Post by Syndicate on Jun 10, 2021 23:12:49 GMT -5
EDELMAN WESTSIDE MENTAL HEALTH CENTER - LOS ANGELES, CA
JUNE 8TH, 2021 - 12:17PM
JUNE 8TH, 2021 - 12:17PM
?: Alright, Mr. Irvine, let's start at the beginning.
We open with a shot of a standard therapist's office. Decked out to resemble a comfortable home environment, the white-walled room holds within its walls a padded brown chair with a warm floor lamp standing over its left shoulder, as well as a matching light brown sofa situated on the opposite side of the room. Most of the office's light filters in through a large glass window that covers the wall between the furniture, providing a fantastic view of the Los Angeles skyline to the room's inhabitants - of which, there are two. First, we have Dr. Olivia Bennett, an extremely accredited therapist known throughout the Los Angeles area as someone that doesn't take kindly to what she perceives as "bullshit" from her clients. Currently wearing a tan cardigan over a white top as well as blue jeans, Dr. Bennett holds a notebook in one hand as she stares across the room at her patient, someone that has certainly proved to be a challenge over the past number of months.
This is, of course, Sydney Maxwell Irvine, better known within the professional wrestling world as the Los Angeles Outlaw, Syndicate. A known sociopath with incredible wrestling ability and insatiable bloodlust, Syndicate has spent the better part of the past eight years with the World Wrestling eXistence, during which he went from a cocky kid to a somewhat-respected antihero, fighting against the undeserving "phonies," as he put it, that threatened his spot at the top. However, it wasn't long before this craving for glory started messing with his head.
Dr. Bennett: It's May 2020, and you're at the top of your profession. Eight-time World champion, biggest star in the company, the whole nine yards - things are going well for you. But then, you start to face resistance. Your audiences were growing tired of your antics. They wanted to see others get a chance at being the "best," and that didn't sit right with you. At that point in your life, you couldn't handle that pressure, that need to fight for your life out there each and every night to hold on to your reputation. So...to put it mildly, I'm afraid...you started to break down mentally.
With his shoulder-length faded blonde hair somewhat glistening in the California sunlight, Syndicate is wearing a black leather jacket with a white t-shirt underneath, ripped blue jeans, and black Under Armour sneakers. He chews on some gum as he stares blankly forward, refusing to make eye contact with Dr. Bennett.
Dr. Bennett: You allowed your "Wrestling God" persona to manifest itself, eventually taking over your entire psyche in a strange quest to either bring your peers through the "gates of Valhalla," with yourself atop it all...or watch them burn in - your words, not mine - the "embers of Hell itself". I haven't seen anyone else with such a deeply-rooted case of dissociative identity disorder as yours, Mr. Irvine, across my entire 34-year career in mental health. And yet, here you are, sitting in front of me one last time, just minutes away from the Department of Mental Health letting you walk away from further counseling because they seem to think that you're "healed".
At that last comment, Syndicate lets out a heavy sigh and finally looks over at Olivia, clearly wanting to be anywhere but her office.
Syndicate: …and?
Dr. Bennett taps her nails on the arm of her chair, examining every fiber of her patient before she speaks again.
Dr. Bennett: To be frank with you, Mr. Irvine...I don't buy it.
The Los Angeles Outlaw shakes his head at this and chuckles, but Olivia continues.
Dr. Bennett: Just two months ago, you were on national television threatening to kill a man in order to take his championship, and yet, you've somehow convinced all the other staff members in this facility that you've changed. This city truly believes that you will walk out of here and everything's going to be okay, and to be honest, I don't agree with that assessment. I believe that you need many more months of counseling here at Edelman before I'd consider you "ready" for real life once again, because right now? I'm staring into your eyes and I'm still seeing the demon that's haunted you since you were a little kid in Apter: the need to be seen as superior to all others by any means necessary. So tell me, Sydney - why should I let this establishment make the biggest mistake of its life by not recommending that you require additional therapy?
Silence. Dr. Bennett is prepared to wait this out, and Syndicate appears to be ready to do the same - however, after around ten seconds of relative awkwardness, he does respond.
Syndicate: I believe that's where we have a differing of personal opinion, Dr. Bennett. You know, back when I was in high school, I had a lot of people wanting what I had. Captain of the wrestling team, a shoe-in for a state title, all that. Same was true in the WWX - I was the best wrestler in that company by a country mile, the most consistently fantastic wrestler alive, and nobody knew how to handle that. So then, this narrative just conveniently develops where I'm suddenly NOT the best, where I'm stuck with eight years of pure GREATNESS...but nobody seems to care. So yeah, I got a little desperate, maybe even went off the deep end a few times, sure. But I'm willing to bet that if you were in my position, Dr. Bennett, you would have done the same as I.
Dr. Bennett: And what happens if that frustration comes back, Mr. Irvine? You've spent the last two months of your life sitting on your couch, outside of the public eye. But once you walk out that door, you're a marked man. Those same doubters that came for you before are going to come for you again, and I don't think you're prepared for that inevitability.
Syndicate: Well, that's quite simple. If the world won't respect me and what I bring to the table, Dr. Bennett...then I'll see to it that they're never able to have any sort of opinion ever again.
Dr. Bennett: You intend to do that...how exactly?
Syndicate smirks as he responds.
Syndicate: Oh, you know...by bashing their skulls in, of course.
Dr. Bennett: You see, Mr. Irvine, that's EXACTLY why I don't believe your charade for a second! Every time that you finally get what you want, you find that it's never enough. Captain of the Apter High School wrestling team? Not enough. Being a multi-time World Heavyweight Champion? Not enough. Becoming, in your own mind, the literal "Wrestling God"? Even THAT wasn't enough for you. Do you truly expect the rest of your life to go any differently? No, you need to continue your treatment here at Edelman - a service that I'll be happy to provide you, of course - or you're just going to continue to relapse over and over again. I cannot in good conscience let you leave today without another appointment on the calendar.
Before responding to Olivia's takedown of his moral character, Syndicate stands up from the therapist's sofa and moseys over to the window overlooking the City of Angels. He looks outside at the passing traffic for a moment before turning back to Dr. Bennett, a cold smile spread across his face.
Syndicate: You said it yourself, Dr. Bennett. It's out of your hands. The Los Angeles Department of Mental Health agrees with me that I'm perfectly ready to resume my everyday life, and that's exactly what I intend to do. I recently received an email from an interested party within the wrestling industry who would be more than happy to acquire my services...and I fully intend on taking them up on their offer.
Dr. Olivia Bennett now stands as well, staring daggers into the eyes of her reluctant client.
Dr. Bennett: Wrestling is useless to you at this point in your life, Sydney. You've done everything you've wanted to do. Why put your livelihood, your mental health, everything, on the line again? Why not go back to your sports agency job, step out of the spotlight for once in your goddamn life, and be a normal person that doesn't make others fear for their lives?
The Los Angeles Outlaw looks down at the floor and chuckles once again, clearly disregarding Olivia's frank words.
Syndicate: Come on, Doc. You're my therapist. You of all people should understand why.
Reaching over to grab his phone from the couch-side table, Syndicate takes one last look at Dr. Bennett and makes his way to the door...but not without one last quip.
Syndicate: I'll leave the check at reception.
Dr. Bennett: Oh, go to hell.
We open with a shot of a standard therapist's office. Decked out to resemble a comfortable home environment, the white-walled room holds within its walls a padded brown chair with a warm floor lamp standing over its left shoulder, as well as a matching light brown sofa situated on the opposite side of the room. Most of the office's light filters in through a large glass window that covers the wall between the furniture, providing a fantastic view of the Los Angeles skyline to the room's inhabitants - of which, there are two. First, we have Dr. Olivia Bennett, an extremely accredited therapist known throughout the Los Angeles area as someone that doesn't take kindly to what she perceives as "bullshit" from her clients. Currently wearing a tan cardigan over a white top as well as blue jeans, Dr. Bennett holds a notebook in one hand as she stares across the room at her patient, someone that has certainly proved to be a challenge over the past number of months.
This is, of course, Sydney Maxwell Irvine, better known within the professional wrestling world as the Los Angeles Outlaw, Syndicate. A known sociopath with incredible wrestling ability and insatiable bloodlust, Syndicate has spent the better part of the past eight years with the World Wrestling eXistence, during which he went from a cocky kid to a somewhat-respected antihero, fighting against the undeserving "phonies," as he put it, that threatened his spot at the top. However, it wasn't long before this craving for glory started messing with his head.
Dr. Bennett: It's May 2020, and you're at the top of your profession. Eight-time World champion, biggest star in the company, the whole nine yards - things are going well for you. But then, you start to face resistance. Your audiences were growing tired of your antics. They wanted to see others get a chance at being the "best," and that didn't sit right with you. At that point in your life, you couldn't handle that pressure, that need to fight for your life out there each and every night to hold on to your reputation. So...to put it mildly, I'm afraid...you started to break down mentally.
With his shoulder-length faded blonde hair somewhat glistening in the California sunlight, Syndicate is wearing a black leather jacket with a white t-shirt underneath, ripped blue jeans, and black Under Armour sneakers. He chews on some gum as he stares blankly forward, refusing to make eye contact with Dr. Bennett.
Dr. Bennett: You allowed your "Wrestling God" persona to manifest itself, eventually taking over your entire psyche in a strange quest to either bring your peers through the "gates of Valhalla," with yourself atop it all...or watch them burn in - your words, not mine - the "embers of Hell itself". I haven't seen anyone else with such a deeply-rooted case of dissociative identity disorder as yours, Mr. Irvine, across my entire 34-year career in mental health. And yet, here you are, sitting in front of me one last time, just minutes away from the Department of Mental Health letting you walk away from further counseling because they seem to think that you're "healed".
At that last comment, Syndicate lets out a heavy sigh and finally looks over at Olivia, clearly wanting to be anywhere but her office.
Syndicate: …and?
Dr. Bennett taps her nails on the arm of her chair, examining every fiber of her patient before she speaks again.
Dr. Bennett: To be frank with you, Mr. Irvine...I don't buy it.
The Los Angeles Outlaw shakes his head at this and chuckles, but Olivia continues.
Dr. Bennett: Just two months ago, you were on national television threatening to kill a man in order to take his championship, and yet, you've somehow convinced all the other staff members in this facility that you've changed. This city truly believes that you will walk out of here and everything's going to be okay, and to be honest, I don't agree with that assessment. I believe that you need many more months of counseling here at Edelman before I'd consider you "ready" for real life once again, because right now? I'm staring into your eyes and I'm still seeing the demon that's haunted you since you were a little kid in Apter: the need to be seen as superior to all others by any means necessary. So tell me, Sydney - why should I let this establishment make the biggest mistake of its life by not recommending that you require additional therapy?
Silence. Dr. Bennett is prepared to wait this out, and Syndicate appears to be ready to do the same - however, after around ten seconds of relative awkwardness, he does respond.
Syndicate: I believe that's where we have a differing of personal opinion, Dr. Bennett. You know, back when I was in high school, I had a lot of people wanting what I had. Captain of the wrestling team, a shoe-in for a state title, all that. Same was true in the WWX - I was the best wrestler in that company by a country mile, the most consistently fantastic wrestler alive, and nobody knew how to handle that. So then, this narrative just conveniently develops where I'm suddenly NOT the best, where I'm stuck with eight years of pure GREATNESS...but nobody seems to care. So yeah, I got a little desperate, maybe even went off the deep end a few times, sure. But I'm willing to bet that if you were in my position, Dr. Bennett, you would have done the same as I.
Dr. Bennett: And what happens if that frustration comes back, Mr. Irvine? You've spent the last two months of your life sitting on your couch, outside of the public eye. But once you walk out that door, you're a marked man. Those same doubters that came for you before are going to come for you again, and I don't think you're prepared for that inevitability.
Syndicate: Well, that's quite simple. If the world won't respect me and what I bring to the table, Dr. Bennett...then I'll see to it that they're never able to have any sort of opinion ever again.
Dr. Bennett: You intend to do that...how exactly?
Syndicate smirks as he responds.
Syndicate: Oh, you know...by bashing their skulls in, of course.
Dr. Bennett: You see, Mr. Irvine, that's EXACTLY why I don't believe your charade for a second! Every time that you finally get what you want, you find that it's never enough. Captain of the Apter High School wrestling team? Not enough. Being a multi-time World Heavyweight Champion? Not enough. Becoming, in your own mind, the literal "Wrestling God"? Even THAT wasn't enough for you. Do you truly expect the rest of your life to go any differently? No, you need to continue your treatment here at Edelman - a service that I'll be happy to provide you, of course - or you're just going to continue to relapse over and over again. I cannot in good conscience let you leave today without another appointment on the calendar.
Before responding to Olivia's takedown of his moral character, Syndicate stands up from the therapist's sofa and moseys over to the window overlooking the City of Angels. He looks outside at the passing traffic for a moment before turning back to Dr. Bennett, a cold smile spread across his face.
Syndicate: You said it yourself, Dr. Bennett. It's out of your hands. The Los Angeles Department of Mental Health agrees with me that I'm perfectly ready to resume my everyday life, and that's exactly what I intend to do. I recently received an email from an interested party within the wrestling industry who would be more than happy to acquire my services...and I fully intend on taking them up on their offer.
Dr. Olivia Bennett now stands as well, staring daggers into the eyes of her reluctant client.
Dr. Bennett: Wrestling is useless to you at this point in your life, Sydney. You've done everything you've wanted to do. Why put your livelihood, your mental health, everything, on the line again? Why not go back to your sports agency job, step out of the spotlight for once in your goddamn life, and be a normal person that doesn't make others fear for their lives?
The Los Angeles Outlaw looks down at the floor and chuckles once again, clearly disregarding Olivia's frank words.
Syndicate: Come on, Doc. You're my therapist. You of all people should understand why.
Reaching over to grab his phone from the couch-side table, Syndicate takes one last look at Dr. Bennett and makes his way to the door...but not without one last quip.
Syndicate: I'll leave the check at reception.
Dr. Bennett: Oh, go to hell.
WEST OLYMPIC BOULEVARD - LOS ANGELES, CA
JUNE 8TH, 2021 - 12:41PM
JUNE 8TH, 2021 - 12:41PM
We cut to the outdoor entrance of Edelman Westside Mental Health Center on the west side of LA, where the Los Angeles Outlaw, Syndicate, has just emerged through two giant glass doors. A car blasting Rage Against the Machine's "Bulls on Parade" zooms past as Syndicate slips on some Aviator sunglasses to shield his steely blue eyes from the harsh Los Angeles sun. He pulls out his phone, intending to call a Lyft to pick him up, but before he gets the chance, a dark crimson Chevy Cruze pulls up on the side of the road in front of him. Syndicate looks up and chuckles as the passenger-side window rolls down, revealing a beautiful brunette woman behind the wheel. This is Sophie Irvine, Syndicate's wife of three years, and although her marriage has certainly experienced a healthy amount of hardship - especially around Syndicate's return to wrestling, and subsequent devolvement into the psychotic "Wrestling God" - she seems to be in good spirits as Syndicate enters the vehicle. After all, as far as she can tell, he's on track to get back to his previous life as an agent at the LA-based sports agency, SportsMax. Everything's back to normal...or so she thinks.
Sophie: My phone said the credit card was charged, so I figured you were about finished. How was it today?
Syndicate: Oh, same as any other day. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, Dr. Bennett hated my guts...you know how it goes.
The couple shares a laugh as Sophie pulls away from the curb and begins driving down Olympic Boulevard. Syndicate rolls up the window as they pick up speed, clearly annoyed by his blonde hair getting messed up in the wind.
Sophie: You eat lunch yet?
Syndicate: Nah, I wasn't hungry this morning.
Sophie: Wanna stop somewhere? There's Jack in the Box.
Syndicate: Let's just head home. I've got some business to take care of.
Sophie: Hey, look at you! Did JJ finally send you the contract to go back to the agency?
Syndicate: He did...but I'm not going to sign it.
The car stops at a stoplight, which is probably for the best, as Sophie is certainly surprised by this statement from her husband.
Sophie: Wait, what?
Syndicate: Yeah, I forgot to tell you - another fed, Project: Honor, wants me aboard.
Green light - Sophie resumes driving, but is no less in shock by this revelation.
Sophie: You're kidding.
Syndicate: I'm not.
Sophie: Sydney, you cannot take that job.
Syndicate: And why's that?
Sophie: You damn well know why! The WWX ruined your |BLEEP|in' life - it ruined MY life - and now you're just gonna get right back in like nothing ever happened? That's just insane!
Syndicate: You're starting to sound like Dr. Bennett.
Sophie: Well, maybe Dr. Bennett isn't crazy like you are.
A moment of tense silence occurs within the Chevy Cruze as Sophie drives past the Jack in the Box that she had intended on stopping at for lunch.
Syndicate: SportsMax isn't who I am, that was ALWAYS a temporary gig to me. I've still got way too many loose ends to tie up in wrestling, Soph - too may championships to win, blood to draw, all that. If I go back to sitting in an office now, I'll be miserable for the rest of my life. Shouldn't I be spending my time making others miserable instead?
Sophie Irvine offers no response as she stares straight forward into Los Angeles traffic, prompting Syndicate to continue.
Syndicate: I promise I won't change this time.
Sophie: That's what you said last time.
The Irvine's continue homeward bound through the streets of LA, sitting uncomfortably silent for the rest of the ride.
Sophie: My phone said the credit card was charged, so I figured you were about finished. How was it today?
Syndicate: Oh, same as any other day. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, Dr. Bennett hated my guts...you know how it goes.
The couple shares a laugh as Sophie pulls away from the curb and begins driving down Olympic Boulevard. Syndicate rolls up the window as they pick up speed, clearly annoyed by his blonde hair getting messed up in the wind.
Sophie: You eat lunch yet?
Syndicate: Nah, I wasn't hungry this morning.
Sophie: Wanna stop somewhere? There's Jack in the Box.
Syndicate: Let's just head home. I've got some business to take care of.
Sophie: Hey, look at you! Did JJ finally send you the contract to go back to the agency?
Syndicate: He did...but I'm not going to sign it.
The car stops at a stoplight, which is probably for the best, as Sophie is certainly surprised by this statement from her husband.
Sophie: Wait, what?
Syndicate: Yeah, I forgot to tell you - another fed, Project: Honor, wants me aboard.
Green light - Sophie resumes driving, but is no less in shock by this revelation.
Sophie: You're kidding.
Syndicate: I'm not.
Sophie: Sydney, you cannot take that job.
Syndicate: And why's that?
Sophie: You damn well know why! The WWX ruined your |BLEEP|in' life - it ruined MY life - and now you're just gonna get right back in like nothing ever happened? That's just insane!
Syndicate: You're starting to sound like Dr. Bennett.
Sophie: Well, maybe Dr. Bennett isn't crazy like you are.
A moment of tense silence occurs within the Chevy Cruze as Sophie drives past the Jack in the Box that she had intended on stopping at for lunch.
Syndicate: SportsMax isn't who I am, that was ALWAYS a temporary gig to me. I've still got way too many loose ends to tie up in wrestling, Soph - too may championships to win, blood to draw, all that. If I go back to sitting in an office now, I'll be miserable for the rest of my life. Shouldn't I be spending my time making others miserable instead?
Sophie Irvine offers no response as she stares straight forward into Los Angeles traffic, prompting Syndicate to continue.
Syndicate: I promise I won't change this time.
Sophie: That's what you said last time.
The Irvine's continue homeward bound through the streets of LA, sitting uncomfortably silent for the rest of the ride.
THE IRVINE HOUSEHOLD - LOS ANGELES, CA
JUNE 8TH, 2021 - 2:01PM
JUNE 8TH, 2021 - 2:01PM
We now find ourselves within the confines of Syndicate's own house, situated on the breathtaking shoreline of the Pacific Ocean. Unfortunately, we're not able to see any of that natural beauty here, as the current shot is one of Syndicate's office, where he last spent time doing work for SportsMax at the beginning of the COVID-19 pandemic last year. A stained wooden desk lines one of the room's corners, with a computer monitor sitting atop it along with various notepads and pens. In front of this is Syndicate himself, who sits in a black leather office chair facing parallel to the desk. The entire room is illuminated only by the warm glow from a desk lamp that has been turned on, as the curtains that overlook the Irvine's front yard have been drawn. As Syndicate begins to speak, he stares blankly off-camera rather than looking directly into the lens.
Syndicate: I don't know what these people want from me. My wife, my friends, my therapist, they all think that I should be perfectly content with sitting on my ass and staring into a computer screen all day. They think that should be "good enough." Hell, a year ago, I'd have agreed with them. But times have changed...and "good enough" isn't good enough for me anymore.
The Los Angeles Outlaw reaches over into an unlit portion of his desk and pulls forward what looks to be a contract, with the Project: Honor logo emblazoned on its front. He grabs a pen from the cup on the edge of the desk and flips open the first page, clicking the pen a few times as he does so.
Syndicate: None of you have learned from your mistakes. You all still believe that I'm just another wrestler in a long list of wrestlers, grasping at the thought of cultural immortality but inevitably falling short in the end, and that may be true for 99% of my peers, but it isn't true for me. It's never been true for me. For the past eight years, I have gone out there and dashed the hopes and dreams of opponent after opponent, each of them under the impression that they somehow stood a chance, and in Project: Honor...that'll be no different. Because I look at the top, I look at the champions, and I see nothing but a ton of open spots across the board. Legacy Championship, X-Factor Championship, Ascension Championship, Tag Team Championships - you may see blank silhouettes next to those titles, but all I see are opportunities waiting to be taken by the most deserving. And there's no one more deserving than the man you're looking at right now.
Syndicate: I'm the one that's made shockwaves across this industry. I'm the one that's ended careers, broken bones, and cast innocent men and women into the hellfire itself to get what I want. Most importantly, I'm the one that's never waited around to take what's mine. So listen up, idiots at the top - next time you leave home, look your loved ones in the eye and give them a warm hug as you say goodbye, because you may never see them again now that I'm around. You may all be classified as "champions" and as "wrestlers"...but you're really just victims waiting to be led to slaughter. Don't believe me? Go watch my history. Go see what I've done to people with far better ability and moral character than any of you possess. What you'll find is a warning of the destruction that is to come...now that I am officially a member of the Fallout roster.
Flipping back to the first page of the contract, Syndicate clicks his pen one last time and signs on the dotted line. Satisfied with his handiwork, Syndicate slides the contract away and sets the pen down, turning his steely gaze directly towards the camera lens.
Syndicate: And who should the first victim of the Los Angeles Outlaw be but Terry Savage. Prize fighter, ex-military, some decent underground credentials. Can't fault him from coming where the money really is, I suppose. But, uh, Terry? I'm afraid to say that you're in a bit over your head here. You aren't ready for this world...your fight club may have prepared you for do-or-die moments in that ring, but against someone of my caliber and experience? You'll be experiencing a lot less "do"-ing and a lot more "dying." Because while you were out there bare-knuckle brawling in Michigan, of all places, I was on national TV and pay-per-view winning World championships left and right! I was succeeding in this business long before you even THOUGHT about stepping into those ropes for the first time. And now, here you are, expecting to drink and smoke and bash your way to a victory that we both know you won't get. Hell, forget about winning - I could end your career, right here, right now, with the entire world watching, before it even got out of the gates. But I won't. I'll let you continue living your dream, pursuing whatever the hell it is you want out there. I will, however, use you as an example, for all of the fine people of Ecuador to watch and see what a TRUE professional wrestler can do in that spotlight.
Syndicate: You don't understand what it's like to be me, Terry. You don't get what it takes to be the "top guy," but that's okay, because you never WILL be the "top guy" as long as I'm around. You are looking live at the greatest professional wrestler around today, fashioned by the hands of God himself to be a ruthless wrestling machine, and if you've got a problem with that statement, let's go do a little dance in that ring. Let's go see which one of us actually deserves to be here...and which one of us is destined to have a fun entrance and nothing more. For I am Sydney Maxwell Irvine, I am Syndicate, I am the LOS ANGELES OUTLAW...and I will not allow some punk from Flint, Michigan, to get in my way of everlasting glory. For the first time in years, I have the freedom to reinvent myself, to become the best version of Syndicate that this world has ever seen, and YOU, Terry Savage, stand in opposition to that destiny. It's too bad that you won't be conscious when that destiny is finally realized. Welcome...to the Syndicate.
With his signature cold stare plastered across his face, the shot is eventually eaten up by black-and-white television static before going dark completely.
Syndicate: I don't know what these people want from me. My wife, my friends, my therapist, they all think that I should be perfectly content with sitting on my ass and staring into a computer screen all day. They think that should be "good enough." Hell, a year ago, I'd have agreed with them. But times have changed...and "good enough" isn't good enough for me anymore.
The Los Angeles Outlaw reaches over into an unlit portion of his desk and pulls forward what looks to be a contract, with the Project: Honor logo emblazoned on its front. He grabs a pen from the cup on the edge of the desk and flips open the first page, clicking the pen a few times as he does so.
Syndicate: None of you have learned from your mistakes. You all still believe that I'm just another wrestler in a long list of wrestlers, grasping at the thought of cultural immortality but inevitably falling short in the end, and that may be true for 99% of my peers, but it isn't true for me. It's never been true for me. For the past eight years, I have gone out there and dashed the hopes and dreams of opponent after opponent, each of them under the impression that they somehow stood a chance, and in Project: Honor...that'll be no different. Because I look at the top, I look at the champions, and I see nothing but a ton of open spots across the board. Legacy Championship, X-Factor Championship, Ascension Championship, Tag Team Championships - you may see blank silhouettes next to those titles, but all I see are opportunities waiting to be taken by the most deserving. And there's no one more deserving than the man you're looking at right now.
Syndicate: I'm the one that's made shockwaves across this industry. I'm the one that's ended careers, broken bones, and cast innocent men and women into the hellfire itself to get what I want. Most importantly, I'm the one that's never waited around to take what's mine. So listen up, idiots at the top - next time you leave home, look your loved ones in the eye and give them a warm hug as you say goodbye, because you may never see them again now that I'm around. You may all be classified as "champions" and as "wrestlers"...but you're really just victims waiting to be led to slaughter. Don't believe me? Go watch my history. Go see what I've done to people with far better ability and moral character than any of you possess. What you'll find is a warning of the destruction that is to come...now that I am officially a member of the Fallout roster.
Flipping back to the first page of the contract, Syndicate clicks his pen one last time and signs on the dotted line. Satisfied with his handiwork, Syndicate slides the contract away and sets the pen down, turning his steely gaze directly towards the camera lens.
Syndicate: And who should the first victim of the Los Angeles Outlaw be but Terry Savage. Prize fighter, ex-military, some decent underground credentials. Can't fault him from coming where the money really is, I suppose. But, uh, Terry? I'm afraid to say that you're in a bit over your head here. You aren't ready for this world...your fight club may have prepared you for do-or-die moments in that ring, but against someone of my caliber and experience? You'll be experiencing a lot less "do"-ing and a lot more "dying." Because while you were out there bare-knuckle brawling in Michigan, of all places, I was on national TV and pay-per-view winning World championships left and right! I was succeeding in this business long before you even THOUGHT about stepping into those ropes for the first time. And now, here you are, expecting to drink and smoke and bash your way to a victory that we both know you won't get. Hell, forget about winning - I could end your career, right here, right now, with the entire world watching, before it even got out of the gates. But I won't. I'll let you continue living your dream, pursuing whatever the hell it is you want out there. I will, however, use you as an example, for all of the fine people of Ecuador to watch and see what a TRUE professional wrestler can do in that spotlight.
Syndicate: You don't understand what it's like to be me, Terry. You don't get what it takes to be the "top guy," but that's okay, because you never WILL be the "top guy" as long as I'm around. You are looking live at the greatest professional wrestler around today, fashioned by the hands of God himself to be a ruthless wrestling machine, and if you've got a problem with that statement, let's go do a little dance in that ring. Let's go see which one of us actually deserves to be here...and which one of us is destined to have a fun entrance and nothing more. For I am Sydney Maxwell Irvine, I am Syndicate, I am the LOS ANGELES OUTLAW...and I will not allow some punk from Flint, Michigan, to get in my way of everlasting glory. For the first time in years, I have the freedom to reinvent myself, to become the best version of Syndicate that this world has ever seen, and YOU, Terry Savage, stand in opposition to that destiny. It's too bad that you won't be conscious when that destiny is finally realized. Welcome...to the Syndicate.
With his signature cold stare plastered across his face, the shot is eventually eaten up by black-and-white television static before going dark completely.
