Post by The Cosplay Playboy on May 23, 2015 23:31:21 GMT -6
May 20, 2015
Flint, Michigan
“So, you’re gathering an army and thus, you choose to meet me here…”
“It’s more like a Pantheon than anything else. A showcase of those who will lead EXODUS Pro going forward into the future.”
Rain. It pours down like a mighty stream from the dark clouds, its water drops empowering the needy environment, washing the wheels of modern day society and casting an unnatural air around the outside of the “Machine Shop,” located in the heart of Flint, just an hour outside of downtown Detroit. A concert hall that has been booking the best live music entertainment in rock, metal, and outlaw country since 2002 and a particular spot that held nostalgia for Chris Strike as it was always where one of his mentors and best friends in the business took him to many times after matches they waged in a small, cult-like promotion in Philadelphia where the now current EXODUS Pro World Heavyweight champion went from unknown to a hot commodity. It was this particular spot where he chose to meet the opposing party, away from prying eyes and among a crowd that didn’t ask too many questions as they sat themselves in the bar area and saw fit to blend in with drinks in front of them.
“I know how hostile takeovers tend to go in this sport...I helped put an end to one of them, remember?”
“If my memory serves me right, you would recall that it took you and an entire army to stifle that how did you put it, hostile takeover,” he responded, then cackled a laugh that once drew Strike’s scorn. “It is funny though, how the winds of change have blown to alter our current realities. The pendulum of fate has swung, causing a shift in the balance,” he began. “You, a man who once dedicated himself to ensuring that such a future would never come to pass, now seeks my help to bring said future to fruition.” He smiled devilishly, as he stared across the table at the man currently in possession of professional wrestling’s biggest prize.
That particularly wicked smile was something he hadn’t seen in nearly a year and yet, nostalgia made him feel as if it were yesterday. The beverage in front of him looked all that much more tempting but he dared not savor it just yet. There were still important topics at hand. “Much like you did the hand of our mutual benefactor back then,” Chris replied, keeping his hands on the counter while recalling the particular memories from that meeting. “However, the state of things have changed. Like a hydra, once the head was cut off, three more appeared in its place. Add that to the chaotic state of affairs in developmental and my own investment into the future is not something I feel as secure about as I did all those months ago.”
“You speak of chaos as if it’s a bad thing,” he laughed, visibly amused by it all, and more specifically by the War Machine’s sudden change in perception since the last time he encountered him. “For is it not chaos that has caused you to reach this conclusion, and to take this plan of action,” he prodded with a silver tongue that spoke golden words. “The thing about chaos, is that when it’s manipulated by those who cannot control it, fireworks go off and children lose their fingers.” He laughed. “What’s transpiring down in developmental is proof of that fact, and what has happened in your own backyard drives my point home even further,” he elaborated, whilst he commenced to stroke a thick beard that had grown across his facial features during his hiatus. For a man that had been absent from the thick of things for nearly a year, his mind was still in tune to every nuance. Strike knew there would be no rust to dust off. After all, he was dealing with one of the most cerebral minds he had ever encountered. “Anarchy has been the foundation of that place since it’s inception. In order to create order from chaos, you need someone who has mastered his madness to part the sea in order to lead the masses to salvation. Otherwise, everyone drowns.”
“Ages ago, you’d have gotten a roll of the eyes and a comment about me wanting to hear gold and you shitting me bronze instead,” Strike remarked, finally placing a hand around his drink but not moving it. He waited a few moments while a pair of loud patrons said their goodbyes to the girl across the counter before continuing. “But there’s more than meets the eye this time around. The threats are watched more often than not from by an exclusive set of chosen ones and even though my particular group...well, we are but humble Argonauts, only seeking to protect our golden fleece...nevertheless, they’ll consider this Pantheon as nothing more than the next threat trying to take over this company in the most hostile and brutal way possible.” The smile on Chris Strike’s face betrayed him, however. It screamed out that he would perhaps welcome, if not enjoy the latter if it came down to that. “But those are my problems these days. What I’m here for is something far bigger that started there...and that needs to be finished long before it reaches shores and hits them in full force. Something in relation to our old benefactor...”
“Our benefactor,” he scoffed, before looking deep into Strike’s eyes, noticing a gleam of malevolence that wasn’t once there. It intrigued him. Excited him even. “I thought there was something different about you, that it wasn’t just the new haircut, or the newfound sense of entitlement, but something underneath the surface that only those who have been initiated could see.” He shook his head, and sighed, realizing how far such a noble man had fallen from his perch - just as he predicted. “Are you so desperate to fulfill this perceived manifest destiny, that you’d go to such great lengths, that’d you play with elements that you don’t quite understand. That even I, with all my knowledge and infinite wisdom, don’t quite comprehend either?” He wondered, as he stared into his glass of whiskey. “I suppose desperate times call for desperate measures. However, it begs the question; do you really believe you can trust me considering all that we’ve put one another through.”
“Well, that depends on you…” Strike took a moment to straighten himself, finally taking the drink in hand and lifting it from the counter, savoring it as he brought the mug to his lips and let it trickle down his throat, refreshing him properly before he set down the mug in its spot. “Have you figured out those sixteen dots tracing that line across the back of your left leg, for starters?” He watched as the expression of the man in front of him suddenly changed. His visage now bared a similar glow to the one he had moments before his world came crashing down to a screeching halt. He was visibly uneasy. It was rare sight to behold “...Did he…” It wasn’t long before Chris Strike’s expression changed from astounded to howling laughter that he had to contain at an instance as to not attract any unnecessary attention to them...and yet, it slipped through every couple of seconds, a myriad of emotions but maniacal prevailing amidst them all. “You...ahahahahahaha...you have no idea why he put it there, do you?!”
Strike’s words seemed to hang in the atmosphere as the bearded figure apprehensively placed a hand on his aforementioned left leg. “Our benefactor used methods that defied the realms of time and space in order to bend me to his will. There were things done to me that I didn’t question, because at that time I didn’t care. I was only focused on my mission, on my goal. I was willing to do whatever was necessary to achieve it.” He stressed, as he clenched his left leg tightly, his vision descending down to it, his body almost trembling as he walked through his memory palace and relived his past in that moment. “I don’t know why he did it. I only know it provided a means to a desired end.”
Strike placed a hand onto his chest. “I think you know by now, then...you and I received similar gifts.” He exhaled, knowing very well that his instinct of coming to this place without letting Reika or anybody else know was right on the money. “Very well. I’ll save you the visit from the old man. Allow me to tell you the story of twelve families and the Marks that they were meant to protect…Scorpio.”
“My psychiatrist forbid me to drink again,” he smirked, as he took a sip from his whiskey, “but I doubt I could process this sober.”
And with a toast, the king of the Pantheon began to tell all which he needed to know...the nature of the beast and the destiny that would very well bring them together someday.
-----------------------
Hello Fiona. “Old friend.” “Pal.” “Fellow Soul Reaper.” “Prongs.”
...It’s even hard to type these things now with a straight face. But we will get to that part in due time. We have business in front of us. Big business. By far one of the biggest matches in EXPRO television, bigger than two weeks ago when I went toe-to-toe with one of my best friends in the business and finally claimed victory over “The Last Magician.”
The Champ vs. The Ace, at long last.
Chris Strike vs. Fiona Collins.
Now, I know, I know. You’ll likely be thinking to yourself at one point that you have “been there, done that, different schmuck wearing the belt” in typical Fiona fashion. I mean, why should I be an exception to the rule when you’ve done it to everybody else? See...I, Strike, am quite well-versed on that particular jargon when it comes from somebody who has been around a company for a while and clings on to that particularities of it. Most would think that a match of this caliber would cause me to overlook certain aspects, to focus on the Fiona Collins of present, the down-on-her-luck Fiona who probably has been burning to get the opportunity to prove she is the person to beat in this entire company rather than just some side bitch toy to be meddled with by mara and her Family. But that’s not quite the case, Fiona. You provoked a bit of a journey down memory lane lately...
Contrary to what most believe, I’ve been keeping tabs on you even as far back as your days as La Hada de la Medianoche...The Midnight Fairy, for those not familiar with Spanish. After all, you made it a habit during your short time there to piss enough people off into “Luchas de Apuestas” matches, robbing the poor, unexpected locals out of their traditions and identities...you collected four of them, if I’m not mistaken. All before you left to Japan, did your fair share of time there as a complete weeaboo - and yes, dear...it does take one to know one - and came back to finish things up at the (R)Evolution Dojo. In the process, you became this byproduct of Jonathan Collins...his legacy, if you will. Sure, you were the girl who has called herself things like “Fioniss Everrourke” or “Fiona Lovegood” and somebody who has been just so incredibly wrapped up in a fantasy world that you made this world of ours seem far less cartoony than whatever it is going on inside your head.
An imagination that has made you damn near bullet proof. A mental will many have bent but never have broken. Something that you took into EXODUS Pro and conquered it during its early days. You know, when Omar Wise was considered a big deal, Justin Brooks was still trying to find “The Monster of the Bay”, Christian Kane was nothing more than an afterthought and just about anybody that had a chance to be talented and just about anybody else who had a name in this company...the Batemans, Katherine Stryfe, Gryphon, Terry Marvin, Blake Jones...well, you made damn sure they would all end up going away one way or the other. Some, you did by beating them in that ring...that much I’ll give you. But others? Well, we all why suddenly half this company’s roster once bolted and why it damn near crippled this place…
But we all know neither you nor Jonathan will ever bear responsibility for that. I don’t expect you to do it. You did what you thought was right for EXODUS Pro, even if it meant practically being put on a blacklist by some of the world’s best professional wrestlers. What was said and done on Twitter was to do nothing more than rattle your cages, to rile you up all prim and proper...and it worked. Like a charm. I got exactly what I needed out of that, the very proof that while some things have changed...others have stayed the exact goddamn same.
The only thing that has changed about you, Fiona...is your last name. That’s it.
Yet many times, people will praise all of the good in that. They’ll praise you and all of the good you’ve done, they’ll say that you all stood your ground for “what you believe in,” even when you come off as that same insecure, bratty little girl who clenches up into a shell and starts throwing around insults and dirty laundry the moment you or anything that defines you are even remotely THREATENED - be it Magnus Gunner in UWL, be it by Omar Wise, LEGION and the remainder of the world in your early EXODUS Pro days, be it even by mara’s hand as of late or even be it by me threatening to take your “Ace” status around these parts! You sit here acting you’re like some sort of inspiration for little girls when you outright will go on social media and slut-shame a woman for getting her comeuppance on her cheating asshole of a boyfriend. You come out on live television and dare tell the world that I’m not the human being you supposedly knew...when really, you barely knew me at all.
Let’s get one thing straight, Fiona Collins.
You were never my friend. Not really. At best, you were that acquaintance that shared similar interests, a few breakfasts with the husband and family, back and forth tweeting of our common interests and a professional camaraderie over the basis of having mutual enemies that we wanted to see taken down. Nothing more. Nothing less. And really, you never made any effort to showcase otherwise. Which would have been completely fine and acceptable, Fiona. It really would. That was, of course, until I get a good look at my television screen.
But so you’ll follow suit accordingly, let me put this in a language you’ll understand:
You wanna call out what you think I’m doing wrong? Fine. COME TO ME ON IT! IN PERSON! LIKE SOMEONE WHO IS AN ACTUAL FRIEND WOULD DO! NOT THIS PASSIVE-AGGRESSIVE “I DON’T KNOW WHO HE IS ANYMORE” BULLSHIT THAT YOU JUST OUTRIGHT THREW ON LIVE TELEVISION!
...Really, what’s next now, calling me out on “my shit” dating as far back as when I got into EXODUS Pro over the next few days? Throwing in your full-on support for the piece of shit who has time and time again insulted my heritage, my family and everything that I hold dear? Or maybe going the route of feeling pity for what I’ve become? COME ON FIONA, LAY IT ALL ON ME! DO ME DIRTY THE SAME WAY YOU HAVE DONE TO EVERYBODY ELSE WHO HAS EVER DARED SPEAK OF THE ACE OF EXODUS, WHO HAS DARED TO CALL OUT THE “STRONG STYLE SERAPH” AS NOTHING MORE THAN A HYPOCRITE!
Normally? I would despise somebody like you, Fiona. I would detest them to the very core of my being on the sole basis that you like to point fingers but won’t dare look at yourself in the mirror and see what’s really staring back at you. But I don’t. As much as I would like to, I don’t despise you. I pity you. And I pity this inability of yours to take any responsibility for the fact you’re just as much of a shitty human being as I am if not far, far worse. There is no heroic protagonist monologue here that’s going to save your skin from this reality, Fiona Collins. There is no happy ending where I’m suddenly “brought back to my senses” or some cookie-cutter crap like that which will suddenly bring the Chris Strike you “knew” and “liked” back or one where everybody forgets that you were nothing more than the arrogant bitch who was too big for her britches and who can barely hang with the competition in modern-day EXODUS Pro. Because unlike you, I know I’m not the role model. Because unlike you, I know I’m not the story that EXODUS Pro will ever dare cheer for now that I’m at the top of the mountain. Because unlike you, I know exactly what I am.
An asshole. A proud, arrogant man who tried his absolute best to guard his ugly side in order to fit in with the mold and got nothing but ridicule and disrespect for it. Respect that wouldn’t be given to me no matter how hard I busted my ass for this company from a fanbase who would rather vicariously live through their “feel good” stories than stick with somebody through the good and the bad. A roster that would much rather talk about how much of a “whore” I am for exercising my right to take into bed whoever it is I please rather than recognize that I’m the absolute best in this company right now and its World champion!
You disrespect me, I will extend you that exact same fucking courtesy and up it ten notches.
...Now I vaguely recall you saying that you have something that I can’t take away from you, right? There’s a myriad of guesses I could make about that statement although the cliche “heart and soul” shounen hero monologues are most likely what you’re referring to. Or perhaps it’s your title as “Ace” that I spoke so highly about on Twitter days ago and then watched you and Jonathan go into a frenzy on social media about it all.
But I, Strike? I’m cut from a completely different cloth.
I actually don’t need to take shit away from anybody. I am already far above and beyond anything that the “Strong Style Seraph” or anybody else in this company could even dare hope to achieve.
So your “Ace” title, Fiona Collins? It’s just that. It’s a title. It’s a statement you can make as your own way of holding on to the time where you ruled this company with an iron fist and against mediocre competition. See? You haven’t been anywhere near my level in the past year and then some, Seraph. You haven’t gone toe-to-toe in gauntlet after gauntlet against talents more than hungry to kill you where you stand like Magdalena Lasiewicz, Christum Furor, Justin Brooks, Lexy Chapel before she lost her smile, Johnny Cannon before he lost his bottle of overly expensive scotch, Abby Park, GRENDEL, Sally Talfourd and even that fucking prick who I’m going to annihilate right after I’m done with you in Christian Kane. It takes something else to go toe-to-toe with these fellows and it takes a hell of a lot more to sit here and say that YOU HAVE BEATEN EVERY. SINGLE. ONE OF THEM! It takes even more to not be just satisfied with that but to expand into horizons, to go into Hard Knox Wrestling’s house like I’ve done and to go toe-to-toe with the likes of Shane Atwater, Felicity Banks and whoever the fuck else they feel actually stacks up to me!
...You can call yourself the Ace of this company until you lose your voice and you’re blue in the face, but I’ve already taken that title, expanded it all over the globe and defended it countless times and against you, it will be no different.
Because unlike you, Fiona Collins...my obsession isn’t with defending my family. My obsession isn’t with pleasing the masses. My obsession is with being the absolute best in whichever company I step foot into and nowadays? Everything that I have wanted, I have taken for my own and I will defend it by any goddamn means necessary. Because history is written by the winners, Fiona Collins. It’s how you were able to write yourself a nice little “Ace” title and “Strong Style Seraph” rather than be called “Pixie” for the rest of your days. And come Monday night, history is going to be written again and it will show that Chris Strike has once again slayed yet another beast in his gauntlet to end the war against an old enemy that deserves his mercy killing once and for all.
You, Fiona Collins, and the remainder of EXODUS Pro will come to understand one single thing after Monday night.
This is my Pantheon…
THIS IS STRIKE’S WORLD NOW!
...And you all just live in it!
-----------------------
February 20, 2014
Osaka, Japan[/b]
“...I do apologize that we have met under these circumstances but quite frankly, Mr. Strike...you’re going to need to listen very carefully to what I have to say.”
Chris blinked, finally realizing how dark the entirety of his surroundings were sans the few incandescent lights far above him. He attempted to move his arms and legs, realizing he was sitting down shortly after hearing the word ‘bindings,’ all to no avail. His limbs were tied up to a chair leaned against a piece of wood. It wasn’t very long before he could hear the sound of a roller coaster high above him and the screams of multiple people as the wheels kept on turning and the echo overwhelmed his surroundings. He attempted to speak but his voice was nothing more than muffled yelling at this point, as there was a large piece of tape covering it.
The steps of the person beyond the light came closer and closer, before he was finally only a few inches away from him.
“Relax. I am going to remove the tape now. Please, do not scream.”
He grunted instead in both annoyance and pain as the tape was ripped out from him, panting.
“Okay. We got that out of the way, now let’s ge-”
“Why?” Strike groaned, exhaling. “Why are you doing this?”
“First of all…I found like this,” the mysterious figure replied back, the shadow still covering his frame and making him barely visible outside of a few specks of light lighting up his feet. Even up close, Chris couldn’t quite make out the person’s physique or features. He also felt quite woozy as he tried to look up. “You’re in danger, Mr. Strike. And we need to get you out of here as soon as possib-”
Strike blinked his eyes, leaning his head forward as if to listen to the next few words carefully when he felt something crash against him, sending him flying backwards with his bindings and sending his world into pitch black as he hit the gravel and dirt before him. The figure seems to turn around suddenly, their expression still hidden by the shadows as another person’s footsteps is heard through the gravel.
“So, you have finally shown yourself at last…Gemini.”
The sound of a sword being drawn is heard and the man within the shadows immediately moves to his
“...What the?!” The voice sounded far more shocked. “Gemini?! And what are you?! You’re supposed to b-”
“Don’t believe everything you see and hear on the papers...” The sound of Reika Seragaki’s footsteps moved closer to the shadow, closer to the figure known as ‘Gemini.’ “But you were on the cusp of doing something I’d highly advise against, Cristiano...and I can’t have you quite messing my endgame up with Chris just yet.”
“Don’t you dare speak to me as if you know me,” Gemini roared at this point, taking a step out from the shadows as a beam of light partially illuminates him. Tall, suited-up, olive skin, blonde hair slicked back, a scar running across his right eye and a pair of piercing green eyes staring down the figure before him. “The fact you dare show up in this form...so that’s why you’ve stuck to Sagittarius like a damn leech from the moment Hal put that Mark on him.”
Reika Seragaki rolled their eyes. “See? These are the reasons why I now have to put a gag order on you...”
“Not if I can help it!”
Screams and fast wheels going across the rails echo through the wooden surfaces of the rollercoaster above them as the sound of a gun firing multiple times is completely and utterly. The distorted, bloodied and holed up Reika Seragaki can’t even come to realize what has happened as they drop to the floor before them, the sword dropping down on the ground. The man pockets the gun, sighing in relief before he walks over carefully to examine the body that is now dropped before him, blood and guts seeping out from the open holes of the handgun shots across it.
Cristiano Reviera kneels on a spot not yet smeared with blood and places two fingers to the side of the neck, verifying the kill before he looks back behind him and notices Chris Strike is still knocked unconscious a few feet away. No doubt it was the work of the person before him, their own way to prevent the bearer of the Mark of Sagittarius from knowing their true nature. For weeks, he had been tracking the two of them in order to eventually confront Sagittarius with the true nature of the fate bestowed upon them. He stands up to his feet, brushing the dirt off his knees before walking over towards Chris Strike when he suddenly feels a twinge of pain course through his body and the pointy end of a sword poking right through his body. He tries to scream in agony, but it is to no avail as he feels his mouth being fully covered as the sword is twisted just enough to rupture something else inside of him as his vision begins to fail him as it’s roughly removed from his body.
He turns around just in time to see the person before him...no longer Reika Seragaki, but someone else entirely. Someone else too familiar, someone else that received their instructions at the same time as his own from Hal Snyder in regards of these Marks and what it could mean if they fell in the wrong hands.
He saw the man who could weave in and out of dimensions unbeknownst to man.
He falls face-first onto the dirt before him, just inches away from the still unconscious Sagittarius.
He knows the fate that waits for him at the hands of the Mark of Gemini, the being of two faces.
All that the Mark of Capricorn can do now is to clutch on to Chris Strike’s left thigh and make his dying words count before Gemini can put an end to him and seize his Mark for themselves...
“NOALN...OL GAH-L...NIISAN...OBZA OE OL...CAPRICORNUS!”
Thankfully, he had gotten the words out just in time to pass on the Mark to the man before him, to perhaps give him something to fight.
Thankfully, he couldn’t see the bloody sword coming down swiftly and slicing through his neck.
Otherwise, the former Mark of Capricorn might have actually shit his pants.[/font]
Flint, Michigan
“So, you’re gathering an army and thus, you choose to meet me here…”
“It’s more like a Pantheon than anything else. A showcase of those who will lead EXODUS Pro going forward into the future.”
Rain. It pours down like a mighty stream from the dark clouds, its water drops empowering the needy environment, washing the wheels of modern day society and casting an unnatural air around the outside of the “Machine Shop,” located in the heart of Flint, just an hour outside of downtown Detroit. A concert hall that has been booking the best live music entertainment in rock, metal, and outlaw country since 2002 and a particular spot that held nostalgia for Chris Strike as it was always where one of his mentors and best friends in the business took him to many times after matches they waged in a small, cult-like promotion in Philadelphia where the now current EXODUS Pro World Heavyweight champion went from unknown to a hot commodity. It was this particular spot where he chose to meet the opposing party, away from prying eyes and among a crowd that didn’t ask too many questions as they sat themselves in the bar area and saw fit to blend in with drinks in front of them.
“I know how hostile takeovers tend to go in this sport...I helped put an end to one of them, remember?”
“If my memory serves me right, you would recall that it took you and an entire army to stifle that how did you put it, hostile takeover,” he responded, then cackled a laugh that once drew Strike’s scorn. “It is funny though, how the winds of change have blown to alter our current realities. The pendulum of fate has swung, causing a shift in the balance,” he began. “You, a man who once dedicated himself to ensuring that such a future would never come to pass, now seeks my help to bring said future to fruition.” He smiled devilishly, as he stared across the table at the man currently in possession of professional wrestling’s biggest prize.
That particularly wicked smile was something he hadn’t seen in nearly a year and yet, nostalgia made him feel as if it were yesterday. The beverage in front of him looked all that much more tempting but he dared not savor it just yet. There were still important topics at hand. “Much like you did the hand of our mutual benefactor back then,” Chris replied, keeping his hands on the counter while recalling the particular memories from that meeting. “However, the state of things have changed. Like a hydra, once the head was cut off, three more appeared in its place. Add that to the chaotic state of affairs in developmental and my own investment into the future is not something I feel as secure about as I did all those months ago.”
“You speak of chaos as if it’s a bad thing,” he laughed, visibly amused by it all, and more specifically by the War Machine’s sudden change in perception since the last time he encountered him. “For is it not chaos that has caused you to reach this conclusion, and to take this plan of action,” he prodded with a silver tongue that spoke golden words. “The thing about chaos, is that when it’s manipulated by those who cannot control it, fireworks go off and children lose their fingers.” He laughed. “What’s transpiring down in developmental is proof of that fact, and what has happened in your own backyard drives my point home even further,” he elaborated, whilst he commenced to stroke a thick beard that had grown across his facial features during his hiatus. For a man that had been absent from the thick of things for nearly a year, his mind was still in tune to every nuance. Strike knew there would be no rust to dust off. After all, he was dealing with one of the most cerebral minds he had ever encountered. “Anarchy has been the foundation of that place since it’s inception. In order to create order from chaos, you need someone who has mastered his madness to part the sea in order to lead the masses to salvation. Otherwise, everyone drowns.”
“Ages ago, you’d have gotten a roll of the eyes and a comment about me wanting to hear gold and you shitting me bronze instead,” Strike remarked, finally placing a hand around his drink but not moving it. He waited a few moments while a pair of loud patrons said their goodbyes to the girl across the counter before continuing. “But there’s more than meets the eye this time around. The threats are watched more often than not from by an exclusive set of chosen ones and even though my particular group...well, we are but humble Argonauts, only seeking to protect our golden fleece...nevertheless, they’ll consider this Pantheon as nothing more than the next threat trying to take over this company in the most hostile and brutal way possible.” The smile on Chris Strike’s face betrayed him, however. It screamed out that he would perhaps welcome, if not enjoy the latter if it came down to that. “But those are my problems these days. What I’m here for is something far bigger that started there...and that needs to be finished long before it reaches shores and hits them in full force. Something in relation to our old benefactor...”
“Our benefactor,” he scoffed, before looking deep into Strike’s eyes, noticing a gleam of malevolence that wasn’t once there. It intrigued him. Excited him even. “I thought there was something different about you, that it wasn’t just the new haircut, or the newfound sense of entitlement, but something underneath the surface that only those who have been initiated could see.” He shook his head, and sighed, realizing how far such a noble man had fallen from his perch - just as he predicted. “Are you so desperate to fulfill this perceived manifest destiny, that you’d go to such great lengths, that’d you play with elements that you don’t quite understand. That even I, with all my knowledge and infinite wisdom, don’t quite comprehend either?” He wondered, as he stared into his glass of whiskey. “I suppose desperate times call for desperate measures. However, it begs the question; do you really believe you can trust me considering all that we’ve put one another through.”
“Well, that depends on you…” Strike took a moment to straighten himself, finally taking the drink in hand and lifting it from the counter, savoring it as he brought the mug to his lips and let it trickle down his throat, refreshing him properly before he set down the mug in its spot. “Have you figured out those sixteen dots tracing that line across the back of your left leg, for starters?” He watched as the expression of the man in front of him suddenly changed. His visage now bared a similar glow to the one he had moments before his world came crashing down to a screeching halt. He was visibly uneasy. It was rare sight to behold “...Did he…” It wasn’t long before Chris Strike’s expression changed from astounded to howling laughter that he had to contain at an instance as to not attract any unnecessary attention to them...and yet, it slipped through every couple of seconds, a myriad of emotions but maniacal prevailing amidst them all. “You...ahahahahahaha...you have no idea why he put it there, do you?!”
Strike’s words seemed to hang in the atmosphere as the bearded figure apprehensively placed a hand on his aforementioned left leg. “Our benefactor used methods that defied the realms of time and space in order to bend me to his will. There were things done to me that I didn’t question, because at that time I didn’t care. I was only focused on my mission, on my goal. I was willing to do whatever was necessary to achieve it.” He stressed, as he clenched his left leg tightly, his vision descending down to it, his body almost trembling as he walked through his memory palace and relived his past in that moment. “I don’t know why he did it. I only know it provided a means to a desired end.”
Strike placed a hand onto his chest. “I think you know by now, then...you and I received similar gifts.” He exhaled, knowing very well that his instinct of coming to this place without letting Reika or anybody else know was right on the money. “Very well. I’ll save you the visit from the old man. Allow me to tell you the story of twelve families and the Marks that they were meant to protect…Scorpio.”
“My psychiatrist forbid me to drink again,” he smirked, as he took a sip from his whiskey, “but I doubt I could process this sober.”
And with a toast, the king of the Pantheon began to tell all which he needed to know...the nature of the beast and the destiny that would very well bring them together someday.
-----------------------
Hello Fiona. “Old friend.” “Pal.” “Fellow Soul Reaper.” “Prongs.”
...It’s even hard to type these things now with a straight face. But we will get to that part in due time. We have business in front of us. Big business. By far one of the biggest matches in EXPRO television, bigger than two weeks ago when I went toe-to-toe with one of my best friends in the business and finally claimed victory over “The Last Magician.”
The Champ vs. The Ace, at long last.
Chris Strike vs. Fiona Collins.
Now, I know, I know. You’ll likely be thinking to yourself at one point that you have “been there, done that, different schmuck wearing the belt” in typical Fiona fashion. I mean, why should I be an exception to the rule when you’ve done it to everybody else? See...I, Strike, am quite well-versed on that particular jargon when it comes from somebody who has been around a company for a while and clings on to that particularities of it. Most would think that a match of this caliber would cause me to overlook certain aspects, to focus on the Fiona Collins of present, the down-on-her-luck Fiona who probably has been burning to get the opportunity to prove she is the person to beat in this entire company rather than just some side bitch toy to be meddled with by mara and her Family. But that’s not quite the case, Fiona. You provoked a bit of a journey down memory lane lately...
Contrary to what most believe, I’ve been keeping tabs on you even as far back as your days as La Hada de la Medianoche...The Midnight Fairy, for those not familiar with Spanish. After all, you made it a habit during your short time there to piss enough people off into “Luchas de Apuestas” matches, robbing the poor, unexpected locals out of their traditions and identities...you collected four of them, if I’m not mistaken. All before you left to Japan, did your fair share of time there as a complete weeaboo - and yes, dear...it does take one to know one - and came back to finish things up at the (R)Evolution Dojo. In the process, you became this byproduct of Jonathan Collins...his legacy, if you will. Sure, you were the girl who has called herself things like “Fioniss Everrourke” or “Fiona Lovegood” and somebody who has been just so incredibly wrapped up in a fantasy world that you made this world of ours seem far less cartoony than whatever it is going on inside your head.
An imagination that has made you damn near bullet proof. A mental will many have bent but never have broken. Something that you took into EXODUS Pro and conquered it during its early days. You know, when Omar Wise was considered a big deal, Justin Brooks was still trying to find “The Monster of the Bay”, Christian Kane was nothing more than an afterthought and just about anybody that had a chance to be talented and just about anybody else who had a name in this company...the Batemans, Katherine Stryfe, Gryphon, Terry Marvin, Blake Jones...well, you made damn sure they would all end up going away one way or the other. Some, you did by beating them in that ring...that much I’ll give you. But others? Well, we all why suddenly half this company’s roster once bolted and why it damn near crippled this place…
But we all know neither you nor Jonathan will ever bear responsibility for that. I don’t expect you to do it. You did what you thought was right for EXODUS Pro, even if it meant practically being put on a blacklist by some of the world’s best professional wrestlers. What was said and done on Twitter was to do nothing more than rattle your cages, to rile you up all prim and proper...and it worked. Like a charm. I got exactly what I needed out of that, the very proof that while some things have changed...others have stayed the exact goddamn same.
The only thing that has changed about you, Fiona...is your last name. That’s it.
Yet many times, people will praise all of the good in that. They’ll praise you and all of the good you’ve done, they’ll say that you all stood your ground for “what you believe in,” even when you come off as that same insecure, bratty little girl who clenches up into a shell and starts throwing around insults and dirty laundry the moment you or anything that defines you are even remotely THREATENED - be it Magnus Gunner in UWL, be it by Omar Wise, LEGION and the remainder of the world in your early EXODUS Pro days, be it even by mara’s hand as of late or even be it by me threatening to take your “Ace” status around these parts! You sit here acting you’re like some sort of inspiration for little girls when you outright will go on social media and slut-shame a woman for getting her comeuppance on her cheating asshole of a boyfriend. You come out on live television and dare tell the world that I’m not the human being you supposedly knew...when really, you barely knew me at all.
Let’s get one thing straight, Fiona Collins.
You were never my friend. Not really. At best, you were that acquaintance that shared similar interests, a few breakfasts with the husband and family, back and forth tweeting of our common interests and a professional camaraderie over the basis of having mutual enemies that we wanted to see taken down. Nothing more. Nothing less. And really, you never made any effort to showcase otherwise. Which would have been completely fine and acceptable, Fiona. It really would. That was, of course, until I get a good look at my television screen.
But so you’ll follow suit accordingly, let me put this in a language you’ll understand:
You wanna call out what you think I’m doing wrong? Fine. COME TO ME ON IT! IN PERSON! LIKE SOMEONE WHO IS AN ACTUAL FRIEND WOULD DO! NOT THIS PASSIVE-AGGRESSIVE “I DON’T KNOW WHO HE IS ANYMORE” BULLSHIT THAT YOU JUST OUTRIGHT THREW ON LIVE TELEVISION!
...Really, what’s next now, calling me out on “my shit” dating as far back as when I got into EXODUS Pro over the next few days? Throwing in your full-on support for the piece of shit who has time and time again insulted my heritage, my family and everything that I hold dear? Or maybe going the route of feeling pity for what I’ve become? COME ON FIONA, LAY IT ALL ON ME! DO ME DIRTY THE SAME WAY YOU HAVE DONE TO EVERYBODY ELSE WHO HAS EVER DARED SPEAK OF THE ACE OF EXODUS, WHO HAS DARED TO CALL OUT THE “STRONG STYLE SERAPH” AS NOTHING MORE THAN A HYPOCRITE!
Normally? I would despise somebody like you, Fiona. I would detest them to the very core of my being on the sole basis that you like to point fingers but won’t dare look at yourself in the mirror and see what’s really staring back at you. But I don’t. As much as I would like to, I don’t despise you. I pity you. And I pity this inability of yours to take any responsibility for the fact you’re just as much of a shitty human being as I am if not far, far worse. There is no heroic protagonist monologue here that’s going to save your skin from this reality, Fiona Collins. There is no happy ending where I’m suddenly “brought back to my senses” or some cookie-cutter crap like that which will suddenly bring the Chris Strike you “knew” and “liked” back or one where everybody forgets that you were nothing more than the arrogant bitch who was too big for her britches and who can barely hang with the competition in modern-day EXODUS Pro. Because unlike you, I know I’m not the role model. Because unlike you, I know I’m not the story that EXODUS Pro will ever dare cheer for now that I’m at the top of the mountain. Because unlike you, I know exactly what I am.
An asshole. A proud, arrogant man who tried his absolute best to guard his ugly side in order to fit in with the mold and got nothing but ridicule and disrespect for it. Respect that wouldn’t be given to me no matter how hard I busted my ass for this company from a fanbase who would rather vicariously live through their “feel good” stories than stick with somebody through the good and the bad. A roster that would much rather talk about how much of a “whore” I am for exercising my right to take into bed whoever it is I please rather than recognize that I’m the absolute best in this company right now and its World champion!
You disrespect me, I will extend you that exact same fucking courtesy and up it ten notches.
...Now I vaguely recall you saying that you have something that I can’t take away from you, right? There’s a myriad of guesses I could make about that statement although the cliche “heart and soul” shounen hero monologues are most likely what you’re referring to. Or perhaps it’s your title as “Ace” that I spoke so highly about on Twitter days ago and then watched you and Jonathan go into a frenzy on social media about it all.
But I, Strike? I’m cut from a completely different cloth.
I actually don’t need to take shit away from anybody. I am already far above and beyond anything that the “Strong Style Seraph” or anybody else in this company could even dare hope to achieve.
So your “Ace” title, Fiona Collins? It’s just that. It’s a title. It’s a statement you can make as your own way of holding on to the time where you ruled this company with an iron fist and against mediocre competition. See? You haven’t been anywhere near my level in the past year and then some, Seraph. You haven’t gone toe-to-toe in gauntlet after gauntlet against talents more than hungry to kill you where you stand like Magdalena Lasiewicz, Christum Furor, Justin Brooks, Lexy Chapel before she lost her smile, Johnny Cannon before he lost his bottle of overly expensive scotch, Abby Park, GRENDEL, Sally Talfourd and even that fucking prick who I’m going to annihilate right after I’m done with you in Christian Kane. It takes something else to go toe-to-toe with these fellows and it takes a hell of a lot more to sit here and say that YOU HAVE BEATEN EVERY. SINGLE. ONE OF THEM! It takes even more to not be just satisfied with that but to expand into horizons, to go into Hard Knox Wrestling’s house like I’ve done and to go toe-to-toe with the likes of Shane Atwater, Felicity Banks and whoever the fuck else they feel actually stacks up to me!
...You can call yourself the Ace of this company until you lose your voice and you’re blue in the face, but I’ve already taken that title, expanded it all over the globe and defended it countless times and against you, it will be no different.
Because unlike you, Fiona Collins...my obsession isn’t with defending my family. My obsession isn’t with pleasing the masses. My obsession is with being the absolute best in whichever company I step foot into and nowadays? Everything that I have wanted, I have taken for my own and I will defend it by any goddamn means necessary. Because history is written by the winners, Fiona Collins. It’s how you were able to write yourself a nice little “Ace” title and “Strong Style Seraph” rather than be called “Pixie” for the rest of your days. And come Monday night, history is going to be written again and it will show that Chris Strike has once again slayed yet another beast in his gauntlet to end the war against an old enemy that deserves his mercy killing once and for all.
You, Fiona Collins, and the remainder of EXODUS Pro will come to understand one single thing after Monday night.
This is my Pantheon…
THIS IS STRIKE’S WORLD NOW!
...And you all just live in it!
-----------------------
February 20, 2014
Osaka, Japan[/b]
“...I do apologize that we have met under these circumstances but quite frankly, Mr. Strike...you’re going to need to listen very carefully to what I have to say.”
Chris blinked, finally realizing how dark the entirety of his surroundings were sans the few incandescent lights far above him. He attempted to move his arms and legs, realizing he was sitting down shortly after hearing the word ‘bindings,’ all to no avail. His limbs were tied up to a chair leaned against a piece of wood. It wasn’t very long before he could hear the sound of a roller coaster high above him and the screams of multiple people as the wheels kept on turning and the echo overwhelmed his surroundings. He attempted to speak but his voice was nothing more than muffled yelling at this point, as there was a large piece of tape covering it.
The steps of the person beyond the light came closer and closer, before he was finally only a few inches away from him.
“Relax. I am going to remove the tape now. Please, do not scream.”
He grunted instead in both annoyance and pain as the tape was ripped out from him, panting.
“Okay. We got that out of the way, now let’s ge-”
“Why?” Strike groaned, exhaling. “Why are you doing this?”
“First of all…I found like this,” the mysterious figure replied back, the shadow still covering his frame and making him barely visible outside of a few specks of light lighting up his feet. Even up close, Chris couldn’t quite make out the person’s physique or features. He also felt quite woozy as he tried to look up. “You’re in danger, Mr. Strike. And we need to get you out of here as soon as possib-”
Strike blinked his eyes, leaning his head forward as if to listen to the next few words carefully when he felt something crash against him, sending him flying backwards with his bindings and sending his world into pitch black as he hit the gravel and dirt before him. The figure seems to turn around suddenly, their expression still hidden by the shadows as another person’s footsteps is heard through the gravel.
“So, you have finally shown yourself at last…Gemini.”
The sound of a sword being drawn is heard and the man within the shadows immediately moves to his
“...What the?!” The voice sounded far more shocked. “Gemini?! And what are you?! You’re supposed to b-”
“Don’t believe everything you see and hear on the papers...” The sound of Reika Seragaki’s footsteps moved closer to the shadow, closer to the figure known as ‘Gemini.’ “But you were on the cusp of doing something I’d highly advise against, Cristiano...and I can’t have you quite messing my endgame up with Chris just yet.”
“Don’t you dare speak to me as if you know me,” Gemini roared at this point, taking a step out from the shadows as a beam of light partially illuminates him. Tall, suited-up, olive skin, blonde hair slicked back, a scar running across his right eye and a pair of piercing green eyes staring down the figure before him. “The fact you dare show up in this form...so that’s why you’ve stuck to Sagittarius like a damn leech from the moment Hal put that Mark on him.”
Reika Seragaki rolled their eyes. “See? These are the reasons why I now have to put a gag order on you...”
“Not if I can help it!”
Screams and fast wheels going across the rails echo through the wooden surfaces of the rollercoaster above them as the sound of a gun firing multiple times is completely and utterly. The distorted, bloodied and holed up Reika Seragaki can’t even come to realize what has happened as they drop to the floor before them, the sword dropping down on the ground. The man pockets the gun, sighing in relief before he walks over carefully to examine the body that is now dropped before him, blood and guts seeping out from the open holes of the handgun shots across it.
Cristiano Reviera kneels on a spot not yet smeared with blood and places two fingers to the side of the neck, verifying the kill before he looks back behind him and notices Chris Strike is still knocked unconscious a few feet away. No doubt it was the work of the person before him, their own way to prevent the bearer of the Mark of Sagittarius from knowing their true nature. For weeks, he had been tracking the two of them in order to eventually confront Sagittarius with the true nature of the fate bestowed upon them. He stands up to his feet, brushing the dirt off his knees before walking over towards Chris Strike when he suddenly feels a twinge of pain course through his body and the pointy end of a sword poking right through his body. He tries to scream in agony, but it is to no avail as he feels his mouth being fully covered as the sword is twisted just enough to rupture something else inside of him as his vision begins to fail him as it’s roughly removed from his body.
He turns around just in time to see the person before him...no longer Reika Seragaki, but someone else entirely. Someone else too familiar, someone else that received their instructions at the same time as his own from Hal Snyder in regards of these Marks and what it could mean if they fell in the wrong hands.
He saw the man who could weave in and out of dimensions unbeknownst to man.
He falls face-first onto the dirt before him, just inches away from the still unconscious Sagittarius.
He knows the fate that waits for him at the hands of the Mark of Gemini, the being of two faces.
All that the Mark of Capricorn can do now is to clutch on to Chris Strike’s left thigh and make his dying words count before Gemini can put an end to him and seize his Mark for themselves...
“NOALN...OL GAH-L...NIISAN...OBZA OE OL...CAPRICORNUS!”
Thankfully, he had gotten the words out just in time to pass on the Mark to the man before him, to perhaps give him something to fight.
Thankfully, he couldn’t see the bloody sword coming down swiftly and slicing through his neck.
Otherwise, the former Mark of Capricorn might have actually shit his pants.[/font]
