Post by Syndicate on Jul 13, 2021 0:04:03 GMT -5
THE IRVINE HOUSEHOLD - LOS ANGELES, CA
JULY 11TH, 2021 - 9:43AM
?: You're really going, aren't you?
?: I don't have a choice.
?: Bullshit, you don't.
We fade into a shot of a relatively spacious master bedroom. Light-blue walls surround a queen-sized bed on three sides, with the fourth taken up by a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the beautiful California coastline. Within this private space, there's not much else to see...other than a pretty standard argument between a professional wrestler and his wife, of course. Yes, here we have none other than the Los Angeles Outlaw, Syndicate, standing over a black suitcase that he's currently putting a stack of shirts into. Wearing a red short sleeve tee and tan cargo shorts, Syndicate brushes back his shoulder-length blonde hair, refusing to look up from the suitcase to face the frustrated face of his wife, Sophie Irvine. Sophie, with flowing brunette hair reaching down to her yellow t-shirt, is staring daggers into her husband's skull, clearly sick of a certain conversation that seems to rear its ugly head night after night.
Syndicate: Come on, sweetie, we have this fight every day.
Sophie: And we're gonna keep having it until you realize that what you're doing is wrong.
The Los Angeles Outlaw grabs two pairs of jeans off the bed and folds them in half, still not looking up at Sophie...which just pisses her off even more.
Sophie: Syd, listen to me. I talked with JJ, and he agrees with me that doing all of this shit for Project: Honor isn't going to get you anywhere. Sure, it's fine now, but sooner or later, you'll get hurt, or embarrassed, or burnt out, or...go back to thinking you're a fuckin' god or something!
***SLAM***
Syndicate pushes down hard on the suitcase's lid and finally looks up at Sophie, now incensed by her line of questioning.
Syndicate: Yeah, and what if that does happen, huh? You gonna leave me like you always say you will? You gonna move out and leave your husband, the man going out there and risking his life day after day to provide for you, Soph? That what you're gonna do?
Sophie just rolls her eyes at this.
Sophie: Not this again.
Syndicate: YES, this again. If you're gonna keep bringing this up, then I'm gonna keep fighting back. I'm not just doing this for me, I'm doing this for US. I'm doing this for our future kids, so that when they grow up, they'll know that their father put EVERYTHING on the line for them to have a good life.
Sophie: Oh, cut the shit, Syd. You don't even want kids!
Syndicate: Neither do you!
The couple stares at each other, both breathing heavily, as their heavy words sink in. After a few moments of silence, Syndicate shakes his head and turns back to packing his luggage, likely realizing that his conversation with his wife has reached a certain point of ridiculousness. Sophie looks as if she's come to the same conclusion as she takes a step back from the other side of the bed.
Sophie: Fine. Do whatever the hell you want. If breaking your own body in half and spilling blood in front of the entire world makes you happy, then go off. But tell me this, Syd, and answer me honestly: why? Why is wrestling the one thing that you can't let go of? Why is it, after winning all of those championships and beating all of those men down, that you choose time and time again to keep going back for more?
Syndicate turns away from his suitcase and glances over his right shoulder at the window. Out on the beach, we can see a family of four having some fun in the sun - a mother and father, sitting under an umbrella on a beach towel, and their two sons building a sand castle nearby. The Los Angeles Outlaw sees the family and becomes fixated, unable to turn away as he watches them have a good time together.
Syndicate: Soph, I just fucking told you, I'm doing this to support our family -
Sophie: Nuh-uh, I'm not buying that excuse. You could do that at SportsMax without having to lift a damn finger. Try again.
Syndicate keeps staring blankly out the window, specifically at the two brothers enjoying each other's company on the beach.
Syndicate: You wouldn't understand.
?: I don't have a choice.
?: Bullshit, you don't.
We fade into a shot of a relatively spacious master bedroom. Light-blue walls surround a queen-sized bed on three sides, with the fourth taken up by a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the beautiful California coastline. Within this private space, there's not much else to see...other than a pretty standard argument between a professional wrestler and his wife, of course. Yes, here we have none other than the Los Angeles Outlaw, Syndicate, standing over a black suitcase that he's currently putting a stack of shirts into. Wearing a red short sleeve tee and tan cargo shorts, Syndicate brushes back his shoulder-length blonde hair, refusing to look up from the suitcase to face the frustrated face of his wife, Sophie Irvine. Sophie, with flowing brunette hair reaching down to her yellow t-shirt, is staring daggers into her husband's skull, clearly sick of a certain conversation that seems to rear its ugly head night after night.
Syndicate: Come on, sweetie, we have this fight every day.
Sophie: And we're gonna keep having it until you realize that what you're doing is wrong.
The Los Angeles Outlaw grabs two pairs of jeans off the bed and folds them in half, still not looking up at Sophie...which just pisses her off even more.
Sophie: Syd, listen to me. I talked with JJ, and he agrees with me that doing all of this shit for Project: Honor isn't going to get you anywhere. Sure, it's fine now, but sooner or later, you'll get hurt, or embarrassed, or burnt out, or...go back to thinking you're a fuckin' god or something!
***SLAM***
Syndicate pushes down hard on the suitcase's lid and finally looks up at Sophie, now incensed by her line of questioning.
Syndicate: Yeah, and what if that does happen, huh? You gonna leave me like you always say you will? You gonna move out and leave your husband, the man going out there and risking his life day after day to provide for you, Soph? That what you're gonna do?
Sophie just rolls her eyes at this.
Sophie: Not this again.
Syndicate: YES, this again. If you're gonna keep bringing this up, then I'm gonna keep fighting back. I'm not just doing this for me, I'm doing this for US. I'm doing this for our future kids, so that when they grow up, they'll know that their father put EVERYTHING on the line for them to have a good life.
Sophie: Oh, cut the shit, Syd. You don't even want kids!
Syndicate: Neither do you!
The couple stares at each other, both breathing heavily, as their heavy words sink in. After a few moments of silence, Syndicate shakes his head and turns back to packing his luggage, likely realizing that his conversation with his wife has reached a certain point of ridiculousness. Sophie looks as if she's come to the same conclusion as she takes a step back from the other side of the bed.
Sophie: Fine. Do whatever the hell you want. If breaking your own body in half and spilling blood in front of the entire world makes you happy, then go off. But tell me this, Syd, and answer me honestly: why? Why is wrestling the one thing that you can't let go of? Why is it, after winning all of those championships and beating all of those men down, that you choose time and time again to keep going back for more?
Syndicate turns away from his suitcase and glances over his right shoulder at the window. Out on the beach, we can see a family of four having some fun in the sun - a mother and father, sitting under an umbrella on a beach towel, and their two sons building a sand castle nearby. The Los Angeles Outlaw sees the family and becomes fixated, unable to turn away as he watches them have a good time together.
Syndicate: Soph, I just fucking told you, I'm doing this to support our family -
Sophie: Nuh-uh, I'm not buying that excuse. You could do that at SportsMax without having to lift a damn finger. Try again.
Syndicate keeps staring blankly out the window, specifically at the two brothers enjoying each other's company on the beach.
Syndicate: You wouldn't understand.
THE IRVINE HOUSEHOLD - APTER, TN
AUGUST 4TH, 2008 - 5:51PM
AUGUST 4TH, 2008 - 5:51PM
After a short burst of black-and-white static, we suddenly cut from Syndicate and Sophie's bedroom to some archival footage from the past. This particular video appears to be from an old VHS camcorder set up on a tri-pod, and through the lens of said camcorder, we can see a beautiful countryside backyard. With miles of rolling hills and fields visible in every direction, the focus of the camcorder is pointed squarely at a blue trampoline, upon which two boys, one of age 17 and the other 16, putting on a makeshift wrestling match.
One of the boys, with long brown hair and a calm, welcoming gaze, stands on the edge of the trampoline and extends his arms out to his "opponent", smiling. This is Colt Irvine, and although he wouldn't be known as "The Maverick" until years later, he certainly embodied the spirit of a cowboy, blazing his own trail through high school en route to two straight individual state wrestling championships in his weight class. Sporting an absolutely chiseled build - a pristine example of what a amateur wrestler should look like in every fashion - he jumps into the middle and looks down at his younger brother.
Colt: Come on, Syd, you finally gonna beat your own brother, on the grandest stage of 'em all?
?: Enough talk - time to fight!
The other brother, with a head of short brunette hair and a similarly well-defined body, looks across the trampoline at Colt with a huge grin on his face. This is a young, fresh-faced Sydney Irvine, five years before he'd take up the mantle of "Syndicate" and become a professional wrestler. At this point, Sydney had just turned 16, and was looking forward to his junior year at Apter High School in Tennessee. There, he - like his brother Colt - was expecting to be named co-captain of the Apter Spartans wrestling team before the month was up; after all, he had won the state championship at 138 pounds just this past year. However, none of that matters to Sydney at this moment - rather, all he's concerned about is defeating his brother, Colt, in a wrestling match on the family trampoline, something he has never been able to accomplish.
Colt: Alrighty then! Let's go.
The brothers grapple up in the center, but this only lasts for a moment as Colt transitions into a side headlock.
Colt: Colt Irvine, cinching in that headlock! Sydney may not be able to breathe!
Colt, too busy self-commentating to focus on the match at hand, allows Sydney to spin out of the headlock and lift Colt over his head for a back suplex!
Sydney: Sydney fights out of it with a suplex!
Colt swiftly bounces back up to his feet and smiles at his younger brother.
Colt: You're learning well.
Sydney: They didn't name me state champ for nothin'!
Colt: Same here, bro, same here!
They grapple again, but this time it's Sydney that grabs the advantage with a hip toss. He grabs onto Colt's left arm and pulls it back into an armbar, but this doesn't last long as Colt's strength allows him to break the hold. He charges at Sydney with a lariat, but Sydney ducks and swings around for a slingblade! He goes for the pin!
1...
2...
kickout!
It's not enough! Colt kicks out and kips up to his feet on the trampoline, looking impressed with what just happened.
Colt: That's a new one!
Sydney: Saw it on TV once.
Sydney, not skipping a beat, runs over to Colt for a lariat of his own, but this time it's Colt that avoids the attack by bouncing up, grabbing onto Sydney's head, and coming down HARD with a DDT onto the trampoline! He goes for the pin as the trampoline bounces back into position, not giving into the high-impact move.
1...
2...
3!
It's over! Colt has pinned Sydney once again, something that Colt is absolutely ready to celebrate...but when he turns back to his brother, he notices that Sydney isn't moving.
Colt: Syd...hey Syd, you alright?
Sydney doesn't respond, causing Colt to rush over and check on his brother.
Colt: Syd? Can you hear me, Syd?
Sydney continues to lay silent as Colt begins to get more and more panicked, but after a few more moments...
Sydney: BOO!
Colt jumps back, spooked to the core by Sydney jumping to life in his arms. At this, Sydney sits up and cackles at the prank he just pulled.
Sydney: Got you! Oh, shit, I got you good!
Colt Irvine rolls off the trampoline and smiles, simultaneously laughing at the joke while also being relieved that his brother was okay.
Colt: Bro, if you put that much effort into pinning me to the trampoline, you would have won today! But it's like I keep telling ya, Syd...you wanna beat me, I'm gonna make you earn it.
?: Dinner's ready!
A voice rings out from inside the Irvine household, causing Sydney and Colt to look at each other excitedly before rushing indoors, happy as can be.
One of the boys, with long brown hair and a calm, welcoming gaze, stands on the edge of the trampoline and extends his arms out to his "opponent", smiling. This is Colt Irvine, and although he wouldn't be known as "The Maverick" until years later, he certainly embodied the spirit of a cowboy, blazing his own trail through high school en route to two straight individual state wrestling championships in his weight class. Sporting an absolutely chiseled build - a pristine example of what a amateur wrestler should look like in every fashion - he jumps into the middle and looks down at his younger brother.
Colt: Come on, Syd, you finally gonna beat your own brother, on the grandest stage of 'em all?
?: Enough talk - time to fight!
The other brother, with a head of short brunette hair and a similarly well-defined body, looks across the trampoline at Colt with a huge grin on his face. This is a young, fresh-faced Sydney Irvine, five years before he'd take up the mantle of "Syndicate" and become a professional wrestler. At this point, Sydney had just turned 16, and was looking forward to his junior year at Apter High School in Tennessee. There, he - like his brother Colt - was expecting to be named co-captain of the Apter Spartans wrestling team before the month was up; after all, he had won the state championship at 138 pounds just this past year. However, none of that matters to Sydney at this moment - rather, all he's concerned about is defeating his brother, Colt, in a wrestling match on the family trampoline, something he has never been able to accomplish.
Colt: Alrighty then! Let's go.
The brothers grapple up in the center, but this only lasts for a moment as Colt transitions into a side headlock.
Colt: Colt Irvine, cinching in that headlock! Sydney may not be able to breathe!
Colt, too busy self-commentating to focus on the match at hand, allows Sydney to spin out of the headlock and lift Colt over his head for a back suplex!
Sydney: Sydney fights out of it with a suplex!
Colt swiftly bounces back up to his feet and smiles at his younger brother.
Colt: You're learning well.
Sydney: They didn't name me state champ for nothin'!
Colt: Same here, bro, same here!
They grapple again, but this time it's Sydney that grabs the advantage with a hip toss. He grabs onto Colt's left arm and pulls it back into an armbar, but this doesn't last long as Colt's strength allows him to break the hold. He charges at Sydney with a lariat, but Sydney ducks and swings around for a slingblade! He goes for the pin!
1...
2...
kickout!
It's not enough! Colt kicks out and kips up to his feet on the trampoline, looking impressed with what just happened.
Colt: That's a new one!
Sydney: Saw it on TV once.
Sydney, not skipping a beat, runs over to Colt for a lariat of his own, but this time it's Colt that avoids the attack by bouncing up, grabbing onto Sydney's head, and coming down HARD with a DDT onto the trampoline! He goes for the pin as the trampoline bounces back into position, not giving into the high-impact move.
1...
2...
3!
It's over! Colt has pinned Sydney once again, something that Colt is absolutely ready to celebrate...but when he turns back to his brother, he notices that Sydney isn't moving.
Colt: Syd...hey Syd, you alright?
Sydney doesn't respond, causing Colt to rush over and check on his brother.
Colt: Syd? Can you hear me, Syd?
Sydney continues to lay silent as Colt begins to get more and more panicked, but after a few more moments...
Sydney: BOO!
Colt jumps back, spooked to the core by Sydney jumping to life in his arms. At this, Sydney sits up and cackles at the prank he just pulled.
Sydney: Got you! Oh, shit, I got you good!
Colt Irvine rolls off the trampoline and smiles, simultaneously laughing at the joke while also being relieved that his brother was okay.
Colt: Bro, if you put that much effort into pinning me to the trampoline, you would have won today! But it's like I keep telling ya, Syd...you wanna beat me, I'm gonna make you earn it.
?: Dinner's ready!
A voice rings out from inside the Irvine household, causing Sydney and Colt to look at each other excitedly before rushing indoors, happy as can be.
LOS ANGELES INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT - LOS ANGELES, CA
JULY 11TH, 2021 - 12:18PM
JULY 11TH, 2021 - 12:18PM
?: Flight 403, direct passage to Melbourne, will begin boarding shortly! Please stay in your seats until your boarding group is called.
After the voice of a helpful Delta employee rings through the PA system, we find ourselves transported back to present-day within the confines of the famous Los Angeles International Airport, better known by its callsign, LAX. Here, as several to-be passengers walk by hurriedly to make it to their gates, we see Syndicate sitting alone in the middle of a row of chairs, his hands folded in his lap as he stares blankly forward out the nearby window, watching plane after plane take off. Wearing a black Adidas sweatshirt and matching sweatpants, his suitcase from earlier stands next to him on the floor, ready to be dutifully pulled behind its owner at a moments notice.
Syndicate: I'm not an idiot, y'all. I've heard the talk online: "oh, Syndicate talks SUCH a big game, but he can't even beat Lesley fuckin' Adora! What a bitch!" As if I care - as if I, the Los Angeles Outlaw, worry for even a moment that the Ascension Championship fell out of my grasp. Pssh. If Mason Destruction wants to parade around with that belt and pretend to be one of the "big boys" in wrestling, now that he's finally made it out of his own backyard and into the real world, he can go right ahead. I've got much, much bigger fish to fry in this company...and it all starts at Guts, Gold, and Glory.
PA: Flight 403, Los Angeles to Melbourne, will now begin boarding! We'll first welcome any passengers that need additional time or assistance to board, as well as any active duty US military personnel that will be part of our flight today!
Syndicate, a member of neither of those two groups, stays put in his chair and continues.
Syndicate: You know, Mr. DeMarco, I expected better of you. After the mistake you made last week, putting the most ruthless man in professional wrestling in a position to win one of your coveted championships, I would have thought you would have known better this time around. No joke, I was fully expecting to get the phone call from your whipping boy, Arik Holt, and be told that "my services weren't needed" for GGG, but no. No, you decided that the level of chaos on your show just isn't enough. Nay, you decided to EMBRACE that chaos...and let the Los Angeles Outlaw have another crack at working his way to a championship. I commend you for that bravehearted decision, I really do - but I sincerely hope that you're prepared to grapple with the consequences of that decision. Because you now have decided to let the Los Angeles Outlaw freely and willingly lock four of your best competitors in cages that they will never, ever be able to escape from. And I'm not talking about the physical cages in your so-called "Zookeeper" match, no...I'm talking about the mental walls that will be put up within themselves once they realize that all of their hopes and dreams of accomplishing ANYTHING in this business have been dashed now that the Los Angeles Outlaw has come to play.
PA: We'll now begin boarding Delta One and Delta Diamond Medallion members - please bring your ID card up to the gate as you prepare to board!
Syndicate: First, there's Pyro. Listen, I'm all for a good sob story - tough upbringing, happy family turned sour blah, blah, blah - really gripping stuff. But for someone that prides himself on having a "brain," I would have expected you to have seen that divorce of yours coming from a mile away. I mean, look at you: a certified arsonist with a record of assault and madness. Who the hell wouldn't want to get away from that situation as fast as possible? You know, Pyro, you said that I'm going to be nothing more than a "victim" in this match at GGG, that you're going to choke the life out of me and all that. Good for you! Now that we've enjoyed our short trip to the Distortion World together, let's hop back over to reality and face the facts of the situation that you're in. You think, for one second, that I'm intimidated by someone like yourself, just another name in a long list of "freaky guys" that I've ground to dust over my career? Please. If you really did have a brain in there somewhere, you'd have done your research. You'd have known from the jump what you're getting yourself into. But since you obviously haven't done that, let me bring you up to speed. Multi-time World champion, check. Professional skull cracker, check. Having fought multiple times inside of a steel cage surrounded by fire, AND having my face burnt up in the embers? Check aaaaand check. So come at me with your fireballs and your cute little arsonistic smile, and I'll come at you with a No Signal that'll knock you out faster than you can say "Annabelle." And who knows? Maybe, after I'm done with you at GGG...Magdalena may actually regret taking her daughter away from such a weak, powerless man such as yourself.
PA: Next to board Flight 403 to Melbourne are our Delta Premium Select and First Class passengers!
Syndicate: Then, there's Pandalike. You know, I've always wondered what it was like to have my name featured in a math problem - Sydney wasn't that common of a name in the Tennessee school system, I guess - but I suppose I can always just ask Pandalike what it feels like to be made an example of. How did that No Signal feel at last week's Fallout, Pandalike? Was it an enjoyable experience? I hope not. I hope your neck cracked in half when you landed. I hope that you woke up the next day, pain shooting all over your body, and spent the day taking pain meds in a feeble attempt to feel better. No one "feels better" after a match with the Los Angeles Outlaw, Pandalike, and our encounter at GGG will certainly be no exception. You like earning money, eh? That why you're here? Well, as I'm sure you learned at Fallout, the loser's purse is nowhere as large as the winner's, and it would be a damn shame if you had to cash that loser's check one more time. Because while you may just be here for fun, I'm here to draw blood, and rest assured that when you're pushed into the side of that barbed wire cage by none other than the Los Angeles Outlaw...you'll be tasting that blood for the rest of your days. I hope you got used to laying on the couch this past week, Pandalike...because I'll be damned if you don't spend the next week in a fuckin' hospital bed.
PA: Our next boarding groups are our Delta Comfort+ and Sky Priority members!
Syndicate: But, hey, at least you're not a sad son of a bitch like Havoc. Believe it or not, I used to be a lot like you. Trying to "save" my peers in the wrestling industry and place myself atop the rubble as their god. Good times. But just like I told Levi Kirstein last week, that's all a pipe dream once the unforgiving force of reality sinks in. Now, unlike the others, I'm not going to just blindly push you to the side. No, I'm experienced enough to know that somewhere, deep down inside your soul, there's a solid wrestler just waiting to come out and blossom. But until that moment comes, I guess I'm just stuck with you, you crazy piece of shit. Havoc, you took over poor Christopher's vessel by pure force, did you not? Exploiting the weaknesses present in his psyche to gain control and force your will upon him, right? Got it. Too bad that, whether you'd like to admit it or not, you've got those same weaknesses present in yourself as well. You're addicted to success, to punishing people beyond their breaking point. Trust me, I understand that. But what happens when that breaking point never comes? What happens when, try as you might, you just can't get the job done in the end, just like you couldn't with Elena DeDraca...and just like you won't with me? You won't continue to stand tall, no...you'll crumble, just like your little cult will crumble once they realize that their fearless leader is weak-hearted, just like them. That "New World" that you're trying to desperately to create? It's a pipe dream and nothing more, because you - just like the soul of Christopher present within you - won't be able to survive once you find yourself being choked the fuck out by the Los...Angeles...Outlaw.
PA: We now ask that any passengers sitting in Main Cabin 1, which includes our Delta Silver Medallion and Delta Corporate Travelers members, to please make their way to the gate for boarding!
Syndicate glances down at his ticket and sighs - he's still got another two main boarding groups to go before even getting a chance of boarding this flight.
Syndicate: And finally, there's Levi Kirstein himself. Tried to hit me with that chain of yours at Fallout, hmm? I'm glad that worked out super well for you, given that you were immediately ejected from the ring and taken out of the match by our good friend, Mason. You know, something I found funny is that in your video from last week, you ran down all of the competitors in our little "Clusterfuck" of a match, and I noticed that you neglected to mention my name in any capacity. You took time out of your busy schedule to talk about Mason, Lesley - hell, even fuckin' Curtis and Bam Miller, for God's sake - but not me. Why is that? Did you just conveniently forget my name, Levi? Did you not do your research beforehand? Or...did you avoid me on purpose? You know, for eight damn years, I have forged my way through this business with the ultimate goal of earning the respect of my peers, and it's people like you that end up getting their heads caved in on my quest towards that goal, because you - just like so many others before you - don't have the smarts to realize that you're looking into the face of perfection. You refuse to recognize those that are better than you in every possible metric, and to reward you for that attitude, you found yourself getting punked out by Mason Destruction and myself. That's what happens, Levi, when you put all of your focus on becoming a God...and not enough on actually winning the match in front of you. For your sake, I wish SUPERNOVA had stuck around...you could have used a bit of seasoning over there before you decided to come face-to-face with the Los Angeles Outlaw.
PA: We'd next like to welcome passengers sitting in Main Cabin 2!
Syndicate: Gentlemen...when you arrive in Melbourne for Guts, Gold, and Glory, you will find none of those three items waiting for you there. You are all destined for a clash with the Los Angeles Outlaw, one which history will tell you that you will assuredly not win. This isn't about just winning a championship opportunity, no...this is about me inflicting as much pain and punishment as I possibly can on each of you EN ROUTE to that championship opportunity. You know, a few days ago on Twitter, I made a promise to one Savannah Sunshine that, after GGG, I'll be waiting for her on the other side, ready to take the Noble Championship out of her hands just as fast as it came into them. I'm not one to break promises, gentlemen, and this is certainly no exception to that rule. At Guts, Gold, and Glory, you will all find yourself in a cage with a man that has made his name fighting in cages - grinding faces into the wire, twisting metal around people's necks, the whole nine yards. This environment is my specialty, boys...and I've even packed a little surprise for all of you.
Reaching over to his black suitcase sitting next to him, he unzips the top compartment to reveal, sitting atop his various clothing items, a black baseball bat just asking to be swung.
Syndicate: You gentlemen ever have your skull cracked? It's an exhilarating experience...one that you just may be lucky enough to experience at GGG. Until then, I leave you with this: you may not respect me. You may not feel as though I'm "worthy" of this opportunity. But by the end of the night, in front of a packed house in Melbourne, none of that will matter...because I'll be putting you to sleep and slamming you all into those cages, one by one, until the only man left standing is the Los...Angeles...Outlaw. I've ascended to the next level of competition here at Project: Honor...and from where I'm standing, there's nowhere else to go but up.
PA: Finally, we'd like to welcome all remaining passengers to board Flight 403, direct passage to Melbourne! Flight 403, boarding now!
At this, Syndicate smiles - it's finally his turn to hop aboard.
Syndicate: Welcome...to the Syndicate.
After zipping his suitcase back up and standing up to stretch his legs, Syndicate extends the handle on the suitcase and rolls it over to the gate, ticket in hand. As he hands the boarding pass to the Delta employee, the shot is eaten up from all sides by static.
After the voice of a helpful Delta employee rings through the PA system, we find ourselves transported back to present-day within the confines of the famous Los Angeles International Airport, better known by its callsign, LAX. Here, as several to-be passengers walk by hurriedly to make it to their gates, we see Syndicate sitting alone in the middle of a row of chairs, his hands folded in his lap as he stares blankly forward out the nearby window, watching plane after plane take off. Wearing a black Adidas sweatshirt and matching sweatpants, his suitcase from earlier stands next to him on the floor, ready to be dutifully pulled behind its owner at a moments notice.
Syndicate: I'm not an idiot, y'all. I've heard the talk online: "oh, Syndicate talks SUCH a big game, but he can't even beat Lesley fuckin' Adora! What a bitch!" As if I care - as if I, the Los Angeles Outlaw, worry for even a moment that the Ascension Championship fell out of my grasp. Pssh. If Mason Destruction wants to parade around with that belt and pretend to be one of the "big boys" in wrestling, now that he's finally made it out of his own backyard and into the real world, he can go right ahead. I've got much, much bigger fish to fry in this company...and it all starts at Guts, Gold, and Glory.
PA: Flight 403, Los Angeles to Melbourne, will now begin boarding! We'll first welcome any passengers that need additional time or assistance to board, as well as any active duty US military personnel that will be part of our flight today!
Syndicate, a member of neither of those two groups, stays put in his chair and continues.
Syndicate: You know, Mr. DeMarco, I expected better of you. After the mistake you made last week, putting the most ruthless man in professional wrestling in a position to win one of your coveted championships, I would have thought you would have known better this time around. No joke, I was fully expecting to get the phone call from your whipping boy, Arik Holt, and be told that "my services weren't needed" for GGG, but no. No, you decided that the level of chaos on your show just isn't enough. Nay, you decided to EMBRACE that chaos...and let the Los Angeles Outlaw have another crack at working his way to a championship. I commend you for that bravehearted decision, I really do - but I sincerely hope that you're prepared to grapple with the consequences of that decision. Because you now have decided to let the Los Angeles Outlaw freely and willingly lock four of your best competitors in cages that they will never, ever be able to escape from. And I'm not talking about the physical cages in your so-called "Zookeeper" match, no...I'm talking about the mental walls that will be put up within themselves once they realize that all of their hopes and dreams of accomplishing ANYTHING in this business have been dashed now that the Los Angeles Outlaw has come to play.
PA: We'll now begin boarding Delta One and Delta Diamond Medallion members - please bring your ID card up to the gate as you prepare to board!
Syndicate: First, there's Pyro. Listen, I'm all for a good sob story - tough upbringing, happy family turned sour blah, blah, blah - really gripping stuff. But for someone that prides himself on having a "brain," I would have expected you to have seen that divorce of yours coming from a mile away. I mean, look at you: a certified arsonist with a record of assault and madness. Who the hell wouldn't want to get away from that situation as fast as possible? You know, Pyro, you said that I'm going to be nothing more than a "victim" in this match at GGG, that you're going to choke the life out of me and all that. Good for you! Now that we've enjoyed our short trip to the Distortion World together, let's hop back over to reality and face the facts of the situation that you're in. You think, for one second, that I'm intimidated by someone like yourself, just another name in a long list of "freaky guys" that I've ground to dust over my career? Please. If you really did have a brain in there somewhere, you'd have done your research. You'd have known from the jump what you're getting yourself into. But since you obviously haven't done that, let me bring you up to speed. Multi-time World champion, check. Professional skull cracker, check. Having fought multiple times inside of a steel cage surrounded by fire, AND having my face burnt up in the embers? Check aaaaand check. So come at me with your fireballs and your cute little arsonistic smile, and I'll come at you with a No Signal that'll knock you out faster than you can say "Annabelle." And who knows? Maybe, after I'm done with you at GGG...Magdalena may actually regret taking her daughter away from such a weak, powerless man such as yourself.
PA: Next to board Flight 403 to Melbourne are our Delta Premium Select and First Class passengers!
Syndicate: Then, there's Pandalike. You know, I've always wondered what it was like to have my name featured in a math problem - Sydney wasn't that common of a name in the Tennessee school system, I guess - but I suppose I can always just ask Pandalike what it feels like to be made an example of. How did that No Signal feel at last week's Fallout, Pandalike? Was it an enjoyable experience? I hope not. I hope your neck cracked in half when you landed. I hope that you woke up the next day, pain shooting all over your body, and spent the day taking pain meds in a feeble attempt to feel better. No one "feels better" after a match with the Los Angeles Outlaw, Pandalike, and our encounter at GGG will certainly be no exception. You like earning money, eh? That why you're here? Well, as I'm sure you learned at Fallout, the loser's purse is nowhere as large as the winner's, and it would be a damn shame if you had to cash that loser's check one more time. Because while you may just be here for fun, I'm here to draw blood, and rest assured that when you're pushed into the side of that barbed wire cage by none other than the Los Angeles Outlaw...you'll be tasting that blood for the rest of your days. I hope you got used to laying on the couch this past week, Pandalike...because I'll be damned if you don't spend the next week in a fuckin' hospital bed.
PA: Our next boarding groups are our Delta Comfort+ and Sky Priority members!
Syndicate: But, hey, at least you're not a sad son of a bitch like Havoc. Believe it or not, I used to be a lot like you. Trying to "save" my peers in the wrestling industry and place myself atop the rubble as their god. Good times. But just like I told Levi Kirstein last week, that's all a pipe dream once the unforgiving force of reality sinks in. Now, unlike the others, I'm not going to just blindly push you to the side. No, I'm experienced enough to know that somewhere, deep down inside your soul, there's a solid wrestler just waiting to come out and blossom. But until that moment comes, I guess I'm just stuck with you, you crazy piece of shit. Havoc, you took over poor Christopher's vessel by pure force, did you not? Exploiting the weaknesses present in his psyche to gain control and force your will upon him, right? Got it. Too bad that, whether you'd like to admit it or not, you've got those same weaknesses present in yourself as well. You're addicted to success, to punishing people beyond their breaking point. Trust me, I understand that. But what happens when that breaking point never comes? What happens when, try as you might, you just can't get the job done in the end, just like you couldn't with Elena DeDraca...and just like you won't with me? You won't continue to stand tall, no...you'll crumble, just like your little cult will crumble once they realize that their fearless leader is weak-hearted, just like them. That "New World" that you're trying to desperately to create? It's a pipe dream and nothing more, because you - just like the soul of Christopher present within you - won't be able to survive once you find yourself being choked the fuck out by the Los...Angeles...Outlaw.
PA: We now ask that any passengers sitting in Main Cabin 1, which includes our Delta Silver Medallion and Delta Corporate Travelers members, to please make their way to the gate for boarding!
Syndicate glances down at his ticket and sighs - he's still got another two main boarding groups to go before even getting a chance of boarding this flight.
Syndicate: And finally, there's Levi Kirstein himself. Tried to hit me with that chain of yours at Fallout, hmm? I'm glad that worked out super well for you, given that you were immediately ejected from the ring and taken out of the match by our good friend, Mason. You know, something I found funny is that in your video from last week, you ran down all of the competitors in our little "Clusterfuck" of a match, and I noticed that you neglected to mention my name in any capacity. You took time out of your busy schedule to talk about Mason, Lesley - hell, even fuckin' Curtis and Bam Miller, for God's sake - but not me. Why is that? Did you just conveniently forget my name, Levi? Did you not do your research beforehand? Or...did you avoid me on purpose? You know, for eight damn years, I have forged my way through this business with the ultimate goal of earning the respect of my peers, and it's people like you that end up getting their heads caved in on my quest towards that goal, because you - just like so many others before you - don't have the smarts to realize that you're looking into the face of perfection. You refuse to recognize those that are better than you in every possible metric, and to reward you for that attitude, you found yourself getting punked out by Mason Destruction and myself. That's what happens, Levi, when you put all of your focus on becoming a God...and not enough on actually winning the match in front of you. For your sake, I wish SUPERNOVA had stuck around...you could have used a bit of seasoning over there before you decided to come face-to-face with the Los Angeles Outlaw.
PA: We'd next like to welcome passengers sitting in Main Cabin 2!
Syndicate: Gentlemen...when you arrive in Melbourne for Guts, Gold, and Glory, you will find none of those three items waiting for you there. You are all destined for a clash with the Los Angeles Outlaw, one which history will tell you that you will assuredly not win. This isn't about just winning a championship opportunity, no...this is about me inflicting as much pain and punishment as I possibly can on each of you EN ROUTE to that championship opportunity. You know, a few days ago on Twitter, I made a promise to one Savannah Sunshine that, after GGG, I'll be waiting for her on the other side, ready to take the Noble Championship out of her hands just as fast as it came into them. I'm not one to break promises, gentlemen, and this is certainly no exception to that rule. At Guts, Gold, and Glory, you will all find yourself in a cage with a man that has made his name fighting in cages - grinding faces into the wire, twisting metal around people's necks, the whole nine yards. This environment is my specialty, boys...and I've even packed a little surprise for all of you.
Reaching over to his black suitcase sitting next to him, he unzips the top compartment to reveal, sitting atop his various clothing items, a black baseball bat just asking to be swung.
Syndicate: You gentlemen ever have your skull cracked? It's an exhilarating experience...one that you just may be lucky enough to experience at GGG. Until then, I leave you with this: you may not respect me. You may not feel as though I'm "worthy" of this opportunity. But by the end of the night, in front of a packed house in Melbourne, none of that will matter...because I'll be putting you to sleep and slamming you all into those cages, one by one, until the only man left standing is the Los...Angeles...Outlaw. I've ascended to the next level of competition here at Project: Honor...and from where I'm standing, there's nowhere else to go but up.
PA: Finally, we'd like to welcome all remaining passengers to board Flight 403, direct passage to Melbourne! Flight 403, boarding now!
At this, Syndicate smiles - it's finally his turn to hop aboard.
Syndicate: Welcome...to the Syndicate.
After zipping his suitcase back up and standing up to stretch his legs, Syndicate extends the handle on the suitcase and rolls it over to the gate, ticket in hand. As he hands the boarding pass to the Delta employee, the shot is eaten up from all sides by static.
