Post by mattknox on Oct 13, 2021 2:15:54 GMT -5
It was June, and the world smelled of roses.
The sunshine was powdered Gold all over a barren desert.
And on the 12th, They nearly died.
Matthew sat next to the sleeping form of his better half, dressed only in a pair of plain black sleep pants. His head was buried in his hands, trying to quiet the mind within as it raged on like a storm of anger, regret, doubt and sorrow. Crashing against the stone tower of his pride, doing all it could to topple it and send him spiraling.
A daily struggle, admittedly. But one he had gotten so good at winning that it seemed like second nature. With a small grunt of effort, he stood from the bed and limped toward the door. His body protested with an agonizing scream coming from his head and joints. Chris Spade’s efforts in their cage match left a lasting effect on him these few days after.
He looked out into the Osaka skyline as if searching for the answer, the answer to it all.
A chuckle “The Answer found you, you fool..” he muttered under his breath before standing, grabbing his pack of Camel non-filtered cigarettes and heading out to the Balcony overlooking the hotel’s courtyard. He sat in one of the sunbathing chairs, stretching his sore legs out and taking to stargazing as he sparked up, breathing the noxious fumes up into the night air.
A cursory peek over his shoulder to make sure she slept soundly. She wasn’t in a state to deal with his secondhand smoke, after all.
Day and night, he had been trying to unravel the mystery of Victoria Strader. It felt too targeted to be some random bullshit. No, someone looking for a commodity wouldn’t target a moderately well known wrestler. But she wasn’t such a hot commodity that she could be ransomed for much of anything. Not to mention her known lineage’s penchant for violence.
No, this had to be a dig at him.
A sneer, another puff.
That didn’t narrow the field worth a shit.
He buried the thoughts and the mystery for the moment, shifting his focus to the answer to his boastful open challenge. He had hoped for some XWF roster member with their chest puffed out to step forward, participate in the scuffle and stir the pot a little just for the sake of it. Set an example to the over-dramatic brass that all you need to do is fight your opponent. Not out-posture them.
Instead, one of the very few people he’d never managed to beat came calling. They had forged a friendship in the ashes of Carnage Wrestling and the fallout with the brass in December of 2020, heading to Reno together and having a fair amount of success between them. They were never officially a team, but always had one another’s back as things got murky between the man once called Legion and Supreme Machine. JC had saved him from having his skull crushed by the monster.
Twice, he saved his life. Once by bringing him back into the business, taking that chance. Then by stopping Supreme Machine from cracking his skull like an egg. And how did he repay him? Choking away a title match, and leaving him to stand alone in a Chamber where his career almost came to an end.
He had missed the live showing of the incident, catching a replay while at the ER getting put back together after he and Supreme Machine went off the roof of the El Dorado casino and through the Uprising equipment trailer. Even through the numbing morphine, he felt the white hot rage boil over before he could even feign trying to control it. JC and Legion dangling from the cell roof holding onto the Uprising title. And then the cable went, unable toi support their weight.
The fall.
The sickening thud, crashing into ladders and busting through the mat.
Legion’s painted hand grasping the title.
His friend, still as stone.
It shouldn’t have driven him so mad. Send him into a spiral of self deprecation and self destruction. But of course, he lit it. He took to doing many an uncharacteristic thing. Fucking the fellow talent brazenly. Showing up drunk and high for bookings. Picking fights with friends. He was an absolute wreck until the Roth 2 tournament, which he won the PWV title at. The weight of the moment, of completing a journey JC set him on brought it full circle.
He had never really gone to see JC after he was discharged. Keeping their interactions to twitter, a text, the occasional short call. Truth be told, the shame had consumed him. The shame of not being there for his friend. The shame of nearly throwing the gift he bestowed on him away because he couldn’t cope with that failure.
The cool night wind sent a shiver through him, his eyes closing as he took one last drag, flicking the butt haphazardly toward an ashtray before standing up, and leaning over the railing to stare out at those city lights. At all that lies ahead.
He wouldn’t disappoint. The only way to rectify everything was to fight the motherfucker. Show him that he wasn’t washed up. Show that he had far more left in the tank than he thought, and the idea of retirement was foolish to begin with. At least on a professional and physical level. The business was worse off with “The Answer” being ornery and throwing boots into faces out of nowhere.
A phantom pain accompanied by a knowing smirk. The one time they met, there was a third party. He had matched JC in skill and bested him in brawling. Amber Ryan beat them both in brawling but could barely keep up when it came to technicalities. However, it was him who ate the fateful boot. His vision had gone white, his ears rang and his jaw felt like it instantly took to swelling.
He looked over his shoulder, feeling her gaze before he saw it. He paid her broader smile, nodding that he was okay. The wordless conversation through their bond. She rolled over, curling into a little ball as she usually did. He felt a warmth in him spread as he stared at her, and the precious life growing within.
So much had changed for him since their one meeting.
So much had changed since the last time he saw him.
He had to wonder…
Did he still have an Answer for Matt Knox?
“Hello Joseph, my old friend”
“It’s time for fisticuffs again..”
The blackness of the shot is cut in half by a singular spotlight, white in the grayscale. Seated within a chair is Matthew Knox, head bowed with his hands clasped as if in prayer.
“JC, my brother. How unfortunate that you’ve come to me at a time where my mercy wears thin, and the murder bites at the back of my throat like so much bile. Tiny whispers echoing, telling me to do my best to do the absolute worst…” he trails off, raising his face to gaze into the camera.
“We go back a ways, don’t be JC? Savior, Antagonist, Enemy, Brother...you’ve fallen into many a void in my life. . .” a chuckle, face turning down again, his voice taking on a sullen, wistful tone “If it wasn’t for you I'd be dead now. You took a chance on me, when no one else would. Saw redemption where so many others saw the useless, torn up addict. And for that, I’ll always hold a dear place within for you...for that, I call you my brother.”
A deep inhale as he straightens up once more in the chair, the spotlight cutting off.
“Tragic then, how I have to rain on your parade...but your own hubris. Your eagerness. Your ego got you into this mess, and had it been any other night? Any other circumstance? I would be the first to dive into the maelstrom of violence and pull you out, just as you’ve done for me countless times…”
Floodlights now, facing up from the floor. A deep sangria in color, focusing on the now standing Knox and bathing him in a devilish ethereal glow.
“It will have been 8 days to the year since our one and only meeting in the ring, JC. A year since we last locked eyes as opponents. A whole lot can change in a year, my friend. Look at us. I was the broken man seeking redemption through validation, and now here you are..” a pause, the cheshire grin snuffs the lights. His voice rolls out through the darkness, relishing the irony.
“I have ascended, found my material validation and the hellscape it unlocks. I have been redeemed in my blood, and the blood of those who oppose me. And now you return, the broken man with a dying fire he just can’t snuff out himself.”
Silence. Booming, deafening silence before the lights return, washing over the once more seated Knox in a sullen blue. His face taking a sorrowful glow as the light reflects off of it, glasz orbs lost in the azure sea.
“Logic dictates that this should just be friendly. An exhibition in a parking lot. Two friends speaking the language they’re best versed in. Violence. One man out to prove he still has it. Maybe to himself, maybe to the world, maybe to no one. One man out to show that he has evolved past the broken bird of olde.” a pause, a sigh. He closes his eyes, leaning back in the seat.
“All the niceties stripped away, Joe? We both need this win. I can’t roll into WrestleVania without the momentum. I can’t give my would-be detractors an inch, as they’ll take a mile. I have no doubt you will prove plenty to yourself in this match. I have no doubt that it will be the worst beating I'll take this year because at the end of it, you’re the toughest son of a bitch I've ever met and you’ve earned the name ‘The Answer’.”
Click. Darkness once more.
“But I’m the exact wrong question…”
The house lights come on now, lighting up the stage Matthew was the lone occupant of in a soft fluorescent, free of the pretense and pomp and circumstance of the previous displays.
“I wept for you, Joe. After what happened in Reno. I blamed myself for your retirement, wished for this day but never thought I’d see it. I hoped you would have had a few warm ups, some throw away bouts before our rematch came….but I do not decide fate.” a chuckle “God, if I did there’d be so many changes I would make to this world...but I digress.”
He shifts, bringing his hands together and staring at the camera.
“Allow me to leave you with a request, Joseph. Please do not let this define you. Do not let a loss to me have the weight now it would have in Baltimore. Then, you would have lost to another entitled veteran with a pity story that you fell for. Here, and now? You’d fall at the hand of a world champion. The most prestigious world title in the business.” a smirk “There’s some cheap heat, eh brother?”
“But my point stands. We’ve changed, we’ve evolved. And since you went to raise your daughter, and mend? I’ve become so much more...So. Much More…” an inhale, steadying “Than I ever thought I could have been...I am Raze. I am Ruin. I am the Raven, JC. And come Massacre?”
“Well…”
The lights flicker, then cut off.
“It’s in the name.”
Silence. Endless, Booming silence.
The sunshine was powdered Gold all over a barren desert.
And on the 12th, They nearly died.
Matthew sat next to the sleeping form of his better half, dressed only in a pair of plain black sleep pants. His head was buried in his hands, trying to quiet the mind within as it raged on like a storm of anger, regret, doubt and sorrow. Crashing against the stone tower of his pride, doing all it could to topple it and send him spiraling.
A daily struggle, admittedly. But one he had gotten so good at winning that it seemed like second nature. With a small grunt of effort, he stood from the bed and limped toward the door. His body protested with an agonizing scream coming from his head and joints. Chris Spade’s efforts in their cage match left a lasting effect on him these few days after.
He looked out into the Osaka skyline as if searching for the answer, the answer to it all.
A chuckle “The Answer found you, you fool..” he muttered under his breath before standing, grabbing his pack of Camel non-filtered cigarettes and heading out to the Balcony overlooking the hotel’s courtyard. He sat in one of the sunbathing chairs, stretching his sore legs out and taking to stargazing as he sparked up, breathing the noxious fumes up into the night air.
A cursory peek over his shoulder to make sure she slept soundly. She wasn’t in a state to deal with his secondhand smoke, after all.
Day and night, he had been trying to unravel the mystery of Victoria Strader. It felt too targeted to be some random bullshit. No, someone looking for a commodity wouldn’t target a moderately well known wrestler. But she wasn’t such a hot commodity that she could be ransomed for much of anything. Not to mention her known lineage’s penchant for violence.
No, this had to be a dig at him.
A sneer, another puff.
That didn’t narrow the field worth a shit.
He buried the thoughts and the mystery for the moment, shifting his focus to the answer to his boastful open challenge. He had hoped for some XWF roster member with their chest puffed out to step forward, participate in the scuffle and stir the pot a little just for the sake of it. Set an example to the over-dramatic brass that all you need to do is fight your opponent. Not out-posture them.
Instead, one of the very few people he’d never managed to beat came calling. They had forged a friendship in the ashes of Carnage Wrestling and the fallout with the brass in December of 2020, heading to Reno together and having a fair amount of success between them. They were never officially a team, but always had one another’s back as things got murky between the man once called Legion and Supreme Machine. JC had saved him from having his skull crushed by the monster.
Twice, he saved his life. Once by bringing him back into the business, taking that chance. Then by stopping Supreme Machine from cracking his skull like an egg. And how did he repay him? Choking away a title match, and leaving him to stand alone in a Chamber where his career almost came to an end.
He had missed the live showing of the incident, catching a replay while at the ER getting put back together after he and Supreme Machine went off the roof of the El Dorado casino and through the Uprising equipment trailer. Even through the numbing morphine, he felt the white hot rage boil over before he could even feign trying to control it. JC and Legion dangling from the cell roof holding onto the Uprising title. And then the cable went, unable toi support their weight.
The fall.
The sickening thud, crashing into ladders and busting through the mat.
Legion’s painted hand grasping the title.
His friend, still as stone.
It shouldn’t have driven him so mad. Send him into a spiral of self deprecation and self destruction. But of course, he lit it. He took to doing many an uncharacteristic thing. Fucking the fellow talent brazenly. Showing up drunk and high for bookings. Picking fights with friends. He was an absolute wreck until the Roth 2 tournament, which he won the PWV title at. The weight of the moment, of completing a journey JC set him on brought it full circle.
He had never really gone to see JC after he was discharged. Keeping their interactions to twitter, a text, the occasional short call. Truth be told, the shame had consumed him. The shame of not being there for his friend. The shame of nearly throwing the gift he bestowed on him away because he couldn’t cope with that failure.
The cool night wind sent a shiver through him, his eyes closing as he took one last drag, flicking the butt haphazardly toward an ashtray before standing up, and leaning over the railing to stare out at those city lights. At all that lies ahead.
He wouldn’t disappoint. The only way to rectify everything was to fight the motherfucker. Show him that he wasn’t washed up. Show that he had far more left in the tank than he thought, and the idea of retirement was foolish to begin with. At least on a professional and physical level. The business was worse off with “The Answer” being ornery and throwing boots into faces out of nowhere.
A phantom pain accompanied by a knowing smirk. The one time they met, there was a third party. He had matched JC in skill and bested him in brawling. Amber Ryan beat them both in brawling but could barely keep up when it came to technicalities. However, it was him who ate the fateful boot. His vision had gone white, his ears rang and his jaw felt like it instantly took to swelling.
He looked over his shoulder, feeling her gaze before he saw it. He paid her broader smile, nodding that he was okay. The wordless conversation through their bond. She rolled over, curling into a little ball as she usually did. He felt a warmth in him spread as he stared at her, and the precious life growing within.
So much had changed for him since their one meeting.
So much had changed since the last time he saw him.
He had to wonder…
Did he still have an Answer for Matt Knox?
“Hello Joseph, my old friend”
“It’s time for fisticuffs again..”
The blackness of the shot is cut in half by a singular spotlight, white in the grayscale. Seated within a chair is Matthew Knox, head bowed with his hands clasped as if in prayer.
“JC, my brother. How unfortunate that you’ve come to me at a time where my mercy wears thin, and the murder bites at the back of my throat like so much bile. Tiny whispers echoing, telling me to do my best to do the absolute worst…” he trails off, raising his face to gaze into the camera.
“We go back a ways, don’t be JC? Savior, Antagonist, Enemy, Brother...you’ve fallen into many a void in my life. . .” a chuckle, face turning down again, his voice taking on a sullen, wistful tone “If it wasn’t for you I'd be dead now. You took a chance on me, when no one else would. Saw redemption where so many others saw the useless, torn up addict. And for that, I’ll always hold a dear place within for you...for that, I call you my brother.”
A deep inhale as he straightens up once more in the chair, the spotlight cutting off.
“Tragic then, how I have to rain on your parade...but your own hubris. Your eagerness. Your ego got you into this mess, and had it been any other night? Any other circumstance? I would be the first to dive into the maelstrom of violence and pull you out, just as you’ve done for me countless times…”
Floodlights now, facing up from the floor. A deep sangria in color, focusing on the now standing Knox and bathing him in a devilish ethereal glow.
“It will have been 8 days to the year since our one and only meeting in the ring, JC. A year since we last locked eyes as opponents. A whole lot can change in a year, my friend. Look at us. I was the broken man seeking redemption through validation, and now here you are..” a pause, the cheshire grin snuffs the lights. His voice rolls out through the darkness, relishing the irony.
“I have ascended, found my material validation and the hellscape it unlocks. I have been redeemed in my blood, and the blood of those who oppose me. And now you return, the broken man with a dying fire he just can’t snuff out himself.”
Silence. Booming, deafening silence before the lights return, washing over the once more seated Knox in a sullen blue. His face taking a sorrowful glow as the light reflects off of it, glasz orbs lost in the azure sea.
“Logic dictates that this should just be friendly. An exhibition in a parking lot. Two friends speaking the language they’re best versed in. Violence. One man out to prove he still has it. Maybe to himself, maybe to the world, maybe to no one. One man out to show that he has evolved past the broken bird of olde.” a pause, a sigh. He closes his eyes, leaning back in the seat.
“All the niceties stripped away, Joe? We both need this win. I can’t roll into WrestleVania without the momentum. I can’t give my would-be detractors an inch, as they’ll take a mile. I have no doubt you will prove plenty to yourself in this match. I have no doubt that it will be the worst beating I'll take this year because at the end of it, you’re the toughest son of a bitch I've ever met and you’ve earned the name ‘The Answer’.”
Click. Darkness once more.
“But I’m the exact wrong question…”
The house lights come on now, lighting up the stage Matthew was the lone occupant of in a soft fluorescent, free of the pretense and pomp and circumstance of the previous displays.
“I wept for you, Joe. After what happened in Reno. I blamed myself for your retirement, wished for this day but never thought I’d see it. I hoped you would have had a few warm ups, some throw away bouts before our rematch came….but I do not decide fate.” a chuckle “God, if I did there’d be so many changes I would make to this world...but I digress.”
He shifts, bringing his hands together and staring at the camera.
“Allow me to leave you with a request, Joseph. Please do not let this define you. Do not let a loss to me have the weight now it would have in Baltimore. Then, you would have lost to another entitled veteran with a pity story that you fell for. Here, and now? You’d fall at the hand of a world champion. The most prestigious world title in the business.” a smirk “There’s some cheap heat, eh brother?”
“But my point stands. We’ve changed, we’ve evolved. And since you went to raise your daughter, and mend? I’ve become so much more...So. Much More…” an inhale, steadying “Than I ever thought I could have been...I am Raze. I am Ruin. I am the Raven, JC. And come Massacre?”
“Well…”
The lights flicker, then cut off.
“It’s in the name.”
Silence. Endless, Booming silence.