Wonderland (SYNN GREAT ILLUMINATUS RP)

[Marcus Welsh]

Hello, come in

Welcome to the freak show

Take your seat but

Don't look out the windows

The monsters like to jump out of the dark

Buckle up 'cause this is just the start

Isn’t it a bit trippy that Adam and Eve ate the apple, the forbidden fruit, before the fall of mankind and now everyone is carrying around a device with them that has a bitten apple on the back?


They say curiosity killed the cat–man fell to temptation. The temptation of technology, of the world at our fingertips, at the very idea that there is something else out there–even if it is a pipedream to ever reach it. Technology that divides us while bringing us together. That separates us, while including everyone. They never freed the slaves, they realized they didn't need the chains. They gave us tiny screens, we think we're free 'cause we can't see the cage.


The cage is within us.



--Juniper sat in the mirror, her white makeup stained with fading black tears. All of the headlines would be about her tomorrow, and how she took Harmon Eagan the absolute distance. Pain shot through her leg like lightning, and it was swollen and red. She was certain she tore something. WHY! Why did she let it go that far? She reached a shaky hand out and grabbed the little orange cylinder, tapping some ibuprofen into her palm. She had refused to be seen by the training staff, she refused the IV and the hard painkillers, and had shooed away all medical staff. For her, this match meant more than a title belt, more than a co-main event, more than ratings and a desperately needed paycheck. For her, this match was about her dream of being an OCW competitor since she was a little girl, and overcoming her performance anxiety. Her fear.



She swallowed hard, god, even her throat hurt. The pills disappeared into her gullet.



Her phone buzzed on the table in front of her. It had begun. Notifications were popping up with rapid frequency.



—WTF IS SYNN DOING?

–WHY WOULD THE CRAZY BITCH PICK AND I QUIT MATCH WITH A MUTE?

–SYNN IS OVERRATED

—WILL HARMON EVER LOSE AGAIN?



These devices were toxic. They made you question yourself and everything around you. They made you think that maybe their opinions were correct, and that you’re only as good as the letters after the hashtag.



But it’s the temptation that keeps the human mind going. The NEED to prove them wrong, the NEED to prove yourself right, the NEED to get revenge. At the same time, your insecurities creep in. You begin to doubt yourself, you begin to doubt those around you, and you become bitter and miserable. It’s a viscous juxtaposition. 

Her phone dinged again, but it was a text message this time. Everything in her told her to ignore it, to throw it in her travel bag and limp to her rental car, to throw the whole damn device into the dumpster outsi—



WELSH: “Would you like to be in THE GREAT ILLUMINATUS? We have had someone drop out, and I can’t think of anyone more deserving than you.”



There it was again. The temptation. The want, the need, the desire to drag her broken body into another Pay Per View. The temptation to hold be the star she told herself she never cared to be. The temptation to redeem herself and show the world that everything they are saying about her is wrong.



But the fear within her was all-consuming. Her body was ravaged after only 3 matches. Her body was telling her to quit, that it had been fun and she should be proud that she was even there at all, and that she had no chance of beating pretty much the entire roster on one good leg.



SYNN: I’m in.



WHAT!



She was fully in control of her body, but not in control of what her SYNN. The monster within her that had driven her to be something she’s not. Who had gotten her to this point, who had picked up that microphone and said “I QUIT”, then another “I quit” with a sick smile.



WELSH: Beautiful! I’ll book you.



Juniper had always allowed herself to live within her cage. SYNN just signed her up to break through it. She was leading the girl to sure fire disappointment, feeding on her fear and turning it into—-



CARPE NOCTEM



Seize the night.



Marcus had a soft spot for SYNN, but he didn’t understand her. He didn’t know what he had just signed his precious roster up for. SYNN could not be stopped, could not be controlled, and win or lose someone was going to get hurt in Antarctica.

The monsters like to jump out of the dark

Buckle up 'cause this is just the start

The candle on the table faded to darkness. The monster was stirring.

Smoke and mirrors

Never trust what you see

They feast on your fears

Be careful what you believe

Best to just never let down your guard

This ride can be enough to stop your heart

—Every soldier than runs into battle with the “HOOOAH”, has fear in the pit of their stomach. It’s the fear of the unknown, the fear of death, the fear of opportunity, the fear of survival. The fear of becoming something you can never forgive. Is that a fate worse than death?



SYNN kicks the door open.



People, humans (she thought), sitting around a table playing cards. They all turned to look at her— Blank skin canvasses. Nameless. Faceless. They all looked the same. She smiled, and waved. The ‘people’ got up from their table and rushed her. She stepped back into a fighting stance. The first one made contact with her and she flipped them over her shoulder. A punch to one, a kick to another. There were just too many!



She put one through the drywall, the other–she broke their arm. Her palm struck quickly, striking another in the throat. She snapped an ankle with a low kick, and took and arm to throw one into the other.



THEY JUST KEPT COMING.



“Carpe Noctem.”



She stepped over the bodies, moving towards the door on the other side of the room.



She was tackled, and brought to the ground. Pain shot through her. Her leg was pinned.



It didn’t matter.



The door opened, her path to the next ‘leg’ of her journey, and footsteps entered the room.



She winced, groaning, as she tried to unpin her keg but she was trapped. There was nowhere she could go. The footsteps got closer.



CLICK CLACK



CLICK CLACK



CLICK CLACK on the mahogany of the floor.



They stopped directly above her. She didn’t want to look up. She feared looking up. She would die before she looked up!



Temptation.



She looked up.



She was staring into eyes that she had seen before. Intense, yet soft. Busy, yet wide open. Understanding, yet hateful.



She was staring directly at herself, as the SYNN above her chuckled.



“Are you scared?”

So this is wonderland

Where all your dreams come true

You gotta go get yours

Before they come get you

So this is wonderland

Where nothing's as it seems

They toss you up and smash you down to smithereens

Juniper woke up. She was drenched in a cold sweat, with people she didn’t recognize standing around her. She screamed, grabbing at her throat…



She swore she felt the hole……



“Ms. Leavitt, can you hear us?”



“She’s cold.”



She was confused. Who were these people?



“She’s not responsive…….get her intubated and get the backboard, update AMC, 35 in route.”



“W—”



They turned.



“Wwwaaaii”



They bent down to her again.



“Waaiiittt……whoooo are—where am—--what?”



Her eyes went wide when she saw SYNN standing behind the paramedics with a hatchet.



The face painted demon smiled, and put a finger to her lips.



“Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhh”



She began to laugh as she brought the hatchet down on the back of his neck.

Don't wait in line

Oh, that's how they get you

All the daisies that you picked are dead

You're better off just picking fights instead

Juniper sat in the mirror, her white makeup stained with fading black tears. She looked down at her bandaged forearms.



She had a hallucination. She had committed suicide. When she had awoken, she was confused as to where she was because as far as she knew, it was real. She had done it.



SYNN kept her alive.

Yet it was SYNN who had tried to kill her.



She needed to get this entity out of her head. She had checked herself into the psych ward and begun therapy with Ms. Barbara Woods. Ms. Woods was such a kind, gentle, wholly therapeutic soul. She was, honestly, the only thing keeping Juniper alive–for real.



The only thing keeping her from giving up on a pointless reality.



Nobody cared if she lived or died. Her family was a mess, she had been in an abusive relationship, she couldn’t get a job because of her anxiety and she always hated trying new things. Meeting new people.



The bile rose in her throat just thinking about it.



But SYNN wouldn’t go away. As hard as she tried. The closer and more connected Juniper grew to Ms. Woods, the more hateful and resentful she felt inside. The more anger. The more drive.



Drive.



Ms. Woods was on her way into work one day when her Mini Cooper was cut off on the highway. She spun out on the black ice that plagues Alaska for most of the year, ended up in the oncoming lane and was blasted by an oncoming semi-truck that was taking logs to the Aleutian Islands.



She died instantly.



Juniper had nobody left. As she sat there in her room, having been told the news as to why Ms. Woods was late to her session that afternoon, she felt something for the first time in her life—something that scared her even more than death.



Resentment.



It was HER fault this happened. If she had not been such a weak person, she would not have put such a gracious and generous human in that position! If she had only been able to cope with her own issues she wouldn’t have put someone else’s life in danger. Ms. Woods would have never traveled that road, that day, and—-



She looked up. Sitting across from her was a fully painted SYNN. She had a smile on her face. Around her neck was Ms. Woods locket, the one with the picture of her family in it. SYNN snarled, cocking her head to the side, the back to the other.



“Foolish girl.” She said, feeling her own lips move at the same time.



Juniper didn’t want to look. She wanted to do ANYTHING ELSE BUT LOOK.



“GO AWAY!”



This time her own lips moved, but the ones across from her stayed still.



“Success is the best revenge.” Junipers lips moved with it again. It sounded almost like her voice.



The entity across from her had opened the locket, rubbing the photo with her thumb.



“This is your chance at destiny. This is your chance to become. Your chance to end it all. The pain, the suffering, the doubt, the anxiety. This is your chance to be something nobody ever told you you could.”



“Ms. Woods didn’t need to die!”



“Ms. Woods died trying to protect you from yourself. I am your protector now. I am your conscience, your hopes, your dreams, your goals, fetishes and most wild desires. I am your being, your existence, your………reason.”



“You’re a parasite!”



“And you’re already infected.”



The woman across from her stood up, and Juniper felt her own legs moving too. There was creak in her knees.



“Nobody will hand you anything.” The painted ghoul took off the locket, and set it on the table. She pulled a hammer out from underneath it. She smiled.



“DON’T!”



She brought the hammer down on the locket, over and over and over again. When she finished, she flashed a toothy smile.



“You need not worry, child. No longer will you rely on someone else to get you where you need to be. From this point forward, YOU take what they won’t give. With fire and wrath, you take what you’ve been denied. You won’t be denied–we won’t be denied.”



Juniper shook her head, tears heavy in her eyes again. She was AFRAID.



SYNN licked her lips, somehow, she knew.



“What if I don’t make it?”



The painted woman stared into her eyes for a minute. Silence. After a minute goes by, she smiles again.



“...........then you take down them with you.”



Juniper lashed out, not in control of her body. She lunged at the woman, the evil soul across from her. Her hand smashed the mirror in front of her as shards of glass fell to the table. Blood dripped from her still-closed fist.



The blood made her feel alive.



For the first time since she could remember, she actually smiled.



"Carpe Noctem"

Cross my heart and hope to die

Welcome to my darkside

“PIC has held that title so long, there is mold growing on it. So far, nobody has been able to climb that tower and plant their flag, and PIC has been allowed to walk around like royalty in a kingdom he didn’t create.



The land was built around him, and when the previous empire fell, he was there to clean up the scraps. Week after week he comes closer to losing, escaping by the seat of his pants and holding on to a title that has been passed around more frequently than herpes since the summer of 2019. Where is the staying power? Where is the domination? Where is the passion, the drive, the heart. Where is the fear?



The OCW needs a shakeup. They need someone to come in and kick the doors down, grabbing them by the throat and shaking them. Make them question their own reality. Make them embrace their own fear. The snake needs to be cut off at the head. B.O.B and P.I.C are the cancer ravaging this locker room, an open wound oozing with toxic puss.



20 enter. One walks out.



As you fight your way to the top, the challenges get harder and harder as you go. I am pain, and I am fear. I am everything that makes a human being. We try so hard to beat me back, to choke me down, to keep me hidden from sight from the deformed sister you want to forget exists. You put me in locks and chains, only coming to feed me when you need it. Nutrients for the soul. The strength to carry on.



Everyone needs a little SYNN. But everyone is too afraid to admit it.



A man who refers to himself as the greatest wrestler alive, in his prime. A man who refers to himself as a pimp, but looks like someone tried to put Kurt Cobain back together after blowing his face off and had pieces left over. “Pimp In Charge.” Even his alias is pompous. He expects people not to know what a pimp truly is. He expects people to be too ignorant to realize that a pimp IS in charge, he doesn’t need to tell people he is. That’s the hoes job. The hoes job is also to keep the cashflow so the pimp can pay his rent, drive his cars, wear his bright clothing and go to high end casinos. So he can flaunt the lifestyle that someone else earned him.

–By definition, he is a pimp, and we’re the hoes, because we keep PIC relevant. Week after week we lay the groundwork, put our bodies on the line, and lay out that red carpet for him to walk in on every week.

Without us–without ME–PIC would just be another faceless head on a nameless body. He doesn’t embrace his fear, he keeps it hidden away. He hasn’t flipped it to motivation, he’s flipped it to a god complex. When he stares his truest fears in the face, I’ll be smiling back at him, ready to toss him off the pyramid and watch him splatter on the ground below.



Nobody knows who else is in this match, and that is the beauty of it. It’s designed not for you to be tested by those involved, but designed for you to test yourself. Do you have what it takes to fight your way through, taking whatever comes by storm and making the most of it? Or will you fall on your face and be left wondering what could have been?



I am the savior of the OCW, here to bring this place back to what it once was, restore the glory, cut the weeds and instill the four letter word that will replace the status quo.



F.E.A.R



I have begun my ascension, and when I get there, I shall arrive violently.



Carpe Noctem.



Seize the night."

Higher and higher we go

Up to the top

Better look out below

Higher and higher we go

Up to the top

Better look out

So this is wonderland

Where all your dreams come true

You gotta go get yours

Before they come get you

So this is wonderland........