Post by Meatball-kun on Sept 20, 2014 8:11:08 GMT -6
A Cabin
Somewhere in the Minnesota woods
September 17, 2014
A young woman sits in a cushioned armchair, gazing into a fire that roars in its hearth. The room is mostly dim, the only light coming from what little sunlight penetrates through the blinds over the windows. The cabin is modern, but cozy. A ceiling fan overhead remains motionless, the lights turned off. In the next room, the hum of a refrigerator provides the only noise in the house. A car is parked in the garage outside, hidden from view. It's a bit chilly for a September afternoon, though not cold enough to warrant an open flame...it seems to be aesthetic more than anything else. The woman gazes into it, shadows dancing across a pensive face. She wears a tight-fitting black tank-top and black shorts. The girl seems to have an affinity for the color, in fact: Her hair, tied in a tight ponytail, is equally dark, but the brown roots reveal that it's not her natural color. The most distinguishing feature, however, is the abundance of tattoos that litter her body. Her arms are covered, and though her shirt covers a number of them, it's evident that they splash across her back and torso as well. She rests her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands, gazing into the fire. There's a thoughtful expression on her face, but there's something more to it...sadness, perhaps.
The sound of a door opening snaps her out of her trance. Almost instinctively, she flings her leg over the arm of the chair, prepared to vault over and race for the window should the need arise. A second girl walks in, carrying two large plastic bags in each arm. She pauses, looking at the tattooed girl, confused.
Morgan Hill: "Hey, L. What are you-..."
She trails off, shaking her head. The tattooed girl sighs, and returns to her comfortable position in the armchair as Morgan wanders through the open door into the kitchen.
Lillian Parker: "I didn't expect you to be back so soon."
Morgan's voice carries back through the door.
Morgan Hill: "I went fast."
Lillian groans.
Lillian Parker: "You really need to be careful with that. Where'd you park-"
Morgan Hill: "Nobody's going to find it, don't worry."
She reappears in the doorway.
Morgan Hill: "Where is everybody?"
Lillian doesn't even look up from the fire.
Lillian Parker: "Scott's in Los Angeles. Myles is downstairs. Tanya is...Actually, I'm not entirely sure where she's at."
Morgan Hill: "Myles can't track her?"
Lillian Parker: "He's got other things to worry about."
Morgan Hill: "Like...?"
Lillian Parker: "He's working on something with Scott."
Morgan Hill: "Of course he is..."
She shakes her head. This was common behavior from Lillian. She had no problems answering the questions, but when she did, they were often short, and usually posed even more questions than answers. Suddenly, Lillian sits upright.
Lillian Parker: "Actually...now that I think about it, I should probably check on that."
She vaults over the back of the chair, landing cat-like on her feet. Morgan shakes her head again.
Morgan Hill: "Show-off."
Lillian looks over her shoulder and gives her a wink and a smirk.
Lillian Parker: "It's a skill."
She moves to the closed door near the kitchen, making a point to brush past Morgan as she moves. Morgan stands still, making no attempts to move as Lillian struts past. Lillian opens the door, which creaks loudly as it swings out. She looks back at Morgan.
Lillian Parker: "You coming?"
Morgan doesn't have a chance to answer before Lillian is already halfway down the stairs. At the bottom, Lillian pokes her head around the corner, into the main area of the basement. A dim blue light illuminates the otherwise black room. Against the far wall, computer monitors are set up, several of them, hanging from the wall in a grid pattern. Most of them show various maps, pictures, and files. One of them, sitting on a desk, appears to be running some sort of security program. In the center of it all, Myles Shannon sits, keeping an eye on it all. He's a skinny young man, in his early twenties. His hair hangs to his shoulders, though it's not unclean, as one might expect. He would be almost attractive, but years of sitting and watching the screens has done him little good: His eyes are dark and sunken, and his skin is pale, a likely result of his extended hours in the dark room. Still, Lillian moves up behind him, avoiding the minefield of empty soda bottles that litter the room. Again, the inked woman shows off her agility, stepping from one clear space to another, dodging bottles, discarded food containers, and empty pizza boxes, each time landing silently on the hardwood floor. Morgan leans against the wall, watching Lillian move. She seems almost bored at this point, though she seems genuinely impressed when Lillian's socks slip on the floor, only for her to catch herself, silently, with one hand, inches from a very crinkled Sun Chips bag. Lillian rests her head on Myles's shoulder.
Lillian Parker: "How's it going down here?"
Myles jumps, and Lillian has just enough time to move her head before his shoulder can slam into her chin. Morgan and Lillian laugh loudly as he holds his hand over his heart, breathing heavily.
Myles Shannon: "Don't DO that!"
Lillian giggles, and takes a seat in the young man's lap, wrapping her arms around him and kissing his cheek.
Lillian Parker: "I'm sorry."
Myles shakes his head angrily, but makes no attempt to push the attractive woman away.
Myles Shannon: "Yeah....whatever."
He turns his seat back towards the monitors, rubbing his chin with his hand. Lillian rests her head on his shoulder.
Lillian Parker: "Whatcha doin'?"
Myles Shannon: "Same thing I'm always doing. Keeping things moving along."
Lillian Parker: "Mhmm...and how are you doing that?"
Myles motions to the desk. For the first time, Lillian notices a bunch of small plastic cards in a neat stack, near one of the monitors. She picks up the top one: A California driver's license.
Myles Shannon: "Scott's in Los Angeles right now, taking care of that job you gave him."
Lillian Parker: "Is this his new ID?"
Myles Shannon: "Yeah."
Lillian admires the handiwork, turning the license over in her hands, admiring it.
Lillian Parker: "It looks real."
Myles frowns.
Myles Shannon: "It looks-...you know, I swear, you guys never appreciate all the work I put into these. You know how long it takes me to set up your names? I gotta make ID's, set up records, credentials, the whole bit. That stuff doesn't just pop out of the sky, you know."
Lillian shakes her head. Myles wasn't angry. She knew that. But he took a lot of pride in his work, and since they so rarely gave him much appreciation for it, the least they could do was humor him when he went on about how difficult his work was. He was essential, though. Maybe even more important than he knew.
Lillian Parker: "What IS his story, anyway?"
Myles Shannon: "He told her he was a fitness trainer. I told him it was a bad idea. I don't think he can fake that."
Lillian Parker: "He'll do fine. But I wanted to know about that Matthews Enterprises job. Did we ever find where he's hiding his money?"
Myles Shannon: "You realize a company that big has money all over the place? You realize how hard it is to figure out the financials of a corporation like that? I mean, we got television, radio, license fees, taxes, merchandise revenue. And they still find the money to do those stupid sponsorships."
Lillian Parker: "So....did you find it?"
Myles grins.
Myles Shannon: "Oh...I did more than just find it, baby."
He motions to the top row of screens, and pulls up a list of files.
Myles Shannon: "Turns out our buddy Mr. Matthews has been up to some hinky stuff. He's moving a lot of money into this new project. So far, I can't figure out a name. It looks like he's getting ready for some sort of big buyout."
Lillian Parker: "What about the money we stole? Where is he on that front?"
Myles Shannon: "Far as I know? He's shooting in the dark. Judging by these records, it looks like he just gave it up. Can't have been too happy about it, either. See, this?"
He highlights a few lines in one of the documents.
Myles Shannon: "Few weeks after our job, he started pulling money from all sorts of places. He cut a few of his sponsorships. Moved some money out of his radio station...Lily, whatever this dude was planning, I think we put a big dent in it."
Lillian Parker: "So why didn't he pursue us? Why did he give up so easily?"
Myles Shannon: "Because I'm very good at what I do. Can't follow what you can't see."
Lillian rolls her eyes. There was than Myles ego again. Still, she kisses him on the cheek.
Lillian Parker: "So where is he now?"
Myles frowns, and reads over a map on the far right monitor.
Myles Shannon: "Looks like the GPS is on in his phone. Hold on."
He types furiously for a moment, glancing at the screen every few seconds.
Myles Shannon: "He is in......Chicago."
Lillian takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly.
Lillian Parker: "He finally went home..."
----------------------------------------------------------------
Matthews Residence
Chicago, Illinois
Meanwhile...
Chuck buries his face in his hands.
He knew it would come to this. How could it not? It wasn't the disappearance. That was probably the last straw...but the whole situation was unraveling, far before that. And Chuck knew it. He could feel it. Their never-ending string of bad luck was piling on fast, and looking back now, Chuck wondered if the foundation had ever been solid enough to withstand it. At times, it all seemed forced. Like...like his heart was never really in it. Like he wasn't SUPPOSED to be there. Like he was there because he HAD to be, because he wanted to fit in...not because it was something he truly wanted.
No marriage can be built on such a thing.
And yet...it did nothing to ease the sting. There was still a stabbing pain in his chest...one that he hadn't felt since Blake's funeral. Just the latest in his run of bad luck. His wrestling career was slipping away from him. His company had been robbed of a quarter-million dollars. His son had died...and now, here were the papers, bringing with them a whole new set of problems.
And yet...even with the marriage crashing around him, there was something...strangely relieving about it. At least he knew. At least he could stop questioning it. He could stop questioning himself, wondering if he was doing it right. Wondering if he had made the right decision. Wondering if he wasn't a complete failure of a husband.
As it turned out, he was.
Chuck nods slowly. He takes a deep breath, and slowly lets it out, calming down a bit with each breath. Sofia's note, scribbled in her elegant cursive, sits next to the divorce papers. She was surprisingly civil, given Chuck's behavior.
"....I don't want this to be messy. I don't want your house. I don't your things. I just want out."
A page-long letter, but it was those last phrases that hit Chuck the hardest. He could only imagine Sofia, hunched over the counter, writing away, not knowing when Chuck would come home to see the letter. He wondered when she'd written it. She was crying when she did...the splotches in the ink where they fell told him that. It didn't do much to make Chuck feel better. He nods to himself, looking down at his wife's words. He'd screwed up. And the worst of it was that he knew he should have seen it coming. His friends, his family...they were all taken by surprise when Chuck told them he was getting married. And why wouldn't they? They had gone years in the same mindset as Chuck himself: Chuck Matthews would never settle down. He would never get married. He wouldn't have a family. And who was Chuck to try and change that? Who was he to challenge what he always knew?
He was better off on his own.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chuck Matthews: "Christum Furor.
Sally Talfourd.
Lady Magdalena.
Savannah Taylor.
Daisuke Iwakuma.
All the people I conned into doing my bidding. All the people I have on my side. The only allies I've got left in this business...right? Hold on. The list isn't finished.
Zack Lifer.
Johnny Cannon.
Justin Brooks.
Vanessa Cade.
Lexy Chapel.
Chris Strike.
Jimmy Riley.
And the list...goes...on.
Now then...What do all of these people have in common? Hmm? Anybody?
....Bueller?
These are all people who have been behind me at one point or another during my short tenure in EXODUS. These are all people who have expressed their respect, either for my ability, for my intelligence...hell, even for a combination of the two. In fact, up until three weeks ago, every single one of those names had one thing in common, and ONLY one thing:
They all knew the value of having Chuck Matthews on their side.
Now? Now, I'm sure we can safely remove Lifer and Strike from that list...but to be fair, they have very good reason for not being a part of the Chuck Matthews fan club right about now.
Here's the thing...I will not try and justify the things I've done. I will not pretend that I didn't pull the rug out from under the entire EXODUS roster. I won't pretend that I did some wonderful thing that has ensured victory for my noble cause. I won't. Because I didn't. What I did was cold. It was calculating. It was detestable, and you should absolutely hate me for it.
I'm not saying that to pander to someone, I'm saying that because it's cold fact, and I really don't think there's anyone who will argue with me on it.
But...you don't hate me for it. Not everybody, at least. Even after I revealed my big plan to the world, that list still stands...give or take a couple names. Now, I'm sure you know the terrifying three-letter word I'm going to say next, don't you?
Why?
Do you know what Ralph Waldo Emerson said? He said "Life is a succession of lessons which must be lived to be understood. All is riddle, and the key to a riddle is another riddle." It's one of his most famous quotes, I believe.
Now who among us has a greater mastery over riddles than Chuck Matthews? I mean...look at what I've done. Even as I solve EXODUS's greatest puzzle, I pose ten more questions. Even as I reveal my master plan, I raise new problems. New dilemmas. New questions: What will Chuck do next? How does he plan to execute the rest of his plot to take control? What will he do when he does? And why, for the love of all that is good and holy, are there people taking his side on this? Why do they praise him? Why do they respect him? Why is it that there's no mob waiting outside my door? Why is it that after all the deception, all the scheming, all the manipulation, there's not a swarm of people looking to put my head on a pike? I mean, basic rationale says I should be reviled right now. Logic dictates that I should be the most hated man in this company right now. People should be pelting me with trash. The dirtsheets should be ripping me to shreds. Everybody in the locker room should feel their stomach retch at the mere mention of my name.
You know what we get instead? We get Justin Brooks, applauding me for doing what I said I would do. We get Johnny Cannon, agreeing with the things I had to say at the last show. We get Jimmy Riley, who, understandably, doesn't condone my methods...but I think even he finds it difficult to argue with the end results.
And that? That just pisses you off, doesn't it, Kane?
Hell, I'd imagine it pisses off the entire Sekigun. How could it not? Even after I walked out to the ring, pulled my most abhorrent trick yet, this roster still shows their respect. Even after I did the unthinkable, people still applaud what I did. People are still on my side. People continue to stand by me. And the more they do, the more it just chews at you from the inside.
Ah. Another quote, I think. Let's try Charles Baudelaire this time: "La plus belle des ruses du diable est de vous persuader qu'il n'existe pas."
"The Devil's greatest trick is to convince the world he doesn't exist."
I am not Christum Furor. I think I've shown that. Furor...Gods & Monsters...they're not all that different from Collins and Crew. They fight their battles. They sling mud at each other. They argue amongst themselves when they fail, and somehow stand united when the time calls for them to do so. But at the end of the day, each of them thinks they can do no wrong. Each of them thinks that they fight some noble fight, and they demand you follow their side, and if you don't, you're the enemy. It's all really very tiring, isn't it?
But we know better when it comes to Chuck Matthews. I don't fall into that system, do I?
That's why you hate me, Kane. You don't hate me for the things I've done. Not entirely, at least. You don't hate me because I orchestrated this entire war. Do you know why you REALLY hate me, Kane? Do you know why Collins doesn't like me? Do you know why Stearns doesn't like me?
It's because I just don't fit into your worldview. Guys like them? Guys like YOU? You've got this perfect little system where there are good guys and bad guys. It's all fucking black and white to you. You're either with EXODUS or you're against it, and if you're against it, you're the villain and you need to be stopped.
And Furor and G&M are exactly the same way. Good, evil, black, white, you're either fighting for a better EXODUS or you're trying to maintain the broken system and if you're doing THAT, you're the villian and you need to be stopped.
But me? What am I? I'm a guy who knows that he's doing bad things. I'm a guy who will openly admit that the things he's done should not be respected. Should not be applauded. I realize that I've done terrible things. Hell, I might even feel bad about some of them. We know I've made my apologies to Mr. Lifer...futile as they may be. We know I've met with a few individuals, I've said my piece to them, and I respect their opinions...even if they don't line up with my own. And that bothers you, doesn't it? I don't fit into your perfect little system. I don't match this cookie cutter archetype of what a villain is supposed to look like. And that bothers you. You hate me because I'm something you can't understand. I'm something that has moved into this realm that you can't wrap your head around. I break every mold you have, every category you can think of, and yet, I still exist. I contradict everything you know about wrestling, about business, about human beings, and yet, as much as you think there's something askew, you're forced to acknowledge that it all makes sense. Everything fits together. And it pisses you off, doesn't it? You're not angry because I don't fit your system. You're angry because your system isn't working, and you refuse to admit that there are some people that it just can't factor in. People like, for instance, the Smartest Man in Professional Wrestling.
I mean, it's half the reason I've gotten away with this for so long: You don't quite know what to make of me. Even now, I've done something...shit, I've done something objectively BAD! I've manipulated an entire roster into joining my side. I've brought together mortal enemies and made them, unknowingly, fight for the same cause. I've played two sides of the same war, and pulled the rug out from under them when it best served my own selfish agenda. But there's always more to the story, isn't there? And isn't that EXACTLY the lesson that I've taught since day one? Always consider the opposite. Always consider the story from the other point of view. Looks to me like more than a few people took my lessons to heart, didn't they? See...THAT is why I'm not the most hated man in this business. THAT is why I can be both hated and loved, and for exactly the same reason. I have been planning for this since the day I stepped foot in EXODUS. I knew, one day, I would do something nobody would like...and so I spent four months, prepping them. Convincing them that, no matter what evil I may do, there's a light at the end of the tunnel. The ends will justify the means.
Bad acts, good intentions, right?
You see? I watched as both sides played their games. While they sat on the battlefield fighting, I stood on the hilltop, getting a bird's-eye view. Watching all the pieces shuffle around the board. Garnering allies. Earning respect the old-fashioned way: By winning matches. By proving that I'm worth listening to. By showing that this is not just a nickname, and that I am every bit as intelligent as people say I am.
THAT is why those same people now find it so difficult to turn against me. This isn't stupidity. This isn't brainwashing. This is that pesky thing that we call "human behavior," and it's one of the reasons I've been called the smartest man in this industry. I understand how people think. I understand how people react to certain situations. I have created a battle within every man and woman in EXODUS, wrestler and fan alike. I have created a conflict between their hatred for anyone who dares to fight the status quo, and their adulation for anyone who sticks to their own beliefs. Anyone who can put their money where their mouth is. Anyone who shows that they are honest men...even if that honesty is about their DIS-honesty.
I have done all of these.
The reason, Mr. Kane, that it's so damned hard to turn people against me is because I give them something to believe in. I have become an agent of change. See...you've mistaken my anonymity for invisibility. You assume that I have remained off the radar for months because I lack the ability to get people to listen. Oh how wrong you are, my friend. On the contrary, that anonymity was crucial. Even now, four months later, I enjoy a strange, happy detachment from this company. I'm on the outside looking in. I'm another face in the crowd. But this face has a voice, Mr. Kane, and that voice is heard loud and clear, and now, people are, just as they have been for months, slowly rallying behind it.
Have you stopped to think why ExPro 22 was the night I chose to stage my assault? Have you asked yourself why I chose that night to reveal my plan to the world? You have, of course, realized by now that nothing I do is insignificant. Nothing I say isn't thought out well in advance. You've certainly taken pause, haven't you? Considered for a moment why THAT was the night I chose to act?
Of course you didn't. You haven't questioned why I did what I did. You just know that you're the good guy and I'm the bad guy and that's all there is to it. You know that you're supposed to fight this snot-nosed punk from Chicago and you're supposed to bash his fucking head in because he disrespected Darrin Stearns and he's trying to destroy EXODUS, and Jon Collins wants him taken out. And like a good little monkey, you're going to do exactly that.
Let's be honest here, Kane: I've pegged you pretty good on this one.
But...that's the problem, isn't it? You think you're better than me. You think you're bigger than all of this, don't you? To you, this is a main event star taking on another curtain jerker who thinks he's tough. To you, I'm hardly better than your one-sided stint against Mason Joseph three weeks ago. Chuck's on a losing streak. Chuck's been getting his ass kicked pillar-to-post. And now you've got a reason to want to kick my head clean off, don't you? You have to protect EXODUS. You have to stop me from completing my master plan.
Let me remind you that you picked this fight, Kane. You requested this match. How soon we forget, right? You think you're bigger than this? You think this is going to be a cakewalk? Get your head out of your ass, man. I'm telling you, right here and now, you go into our match in that mindset, and you'll be playing right into my hands.
That's what I do. Or haven't you been paying attention? I don't strategize for one match. I strategize for several matches all at once. You've just watched me get my ass kicked for two matches straight. You watched as Chris Strike and Lexy Chapel beat me six ways to Sunday. And you've smiled a little bit. You've grown confident. And we know what happens when you get confident: You get messy. You make mistakes. Now, I'm going to say this real slowly for you, Kaner:
YOU CANNOT MAKE MISTAKES AGAINST CHUCK MATTHEWS.
But you will. How do I know? Because I've studied you, Mr. Kane. I've observed. I've watched you. I know your flaws. I know how you work. I know how you think. I know that you plan to walk in and decimate everything that is Chuck Matthews. I know that you intend to punish me for my every transgression, against Stearns, against Collins, against you, against the rest of this company. But I'll let you in on a little insider secret, sir: Anger is not a valuable weapon. Abby Park was angry. Kliff Ulysses was angry. An angry mind is a mind that makes mistakes. And I've got a pretty good track record of beating people when their rage gets the best of them.
You're a powerful competitor. I'd be stupid to try and contest that. But you're not a thinker. You've got that one-track mind that's been the downfall of so many great wrestlers before you. You spend your days training for an opponent you know nothing about, and make no mistake, you don't know much about me, Mr. Kane. Instead, you tell anyone who will listen that I'm going to be taken out of that ring on a stretcher. You'll talk about kicking my head off. You'll talk about beating me to an unrecognizable pulp. You'll play it up like no tomorrow, because somehow you're convinced that people still buy into this 'bad boy' bullshit.
Here's the thing, man. You beat Brett Sands out of EXODUS. You beat Mason Joseph. You beat Black Jones. Want a fucking medal, Sparky? Welcome to a whole other ball game, amigo. You're not fighting stink stains like Joseph, or Revo guys like Jones, or...whatever you'd categorize Sands as. You're fighting a man who, in the span of four months, has gone from Unknown to Unstoppable to Unpredictable....And that's just it, isn't it? I've become completely unpredictable. You think that's a weakness? Tell me: Which Chuck Mathews are you expecting to fight? Are you planning for the Matthews that tore down everyone EXODUS could throw at him? Or are you hoping for the Matthews that got curb-stomped by Chris Strike? Who got manhandled by Lexy Chapel? See...as much as you'd love to think that these last couple matches of mine are indicative of our fight, you know that it's a very stupid trap to fall into. Or, at least, you SHOULD be thinking that, and if you're not, I'm telling you right now: That's a VERY stupid trap to fall into.
A friendly reminder, Kane, that this is the man that damn near won the Crucible. This is the man that beat Kliff Ulysses at Ascendancy. This is the man that beat Zack Lifer. This is the man who, for quite some time now, has had people wondering why he doesn't gun for a championship. And up until these last couple bouts, I don't think there was a soul in EXODUS who thought I wasn't talented enough to do it.
Fact is, Christian, what you're up against is not a shitty wrestler who had a three-month hot streak. And while thinking isn't your strong suit, I know you're not dumb enough to think that's the case. No...you're fighting a guy who has done nothing but put on one great match after another, and yet, for some inexplicable reason, he's completely fallen apart in his last two go-arounds.
Now, you tell me: How does something like that happen?
More importantly: Are you willing to gamble this match on it happening again? Are you really expecting lightning to strike a THIRD time?
The ball is in your court, Mr. Kane. This is the part where you sit down and think long and hard about what you're about to do. Are you going to come to this ring expecting an easy win? Are you going to rely on me having another off night? Or are you going to come in expecting the fight of your life?
Just remember: EXODUS is counting on you. Jon Collins is counting on you. And....I'll tell you the same I tell ALL my opponents: I'm counting on you.
As dirty and conniving as I will admit to being, there is one thing you can count on: I will never lie to you, Christian. I don't need to lie to you. I know you're expecting me to have my hired guns waiting in the back to save my skin if I get into trouble. But I'm going to tell you right here and now: You will not see G&M during our match. You will not see HATE in our match. I don't want them, and I don't need them. I didn't need them to help me win matches these last few months, and I certainly don't need them to win this one. But more importantly than that?
I want the clean win. I want you at your best, Kane. I WANT you to come in and kick my damn head off. Not because I feel like I deserve it. Not because I want to lose. No...because when I spear you into next week, when I beat you, when I send you to the back with a notch in the loss column, and when you fail to put me down, I don't want you to have any excuses. I don't want you to blame your shortcomings on outside interference. I don't want you blaming it on an off night. I want you to suffer your failure, take your lickings like a man, and I want that failure to fester in the weeks to come. I want you to reflect on it. I want you to keep it fresh as I continue my little mission here in EXODUS. Because I promise you, the outcome of this match is going to play a vital role in the next phase of my plan. And your failure is going to come up again...and again...and again...
What does this match mean, Kane? Well...I suppose that's a whole other riddle now, isn't it?
That Emerson is a pretty smart dude."
Somewhere in the Minnesota woods
September 17, 2014
A young woman sits in a cushioned armchair, gazing into a fire that roars in its hearth. The room is mostly dim, the only light coming from what little sunlight penetrates through the blinds over the windows. The cabin is modern, but cozy. A ceiling fan overhead remains motionless, the lights turned off. In the next room, the hum of a refrigerator provides the only noise in the house. A car is parked in the garage outside, hidden from view. It's a bit chilly for a September afternoon, though not cold enough to warrant an open flame...it seems to be aesthetic more than anything else. The woman gazes into it, shadows dancing across a pensive face. She wears a tight-fitting black tank-top and black shorts. The girl seems to have an affinity for the color, in fact: Her hair, tied in a tight ponytail, is equally dark, but the brown roots reveal that it's not her natural color. The most distinguishing feature, however, is the abundance of tattoos that litter her body. Her arms are covered, and though her shirt covers a number of them, it's evident that they splash across her back and torso as well. She rests her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands, gazing into the fire. There's a thoughtful expression on her face, but there's something more to it...sadness, perhaps.
The sound of a door opening snaps her out of her trance. Almost instinctively, she flings her leg over the arm of the chair, prepared to vault over and race for the window should the need arise. A second girl walks in, carrying two large plastic bags in each arm. She pauses, looking at the tattooed girl, confused.
Morgan Hill: "Hey, L. What are you-..."
She trails off, shaking her head. The tattooed girl sighs, and returns to her comfortable position in the armchair as Morgan wanders through the open door into the kitchen.
Lillian Parker: "I didn't expect you to be back so soon."
Morgan's voice carries back through the door.
Morgan Hill: "I went fast."
Lillian groans.
Lillian Parker: "You really need to be careful with that. Where'd you park-"
Morgan Hill: "Nobody's going to find it, don't worry."
She reappears in the doorway.
Morgan Hill: "Where is everybody?"
Lillian doesn't even look up from the fire.
Lillian Parker: "Scott's in Los Angeles. Myles is downstairs. Tanya is...Actually, I'm not entirely sure where she's at."
Morgan Hill: "Myles can't track her?"
Lillian Parker: "He's got other things to worry about."
Morgan Hill: "Like...?"
Lillian Parker: "He's working on something with Scott."
Morgan Hill: "Of course he is..."
She shakes her head. This was common behavior from Lillian. She had no problems answering the questions, but when she did, they were often short, and usually posed even more questions than answers. Suddenly, Lillian sits upright.
Lillian Parker: "Actually...now that I think about it, I should probably check on that."
She vaults over the back of the chair, landing cat-like on her feet. Morgan shakes her head again.
Morgan Hill: "Show-off."
Lillian looks over her shoulder and gives her a wink and a smirk.
Lillian Parker: "It's a skill."
She moves to the closed door near the kitchen, making a point to brush past Morgan as she moves. Morgan stands still, making no attempts to move as Lillian struts past. Lillian opens the door, which creaks loudly as it swings out. She looks back at Morgan.
Lillian Parker: "You coming?"
Morgan doesn't have a chance to answer before Lillian is already halfway down the stairs. At the bottom, Lillian pokes her head around the corner, into the main area of the basement. A dim blue light illuminates the otherwise black room. Against the far wall, computer monitors are set up, several of them, hanging from the wall in a grid pattern. Most of them show various maps, pictures, and files. One of them, sitting on a desk, appears to be running some sort of security program. In the center of it all, Myles Shannon sits, keeping an eye on it all. He's a skinny young man, in his early twenties. His hair hangs to his shoulders, though it's not unclean, as one might expect. He would be almost attractive, but years of sitting and watching the screens has done him little good: His eyes are dark and sunken, and his skin is pale, a likely result of his extended hours in the dark room. Still, Lillian moves up behind him, avoiding the minefield of empty soda bottles that litter the room. Again, the inked woman shows off her agility, stepping from one clear space to another, dodging bottles, discarded food containers, and empty pizza boxes, each time landing silently on the hardwood floor. Morgan leans against the wall, watching Lillian move. She seems almost bored at this point, though she seems genuinely impressed when Lillian's socks slip on the floor, only for her to catch herself, silently, with one hand, inches from a very crinkled Sun Chips bag. Lillian rests her head on Myles's shoulder.
Lillian Parker: "How's it going down here?"
Myles jumps, and Lillian has just enough time to move her head before his shoulder can slam into her chin. Morgan and Lillian laugh loudly as he holds his hand over his heart, breathing heavily.
Myles Shannon: "Don't DO that!"
Lillian giggles, and takes a seat in the young man's lap, wrapping her arms around him and kissing his cheek.
Lillian Parker: "I'm sorry."
Myles shakes his head angrily, but makes no attempt to push the attractive woman away.
Myles Shannon: "Yeah....whatever."
He turns his seat back towards the monitors, rubbing his chin with his hand. Lillian rests her head on his shoulder.
Lillian Parker: "Whatcha doin'?"
Myles Shannon: "Same thing I'm always doing. Keeping things moving along."
Lillian Parker: "Mhmm...and how are you doing that?"
Myles motions to the desk. For the first time, Lillian notices a bunch of small plastic cards in a neat stack, near one of the monitors. She picks up the top one: A California driver's license.
Myles Shannon: "Scott's in Los Angeles right now, taking care of that job you gave him."
Lillian Parker: "Is this his new ID?"
Myles Shannon: "Yeah."
Lillian admires the handiwork, turning the license over in her hands, admiring it.
Lillian Parker: "It looks real."
Myles frowns.
Myles Shannon: "It looks-...you know, I swear, you guys never appreciate all the work I put into these. You know how long it takes me to set up your names? I gotta make ID's, set up records, credentials, the whole bit. That stuff doesn't just pop out of the sky, you know."
Lillian shakes her head. Myles wasn't angry. She knew that. But he took a lot of pride in his work, and since they so rarely gave him much appreciation for it, the least they could do was humor him when he went on about how difficult his work was. He was essential, though. Maybe even more important than he knew.
Lillian Parker: "What IS his story, anyway?"
Myles Shannon: "He told her he was a fitness trainer. I told him it was a bad idea. I don't think he can fake that."
Lillian Parker: "He'll do fine. But I wanted to know about that Matthews Enterprises job. Did we ever find where he's hiding his money?"
Myles Shannon: "You realize a company that big has money all over the place? You realize how hard it is to figure out the financials of a corporation like that? I mean, we got television, radio, license fees, taxes, merchandise revenue. And they still find the money to do those stupid sponsorships."
Lillian Parker: "So....did you find it?"
Myles grins.
Myles Shannon: "Oh...I did more than just find it, baby."
He motions to the top row of screens, and pulls up a list of files.
Myles Shannon: "Turns out our buddy Mr. Matthews has been up to some hinky stuff. He's moving a lot of money into this new project. So far, I can't figure out a name. It looks like he's getting ready for some sort of big buyout."
Lillian Parker: "What about the money we stole? Where is he on that front?"
Myles Shannon: "Far as I know? He's shooting in the dark. Judging by these records, it looks like he just gave it up. Can't have been too happy about it, either. See, this?"
He highlights a few lines in one of the documents.
Myles Shannon: "Few weeks after our job, he started pulling money from all sorts of places. He cut a few of his sponsorships. Moved some money out of his radio station...Lily, whatever this dude was planning, I think we put a big dent in it."
Lillian Parker: "So why didn't he pursue us? Why did he give up so easily?"
Myles Shannon: "Because I'm very good at what I do. Can't follow what you can't see."
Lillian rolls her eyes. There was than Myles ego again. Still, she kisses him on the cheek.
Lillian Parker: "So where is he now?"
Myles frowns, and reads over a map on the far right monitor.
Myles Shannon: "Looks like the GPS is on in his phone. Hold on."
He types furiously for a moment, glancing at the screen every few seconds.
Myles Shannon: "He is in......Chicago."
Lillian takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly.
Lillian Parker: "He finally went home..."
----------------------------------------------------------------
Matthews Residence
Chicago, Illinois
Meanwhile...
Chuck buries his face in his hands.
He knew it would come to this. How could it not? It wasn't the disappearance. That was probably the last straw...but the whole situation was unraveling, far before that. And Chuck knew it. He could feel it. Their never-ending string of bad luck was piling on fast, and looking back now, Chuck wondered if the foundation had ever been solid enough to withstand it. At times, it all seemed forced. Like...like his heart was never really in it. Like he wasn't SUPPOSED to be there. Like he was there because he HAD to be, because he wanted to fit in...not because it was something he truly wanted.
No marriage can be built on such a thing.
And yet...it did nothing to ease the sting. There was still a stabbing pain in his chest...one that he hadn't felt since Blake's funeral. Just the latest in his run of bad luck. His wrestling career was slipping away from him. His company had been robbed of a quarter-million dollars. His son had died...and now, here were the papers, bringing with them a whole new set of problems.
And yet...even with the marriage crashing around him, there was something...strangely relieving about it. At least he knew. At least he could stop questioning it. He could stop questioning himself, wondering if he was doing it right. Wondering if he had made the right decision. Wondering if he wasn't a complete failure of a husband.
As it turned out, he was.
Chuck nods slowly. He takes a deep breath, and slowly lets it out, calming down a bit with each breath. Sofia's note, scribbled in her elegant cursive, sits next to the divorce papers. She was surprisingly civil, given Chuck's behavior.
"....I don't want this to be messy. I don't want your house. I don't your things. I just want out."
A page-long letter, but it was those last phrases that hit Chuck the hardest. He could only imagine Sofia, hunched over the counter, writing away, not knowing when Chuck would come home to see the letter. He wondered when she'd written it. She was crying when she did...the splotches in the ink where they fell told him that. It didn't do much to make Chuck feel better. He nods to himself, looking down at his wife's words. He'd screwed up. And the worst of it was that he knew he should have seen it coming. His friends, his family...they were all taken by surprise when Chuck told them he was getting married. And why wouldn't they? They had gone years in the same mindset as Chuck himself: Chuck Matthews would never settle down. He would never get married. He wouldn't have a family. And who was Chuck to try and change that? Who was he to challenge what he always knew?
He was better off on his own.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chuck Matthews: "Christum Furor.
Sally Talfourd.
Lady Magdalena.
Savannah Taylor.
Daisuke Iwakuma.
All the people I conned into doing my bidding. All the people I have on my side. The only allies I've got left in this business...right? Hold on. The list isn't finished.
Zack Lifer.
Johnny Cannon.
Justin Brooks.
Vanessa Cade.
Lexy Chapel.
Chris Strike.
Jimmy Riley.
And the list...goes...on.
Now then...What do all of these people have in common? Hmm? Anybody?
....Bueller?
These are all people who have been behind me at one point or another during my short tenure in EXODUS. These are all people who have expressed their respect, either for my ability, for my intelligence...hell, even for a combination of the two. In fact, up until three weeks ago, every single one of those names had one thing in common, and ONLY one thing:
They all knew the value of having Chuck Matthews on their side.
Now? Now, I'm sure we can safely remove Lifer and Strike from that list...but to be fair, they have very good reason for not being a part of the Chuck Matthews fan club right about now.
Here's the thing...I will not try and justify the things I've done. I will not pretend that I didn't pull the rug out from under the entire EXODUS roster. I won't pretend that I did some wonderful thing that has ensured victory for my noble cause. I won't. Because I didn't. What I did was cold. It was calculating. It was detestable, and you should absolutely hate me for it.
I'm not saying that to pander to someone, I'm saying that because it's cold fact, and I really don't think there's anyone who will argue with me on it.
But...you don't hate me for it. Not everybody, at least. Even after I revealed my big plan to the world, that list still stands...give or take a couple names. Now, I'm sure you know the terrifying three-letter word I'm going to say next, don't you?
Why?
Do you know what Ralph Waldo Emerson said? He said "Life is a succession of lessons which must be lived to be understood. All is riddle, and the key to a riddle is another riddle." It's one of his most famous quotes, I believe.
Now who among us has a greater mastery over riddles than Chuck Matthews? I mean...look at what I've done. Even as I solve EXODUS's greatest puzzle, I pose ten more questions. Even as I reveal my master plan, I raise new problems. New dilemmas. New questions: What will Chuck do next? How does he plan to execute the rest of his plot to take control? What will he do when he does? And why, for the love of all that is good and holy, are there people taking his side on this? Why do they praise him? Why do they respect him? Why is it that there's no mob waiting outside my door? Why is it that after all the deception, all the scheming, all the manipulation, there's not a swarm of people looking to put my head on a pike? I mean, basic rationale says I should be reviled right now. Logic dictates that I should be the most hated man in this company right now. People should be pelting me with trash. The dirtsheets should be ripping me to shreds. Everybody in the locker room should feel their stomach retch at the mere mention of my name.
You know what we get instead? We get Justin Brooks, applauding me for doing what I said I would do. We get Johnny Cannon, agreeing with the things I had to say at the last show. We get Jimmy Riley, who, understandably, doesn't condone my methods...but I think even he finds it difficult to argue with the end results.
And that? That just pisses you off, doesn't it, Kane?
Hell, I'd imagine it pisses off the entire Sekigun. How could it not? Even after I walked out to the ring, pulled my most abhorrent trick yet, this roster still shows their respect. Even after I did the unthinkable, people still applaud what I did. People are still on my side. People continue to stand by me. And the more they do, the more it just chews at you from the inside.
Ah. Another quote, I think. Let's try Charles Baudelaire this time: "La plus belle des ruses du diable est de vous persuader qu'il n'existe pas."
"The Devil's greatest trick is to convince the world he doesn't exist."
I am not Christum Furor. I think I've shown that. Furor...Gods & Monsters...they're not all that different from Collins and Crew. They fight their battles. They sling mud at each other. They argue amongst themselves when they fail, and somehow stand united when the time calls for them to do so. But at the end of the day, each of them thinks they can do no wrong. Each of them thinks that they fight some noble fight, and they demand you follow their side, and if you don't, you're the enemy. It's all really very tiring, isn't it?
But we know better when it comes to Chuck Matthews. I don't fall into that system, do I?
That's why you hate me, Kane. You don't hate me for the things I've done. Not entirely, at least. You don't hate me because I orchestrated this entire war. Do you know why you REALLY hate me, Kane? Do you know why Collins doesn't like me? Do you know why Stearns doesn't like me?
It's because I just don't fit into your worldview. Guys like them? Guys like YOU? You've got this perfect little system where there are good guys and bad guys. It's all fucking black and white to you. You're either with EXODUS or you're against it, and if you're against it, you're the villain and you need to be stopped.
And Furor and G&M are exactly the same way. Good, evil, black, white, you're either fighting for a better EXODUS or you're trying to maintain the broken system and if you're doing THAT, you're the villian and you need to be stopped.
But me? What am I? I'm a guy who knows that he's doing bad things. I'm a guy who will openly admit that the things he's done should not be respected. Should not be applauded. I realize that I've done terrible things. Hell, I might even feel bad about some of them. We know I've made my apologies to Mr. Lifer...futile as they may be. We know I've met with a few individuals, I've said my piece to them, and I respect their opinions...even if they don't line up with my own. And that bothers you, doesn't it? I don't fit into your perfect little system. I don't match this cookie cutter archetype of what a villain is supposed to look like. And that bothers you. You hate me because I'm something you can't understand. I'm something that has moved into this realm that you can't wrap your head around. I break every mold you have, every category you can think of, and yet, I still exist. I contradict everything you know about wrestling, about business, about human beings, and yet, as much as you think there's something askew, you're forced to acknowledge that it all makes sense. Everything fits together. And it pisses you off, doesn't it? You're not angry because I don't fit your system. You're angry because your system isn't working, and you refuse to admit that there are some people that it just can't factor in. People like, for instance, the Smartest Man in Professional Wrestling.
I mean, it's half the reason I've gotten away with this for so long: You don't quite know what to make of me. Even now, I've done something...shit, I've done something objectively BAD! I've manipulated an entire roster into joining my side. I've brought together mortal enemies and made them, unknowingly, fight for the same cause. I've played two sides of the same war, and pulled the rug out from under them when it best served my own selfish agenda. But there's always more to the story, isn't there? And isn't that EXACTLY the lesson that I've taught since day one? Always consider the opposite. Always consider the story from the other point of view. Looks to me like more than a few people took my lessons to heart, didn't they? See...THAT is why I'm not the most hated man in this business. THAT is why I can be both hated and loved, and for exactly the same reason. I have been planning for this since the day I stepped foot in EXODUS. I knew, one day, I would do something nobody would like...and so I spent four months, prepping them. Convincing them that, no matter what evil I may do, there's a light at the end of the tunnel. The ends will justify the means.
Bad acts, good intentions, right?
You see? I watched as both sides played their games. While they sat on the battlefield fighting, I stood on the hilltop, getting a bird's-eye view. Watching all the pieces shuffle around the board. Garnering allies. Earning respect the old-fashioned way: By winning matches. By proving that I'm worth listening to. By showing that this is not just a nickname, and that I am every bit as intelligent as people say I am.
THAT is why those same people now find it so difficult to turn against me. This isn't stupidity. This isn't brainwashing. This is that pesky thing that we call "human behavior," and it's one of the reasons I've been called the smartest man in this industry. I understand how people think. I understand how people react to certain situations. I have created a battle within every man and woman in EXODUS, wrestler and fan alike. I have created a conflict between their hatred for anyone who dares to fight the status quo, and their adulation for anyone who sticks to their own beliefs. Anyone who can put their money where their mouth is. Anyone who shows that they are honest men...even if that honesty is about their DIS-honesty.
I have done all of these.
The reason, Mr. Kane, that it's so damned hard to turn people against me is because I give them something to believe in. I have become an agent of change. See...you've mistaken my anonymity for invisibility. You assume that I have remained off the radar for months because I lack the ability to get people to listen. Oh how wrong you are, my friend. On the contrary, that anonymity was crucial. Even now, four months later, I enjoy a strange, happy detachment from this company. I'm on the outside looking in. I'm another face in the crowd. But this face has a voice, Mr. Kane, and that voice is heard loud and clear, and now, people are, just as they have been for months, slowly rallying behind it.
Have you stopped to think why ExPro 22 was the night I chose to stage my assault? Have you asked yourself why I chose that night to reveal my plan to the world? You have, of course, realized by now that nothing I do is insignificant. Nothing I say isn't thought out well in advance. You've certainly taken pause, haven't you? Considered for a moment why THAT was the night I chose to act?
Of course you didn't. You haven't questioned why I did what I did. You just know that you're the good guy and I'm the bad guy and that's all there is to it. You know that you're supposed to fight this snot-nosed punk from Chicago and you're supposed to bash his fucking head in because he disrespected Darrin Stearns and he's trying to destroy EXODUS, and Jon Collins wants him taken out. And like a good little monkey, you're going to do exactly that.
Let's be honest here, Kane: I've pegged you pretty good on this one.
But...that's the problem, isn't it? You think you're better than me. You think you're bigger than all of this, don't you? To you, this is a main event star taking on another curtain jerker who thinks he's tough. To you, I'm hardly better than your one-sided stint against Mason Joseph three weeks ago. Chuck's on a losing streak. Chuck's been getting his ass kicked pillar-to-post. And now you've got a reason to want to kick my head clean off, don't you? You have to protect EXODUS. You have to stop me from completing my master plan.
Let me remind you that you picked this fight, Kane. You requested this match. How soon we forget, right? You think you're bigger than this? You think this is going to be a cakewalk? Get your head out of your ass, man. I'm telling you, right here and now, you go into our match in that mindset, and you'll be playing right into my hands.
That's what I do. Or haven't you been paying attention? I don't strategize for one match. I strategize for several matches all at once. You've just watched me get my ass kicked for two matches straight. You watched as Chris Strike and Lexy Chapel beat me six ways to Sunday. And you've smiled a little bit. You've grown confident. And we know what happens when you get confident: You get messy. You make mistakes. Now, I'm going to say this real slowly for you, Kaner:
YOU CANNOT MAKE MISTAKES AGAINST CHUCK MATTHEWS.
But you will. How do I know? Because I've studied you, Mr. Kane. I've observed. I've watched you. I know your flaws. I know how you work. I know how you think. I know that you plan to walk in and decimate everything that is Chuck Matthews. I know that you intend to punish me for my every transgression, against Stearns, against Collins, against you, against the rest of this company. But I'll let you in on a little insider secret, sir: Anger is not a valuable weapon. Abby Park was angry. Kliff Ulysses was angry. An angry mind is a mind that makes mistakes. And I've got a pretty good track record of beating people when their rage gets the best of them.
You're a powerful competitor. I'd be stupid to try and contest that. But you're not a thinker. You've got that one-track mind that's been the downfall of so many great wrestlers before you. You spend your days training for an opponent you know nothing about, and make no mistake, you don't know much about me, Mr. Kane. Instead, you tell anyone who will listen that I'm going to be taken out of that ring on a stretcher. You'll talk about kicking my head off. You'll talk about beating me to an unrecognizable pulp. You'll play it up like no tomorrow, because somehow you're convinced that people still buy into this 'bad boy' bullshit.
Here's the thing, man. You beat Brett Sands out of EXODUS. You beat Mason Joseph. You beat Black Jones. Want a fucking medal, Sparky? Welcome to a whole other ball game, amigo. You're not fighting stink stains like Joseph, or Revo guys like Jones, or...whatever you'd categorize Sands as. You're fighting a man who, in the span of four months, has gone from Unknown to Unstoppable to Unpredictable....And that's just it, isn't it? I've become completely unpredictable. You think that's a weakness? Tell me: Which Chuck Mathews are you expecting to fight? Are you planning for the Matthews that tore down everyone EXODUS could throw at him? Or are you hoping for the Matthews that got curb-stomped by Chris Strike? Who got manhandled by Lexy Chapel? See...as much as you'd love to think that these last couple matches of mine are indicative of our fight, you know that it's a very stupid trap to fall into. Or, at least, you SHOULD be thinking that, and if you're not, I'm telling you right now: That's a VERY stupid trap to fall into.
A friendly reminder, Kane, that this is the man that damn near won the Crucible. This is the man that beat Kliff Ulysses at Ascendancy. This is the man that beat Zack Lifer. This is the man who, for quite some time now, has had people wondering why he doesn't gun for a championship. And up until these last couple bouts, I don't think there was a soul in EXODUS who thought I wasn't talented enough to do it.
Fact is, Christian, what you're up against is not a shitty wrestler who had a three-month hot streak. And while thinking isn't your strong suit, I know you're not dumb enough to think that's the case. No...you're fighting a guy who has done nothing but put on one great match after another, and yet, for some inexplicable reason, he's completely fallen apart in his last two go-arounds.
Now, you tell me: How does something like that happen?
More importantly: Are you willing to gamble this match on it happening again? Are you really expecting lightning to strike a THIRD time?
The ball is in your court, Mr. Kane. This is the part where you sit down and think long and hard about what you're about to do. Are you going to come to this ring expecting an easy win? Are you going to rely on me having another off night? Or are you going to come in expecting the fight of your life?
Just remember: EXODUS is counting on you. Jon Collins is counting on you. And....I'll tell you the same I tell ALL my opponents: I'm counting on you.
As dirty and conniving as I will admit to being, there is one thing you can count on: I will never lie to you, Christian. I don't need to lie to you. I know you're expecting me to have my hired guns waiting in the back to save my skin if I get into trouble. But I'm going to tell you right here and now: You will not see G&M during our match. You will not see HATE in our match. I don't want them, and I don't need them. I didn't need them to help me win matches these last few months, and I certainly don't need them to win this one. But more importantly than that?
I want the clean win. I want you at your best, Kane. I WANT you to come in and kick my damn head off. Not because I feel like I deserve it. Not because I want to lose. No...because when I spear you into next week, when I beat you, when I send you to the back with a notch in the loss column, and when you fail to put me down, I don't want you to have any excuses. I don't want you to blame your shortcomings on outside interference. I don't want you blaming it on an off night. I want you to suffer your failure, take your lickings like a man, and I want that failure to fester in the weeks to come. I want you to reflect on it. I want you to keep it fresh as I continue my little mission here in EXODUS. Because I promise you, the outcome of this match is going to play a vital role in the next phase of my plan. And your failure is going to come up again...and again...and again...
What does this match mean, Kane? Well...I suppose that's a whole other riddle now, isn't it?
That Emerson is a pretty smart dude."