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Post by Meatball-kun on Jul 22, 2014 19:05:55 GMT -6
HASHTAG PREDICTIONS. Let's do it.
1) Alexis Angel v. Mason Joseph
#MasonOrMassacre
2) Deron Franklin v. Demento
#Derontourage
3) Samantha Raine v. Daisuke Iwakuma
#RandomPickins
4) Steve Lenton v. Justin Brooks
#Hashtag
5) Kerry Windsor v. Zack Lifer v. Christian Kane v. Kliff Ulysses
#IDontKnowWhatTheFuckIsGoingOn
6) Abby Park v. Chuck Matthews
#DisGonBeFun
7) Lexy Chapel v. Johnny Cannon
#ManTheCannon
8) Dragons Unleashed v. Generation of Miracles
#BelieveInMiracles
9) Chris Strike & Fiona Collins v. Christum Furor & Savannah Taylor #RectumFuhrer
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Post by Meatball-kun on Jul 22, 2014 18:59:54 GMT -6
I'll take a segment somewhere. Doesn't really matter where it is.
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Post by Meatball-kun on Jul 19, 2014 8:29:13 GMT -6
Hospital Chicago, Illinois July 16, 2014
A tiny window in a heavy metal hospital door. Chuck stands on one side, staring though it. On the other side, an infant lies in a glass crib, tubes running through his body, pumping blood into a large machine. Blake Michael Matthews. Born one week ago. Now, Chuck watched helplessly as Blake struggled, breathing through tubes wired through his throat and into his lungs.
Sofia was all but catatonic. For the first couple days...she was hysterical. Watching a child slowly die will do that to a mother. Now...with Blake on the machines, she'd been silent for days. She sat, either in a plastic chair in the waiting room, or a cushioned chair in the doctor's office. She stared at the floor, expressionless. Motionless. Chuck wasn't quite sure whose fate was crushing him more: His son's or his wife's.
Now, Chuck stared. Blake stretched his arms, gently kicking his feet. He turns his head towards Chuck. His face is red and tears cling to the corners of his eyes. Chuck's gut wrenches. There he was...his firstborn son. Hurting. In pain. And Chuck could do nothing but watch as his fate was decided by the cold hunk of metal in the corner of the room.
Chuck Matthews: "How did this happen?"
His voice is barely a whisper, barely audible, as though he didn't even mean the words to escape. It's been a wild week. Chuck sighs. Five years ago, "wild" was just another word. It was fun. It was a challenge. Something he could watch unfold. Life was simple then. A thousand pieces, all moving around. A million strings, playing their notes, creating their chords...harmonies...dissonance...but Chuck could see them. Chuck saw each string. He could hear each note, one lonely thread in a giant, knotted-up ball of yarn. Chuck understood how it worked. He saw the way everything coincided...co-existed. That's what he did. That's how he worked.
But this...this was new. This was different. It was a piece he didn't see coming...that he COULDN'T see coming. And that was new...and not in a good way.
"You're a smart kid. You always have been. But there are some situations even you can't see coming."
Paul's words ring through Chuck's head, and suddenly, Chuck understood. This was what he had meant. This is what Chuck wouldn't see coming...
Hospital Chicago, Illinois Five Days Earlier...
Chuck and Sofia sit in the doctor's office, across the desk from Blake's doctor.
Doctor: "I know this has been hard on the both-"
Sofia Sinclair: "Just tell us what's going on with our son."
The doctor stares at the two of them for a moment. He nods slowly, and takes a deep breath.
Doctor: "Listen...I wish there was an easy way to explain these things, but-"
Chuck stares coldly at the doctor.
Chuck Matthews: "Answer the woman's question."
The doctor glances at Chuck, but doesn't address Chuck's angry tone.
Doctor: "Blake suffered a critical heart failure during the delivery. Now, we've been able to keep him going, but his condition is getting worse. If we continue on his current treatment, he...we give him a day."
Chuck Matthews: "What's wrong with him?"
Chuck's voice is cold. Angry. Sofia squeezes her husband's hand. Chuck glances at her, and bows his head.
Sofia Sinclair: "There's nothing we can do?"
Doctor: "Well...that's why we called you in. We may have a solution, but we need you do understand straight-off that there are huge risks-"
Sofia Sinclair: "We'll do it."
Doctor: "Mrs. Sinclair, this is not something we feel you should jump into."
Sofia stares at him, but nods.
Sofia Sinclair: "Please...go on."
Doctor: "Now...Blake's condition means he's not getting proper oxygen supply to his blood. Without it, he'll die. That's not a risk. It will happen, and it will happen soon. Now, what we can do is put Blake on a specific life support system designed for this sort of matter. What we do is we remove Blake's bad blood and replace it with fresh, oxygenated blood. It's all done through transfusions and a gas pump that we'll pump through his system."
Chuck Matthews: "But there are risks."
Doctor: "Well...yes. You should know that we only recommend this treatment to patients who have no chance of survival otherwise. This is an absolute last resort."
Chuck Matthews: "What's the risk?"
Doctor: "We add a chemical to the blood to prevent it clotting in the machine. Now...the chemical remains when the blood returns to the body. Many patients suffer some sort of internal bleeding, and with the medicine in his system-"
Chuck Matthews: "They die."
Doctor: "Even if your son survives, Mr. Matthews, many patients suffer long term effects. Deafness, cognitive disabilities...we can't guarantee your son will have a normal, healthy life."
Sofia Sinclair: "What are his chances?"
The doctor sighs.
Doctor: "Given his condition? The best we can give him is ten percent."
Chuck Matthews: "Mortality?"
Doctor: "Survival."
Sofia chokes back a sob. Chuck clenches his teeth, but nods.
Chuck Matthews: "And you said there's no chance if we don't put him on it?"
Doctor: "There's nothing we can do. The best we can is keep him going until he fights it himself."
Chuck Matthews: "I guess we don't have much choice then."
Present Day
Chuck stands, watching. Blake continues to squirm in his crib. He reaches out...towards what, Chuck didn't want to think. Tears continue rolling down the baby's face, but no sounds come out. He can't speak. The tubes in his throat constrict any sort of sound. A nurse stands over him, checking his signs, keeping her eyes on the machines. She looks down at Blake, crying in his crib. She bites her lip sadly, and returns to work.
?: "Mr. Matthews?"
Chuck jumps at the voice. He turns to see a young man, Leo Dallas, standing behind him.
Leo Dallas: "Can we talk?"
Chuck looks at his chief of security for a moment.
Chuck Matthews: "The fuck are you doing here?"
Leo Dallas: "I apologize...but I think I've found something that you might want to see."
Chuck looks back in the room at Blake.
Chuck Matthews: "This can't wait?"
Leo Dallas: "It'll only be a moment."
Chuck clenches his teeth, groaning under his breath.
Chuck Matthews: "....yeah. Fine. Let's talk."
------------------------------------------------------
Chuck Matthews: "At Ascendency, I will have been in EXODUS for four months.
Four months, I've been busy at work. Planning. Working. Slowly moving towards my master plan.
And for four months, you have failed to stop me. Failed to slow me down. Hell...you've failed to even figure out what my plan is.
What is that you're always going on about, Kliff? 'Do people ever change?'
You know...I think we're in agreement. Sad fact of the matter is, people DON'T change. Nothing ever changes. It's the same sad old cycle. The same old shtick, week after week. The same games, the same stories, and all that changes is the cast.
So what's my game?
That seems to my favorite question, doesn't it? We all know I've got a plan, and the longer this goes on, the closer I get to completing it. But as I say, week after week, month after month...you have no idea what that plan is. And honestly...that's what makes this fun.
I'm watching as the EXODUS world runs around like a chicken with its head cut off. I'm watching as the powers that be frantically try and figure out what it is that they're doing with Chuck Matthews. What they can do to stop a plan that they don't understand. Or, maybe even better...what they can do to ensure that even if my plan DOES succeed, that they can figure a way around it.
I mean, I haven't exactly been choosy about who I associate with, have I? Haven't really been too concerned with who I piss off, either. But you know what's great about being me? You know what's awesome about my position? Where I stand in EXODUS? I can side wherever I like. It doesn't really matter, does it? I mean, everybody goes on talking about this...war, or whatever the fuck. Collins and Furor and all their merry men, duking it out for God knows what the fuck. But me? I'm an outsider. I'm not attached to anyone.
And that makes me a very valuable asset. It makes me a very useful little weapon to have in your arsenal. What EXODUS has is the greatest mind in this industry, and that mind has no ties to anyone. No loyalties. No animosities.
I'm a mercenary, ready to work for the highest bidder. Well...maybe that's a bad word. I'm not some hired thug. I'm not some meathead who will run to the ring and start hitting people...no...that's not my style. I'm a mastermind. I'm the guy you go to when you want to tear a man apart without ever laying a finger on him.
See...that's what I do. I see the pieces on the board. I see where they move, I see where they go next, and I move my own pieces accordingly. My job is to be the mastermind. My job is to think several steps ahead.
But maybe...maybe the lovely powers that be have finally realized that. Maybe they've realized exactly what a powerful entity has stumbled into their midst. Maybe they've finally seen just how dangerous Chuck Matthews can be...and how useful that brain can be if you can harness it.
Are we all on the same page? Are we all listening? Kliff?
Now...what reason might we have to put Chuck Matthews up against Kliff Ulysses? We know I do this every match. I see through these little games. These random matches. I see the reasoning. I see the gears turning behind every match. Every opponent. Would you like to know why you, Kliff?
Because you've become a liability.
I do not take sides, Mr. Ulysses. I simply do what I do. I think, I plan, I act, and I don't particularly care who the target is. And...it could be that the higher-ups have finally realized that if they can't figure out my master plan, the least they can do is use that pesky Chuck brain to their advantage.
And that's where you come in. See, here's the thing, Kliff...you're respected in this company. You're some sort of...EXODUS vet, whatever the fuck THAT means. But the fact of the matter is, you've been riding that train for a little too long, I think. Now...you've become a problem. But, see...wrestling is a funny business. Sure, you can put out a notice. You can get some grunt to go and beat him up, knock him around, convince him it's time to hang up the boots. But that takes time. Egos are an ugly thing. A guy like you? Come on, you're not going to go down because some punk beats you up. You're going to get even. You're going to use that to drive you forward, to keep moving.
Well...they could just straight-up fire you, right? Scrap your contract, buy it out, get you out of the company...but that's messy. That's traceable. See, there's only a handful of people with THAT happy power, and you'd know right away you got set up. Legal issues are ugly that way.
So they use Plan C. Bring in the man with no ties. No loyalties. Bring in the man who specializes in breaking people. Can't think of a way to give Kliff Ulysses the boot? Easy. Bring in someone to do the thinking for you.
Let's not kid ourselves anymore here, Kliff. Your time in the spotlight is long gone. You're riding by on this "Entertainer" act, goofing off, playing your pranks, and every now and then you step into the ring so you can pretend people still buy into this "Humanoid Typhoon" bullshit. The sad fact is, that time when you were making a name through your own talent and accomplishments is long past. No...now, you're getting by on your name alone. A popular face for the masses, and a name they can recognize.
But how long is that going to last, Kliff? How long can you prance around the ring before people realize you just aren't that good? How long can you have your riveting discussions about the finer aspects of Japanese porn and your own weird existential crisis before people realize you're not so much a deep-thinker as you are an overgrown child with low-level Asperger's?
How long will it be before Kliff Ulysses pulls his vanishing act and fades into the ether once again?
You're a liability, Kliff. You were good, once upon a time. Made a nice little name for yourself, but now? Now you cling to that legacy you created and hope it'll be enough to distract people from the painful truth: You're really fucking useless.
So here you are, against Chuck Matthews. And as much as I'm sure you think this is a glory thing, it's not. It's never about personal glory with me. Fact is, Kliff, you're not terribly important to me, and my career goes on just fine whether I beat you or not. I don't think you realize it, pal: Four months later, and I'm still virtually unknown. Ask around! Who can tell you about Chuck Matthews? Who can tell you my secrets? Big ol' fucking goose egg, buddy. Four months in, and people aren't any closer than the day they met me.
So while you continue to cling to a spotlight that burned out years ago, I continue to stay as far away from the spotlight as I can. This isn't about personal glory, Kliff. I think you realize that. This isn't about me beating some veteran so I can make a name for myself. I think if I've proven anything over the last four months, it's that my name in lights isn't very high on my list of priorities. I don't demand that people look at me. I don't care if people think I'm irrelevant. I'm not bothered if people aren't talking about me at every chance.
I am not Kliff Ulysses.
No...in a lot of ways...I'm the polar opposite. I don't seek out some monster challenge, some obstacle to overcome just to say I did it. I don't care if people look to me as the center of attention...but most importantly? I'm not clinging to a name and a face. I'm not praying that somehow, I still have what it takes to compete. I'm constantly moving. Constantly adapting. Growing. Evolving. Every match, you break down a little more. You move a little bit closer to that last Houdini act. Your final curtain. That moment where you realize you don't have what it takes and you hang it up for good. You're in the end game, my friend, and your king is just about cornered. But me?
My game's just begun."
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Post by Meatball-kun on Jul 11, 2014 20:13:34 GMT -6
Dat email tho
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Post by Meatball-kun on Jul 5, 2014 14:47:49 GMT -6
Rebecca Dalton: "Mr. Matthews? Right this way."
Chuck tears his eyes away from the poster in front of him to see Rebecca standing near the door of a gym. It's a pleasant enough looking facility. It's been squeezed into the sixth level of a skyscraper downtown, but it's far roomier than Chuck originally anticipated. Weight racks, workout machines, and heavy bags line the walls, and in the center, a large octagonal cage. A large poster hangs in the front window, hyping up big matches scheduled at the gym's sponsored show.
Rebecca Dalton: "Our facilities. My company owns the gym. The boys come here to train, work out, and get ready for their fights."
Chuck Matthews: "All of them?"
Rebecca smiles.
Rebecca Dalton: "It's a small operation, Mr. Matthews. We're unknown in the United States, and we've flown under the mainstream radar for quite some time. My boss has high hopes that a deal with your network will be just what we need to take our fighters to the next level."
Chuck Matthews: "And you have a loyal fanbase?"
Rebecca Dalton: "Among the locals, yes. We're among the most popular promotion on this island. But with big-time American companies poaching talent from around the world, it's very difficult to be noticed outside Japan."
Chuck Matthews: "And that's where my company comes in."
Rebecca Dalton: "Your company has a reputation for investing in new blood. Taking care of the little guy. You sponsor promising new athletes in wrestling. You televise independent promotions seeking to break into national fame. With our MMA operation, you'll be broadcasting something new. You'll help us reach our growth, and we'll be providing you with an in to the Japanese market, as well as good publicity for sponsoring the smaller companies."
Chuck Matthews: "I like it."
Rebecca Dalton: "There is one problem, though."
Chuck nods, smiling to himself.
Chuck Matthews: "I was waiting for that."
Rebecca Dalton: "Well...like I said, our operation is small, and we're pressed for funds. Most of our income is spent on the facilities and paying the fighters."
Chuck Matthews: "So you need me to pay the production costs."
Rebecca Dalton: "Well...most of it. We understand that it's a half-million dollars American. We can pay twenty-five percent."
Chuck Matthews: "So in order for this deal to go through, I'm short well over a quarter-million."
Rebecca Dalton: "I did say this would be an investment."
Chuck nods.
Chuck Matthews: "Right...right."
Rebecca Dalton: "A sign of good faith?"
Chuck raises an eyebrow. Dalton points to a young man in the corner.
Rebecca Dalton: "You sponsor athletes, yes? I happen to know that the young man over there is unsigned and unsponsored. He's also the best fighter we've got."
Chuck Matthews: "Is that right? What's his story?"
The two begin walking towards the man, talking as they go.
Rebecca Dalton: "He's an American. Had a little bit of trouble with the law back home, did some time, and now he's looking to get his life back together. Problem is, most American companies won't deal with him, not with his background. So he's here in Japan, trying to make a name for himself.
Chuck Matthews: "Interesting."
They stop to watch him, letting him get a few more kicks in on a heavy bag. He spots Chuck and Rebecca standing behind him, and stops his workout.
Kyle Kidd: "Hey."
He grabs his towel, wiping sweat from his face.
Rebecca Dalton: "Kyle, this here is Chuck Matthews. He's runs-"
Kyle Kidd: "MEN TV. Yeah, I've heard of you. It's an honor."
Chuck Matthews: "Miss Dalton here tells me you're a fighter."
Kyle Kidd: "Yessir. Just working, hoping one of the American companies takes notice, lets me move back home."
Chuck Matthews: "And where is home?"
Kyle Kidd: "San Antonio, sir."
Chuck Matthews: "No kidding. My wife's from there."
Kyle bows his head slightly, but seems unsure of what to say.
Chuck Matthews: "I hear you're a hell of a fighter."
Kyle smiles sheepishly.
Kyle Kidd: "I wouldn't say that, but thank y-"
Chuck Matthews: "I want to see what you can do."
Kyle Kidd: "You wh-...I mean, of course, but...."
Chuck looks around the room, and spots a fighter near the cage, looking in. He's bald, a muscled, tough-looking Japanese fighter.
Chuck Matthews: "He looks ready for a fight. Go on. I want to see how you do."
Kyle Kidd: "Him? You...you want me to just up and fight him?"
He looks at Rebecca, who motions towards the ring.
Rebecca Dalton: "Go on."
She leans close to him, speaking something in a hushed voice. When she retreats, Kidd nods, and heads to the cage. He stops only to speak with the Japanese fighter, and points over at Chuck and Rebecca.
Chuck Matthews: "What did you tell him?"
Rebecca Dalton: "Oh...just some encouragement. I told him you were looking to sponsor a new fighter, and this could be his perfect opportunity."
Chuck Matthews: "I haven't said that."
Rebecca Dalton: "He doesn't need to know that."
The two fighters step into the cage. Kidd glances over at Chuck and Dalton. Slowly, the two begin circling each other, and their fight is under way.
Chuck Matthews: "He seems comfortable in a fight at least. Knows what he's doing."
Rebecca Dalton: "Like I said: He's one of our best talents."
Chuck Matthews: "And he's unsigned?"
Rebecca Dalton: "Most companies don't want to put their brand with a convicted criminal."
Chuck Matthews: "And what exactly was he convicted of?"
Rebecca opens her mouth for a moment, but pauses.
Rebecca Dalton: ".....battery."
Chuck watches as Kidd rolls across the Japanese fighter's body, trapping the latter in a triangle choke.
Chuck Matthews: "He's good. He's very good."
Rebecca Dalton: "The best."
Chuck sighs.
Chuck Matthews: "So...quarter million, huh?"
Rebecca Dalton: "That's the price."
Chuck looks over at her, a slight smirk on his face.
Chuck Matthews: "Let's go talk business."
---------------------------
Chuck Matthews: "And so I continue on my journey through the EXODUS ranks.
You know what's cool about me? As long as I've been here...as long as I've been competing in EXODUS...I still manage to remain completely detached from everything that's going on.
I mean, people know I exist. That's not up to question. People are familiar with the name Chuck Matthews. And those in EXODUS who didn't know me before I came in? They sure as hell do now. But I'm still flying low. I'm still moving under the radar of the top dogs in EXODUS. I've not been outright targeted by anyone specifically. I'm not under attack by the champions, by their contenders. I just....exist.
What I think people fail to realize is: That's exactly what I'm after.
Let me ask you: What is it that my entire master plan revolves around? What is the commonality in all of my speeches? What is it that makes my plan the most dangerous?
Well, that's simple: The fact that nobody else knows what it is. Shit, they're still working on step one. But here's the kicker: Not only can you not figure out what the plan is, you can't figure out the man behind it.
Unfortunately, while you're all busy scurrying trying to figure out what makes me tick, I'm continuing my plan. I've mentioned this before. Time is quickly ticking. You window of opportunity is closing fast. You need to figure out a weakness, and you need to do it quickly, before I move into the next phase of the plan. You've realized that the longer this goes on, the more dangerous I become. With every week, I push my agenda just a little bit further...but are you keeping up with my pace?
Enter Demento.
Now...we can look at this a few different ways.
A month or so ago, I was climbing quickly to the top of the card. An midcard match here, an uppercard there...I think I was in the main event of a show, if memory serves. Suddenly, I'm back to opening it up. Suddenly, I'm fighting somebody with no experience here in EXODUS.
Now...we've seen guys like Justin Brooks do the same thing. And it shoved that dude right over the edge. So can they pull the same trick twice? Put Chuck at the bottom of the card. Start him all over again. Put him where no star wants to be. Surely THAT will rattle his chains a little bit?
I'm ashamed. I thought you'd know me better by now. On the contrary, this adds to my plan. What's that I just got done saying? Anonymity is my greatest asset? Your plan to throw a wrench in my plans is to shove me further out of everyone's sight? Take even MORE people's eyes off me? Let me retreat deeper into the shadows, where I can observe from a distance without appearing in anybody's peripherals?
Tell me: Is that REALLY a wise decision?
But, of course, there are multiple sides to any decision. Let's not focus on myself for a moment. Let's focus on the opponent. Let's look at YOU, Demento.
The obvious reasoning here is NOT to push Chuck down the ranks. That only makes his life easier. No...the clear reasoning is because Demento is an unknown. You're a fresh talent. You're at the bottom of the barrel, and you've got a long mountain ahead of you.
EXODUS has a habit of doing that. They throw their freshest meat to the hungriest dogs. Shit, my first match here was against Steve Lenton. Figure that one out. But you, Demento...you're burdened with a tremendous responsibility. See...we knew you'd be at the bottom of the card. That's a given. We knew whoever fought you would, therefore, meet you at the bottom as well. The tricky bit: Why Chuck? Why, out of an entire roster, was I the man selected to welcome you to the fold?
BECAUSE you're unknown. It's that simple. You, my friend, are expected to be the factor that I can't figure out. You are supposed to be the unknown variable. And I applaud the powers that be for putting it together. See, Demento...I'm the Smartest Man in Professional Wrestling. I'm the brains of the operation. The man with the plan. Now, I'm well aware that I don't exactly have the most impressive track record here...but if there's one thing I've proven beyond a shadow of a doubt, it's that I hold one very distinctive advantage over all of my opponents:
I can outsmart anyone.
Is that even up for debate? Is there anybody that's been able to beat me at my own game? Rhetorical question, dear viewers. The answer, each week, becomes a louder and more resounding "No."
And that's where you come in, Demento. I've fought men and women with plenty of experience, both in the wrestling world, and here in EXODUS. You, on the other hand...you're new. I don't have a plan for you. I CAN'T have a plan for you. Do you follow the logic? Every previous opponent has had tapes to watch, material to study. I've been able to observe, learn their moves, spot their weaknesses, and plan for ways to exploit them. I walk into each match, armed with knowledge. I know their moves. I know their strengths. I know their weaknesses. And I've planned accordingly.
But I wouldn't have a reputation as the brightest mind in the business if that was my only trick. Fact of the matter is, that's amateur hour. Shit, that's the sort of stuff EVERY wrestler should be doing. Examining tapes? Watching matches? Find me one wrestler who hasn't done that at some point or another, and I'll show you a guy who hasn't made it far in this industry. Sure, maybe I've got the cool advantage of having a brain a little more in-tune for these sorts of things...but ask yourself: What truly makes a man a genius?
It's not to simply "know." Anybody can "know." No...what makes me different is that I know what to DO with that knowledge. I know how to take what I know, and apply it elsewhere. I know how to think on my feet.
And THAT is where you run into hot water, Demento.
See...the plan here is that if I can't plan for you, I'm going to fall apart. If I don't see every move of yours coming, I won't be able to work my magic. But what they fail to realize is that planning is only half the battle. At the end of the day, I do have to...you know...wrestle the match. I do, in fact, have to know how to fight. I'm not smart because I know your moves, no. I'm smart because I can predict your moves. I'm smart because I can think five moves ahead. I'm smart because once you're moving, I can see where you're going to end up next, and I've already thought of a way to avoid it by the time you actually pull it off.
Improvisation, ladies and gentlemen. THAT is what being the Smartest Man in Wrestling truly entails. I'm a complete package when it comes to brains. I walk into a match prepared...but if I can't do that, I've always got a trick up my sleeve. I've still got that ability to adapt, to see the moves as they come. To come up with a plan on the fly.
Why the fuck else do you think I keep telling you how to beat me? Why else would I tell you, week after week, how you can go about stopping my plans? It's not because my plan is set in stone. No, far from it. It's because in the unlikely event that you DO stop it, I'm intelligent enough to have a backup for when things go wrong. I'm able to think around any setback. I'm able to maneuver around any unseen obstacle.
You, Demento, are one such obstacle.
But, as I always say: Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe you ARE the kryptonite that can slow down Chuck Matthews. Maybe YOU are the guy that can reveal the crack in my armor. When I debuted here in EXODUS, I was thrown against a man that they said I didn't stand a chance in hell against. And, to their credit, they were right: I lost. But damn it if I didn't take him to the edge and back.
Do you have that same determination? Do you have the talent, the wherewithal to topple the Smartest Man in Wrestling? Can you throw me off my game?
Can you outsmart a genius?"
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Post by Meatball-kun on Jun 30, 2014 0:11:35 GMT -6
Oh wow, I totally missed that there was a post before mine. Sorry about that.
Take it if you need it.
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Post by Meatball-kun on Jun 29, 2014 0:09:39 GMT -6
I'll snag 11. Finally got an idea.
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Post by Meatball-kun on Jun 21, 2014 22:51:20 GMT -6
June 16, 2014 Japan A Bar
Sofia Sinclair: "Mom and Dad say hi."
Chuck Matthews: "Tell them I'm sorry I couldn't make it."
Sofia Sinclair: "I will."
Chuck Matthews: "I'm going to try and take a trip home for a few days next week. I'll let you know."
Sofia Sinclair: "It's fine, Chuck. Really. You have a job to do. I understand."
Chuck smiles.
Sofia Sinclair: "So what are you up to tonight?"
Chuck Matthews: "Just enjoying the city. Nothing too exciting."
Sofia Sinclair: "Don't have too much fun."
Chuck laughs.
Chuck Matthews: "I'll try not to."
Sofia sighs on the other end.
Sofia Sinclair: "Well...I guess I'll let you go. I'll talk to you soon, okay?"
Chuck grunts his approval.
Sofia Sinclair: "Love y-"
He hangs up before she can finish her sentence. He looks down at his glass in front of him. This was his third drink of....whatever the fuck it was. Most of his days lately were spent roaming the city, drinking himself stupid, and passing out for twelve hours. It killed time, at least. Truth was, Chuck couldn't wait for this Japan tour to be over. He was ready to be home in Chicago...with his wife. His kid.
?: "You look like you've seen better days."
Chuck looks over his shoulder. A woman takes a seat next to him. She's...American, by the looks of it. Blond hair hanging loose around her shoulders. Short black dress. Brown eyes. But the way she carried herself...the way she spoke. Definitely American.
Chuck Matthews: "Long day."
Woman: "Say no more. Work?"
Chuck looks at her for a moment.
Chuck Matthews: "Yeah, you can say that."
She nods in agreement.
Chuck Matthews: "So what do you do for a living?"
She giggles.
Woman: "That's such an American tradition. Ask someone their job before their name."
Chuck smiles.
Chuck Matthews: "My apologies."
She shakes her head, laughing.
Woman: "Don't worry about it. I work in television. Sports, mostly. I help to negotiate deals between American and Japanese companies."
Chuck turns, leaning back against the bar.
Chuck Matthews: "You don't say?"
Woman: "It's a tough job sometimes. But it's lucrative if you're good."
Chuck nods, a slight smirk forming on his face. The woman extends her hand.
Woman: "Rebecca Dalton."
Chuck shakes her hand.
Chuck Matthews: "Chuck Matthews."
Rebecca Dalton: "Pleasure to meet you. So what about you? What do you do, Mr. Matthews?"
Chuck Matthews: "Well, believe it or not, I'm very much in the same business as you. I work in television. CEO of Matthews Enterprises back in North America."
Rebecca Dalton: "MEN TV?"
Chuck smiles.
Chuck Matthews: "The very same."
Rebecca Dalton: "I'd heard a report a while back that you were trying to break into the Japanese market."
Chuck Matthews: "Failed endeavor."
Rebecca Dalton: "What got you so interested in Japan?"
Chuck Matthews: "Wrestling is huge here. If you're going to operate a television network focusing so heavily on the wrestling business, you should know that you're not going to find a tremendous market in the US. America breeds a very specific type of wrestling fan. But if you can get a foothold in Canada? In Mexico? In Japan? Then you find that you can create something that a lot of people will buy into. It's a diverse product. A diverse market."
Rebecca Dalton: "What about other sports?"
Chuck Matthews: "What about them?"
Rebecca Dalton: "MMA is on the rise, Mr. Matthews. I know you've been opposed to it in the past, but the jump from MMA to wrestling isn't a terribly big one."
Chuck Matthews: "Are you proposing something, Mrs. Dalton?"
Rebecca smiles.
Rebecca Dalton: "I'm saying if you're having trouble negotiating network deals with Japanese wrestling, perhaps you should try a different approach. Use MMA as your in to the Japanese market. Once you establish brand loyalty, prove that MEN TV can broadcast in Japan and turn a profit, then perhaps these wrestling powerhouses will be more willing to do business."
Chuck Matthews: "And I'm guessing you're in an MMA business."
Rebecca Dalton: "You ARE as smart as they say."
Chuck Matthews: "It's an interesting approach...I would need to see your operations, of course."
Rebecca Dalton: "Of course."
Chuck smiles.
Chuck Matthews: "I'm in town for another few weeks. But why don't we set up a meeting, hm?"
Rebecca Dalton: "You're conducting business in a bar? Shameless."
Chuck Matthews: "I learned that from my father."
Rebecca laughs.
Rebecca Dalton: "Well, I'm sure Mr. Matthews would be proud."
Chuck forces a smile.
Chuck Matthews: "I'm sure."
Rebecca pulls a pen out of her purse, and scribbles a note onto a napkin.
Rebecca Dalton: "Here's my cell. Why don't you give me a call next week, and we can set something up. I'm looking forward to doing business with you."
Chuck glances at the napkin, then to Dalton.
Chuck Matthews: "The pleasure's all mine."
He stares at her a moment longer.
Chuck Matthews: "Come on. Let me buy you a drink..."
Perhaps Japan wasn't as bad as he thought.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chuck Matthews: "I think there are people who are expecting a lecture of some sort. They're expecting a long speech about the master plan, about how this match serves as yet another means to my twisted ends. You're sitting there, waiting to see what I'm going to say to get everybody riled up to the point that when the bell rings on Monday, there will be nothing that you'd like more than to see Zack Lifer kick the high holy hell out of Chuck Matthews and finally get him to shut up.
Unfortunately, that is NOT on the agenda tonight.
This match puts me in a strange position, really. I mean...on the one hand, there's the plan. There's always the plan. That much, I think I've made perfectly clear. Every match, every fight...there's always an end game. There's always a bigger picture, and everything I do slowly builds to making that vision a reality.
But at the end of the day, despite everything that may happen, everything I plan, I say, I think, I do...I am a professional wrestler.
And that's the key point. I own a business. I've trained wrestlers. I've earned a reputation as a teacher, a thinker, a philosopher, a preacher...one of the smartest men in the business. A genius. But all of that takes a backseat to the thing that has made all of that possible: Wrestling.
That IS what started it all, isn't it? I mean, if not for this whacked-out business, where would I be? Sure, I'd be the same smart dude we know and love...but without an audience, does that matter? Without the respect that I've earned from my colleagues, would anybody care?
Look at my business. These days, Matthews Enterprises is a nationally recognized entity. But did you think that its close ties to the wrestling industry was coincidence? Hell, the company got its start endorsing hot new prospects in the wrestling world. It televises events. There's an entire branch of its operations devoted solely to the wrestling world. And, of course, those of you who are intimately familiar with my career know that I started that business with money I made when I was competing for the big-name companies.
"Get to the point, Matthews." Right, right. The point. The point is, ladies and gentlemen, that regardless of all my plans, I still have that wrestler's mindset. While I can think ten levels above you, come up with plans and schemes that you can't wrap your heads around, I've still got one thing that keeps me tethered to this business and all of you kind folks in it. It's that anchor that keeps me tied down to this industry.
And, like all you other wrestlers, I've got that short list floating around in my head. You all have one. You all know what I'm talking about. It's that list of people that you would absolutely love to fight.
Zack Lifer has been on that list for some time.
I don't think this is new information, really. I'm sure, at some point, I've mentioned this. There are just...names, you know? Those people that seem to permeate all these circles. The names that keep popping up. Leander Apollo. Chris Strike. Gordon Fury.
Zack Lifer.
So...sure, there's a plan. That's nothing new. There always is. I think everybody knows that by now. Whenever I step into the ring, there's a bigger picture that goes far beyond what happens in the next ten minutes. But for a match like this? There's more to it. There's something that means a bit more than simply 'how does this serve my agenda?'
This is one of those happy few instances where I can walk into a match and compete not to further my own master plans...but to simply enjoy the work that I do. To go out, put on the most entertaining spectacle I can, and not particularly care about the outcome. You can say what you like about Zack Lifer, but he's a man who has bled for this business. He loves it. He has utmost respect for it. He works hard to reach the top of his industry. And he's recognized. It seems that, wherever I've gone, wherever I've poked my head, laced up my boots, his name is always one floating around.
And that is what gets me amped for a match like this. Again, I find myself in a situation where winning is not necessarily my goal. No...my goal here is not victory by any means necessary. My goal, more than all else, is simply to put on the best possible match I can. My goal is to earn respect from a man who has already earned plenty.
So...Zack...and yes, I will call you Zack. That's a name you've adopted, and that means something to people. You find yourself in an interesting position as well. I'm sure you, as much as anyone else, were expecting me to tear you down. Tell you you're not smart enough to challenge me. Tell you all the mistakes you make and why they're going to cost you. Tell you why I'm untouchable, why there's nothing you can do that can derail my momentum.
But no. I won't do that. I said it before, and I'm a man of my word: There's no bullshit from me this week. No tricks. No ace in the hole. Just a wrestler, going out to do what he does best.
We've seen these 'mind battles' with me before. EXODUS seems to get off on it. They try to find guys that they think can match wits with me, outsmart me, get inside my head. Understandable. I'm a code they can't crack. Everybody else on this roster? They're easy to decipher. They're simple creatures. It doesn't take a master's in psychology to see what makes them tick. But me? We've been hearing a lot lately about this...'evolution' of Chuck Matthews. Believe it or not, I actually have a negative record. I'm 2-3 here. And yet...nobody seems to be noticing that. Nobody puts any weight in that. Rather, it seems that everybody's on board this idea that with every match, Chuck gets smarter. Tougher. More dangerous. He adapts to the world around him. He learns the tricks. He learns the moves.
Now, the really scary part is that this takes absolutely no effort from me. I mean, hey, if that's how people are thinking, more power to them. I won't deny them that. But if you think it's an active piece of my puzzle, that I'm striving to do exactly what they're saying I'm doing...you're a bit mistaken. No, that's not a part of the plan. That's just me. That's what I do. That's just Chuck Matthews being Chuck Matthews.
So a match like this...this isn't made by accident, Zack, and I think you and I both realize that. I think we know that we were not put against each other simply to get us on the card. We were not thrown together simply 'because.' No...there's a reason for it. There's a point to it. The kicker? You've already foiled it simply by being...you, really. Simply be being one of those few men I want to fight.
That's confusing. Let's try and break that down. See, Zack...we're not all that different.
They'll hype up the differences, sure. I mean, at the end of the day, this IS a sort of 'meeting of the minds.' In one corner, you have the Smartest Man in Wrestling. You've got a man who's made an entire career out of wrestling a very distinctive style. It's controlled. Methodical. He picks his spots, he takes hits where he can afford them, and he spends the entire match waiting, creating opportunities, searching for that decisive moment when he can hit that spear and put the match to rest.
On the other side...there's you. Zack Lifer. And you, in many ways, are very different. Unorthodox. Unpredictable. For every bit of control I maintain over my matches, you bring a level of controlled chaos.
But unpredictability is a funny thing, isn't it? This match pits two of the most unique and recognizable brains in the business against each other. Method vs. Madness. But if there's anything that I've proven in my tenure in EXODUS so far, it's that I, too, am unpredictable in my own right.
How many people foresaw me entering the Crucible at number two? How many people expected my plan going into it? I mean, isn't that why people even listen to what I have to say? Isn't that why people tune in? They have no idea what I'm going to do next. They don't know what I'm going to say next. And THAT, Zack...is how we're exactly the same.
I mentioned that a match like this has a purpose. I'd like you to consider, for a moment, what the powers that be are after. What do they want?
For you, it's simple. You're still getting punished for...whatever it is you did that pissed people off. You have somehow gotten on the bad side of...just about everybody, really. It seems to me that things seem to be going further and further downhill. You're on a downward spiral, Lifer, and I don't necessarily think that you're the one to blame for it. You had a handicap match a while back. You've been attacked by Furor's merry men. You fought this big baddie himself how many times now? I mean, this is not happening by chance. This is not random happenstance that you're slipping slowly down the food chain.
So they throw you against Chuck Matthews. They pit you against the guy that's climbing just as fast as you're falling. More importantly, they pit you against the one guy on this roster who DOESN'T seem to hate you and everything you stand for. It's simple: Chuck goes in, does what he does best. Lifer loses. Chuck goes on his merry way, none the wiser, and Lifer's momentum is crushed after a loss to a guy with little more than two months in EXODUS.
Or, maybe you win. Chuck loses. Chuck suffers his third straight defeat. Goes off the rails. Destroy the bond before it sets. Do not let these two get on the same page. Divide them before they can ally.
And even then, there's another angle being played here. I mean, consider the opposite. We know that they want a Zack Lifer opponent who can win. But what about Chuck? What do they want out of a Chuck Matthews opponent? What is their goal of putting you against me?
That's simple: They're still trying to see what makes me tick. I've said it before: I'm the uncrackable code. I'm the one guy that they can't figure out, and as time passes, I'm just becoming a bigger threat. People are starting to notice. People are recognizing that Chuck just keeps getting better, but for all their best efforts, nobody can figure out what it's all building towards. He keeps talking about a plan, and for weeks, people assumed, logically, that it must have been for the world title...a notion that was shot down instantly just a couple weeks ago. So what is it with me?
And that's where you come in. Zack Lifer, the man WITHOUT a plan. The man who is, in many ways, a foil to Chuck Matthews. Two men with two very distinctive mindsets...who have made careers with their unique ways of thinking.
That's what you're really doing, Zack. That's your job, whether you realize it or not. They're using you to try and find a crack in my armor. They're trying to find a weakness. Trying to find exactly what it takes to throw me for a loop. Get me off my game. Why you? BECAUSE you're you. Because they know you. Because they've already cracked you.
If you've got some new foreign alphabet, some new technology, a new computer program, how do you figure it out, Zack? You run it next to a similar one that you're already familiar with. They're familiar with you, Zack. You've been here a long time. They know what makes you tick.
But me? I'm alien technology. I'm a computer code that they can't figure out. And not only that, but I'm a code that just keeps getting tougher to crack. They need to act fast. They need to figure out how it works before it gets out of hand. And THAT is what you need to do. You need to slow me down. You need to help them to figure out the source of my power.
Now...as I said, their plan falls apart simply because I'm not really here to win. My goal, as I mentioned, is to simply put on the best match that I can. My goal, as uncharacteristically humble as it sounds, is to earn your respect. If I have to beat you to do it, so be it. But if I lose...if I can't get the job done...I can't say I'll be upset. As long as I can put on the best performance I can...as long as I can come out thinking 'Damn, that was a great bout'...then I consider my night successful. And that's what foils the plan for this match. They can no longer rely on me to go in and tear you down further. It's not my goal. It's not my intent.
So it rests on you. We're about to see exactly what you're capable of doing. We're about to see if you can do what nobody else has been able to: Is Zack Lifer the man who can counter the intelligence of Chuck Matthews?
Win, lose, draw...the result isn't terribly important to me. I've said what I had to say about it. But when push comes to shove, I'm still the smartest dude in this industry. I've still got that advantage, and I'm eager to see how it fares against your distinctive style of wrestling. You? This ball is in your court. You can see if you can figure me out. See if you can crack the code. See if you can beat me just to say that you've beat Chuck Matthews. But me? I've already laid out my plans for the match...and that plan is that I have no plan.
There is no agenda. There's no plots, no schemes, no manipulation. I intend to simply go out there and do my thing. Put on a great match. Compete for the sake of competing. Fight for the thrill of an entertaining bout. Be a fucking WRESTLER. So I thank you, Mr. Lifer, for giving me a match where I can let my plans and plots take a backseat for a night. For allowing me to go out and fight the way I did when I was just starting my career...when it wasn't about plans or cons, but about the love of the sport. Mr Lifer, for the first time in my EXODUS tenure, I do believe I can honestly say:
I'm going to enjoy this."
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Post by Meatball-kun on Jun 7, 2014 22:43:03 GMT -6
May 30, 2014 Chicago, Illinois Matthews Residence
There were now three members of the Matthews clan living under that roof in Chicago: Chuck, the youngest sibling. The businessman. The wrestler. Jessica, the baby girl of the family. The doctor. The college graduate. Christopher, the oldest twin. The soldier. The new patriarch of the family.
Tonight, they were gathered around the den, enjoying a warm Chicago evening. Chris had the paper open in his lap, reading over it before turning the page lazily with his right hand. Jessica stood behind the sofa, gently rotating Chris's left arm, which was still heavily bandaged from some unknown wound.
Jessica Casey: "How does that feel? Okay?"
She lifts his shoulder fully, and Chris grunts in pain.
Christopher Matthews: "Fine. It's fine."
Jessica Casey: "You have full mobility. That's good, at least."
Sofia Sinclair: "What happened, anyway?"
Chuck looks over at his wife. She was nuzzled up next to him, a book in her lap. Chuck himself had been reading over her shoulder for a while, but had slowly become lost in thought, and for the last few minutes had been completely oblivious to the world around him. He perks up at Sofia's voice, and glances over at his brother. Truth be told, Chuck had wondered himself what had happened to Chris's arm. He had learned a long time ago that Chris didn't often speak about himself. Usually, it was better not to ask. Chris tears his eyes away from the paper and looks at Sofia. He seems to be measuring her up for a moment, as though debating whether her question was really worth answering. He apparently deems her worthy, because he finally responds:
Christopher Matthews: "Stabbed."
He speaks plainly, as though it was perfectly normal for a man to arrive, unannounced, at his brother's house with a stab wound. Sofia looks to Jessica and Chuck, who seem completely indifferent to this news.
Sofia Sinclair: "And...you two knew this?"
Chuck Matthews: "Nope."
Jessica Casey: "Uh-uh."
Sofia frowns.
Sofia Sinclair: "I mean...how did that happen? Are you okay?"
Chris chuckles.
Christopher Matthews: "Jess says I'll be fine, so I'm not too worried. I've had worse."
To prove it, Chris lifts his shirt slightly, revealing a scar just below his ribcage.
Sofia Sinclair: "That's a bullet wound."
Christopher Matthews: "Damascus, 2007."
Sofia Sinclair: "Charlie tells me you're in the military."
Christopher Matthews: "Sure."
Sofia Sinclair: "Sure?"
Christopher Matthews: "I do the things that the government doesn't want you to know we're doing."
Sofia eyes him for a moment. She lowers her shirt slightly, revealing her own scar just above her right breast. Chris suddenly seems interested.
Sofia Sinclair: "Las Vegas, 2009."
Chris smirks.
Christopher Matthews: "That doesn't look like it came from any gun."
Sofia Sinclair: "Broomstick, actually. Broke it in half and got me when my guard was down."
Christopher Matthews: "It's amazing how inventive people can get when they want to hurt someone."
There's silence for a moment.
Christopher Matthews: "So what do you do for a living?"
Sofia Sinclair: "I work for the government. Top clearance sort of stuff."
Christopher Matthews: "Like what, exactly?"
Sofia smiles.
Sofia Sinclair: "I'm not really allowed to talk about any details."
She sees the look of interest on the faces of the Matthews siblings, and rolls her eyes.
Sofia Sinclair: "All I can say is that we're doing some iffy stuff over in Ukraine right now. Like, some really fishy shit."
Chuck nods slowly. Jessica too, seems satisfied with this response. Silence falls over the room again.
Sofia Sinclair: "So...military. Where have you been?"
Chris opens his mouth and closes it several times, looking embarrassed.
Christopher Matthews: "......I was in Ukraine..."
Yup. That was Chris. Chuck had gotten used to this life by now, thanks to Chris. With his wife in federal work, Chuck learned fairly quickly that he couldn't really ask her about her job. It didn't bother Chuck terrible, and Chris was the reason for that; Chuck knew the drill by now. He knew Chris's job was dangerous...and, truth be told, Chuck had often wondered if someday he would get that call, telling him that his brother wouldn't be coming home. It was always a fear in the deepest recesses of Chuck's mind...but that was life. Chuck had made his decision to go into business. Jessica opted to go into medicine. And Chris's calling was to serve his country. He did his job, and he did it well. It wasn't Chuck's place to question it.
Jessica Casey: "How does this feel?"
She's since returned to examining Chris's shoulder. Chris shakes his head.
Christopher Matthews: "Feels fine, Jess. Really. Can I have my arm back?"
Jessica grumbles, but releases his arm. Chris looks at Chuck.
Christopher Matthews: "Is she always like this?"
Chuck Matthews: "She throws a fit if I don't let her examine every joint after a match."
Jessica Casey: "I went to med school so I could make sure my idiot brothers didn't cripple themselves at work."
Chuck Matthews: "Aw, that hurts."
Jessica rolls her eyes, and punches Chuck's arm.
Jessica Casey: "Jerk."
Chuck smiles, resting his head on the back of his seat. He closes his eyes, enjoying the peace of his den. The sound of a page turning. Jessica's footsteps leaving the room. Darkness. And then...a face, grinning from the shadows, as though plastered on the inside of Chuck's eyelids. Paul Matthews, smirking from the shadows. Chuck jumps in his seat, jerking Sofia's head forward in the process.
Sofia Sinclair: "Jesus, Charlie, what happened?"
Chuck looks around the room. Chris eyes him, eyebrow raised slightly.
Chuck Matthews: "...nothing. Just dozed off. I think I'm going to get some sleep."
Sofia Sinclair: "Everything okay?"
Chuck kisses the top of her head.
Chuck Matthews: "Fine. Just tired. I'll see you in a bit, yeah?"
Sofia Sinclair: "Of course. Good night."
Chuck stands, rubbing his eyes. Paul's face was nowhere to be seen. Out of sight. Out of mind.
Christopher Matthews: "Night, Charlie."
Chuck nods at Chris, and heads up the stairs. He spots Jessica out of the corner of his eye, tending to the babies in their beds. Chuck slips into the bathroom at the end of the hall, and leans over the sink.
Chuck Matthews: "Fucking Christ..."
He splashes water in his face, looking at his reflection. Paul hadn't made his presence known in some time. For a while, Chuck had hoped it would be the last he'd ever see of his long-dead brother. But with Chris home...was that what was triggering it? Was Paul returning along with his twin?
As if he had ever returned in the first place. Chuck was seeing things. Hearing things. Paul had been dead for years. No...it was some bizarre hallucination, and nothing more.
?: "You wanna tell me what that was about?"
The familiar southern twang of his brother's voice breaks Chuck out of his trance. Chuck turns to see Chris, leaning against the doorframe, looking inquisitively at his brother.
Chuck Matthews: "Nothing at all."
Chris cocks his head slightly.
Christopher Matthews: "When are you going to learn? You can't lie to me."
Chuck hears Paul's voice speak the words. It was eerie how similar the twins thought sometimes.
Chuck Matthews: "It's nothing. Don't worry about it."
Christopher Matthews: "Is it about that Japan trip?"
Chuck frowns. He'd been ruing the journey to Japan for some time. He knew he would have to leave soon. He had contractual obligations to be there. It didn't make it any easier to motivate himself to pack his bags and actually book the flight.
Chuck Matthews: "Don't remind me."
Chris laughs.
Christopher Matthews: "Isn't Japan supposed to be some sort of wrestling hotbed?"
Chuck Matthews: "I don't hate Japan for its wrestling."
Christopher Matthews: "How does Sofia feel about you leaving?"
Chuck takes a deep breath.
Chuck Matthews: "I don't want to leave her here."
Christopher Matthews: "You're afraid she's going to have the baby while you're gone."
Chuck Matthews: "She's due around the end of June."
Christopher Matthews: "Hey. You've got Jessie here to help her out if she needs it. I was going to head back to Tennessee, but if it makes you feel better, I can always stick around too. At least until you can grab the first flight home."
Chuck Matthews: "I appreciate that. I'm sure watching my house wasn't on your mind when you went on leave."
Chris chuckles.
Christopher Matthews: "I'm out of action for a while. Boss's orders. And you're family, little C. I'm always here when you need me."
Chuck gives him a weak smile. Little C. That was Chris's nickname for him when they were kids. Big C and Little C. Chris and Charlie. Chuck hated the name, especially now that they were both adults...and that Chuck had an inch and thirty pounds on his older brother. Chris continued to use it though, likely to spite Chuck more than anything else.
Chuck Matthews: "Let me ask you something."
Christopher Matthews: "Shoot."
Chuck pauses, fumbling with the right words. If there was anyone that he could go to with the problem, Chris was the guy. Jessica was sweet, and Chuck and Jess were the closest of any siblings...but that closeness meant that she could turn the smallest problem into the end of the world. Chris didn't get so attached. He made no judgments. He sat, and listened, and went about his business.
Chuck Matthews: "Do you ever think about Paul?"
Chris opens his mouth to answer, but seems a bit taken aback by the question.
Christopher Matthews: "I...well...yeah, of course. He was my brother, too."
Chuck Matthews: "Your twin brother."
Christopher Matthews: "Why do you ask?"
Chuck steals a glance at himself in the mirror. He spots his own reflection, the pensive look etched into his face. Behind him, seen by nobody but himself, Paul Matthews leans against the wall. He gives Chuck a knowing wave, and nods his head towards Chris. Chuck shakes his head.
Chuck Matthews: "He's just been on my mind a lot lately..."
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Chuck Matthews: "And here...we go...again.
So what should I talk about this week, hm? What do you guys want to talk about? I'm a little stumped for material, I have to admit.
Well, I suppose I could talk about Absent Are the Saints, right? Seems reasonable, seeing that I made quite an impact there...hmm...
Sure, that sounds good. Let's talk about that. So, the Crucible. Eventually won by Fiona Collins. Congratulations, you earned that. Now go and whip ol' Chrissy into next week, won't you? And Furor! A world champion once again, and this time with no Andreas to whip his ass and take it from him! Talk about your good fortune! Did anything else happen at the event? There were a few other matches. Solid bouts. It was a pretty great night, if I do say so myself.
You seem confused. Why-...oh. OH! You...thought I'd be upset? Disappointed that I didn't win the Crucible? Angry that my 'master plan' failed? Pulling my hair out because my little plot to enter at number two ended up backfiring?
Now that's just sad. I would have thought you'd know me better by now. I would have thought maybe SOMEONE would have pieced that together. I mean, the Crucible was a glorious opportunity! Well...not really for me, no. But for YOU, the people. See...this was, in fact, the first time you all have had a chance to see a piece of my plans come to life. You've FINALLY seen a small leg of the plan! All this time, it's been talking, talking, planning, some philosophical bullshit, more talking, more planning, something about a chess piece...but you've never actually seen a RESULT, have you? Never really seen the things I'm saying come to fruition, have you? Ah...but two weeks ago, you finally got a small sample. You finally got to see a little bit of how I work.
I'm still seeing some confused faces. Alright, let's try a different approach:
What if I told you that my plan worked like a dream?
What if I told you that the Crucible went exactly as I intended?
What if I told you that I accomplished exactly what I had set out to accomplish?
Ooh, did you get chills? I got chills. I do believe I've done it. I think I've finally done what I once thought was impossible. Ladies and gentlemen, I finally got you all to THINK!
Now let's see if we can't find you some answers.
This week, I'm slated to go up against Kerry Windsor...the very man who threw me over the top in the Crucible.
That was you, then? Nice work Kerry. Truth be told, I wasn't sure WHO had done it. I wasn't paying attention...which, I suppose, is why I got thrown out. Go figure.
I bet you're real proud of yourself, aren't you? I can't be mad, honestly. Fact is, you were the only guy who actually did what I told you to do. I said, plain and simple...shit, what were my words again? Ah!"
Chuck makes a rolling motion with his hand, and his voice plays back from two weeks ago.
'There are nineteen men and women in this match who, at the end of the day, need to accomplish ONE thing: They need to stop Chuck Matthews. They need to stop the threat. So...I have given you all a golden opportunity on a silver platter served up by a diamond butler.'
'I'm curious to see which one of you does it.'
'I beg you. I implore you. Fight your hearts and souls out. Take me, head on. Beat me. End my plans. Throw a wrench in my system. Make me rethink my strategy. Make me work that extra bit to get back on my game.'
Chuck smiles.
Chuck Matthews: "And that winner was YOU, Kerry! So now, I ask you...can I really be upset? Do you really think you got under my skin? That you've somehow upset me? Shit, out of nineteen people in the Crucible, you were the ONLY one who actually did what I told you to do. YOU took out Chuck Matthews, and what a marvelous elimination it was.
'Oh, but Chuck!' I hear you protest. 'I took away your chance at the world championship!'
Well, yes, Kerry, you did. But riddle me this, buddy: Was the world championship ever my goal?
A-ha! NOW we're starting to see it all come together! NOW it makes sense! Chuck SHOULD be upset that he lost the Crucible, because now he can't get a chance to fight for the belt! But...you see....that automatically implies a rather ambitious assumption: You assume that Chuck Matthews is after the world championship. Take THAT little piece of information out, and....why exactly do I care that I lost the Crucible?
I mean, I guess I should choose my words better, shouldn't I? Of course I care that I lost. Of course, the Crucible played a part in my master plan. In some way, EVERY match plays a part in my plan. But what you need to realize is that there are certain matches that mean more than others. And there are SOME matches...like, for instance, the Crucible, where it is actually in my best interest to lose the match. Where my plans, in fact, take a huge step BACKWARDS by winning.
Are you seeing the problem here? No, the problem is not that the world championship means dick to me. No, it's not that I continue to 'disrespect' or whatever dime-a-dozen word people use without actually knowing what they mean. No...the reason you struggle to grasp my plans is because, as I say, week after week...you don't understand me.
You're so baffled by this. You scratched your heads for hours, trying to figure out why the fuck Chuck Matthews, who had a chance to enter ANYWHERE he wanted, decided on number two. Why, of all positions, he decided to take the hardest road. But the fact of the matter is, you were all thinking with the same goal in mind.
Tell me: How many of you ever considered the possibility that perhaps a victory WASN'T the end goal? How many of you considered that maybe, just maybe...Chuck didn't actually care about winning the Crucible?
The correct answer, boys and girls, is a BIG OL' FUCKING GOOSE EGG! NONE of you ever let that thought enter your minds. You were so bewildered by my decision, because you were all assuming that I was after the same thing as everyone else. And the simple, painful truth is? I wasn't. You couldn't even figure out square one, and you expect to be able to stop my entire master plan? Good fucking luck.
And here's the kicker: You had it sitting right there. For fuck's sake, I'd wager that more than a few of you even asked yourself at one point of another:
'Why the fuck would he pick number two? Does he even want to win this thing?'
And every last one of you automatically decided: 'Of course he does. He must have some strange strategy in mind. He's the smartest man in wrestling, he wouldn't pick number two for no reason.'
Well...yes and no. Of course I picked number two for a reason. Number two guaranteed that I would meet every one of you in the ring at one point or another...but the odds were certainly against me. I don't believe anyone truly believed I would walk out the winner. So my decision confused you. You had all sorts of speculations for the first question, all sorts of ideas as to why I picked it...but you never once questioned your answer to the SECOND question. It never once dawned on you that the question you SHOULD have been asking was 'Is winning even the goal?'
But do you know the saddest part? You know what's the most depressing? I TOLD YOU IT WOULD HAPPEN. I-...you know something? Roll the fucking tape."
Once again, Chuck's recorded voice is played.
'How do I expect to win? Now, why would you ask that? Why would you ask HOW I expect to win, when the more delicious question is: DO I expect to win? Do I PLAN to win?'
Chuck Matthews: "IT'S RIGHT FUCKING THERE. What does it TAKE with you people? What do I have to do to drill this into your heads? Do you not get it? Do you not understand? Has it really not sunk in yet?
I DO NOT THINK LIKE YOU. I am not bothered with things like world championship matches. Why? Because it doesn't play into my plans. And I say it week after week, show after show, tape after tape...you can't stop me, because you can't think like me. Sure, yeah, the world title is nice and all. Give it time, I'll be holding it myself. But right now? It was in my best interest to lose the match. To AVOID the world title bout. Right now, there is something FAR more valuable to me than the world championship, and I aim to keep hold of it before it escapes my grasp yet again.
But of course, that never even occurred to you. It never dawned on you that I had something greater in mind that a victory in the Crucible. You all put your chips on the same number, and the reason that I become so dangerous is because I'm the only one that puts his money on something else entirely...and you have no idea what that thing is. Why? BECAUSE YOU CAN'T EVEN FATHOM IT. You can't even wrap your heads around the notion that there may be something...ANYTHING...more valuable to a wrestler than a world title.
Here's the bottom line. You hear people say this bullshit all the time. People who believe that they've 'transcended' this industry, or this mindset that so many people find themselves in. Jesus fucking Christ, your world champion is doing it RIGHT NOW. Furor preaches on and on about how wonderful his plan is going, but you want to know a fun little secret? That same guy is on top of the world right now because he won the world title. That motherfucker claims to be writing the rules, but at the end of the day, he's playing the SAME FUCKING GAME.
So what do you do with a guy like me, hm? What do you do when some hooligan comes in who ISN'T playing that game? What do you do when you find a wrestler who isn't concerned with world titles? With main event matches? What do you do when you find a guy who claims to be hunting something greater?
Do you shrug me off as insane? Do you deem me no threat? Sure, you could. And, sure enough, many of you have done exactly that. But is that particularly wise? Because there are those two terrifying little words that give me all the power in the world:
'What if?'
What if I'm NOT crazy? What if I know EXACTLY what I'm doing? What if, exactly as I claim, I've got a plan that is going to rock this entire company and everyone in it?
You realize that the best time to kill a weed is before it takes root. But you're still trying to decide whether I'm a weed or not. You're still trying to make heads or tails of what I say. Am I a threat, or am I to be brushed off as nothing?
But IF I'm a weed...if I'm a poison about to take effect...is that a risk you're really prepared to take? How will that feel, I wonder? How will you react when my plans finally come to fruition, and you realize that for months, you were in a perfect position to stop it? Will it eat you up inside knowing that all of this time, you shrugged it off...and for what? To pretend that I was some rookie out of the woodwork trying to make a name for himself?
Jesus, I really hope you're not truly that dense. I hope you've realized that if I REALLY wanted to make a name for myself, throwing away world championship matches isn't the way to do it.
....so, Kerry. We're back to you. The man that threw Chuck Matthews out of the ring in the Crucible. Like that's some fucking accomplishment. Like that's something you can brag to me about.
'I can beat you, Chuck! I beat you two weeks ago, and I can do it again!'
Motherfucker, let me explain something to you. If you didn't throw me out when you did, I would have jumped out of that ring myself as soon as it was the three of us left. Third place. THAT was my aim. THAT was my goal. Why?
Well, to tell you that would be to reveal what it is that I'm really after...and I'd much rather see you figure it out.
So what's the game here, Kerry? You know I'm the greatest mind in the business. You know that you can't outsmart me...and sure, maybe that worked well for you when you were fighting a guy focused on other things. But now? Can you say the same?
Now, I know what you're thinking. 'Well, if you didn't care about winning then, why now?' A valid point, Mr. Windsor! And, to be fair, nothing's really changed. You're exactly right, this victory really doesn't mean much in the grand scheme of things.
But that doesn't mean I'm not going to try. Sure as hell didn't stop me from fighting through fifteen men and women two weeks ago, did it? You're going to make a very dangerous mistake, Kerry. You're going to assume that my lack of motivation means a lack of talent.
And that's a very, very dangerous mindset to be in.
But, of course, that's exactly what I need to prove: That I'm still a threat. That I should NOT be brushed off. So, as bizarre as it may seem: This match actually means a little bit more to me than my last one. It's actually more important to my plans that I beat you than it is that I compete for a world title. Ain't that a bitch?
So I suppose the pressure is on me, then, isn't it? It would seem that if anyone HAS to win this match, I'm the guy, right? You came in second place in the Crucible, you've proven your talent, right?
Sorry, buddy. You may be the runner-up, but as the saying goes, you're the first one to lose the race. You said it two weeks ago. You need to prove yourself in EXODUS. You need to show the world that you can roll with the best. You need to show everyone that you can take on the big names and come out on top.
Now I wonder...how do I factor into this, Kerry? Do I fulfill your desire to fight top-tier talent? Am I one of these talented individuals that you so dearly want to compete against? Or will you make the same mistake as everybody else? Will you shove me aside? Will you look across the ring at me, thinking I'm just another rookie with a chip on his shoulder and a mountain ahead of him?
Here's the thing, Kerry. You've gone your entire career defying the odds. You're the greatest underdog story, aren't you? You're a guy who came from nothing, and you succeeded in the wrestling business. But you're in a world now where you're NOT the underdog. Where you're fighting a guy who nobody is quite sure what to make of. And I wonder how you're going to react. How you're going to prepare.
Indulge me, Kerry. How do you intend to beat the Smartest Man in Wrestling? What is this ace in the hole that you suddenly have? How does the ultimate underdog prepare for a fight when suddenly, he's exactly what he's always fought against?
Because make no mistake, that's exactly where you find yourself. Your entire career, you've fought your way up...but now? Now, you're there. You've made it. You've proven yourself an established talent and a tough nut to crack. And I'm in your shoes. Truth is, nobody's giving me a shot in hell at beating you...which means that suddenly, your greatest advantage is gone. You don't have that intensity that comes only when you're fighting someone that nobody believes you can beat. You don't have that drive that every great competitor gets...that strange, inexplicable burst of energy, of talent, that comes when they realize that nobody thinks they can do it. You're all too familiar with it, aren't you? Hell, you've spent most of your career harnessing that very energy...that wild intangible.
But me? I take that away. I remove your single greatest asset solely by existing lower on the food chain than you. And suddenly...suddenly, all of the pressure is back on you. Suddenly, I can sit back and play this game at my own pace yet again. Suddenly, YOU need to win this match. To prove that you belong. To prove that you're not a big fish in a small pond who's decided to try his hand in EXODUS. I mean, how can you expect to roll with the best when you can't even beat a guy fresh to the EXODUS roster?
And poof! Like magic...I'm in your head, Windsor. Because as much as you'll deny it, say that the pressure is on me, tell me that I'm the one that needs to win this match...you know that everything I say is true. You've heard me speak. You know I'm right.
So your job is quite simple, really: Convince me I'm wrong."
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Post by Meatball-kun on Jun 5, 2014 9:01:18 GMT -6
Kliff sounds like Reuben Langdon. Brando sounds Crispin Freeman. You may only hear those voices now. Feel it.
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Post by Meatball-kun on Jun 4, 2014 16:42:05 GMT -6
I just realized that the voice is always there but I've never really thought about why. Damn.
I always have my own voice in my head when I write Chuck. Or, I guess to compare it to someone everyone's heard, a very Edge-ish sounding thing. It just seems to match Chuck's personality (there's a reason I used Edge as a rep before McConaughey): He speaks quickly, but can slow things down and deliver intense lines when need be. He can be a total goofball, speak in wacky voices, make funny faces...but then he can also do the growling, intimidating voice just as well.
I actually hate McConaughey's voice for Chuck. He speaks too slowly and always sounds like he's telling a secret or something. That, and McConaughey has that Texan accent, which really doesn't match a guy out of Chicago.
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Post by Meatball-kun on May 28, 2014 19:24:32 GMT -6
1) Cthulu Jones vs. David Cross vs. Devilkiller vs. Ambrosia
-Why, you ask? You're so silly, you think I do this LOGICALLY?
2) Samantha Raine vs. Abby Park
-She did pretty damn good last week.
3) Kameron Chase vs. Christian Kane
-Christian Kane is a pretty awesome singer. So...that carries over, right?
4) Wulf Erikssen vs. Daisuke Iwakuma
-Always go with the guy with the most vowels in his name.
5) Justin Brooks vs. Dan Stein
-Because I ain't letting Dan get a prediction. I like to watch him suffer. But for real, I just like what Brooks does.
6) Johnny Cannon vs. Zack Lifer vs. Steve Lenton
-I actually think THIS will be the closest one. All three of those guys write some damn good work. I flipped a coin and got Lifer. It...was a three-headed coin. Don't question me.
7) Kerry Windsor vs. Chuck Matthews
-I'm weirdly excited for this.
8) Kliff Ulysses vs. Brett Sands
-I'll give Brett a pity pick, just so he can say ONE guy thinks he's gonna win. I gotchu, brah.
9) Fiona Collins, Lexy Chapel & WEAPON vs. Christum Furor, Savannah Taylor, & Sally Talfourd -Furor's work last week gave me the RP equivalent of a hard-on.
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Post by Meatball-kun on May 28, 2014 19:16:04 GMT -6
Oh yeah...forgot I never tossed mine up in here.
@chuckbmatthews
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Post by Meatball-kun on May 27, 2014 13:08:54 GMT -6
Segment 7, thank you kindly.
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Post by Meatball-kun on May 26, 2014 1:16:54 GMT -6
Can I at least get some love for my RP from Chuck Matthews, since it mentioned him? I was so thrilled with it, it warranted a mention of my genitals in a public chatbox. COME ON MAN, WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT FROM ME, I'M JUST A MAN. But seriously. I enjoyed it. I agree with Furor, I really liked Windsor's as well (despite the noticeable lack of Chuck Matthews mentions ) Also, thanks to you guys that have shown your support for my work, both in recent weeks and especially this last one. I'm thrilled that people are even reading them to begin with, so to see that you're actually ENJOYING them is even more awesome. Thank you.
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