt: I need you to believe me when I say that I never meant for any of that to happen. I said yes to the “match” because you wouldn’t take no for an answer, but I shouldn’t have. I absolutely shouldn’t have. I’m sorry for hurting you, and I’m sorry for being the spark that caused…all of this.
Another pause. After fourteen years of pain, Colt has finally apologized for what went down on that Irvine family trampoline - whether it was really his fault or not - but Syndicate, who’s still staring at his reflection in the side of the Ultimate Briefcase, doesn’t seem ready to forgive him just yet.
Syndicate: …I’ll see you next week.
Still refusing to make eye contact with Colt, the Los Angeles Outlaw jumps up to his feet and rushes out of the hotel room, Ultimate Briefcase in tow…running away from his problems once again. This hasty exit leaves Colt “The Maverick” Irvine alone, sitting on his makeshift therapy couch as he tries to evaluate what comes next. He hoped that extending an olive branch to his brother would help solve things…but it looks like more work still needs to be done to repair their tenuous relationship.
5200 WEST CENTURY BOULEVARD - LOS ANGELES, CA
JANUARY 13TH, 2021 - 4:31PM
Well...that went about as expected.
We rejoin the Los Angeles Outlaw where you'd definitely expect to find a former Legacy Champion - the nearly empty rooftop of a nondescript parking garage just blocks away from Los Angeles International Airport. Normally, in a difficult, emotional situation such as this, he'd go for a long walk or try to distract himself by working out, but given that he took an Uber to Colt's hotel near LAX - and given that the popular ride-sharing app is backlogged due to the airport's general weekend business - Syndicate's got some time to kill. Thus, he finds himself here, staring out into the blue sky above...reminiscing about what once was.
Syndicate: Legacies…don’t last forever.
Chuckling, Syndicate turns and leans against the railing of the garage's roof, facing the camera lens head-on.
Syndicate: You can put in all the work, do all the right things, and perform all the tasks necessary to get yourself to the promised land at the end of the road…but once you’re there, there’s nothing saying that you can’t get kicked right back down to hell. And you’d think that I’d have learned that by now, now that I’m a ten-time World Champion across two different companies…but it’s amazing what power can do to your mind. That being said, while I may have experienced a metaphorical “fall from grace” at Unbreakable Resolution…
Reaching down by his feet, the Outlaw pulls up the Ultimate Briefcase and clutches it in front of his chest.
Syndicate: …I made sure to have a mattress ready to fall back on. You see, I’m not here to lament about what the past - God ordained that I’d lose the Legacy Championship, and so it was. If anything, losing the title seems to have freed up my schedule for…other endeavors, shall we say - ones that my True Society friends have been focusing on for quite some time. Because now that I’m left without a “legacy” to protect - and two brands to protect it from - I can direct my attention to two matters that are much more important than any individual endeavors: being the “Insurance Policy” that I promised I’d be…and making sure that the rest of the Fallout roster knows its fucking place.
Syndicate: But before I get to them, I have to address the elephant in the room - literally. Ozymandias, I’m sure you had a great week after winning that belt off of me. You probably took another trip back home to Reine and showed all your deceased buddies your new prize, and hell, maybe Meredith even gave you a bit of a “hard day’s night” as a reward for your efforts, if you catch my drift. Yes, I’m sure you’re riding high, but if you can take your attention off of your fictional god and glance down at us peasants for just one moment, I’ve got a few thoughts to share. You see, I can’t help but commend you on your ability to sniff out the possible threats around you, and respond to them accordingly. Back at Bloodbath, when I won the Legacy title that now grazes your shoulder, you most assuredly realized that Elena DeDraca was a threat to your goals of dominating Project: Honor from the top down, and thus, you splattered your logo on the abandoned hotel door, distracted the British Raven, and allowed me to sneak in with one final No Signal suplex. Ever since that moment, I’ve wondered to myself, “what could Ozy possibly have been hoping to accomplish?”...but last week, I finally got my answer.
Syndicate: Because over the last number of months, Project: Honor underwent a “changing of the guard”, and there was a new man at the top that you perceived to be dangerous…so what did you do? The same damn thing as before - using Elena as bait, you stacked the deck in your favor and stole a championship from its rightful holder. Again, I’ve gotta compliment you, Ozy - you truly do know how to efficiently get what you want, by hook or by crook - but sooner or later, the pressure’s gonna become too much. Sooner or later, you’re gonna run out of opportunities to be a fucking coward and use underhanded tactics to get what you want. You can go through the roster one-by-one, taking down all comers and defending that belt to the best of your ability, but one day, that mask of yours is gonna crack. The protections you put around yourself, and the partnerships you’ve made with your enemies, will fall apart. And when - not if, WHEN - that happens…yours truly is gonna swoop in, pick off the bones, and take back what I never should have lost in the first place.
Syndicate: Unbreakable Resolution did nothing to change my perception of you, Ozy. Sure, you’re strong and dominant and all that, but deep down? All you’re really doing is putting on your best Mr. Wright impression and playing pretend. Because as much as you may pray to Cthulhu himself, those people, your friends and family that died under your watch, are never coming back, and Big Silver sure as hell ain’t gonna change that. So you can let all that aggression out and you can spend your Legacy title reign beating down on all the poor saps over on Proving Ground, but after all that, you’re still gonna feel just as unfulfilled and pissed off as you did previously. And do you know what the saddest part is, Ozy? Do you know what’s really gonna keep you up at night? Knowing that at the end of it all, when you’re finally brought to the heavens to meet your maker…that no one’s going to even remember any of the people that you fight so dearly for. At this point, Reine is but a figment of your imagination, and while the rest of the world moves on, you’re still gonna be standing there, avenging the very deaths that you yourself caused all those years ago. So congratulations, Ozymandias, you did it - you vanquished your inner demons and vindicated your brethren. Question is…what happens next? What deep emotional issues will you pin your problems on this time? For your sake, I hope you’ve got a good answer, because if you don’t, all that dealing-with-the-devil that you did to take me down…is gonna come back to haunt you.
To Syndicate's left, a man can be seen walking up the parking ramp, likely to retrieve the singular red car present on the otherwise-empty roof. Syndicate, however, pays him no mind, continuing to focus solely on the imaginary strawmen he's mentally setting up in front of himself.
Syndicate: And as for your little assistant, Elena DeDraca…well, it seems like this is one instance where my past actions have backfired a bit. Elena, I really, truly hope that you enjoyed your time off from active competition, because I certainly did. After all, it’s nice to not have to come into work each day and hear the shrill, grating voice of a woman that’s too busy harping on her past successes to possibly consider what’s happened since then. Because while you were on your little sabbatical, hiding from problems that you couldn’t possibly solve, the man that took your precious little championship was busy kicking the absolute shit out of everyone else on the roster. Of course, because you were gone, you avoided another defeat at the hands of a person that you’ve NEVER beaten in one-on-one competition, and as if that wasn’t cowardly enough, you only decided to contract said person when he was at his absolute lowest point. And you’re supposed to be the unbeatable “British Raven”? Come on. I’ve seen tapeworms with more guts than you.
Syndicate: You can call me a whiny little piece of shit all you want, Elena, but deep down, you know what I’m saying is true. You used to be someone around here - the top competitor that Project: Honor had to offer - but since those days, everything has completely fallen apart. Just like your teammate this week, Jason Long, you became so focused on your own selfish pursuits that you neglected to notice the bullet train headed your way. You tried to protect that Legacy title with every fiber of your being, but while that was happening, True Society was taking hold of Project: Honor from right under your little nose, and now that you’ve finally realized what’s happened…you’re too damn late to stop it. And now that you’ve joined up with Ozy, a man that’s not afraid to kick your ass to the curb when you’ve outlived your usefulness? Your climb back up to the top just got a whole lot tougher. You’re right back where you started, waaaaaay down at the bottom of the ladder, and as far as I’m concerned, that may as well be a death sentence for your career. The world now sees you for what you truly are - an undisputed FRAUD that we never should have given the time of day. And after this match on Fallout, after I put my boot down your throat and show you your place in the new pecking order, the entire world’s gonna be saying the same damn thing that I’ve been singing this whole time: “ding dong, the Witch is dead!”
The Outlaw briefly hums to the tune of the Munchkins' famed chorus before switching his attention to another one of his opponents.
Syndicate: Of course, you and Ozy aren’t the only ones pretending to be something you’re not…because one of your “partners” takes that idea to new heights. You know, when I was a kid, I was a huge fan of Mister Roger’s Neighborhood, if you can believe it. My family’s house in the middle of nowhere didn’t get cable, and we barely got TV signals at all, but one channel we were able to watch was PBS. And every morning, while my grandma took care of us and my parents were out working, Colt and I would watch Mr. Roger as he taught us how to be better people and care for those around us. But Mr. Roger, bless his soul, had an idealistic view of the world, one that I know now…doesn’t exist, and never will. Not every government mule is as friendly as Mr. McFeely, and not every ruler is as benevolent as King Friday. And worst of all, the character that Mr. Roger plays is just that - a character, and underneath the guise sat a man that ended up being no different than anyone else on this planet. I’m telling you this, Mr. Wright, because just like I now see right through Mr. Roger, I too see straight through this little “playhouse” act that you’re putting on, and I recognize that underneath that tight sweater and behind that mischievous grin, you’re just an ordinary person like everyone else…a mortal that’s two feet away from the grave.
Syndicate: I’m not blind to what your goal is. You want all your opponents to be distracted by your “friendly” demeanor just long enough for you to jump in for the kill, and hey - for some of the dumber people on the roster, that may work just fine, but not for me. Because whether or not you choose to be a friend or foe, you’re an enemy regardless, and on Fallout, I’ll gladly kick your teeth out all the same. You’ve built up this entire persona to set yourself apart, but to me, you’re just another name in a long list of names that are just waiting to be made into victims. So you can come at me with your theatrics and your misdirections, but before you can even crack a smile, you’re gonna be knocked the fuck out by an Outlaw that isn’t here to play your little games. You’ve managed to descend into the deep, dark passageways of your mind, distracting yourself from the inevitabilities surrounding you, but this distraction of yours can only last so long. And when everything finally crumbles, when the walls of your little funhouse are burned to the ground…you’ll be left wondering why you escaped from the asylum in the first place.
Syndicate: You’re not the only mentally-lost person on your team, though - Henry Lee Hyde rivals you for that honor. Henry, it seems to me like you’re here in Project: Honor to satiate your own bloodlust and fulfill your fetish for pain, and that’s all well and good…but unlight Mr. Wright, nothing you’ve done up until this point has set you apart from the pack. You’re no different than Terry Savage, the broken-down brawler that I beat into retirement on day fuckin’ one - difference is, Terry was smart enough to realize he wasn’t cut out for this business, and quit while he had the chance. You…you’re sticking around, and while I certainly understand your desire to prove yourself in that ring and make your sister and nephew proud, that desire just points to issues behind the scenes that you’ve gotta deal with if you want to be successful here in the big leagues.
Syndicate: And that right there’s the problem, isn’t it? You’ve spent so much time fighting in “small ponds”, as you’ve so eloquently put it previously, that you don’t understand what it takes to make yourself stand out when swimming in the fucking ocean. Sure, punches, kicks, and grappling will get you decently far, but if each one of those maneuvers does not have an express purpose or reasoning behind them, then in the long run…they become meaningless. You can draw from your family as inspiration all day and night, but sooner or later, that well’s gonna run dry, and the reasons for why you came to dance in the first place are gonna fade away. No, you need to find that internal motivation, that driving force that sits inside you, if you want to stick around in this business, because if you don’t? Man, there’s already fifty people on the waiting list to join Project: Honor and replace your ass the second you slip up. Because these ARE the big leagues that you’ve so desperately searched for, Henry…and here in the big leagues, violence and pain are more common than you may think.
Finally, after a good bit of messing around with his phone and taking pictures of the sunset behind Syndicate, the man in the generic red Pontiac drives off, leaving the Outlaw - and the Project: Honor cameraman, of course - as the only visible occupants of the parking garage.
Syndicate: Alyssa Grace gets where I’m coming from. Believe it or not, I know a thing or two about leaving the comforts of home and becoming a professional wrestler against their wishes. I know how it feels to lose contact with those you love over the decisions that you know you need to make, and I respect you, Alyssa, for making the tough choice and doing what you heart told you to do. However, you better take that morsel of praise that you just received from the Los Angeles Outlaw, bottle it up real tight, and keep it close to you at night, because that’s the last bit of happiness that you’ll ever receive now that you’re finally crossing paths with a man that’s hoping to crack your skull at the earliest opportunity. Everyone backstage knows you as the “nice girl”, the one person on the roster that tries to be friendly with everyone, but that kindness is only going to lead to you getting run the fuck over by those that you tried to befriend. You think Ozymandias wants to “play nice”? What about Havoc? The only reason you’ve made it this far, and accomplished what you have, is because we all feel sorry that someone as naive and innocent as yourself somehow found your way into the professional wrestling business, and if I had a heart, I’d take this opportunity to extend a hand and help you out…but we both know that that’s simply not the case.
Syndicate: To quote one of my favorite movies of all time, the almighty Spaceballs, “now you will see that evil will always triumph…because good is dumb.” God has blessed you with extraordinary physical abilities, ones that have let you hang with the best of ‘em here in Project: Honor, but time and time again, you waste those abilities by focusing on your morals. Now, I don’t know what opponents you’ve faced in previous federations, but throughout my career, something I’ve learned is that asking “what would Jesus do?” won’t exactly help you when you’ve got a licensed killer breathing down your neck, and that’s exactly the situation you’re gonna run into on Fallout. Because as much as Mr. Wright may have you believe, this ain’t playtime anymore, folks, and there ain’t any mercy left for those that want to do things the “right way”. If you want to make a difference in this match, then you’re gonna have to show me that “killer instinct” that you’ve always lacked up to this point…trust me when I say that I’m not holding my breath.
Brushing back his shoulder-length blonde hair, a sick smile spreads across Syndicate's face...there's one particular piece of shit that he hasn't addressed quite yet.
Syndicate: And that leaves…you, Jason. Every week, I check the roster page on Project: Honor’s website, and each time I do that, I’m just a little more disappointed that I don’t see an obituary with your name listed at the top. No matter how many times I keep having to beat your ass into the ground, you keep coming back for more - you’re the pest that just never goes away, and while part of me respects that attitude of yours, the rest wonders if you’re about to run out of gas. You know, you’re the one that started all this, Jason - all those months ago, you could have accepted Arik as a person, someone that wanted the love and attention that you’ve clearly never received, and prevented all of this from happening…but, of course, you didn’t. Instead, you did what you always do - you let your massive fucking ego get in the way of the rest of your brain, and you kicked Arik Holt to the curb, unable to perceive the possible consequences for doing so. And now, you somehow have the balls to come after True Society, saying that you won’t rest until you put each and every one of us into the grave, saying that WE’RE the problem with Project: Honor? Bitch, you had the entire world in the palm of your hand, and it was YOU that let it all slip away, not any of us. You want to solve all your problems? Look in the fucking mirror and punch yourself in the face, then - hopefully that’ll knock some damn sense into you.
Syndicate: It says a lot that you spend so much of your time railing against a man that, to you, is theoretically beneath you in every possible way. After all, if I truly wasn’t a threat to you and your quest for vengeance, then you’d be dismissing me without another thought, and yet, week after week, I pop onto social media and hear you hurling death threats my way. Why? What did I ever do to you, Jason, other than prove to the world that you’re nothing but a selfish bastard that can’t possibly fathom anyone else being even a smidge better than you? Look at the history: Night of Honor, you got your ass beat by Elena, while I successfully took her down the very next month. At the Purge, you let external distractions get the better of you while your worst nightmare climbed the ladder and retrieved this briefcase, one that gives me the power to possibly affect your life even further than I already have. And then, just a few weeks ago on Fallout, what happened? Mmm, another L got fed into the gaping mouth of the man that never shuts the fuck up. Don’t you see, Jason? You can keep losing, and you can keep charging into the metaphorical brick wall, but each and every time you fail, you’re simply proving to the world that you were nothing but smoke and mirrors from the very start.
Syndicate: This week, Jason, you and the rest of your band of misfits have the chance to “fix” what you perceive to be wrong with this company. Honestly, I commend you for that effort - all human beings should receive the chance to fight against who they perceive to be their oppressors. But unfortunately for the lot of ya, that road goes both ways, and I have put up with far too many dismissals and complaints over the past week for me to stay silent on the matter. The bottom line, friends, is this: by becoming Legacy Champion, I did what none of y’all will EVER be able to do, and it clearly didn’t sit right with you all that this pretty little face was succeeding in ways that you had previously failed. But I’ve had enough with sitting on the sidelines, doomscrolling through Twitter, and listening to wrestler after wrestler crawl out of the woodwork and get their licks in on a man that’s already down. Forget True Society - if you want this damn Briefcase…then I dare you to come for it. I dare you to step into that ring and face the man that’s got nothing else to lose. Because the most dangerous type of person is a desperate one…and I’m desperate as fuck to put y’all in your place. Welcome…to the Syndicate.
As he breaks into a cocky little cackle, the Los Angeles Outlaw takes one last opportunity to shake the Ultimate Briefcase in front of the camera before walking past the cameraman and out of sight. The lens focuses in on the Los Angeles skyline prominently displayed on the horizon, and as it does, the shot is taken over by black-and-white static.
