Post by The Cosplay Playboy on Aug 9, 2015 10:26:07 GMT -6
August 6, 2015
Littleton, Colorado
“We need to dispute that decision.”
Reika Seragaki was not at all pleased by what they currently saw on the EXODUS Pro website and the card that had been announced for EXPRO on FX #36 and the main event that was to happen by orders of Director Michelle Collins. As they stared at the screen, Reika felt rather compelled to immediately grab their cell phone, dial up the Director themselves and make sure they heard an earful for granting a match of that caliber to somebody who had barely done anything in the company since his return to the fold.
They looked over to Chris Strike, who was already sat in the recliner in his living room, a remote control resting there as he stared at the television and a specific wrestling match that was already playing through...in fact, it was the last match of the man who had just recently returned to EXODUS Pro weeks before Battle Without Honor or Humanity II. It was EXPRO on FX #31 and the San Diego Bay championship match between Kevin Hardaway and the man who would be the King of the Pantheon’s V4 defense challenger in Black Jones. His eyes are almost glued to the screen, almost as if fixated on the fight that the then-champion put against the Reed brothers who made their presence known and have the numbers game on him, almost as if analyzing for any of the challenger’s movements during that match before he left the company for a short period of time until his recent return.
“Strike...are you listening to me?” Reika asked sharply, snapping the World champion from his gaze to the screen.
“Yeah. Loud and clear,” Chris replied, averting his gaze over to his manager and the person who’d been basically riding with him to different shows and the like since their arrival on the scene. A situation brought together by curse Marks put upon them by none other than Hal Snyder.
“Well, a little bit of approval here would go a long way,” Reika remarked. “Come on, you beat the living shit out of Christian Kane, sent him packing into retirement like a loser and because another one of his blind loyalists is more than willing to pick a fight, they wanna just hand him a World title shot against you on a silver basket?”
Strike simply shook his head. “So you’re basically saying we should raise up a storm, further insult Black Jones in a way even I haven’t managed to do yet, add to our tensions with management and do it all only to end up with where we’re at right now.” There was almost a smidge of amusement on the EXODUS Pro World champion’s face as he glanced at his manager, surprised that they hadn’t already thought this one through themselves. “It’s the equivalent to talking to a wall. They’re not going to change their minds on that.”
“Putting down another one of their upstart, cocky little hopefuls - especially one who hasn’t wrestled a match since March isn’t going to do shit for us or the Pantheon,” Reika shot back, at this point, their voice becoming far more argumentative and growing loud with annoyance at the champion’s attitude. “We have pull. We have Singer on our side and with her minority share, we can EASILY swing this to where we can put you in a far more favorable position. Black Jones does not deserve a World championship match and you know it.”
“First...the last time I had any semblance of favorable positioning, Carey Caldwell showed up and Fiona Collins now owns a victory over me.” And boy, did it still hurt Chris Strike on the inside that he lost to her. It had been, thus far, about the only time his pride had been wounded deeply since regaining the EXODUS Pro World title from Abby Park. “Second, he doesn’t. But it doesn’t change the fact that he’s been given one in order for me to get this match against him.”
Reika scoffs. “Your foolish pride…” Shaking their head, they make their way towards the living room from the kitchen - donning sweatpants, a sports bra and their red hair tied up in a neat bun. Even with no make-up, their features still quite feminine even if they didn’t dare classify themselves as either end of the normal gender spectrum. “It keeps getting you into more and more trouble, Chris. I agree with the decision of going through all methods necessary to keep the championship, including The Pantheon but were the visits to (R)Evolution Wrestling and spurning the wrath of the entire company such a great idea?”
“I know what I’m doing here, Reika. And even if you’re my manager, that doesn’t mean you get to mandate how I run this show. You agreed as much when you signed on the dotted line,” Strike said, not having to raise his voice an extra octane since Reika was at a closer distance now. “The Pantheon’s inception needed me to detach myself from anything that I was once associated with and if it took sacrificing a couple of bonds to do it, then so be it.” He looked down for a moment. “We have a far bigger purpose at hand.”
“Ah yes, our favorite subject,” Reika rolled their eyes, their mind shifting from the wrestling portion of things to the real heart of the matter. “Oshima doesn’t look so pleased these days. What exactly did you do to him?”
“It’s not what I did. It’s what I said,” Chris replied, sitting up a little straighter on the recliner as he reached for the remote and paused the footage. “Gave Oshima a few pieces of my mind, some thin-veiled threats and shoved it in his face that I’ll be using the moth’s abilities to keep him from reading our Fates going forward until we end this.”
“I still think we should take that Mark from her for ourselves,” Reika stated, crossing their arms as they took a seat on the bigger couch, getting a stare right back from the EXODUS Pro World champion. “You know the only reason the moth did this was to get that little fuckboy back to consciousness after what SHOZO did. For all we know, she’s working with Caldwell. Or worse, Collins himself.”
Strike shook his head. “Yeah, remember how well your whole thing with trying to take the Mark of Taurus away from Caldwell went the first time around?” The same stare he’d given them was now turned right back onto Strike himself. “Hildegard has been instrumental in keeping us safe and sound from Oshima suddenly turning the Paths like he did with Higashikata. She’ll play her role...and in return, I’ll give her what she wants when the time is right.”
“...Shozo Arino…” Reika whispered, knowing well the end game that the young woman under the kaiju costume sought after. “Do you think she’ll be able to handle the boy’s rampage? Who is to say he won’t break her enough to where she cannot accompany us in our journey when the time is at hand...”
While Reika made a rather fair point given SHOZO’s streak as of late, Chris Strike’s faith wasn’t one to deter or let itself hang in the “what if” scenarios of the world. “When the time comes? She’ll fight SHOZO and she will triumph. My concern, however, is with young miss Sullivan...” Strike inhaled and exhaled slowly, as his own mind was coming to a certain realization. “I’m afraid she won’t be suitable to accompany us when it comes to sealing the Marks…”
“Are you afraid she’ll fall to Caleb Storm?” Reika asked.
“It has nothing to do with what’s within the ring,” Strike replied. “Win or loss, she’s one of the future pieces I want to help going forward. But for our particular mission...do you really think somebody like her is capable to wrap her mind around the fact that there are far bigger forces currently playing a hand in EXODUS Pro’s fate?”
“Well, Lanning, Kessin and Ciaran seemed to have grasp the concept quite nicely...and we know which Marks they’ll bear. Venus seems like a Virgo, to be quite honest...what’s her birthday again?”
“She’s not them. This is somebody who prides themselves on being a wrestler’s wrestler, even with all the glamour and the helpers,” Strike’s retort was one that sounded similar to that of a father trying to grasp the concept that his daughter was old enough to date but still wanted to hold her at arm’s length to make sure she wouldn’t get hurt. “We may need to reconsider...”
“Not before you test her,” Reika replied. “She signed up for this. She wants to be a part of THE Pantheon? Then she needs to prove she can withstand the heat of what’s to come...especially now with this whole Imperium thing coming out of left field.”
Imperium...a faction brought forth by the EXODUS Pro Owner in Nicholas Gray, consisting of the Storm members, a new face in one Jolyne Dysart who saw fit to take out a key piece in the Pantheon’s own future plans and former Gods & Monsters member in Kira T. Zeppeli - who viciously took out Christum Furor after Battle Without Honor or Humanity II while Strike watched it all from the announce table. It was a faction that brought even more questions forward into the grand scheme of things. While The Pantheon had been built with the purpose of conquering from the wrestling side - winning championships and keeping that part of the power struggle under their dominion - neither Strike nor Reika were certain that the Imperium’s purpose to “save EXODUS” was as clear-cut as Nicholas Gray attempted to make it sound when they laid an unholy beating upon Christum Furor.
“I have a bad feeling about them, Chris,” Reika said, bringing their hands together. “That little display of theirs might have been against Christum Furor but the fact they asked you to take a seat and watch it unfold is just as easily a challenge towards The Pantheon.”
“We haven’t done anything other than win matches and the bits of interference,” was all Chris Strike could reply back with, soundly. “Hardly company threatening, if you ask me.”
“We have the biggest prize in the industry at the top of our mountain,” Reika stated. “It’s going to make us into targets. The sooner you’re prepared to deal with that reality, the better.”
“It’s still a lot better than Jonathan letting his idiot sister run amok until his wife dealt with her and whatever the hell Doctor Collins thinks she’s playing at, Reika.” They could tell from looking at him. Chris Strike wasn’t fully convinced. “Nobody is in the right in all of this, but I have to believe Nicholas knows what he’s doing...because if I don’t…”
“It’s already all gone to shit, Chris.” Blunt, simple and to the point - Reika Seragaki wasn’t going to mince words on this particular subject. “At this point, all we can do is defend the ONE thing that hasn’t been stained by it.”
The EXODUS Pro World Heavyweight championship. The purpose of their Pantheon inside of that squared circle was to defend that title or any other titles in their possession at all costs, be it Chris Strike going at any length to keep it or using their own resources to do it. It’s why they brought in Daniel Lanning to knock Vivienne Robichaud unconscious to bring in Venus and the Orange County championship in (R)Evolution Wrestling. It’s why they went through lengths to amend bridges between two people who would normally not even speak to one another to further their own power and influence.
Reika was right...EXODUS Pro had lost its way somewhere on this journey of Year 3.
But while Reika Seragaki spoke of championship purity and the like, Chris Strike was far more focused on playing for the number in the back of the jersey than the name on the front at this point. As the World champion stared back into the screen and the pained expression of Black Jones, the young man standing to try and fight even against insurmountable odds, he saw perhaps a glimpse of hope that emanated from the likes of Abigail Park and Christian Kane when he fought them. But he also saw the reality of the reign that he had embarked during his second time holding the biggest prize in professional wrestling.
Even if Black Jones was that glimpse of light in the darkness that EXODUS Pro has become consumed by, Chris Strike would snuff it out.
To protect the integrity of his Pantheon.
To assert himself as the greatest World champion in this company’s history.
To make sure that they couldn’t erase him from history even if they tried.
--------------------------------------------------
Our scene at hand is set up indoors, inside of a certain wide location in which contains mostly empty space although the background does spot an entire 20x20 wrestling ring, some protective matting around it and the surrounding area as it also sees a spot where a heavy bag is chained up to the ceiling, a spot for a pair of speed bags next to one another are set along with a station containing weights and some exercise machines, including a treadmill. It was a humble but small little gym in the La Jolla area that was ran by a mutual acquaintance of the man who stands in front of this environment and stares at the recording camera lens. He's sweating and the gray "All Star Wrestling Gym" t-shirt he has on sees some of that perspiration bleeding on through and leaving its mark, his sweatpants match the color of the t-shirt and the Mizuno tennis shoes indicate more the type of workout he was doing rather than trying to exhibit any semblance of fashion sense like he's always done with Nike shoes whenever in street clothes and out in public.
The EXODUS Pro World Heavyweight champion Chris Strike doesn't quite look like the same man who audiences have come to boo fervently over the past few months at EXPRO events but it doesn't take the champion and the "King of the Pantheon" long enough to flash the hint of a smile that serves as a reminder to the audiences who follow EXODUS Pro so blindly that he's the man they see every two weeks on their TV sets. They mistake his confidence for absolute arrogance and he cares not for their fickle ways and attempts to appear like THEY are the stars of the show alone and that all should spin to their narrative
While the title isn't around his shoulder at the moment, the gleam of gold can be seen sticking out from a duffel bag that's a few feet away in the background to the champion's left.
"An opportunity of a lifetime is upon us, Mr. Jones." He began, wiping a few beads of sweat away from his forehead with the right sleeve of his t-shirt. "Your first match back since you were mauled by the Reed brothers and Kevin Hardaway. Your first match back since losing the San Diego Bay title. Your first match back in almost five months. And even with those things in mind, you have the chance at the jackpot, the Golden Fleece of EXODUS Pro, the World championship that anybody who is anybody in this industry covets. The EXODUS Pro World Heavyweight championship..."
The fifteen pound piece of hardware that had become Chris Strike's most cherished prize was shortly thereafter brought out from the duffel bag and then placed across his right shoulder, its every detail still shining bright as the day in which it was produced. His obsession with being the absolute best drove him to go through hell and back in order to win this title on two occasions. But it was in the second reign that the obsession truly began to be seen, where his pride wouldn't allow for anything other than him to stand at the top of the mountain. Like a lion who leads his pride, he was more than willing to fight any and all comers even when it might not be considered the wisest thing to do.
However, Chris Strike knew all too well that his worth in EXODUS Pro wouldn't be anything other than "paper champion" unless he put his money where his mouth was and performed in the squared circle, where it mattered most.
"For a while now, we've gone back to back on the trivial insults, the pandering, the calling out and at last, we get to settle it all in the ring. Even if I, Strike, know very well that the office is more than happy to try and find any way possible to get this championship belt off of me because their New Hope fell short of the mark. And really, people have no idea how absolutely satisfying it felt to take all the weeks of every single little asinine insult thrown my way from you lot along with all of your hopes placed on Christian Kane to take this championship away from me and to squash them all under my boot. Because in this world of ours, the only more satisfying thing than succeeding at life is seeing all of your detractors be forced to eat every single one of their words after you get done proving them wrong.
...But then again, Mr. Jones, you probably understand that far more than most of your peers both in EXODUS and in the developmental system from where you came. Since you're one of Philadelphia's proud sons after all. As for Philadelphia, I could go on about the extremely fickle and crappy sports teams who are far better known for their fans' classless behavior rather than the product put out on their field or how much like a cesspool the city looks, maybe go into some detail about how disgusting a city with so much historical value has become over the years - from the timeless Liberty Bell to the disgraceful club Roxxy. To put it simply, Philadelphia has become a cesspool of the weakest gene pools. Anyone with any fortitude pushes west. Which explains you to a tee, doesn't it Mr. Jones?
After all...you're living here in San Diego nowadays."
The smirk on the face of the EXPRO World champion is exactly the kind you'd want to punch at this point. Although some of this was over exaggeration on his part, as he's done his fair share of visits to the city not to mention having worked for a company based from that city and having won a plethora of championships there. But the mental edge over a youngblood who was getting too damn hot for his wheels was going to do the World champion wonders when the time was right and they got to a certain point in the main event that was to come.
"Yeah, we all know you talk a good game about representing Philadelphia even after migrating like anybody else smart enough from there ends up doing while still claiming to represent your hood. Your mannerisms, your slang, the way you breathe and walk around, you act like you're this hard ass because you're from that city. Gifted as an athlete as you may be, book smart as you might have had to become in order to escape that hellhole, you still act like we all should just realize that shit right off the bat and give you your props, right? Because it's supposed to be impressive that you dodged a few bullets or won a fight that would have gotten you stabbed if you didn't act fast enough. Is that it?
See, that's the part that really intrigues me the most about you, Mr. Jones. You are possibly the most naturally gifted athlete I have seen in my fifteen years of professional wrestling and by far, the quickest rookie to just outright get it during your training with Jimmy Riley to the point where the office had no choice but to fast track you to the main roster. The first ever (R)Evolution Wrestling trainee to make it to EXODUS Pro and you made your mark here quick...winning the Tag Team titles as part of Hot Sauce & Ramen and then winning the San Diego Bay title, putting you just a step away from a triple crown and one of the few in the main roster who could complete an original Grand Slam. You are somebody who will be a World champion one day. Not even I, Strike, am foolish enough to say otherwise.
So, how does a man with all of those attributes and accolades still looks, talks and acts as if he's nothing more...than the black clone of one Blake Jones."
Chris Strike let that one sink in for the viewers watching for a moment or two. Blake Jones was one of the early young guns of EXODUS Pro in its inception and somebody who was gradually on his way out when Strike first arrived in the company. Likeable kid. Immature at times but that almost couldn't be helped due to the early age and the lack of experience in aspects of life.
Black Jones fell under some of those same categories as well. He almost wondered how insulted the hardened man would feel at being compared to a man that Black had gone on record in calling "the inferior Jones" many times in the past while he was still a part of the infamous and overly annoying "Section B" of fans at the RIMAC.
"Maybe people around this company have forgotten about it, given that revisionist history is something a few members of the roster and higher brass in EXODUS Pro enjoy using when it suits them...but I, Strike, know and see all. The parallels between you two are actually incredible, in fact. Both of you are Philly Young Guns, both of you have been incredibly coddled and fondled even through temper tantrums and the like by Jonathan Collins and the offices here. Along with that, both of you pride yourselves in your athleticism and college backgrounds, both of you are also former San Diego Bay champions and part of dysfunctionally short-lived but successful tag teams to boot, both of you tucked tail and ran when the going got tough inside of the ring.
But you wanna know the biggest similarity is between you two, Mr. Jones?"
The King of the Pantheon paused for a moment, adjusting his championship on his right shoulder, no condescending smirk on his face, no particular pleasure specifically taken from delivering nothing short of an attempt at character assassination. But sometimes, the truth was the truth...and it was time somebody set "Black Jones" free. For his own good...
"Inconsistency.
You can have all the tools in the world and potential out the ass but what good is it if it's never used on a consistent basis? You can be the best wrestler in the world on any given night but if you can't do it over and over again, neither the office nor the audience will trust your abilities let alone any claims you make of being the best. You can claim to be the hardest and that your chick is the hottest in the game, but any of that gets flushed down the toilet if you can't perform at the highest level at a moment's notice.
Blake's inconsistency eventually got him to where the office decided to not re-sign him. You might end up the same way unless something changes...and maybe that's why Director Collins made this a World championship match in the same vein that her predecessors gave Blake Jones a shot at Christum Furor when he held this title. As a means to kick you in the ass after you punked out like a bitch from this company for five months on some emotional hiatus bullshit because you couldn't bear teaming with Kamigawa after he unmasked and because you couldn't bear the fact Aries Reed caused you to lose gold.
...I, Strike, am almost insulted by the fact that they would dare use the biggest prize in this industry as a dangling carrot for a boy who still is nowhere near ready to face THE WORLD! And you had better believe that the biggest fight you have ever had in your life is coming, Black Jones.
This is the fight that will either make you THE man in this company or break you even further than Ryuji Kamigawa's deceit ever could do it!"
At this point, Chris Strike takes the championship belt from his right shoulder and raises it by its strap up at his head-level. The camera zooms in, noticing the champion's hardened expression just hours before his showdown against the youngest and perhaps hungriest challenge he may end up having in his reign as EXODUS Pro World champion.
Even the inconsistent ones managed to score upsets from time to time. Mike Tyson and Buster Douglas was an immediate example that came to mind and even if Chris Strike had managed to shed the "paper champion" status with three solid defenses of the World title, he knew what he was closing in on. He knew his own place in history right now and what it could be if he survived the next month with the gold around his shoulder.
No...it wasn't a matter of "if" for Chris Strike. Not after nearly fifteen years of being a professional wrestling, not after all of the sacrifices endured to get to this point. No matter the cost, no matter what methods, he wouldn't allow the young upstart to just simply take this from him. He wouldn't allow the blind sheep attending EXODUS Pro shows to roar for another fairy tale ending like they did at Dead in Hollywood.
Not when the "King of the Pantheon" still had his own story to tell.
"I am on the threshold of making history, Mr. Jones. Slowly but surely closing in on a mark that has almost stood the test of time in EXODUS Pro, something that the pundits and experts of the world at large said couldn't be replicated due to the fierce level of competition. A mark that the office would love to see forever associated with our esteemed asshole of an Ace.
Five World championship defenses. And you're defense number four in my reign, Black Jones. You are one of two people over the next month standing between I, Strike, tying that mark and then overcoming it entirely. You're in my path to cementing myself as the greatest champion to have ever held gold in this entire company while flipping off every single human being who puts Fiona Collins' reign on a fucking pedestal. See, you can claim to be hard and say that nobody expected you to get this far, let alone to be alive at your age given the shithole of a city you come from but this isn't Filthydelphia where shit gets settled with incomprehensible slang and weapons in the middle of a basketball court or some dinky, piss-stained alley.
This is the professional wrestling ring, boy! This is a World championship match! THIS IS THE BIGGEST STAGE YOU WILL EVER STAND ON IN YOUR ENTIRE LIFE! You beat me here, I personally shake your hand as you cement yourself as the undisputed future Ace of EXODUS Pro. You lose and you go home empty-handed along with further proving your own inadequacies in the same manner Blake Jones did after losing to Furor.
It's put up or shut up time and I'm going to enjoy shutting you up just like I've done every single motherfucker who has dared to doubt that I, Strike, am unmistakably the absolute best professional wrestler in the world today! This championship that I hold is proof of that and in my V4 defense of this championship, I will prove it again by any means necessary!"
In a way, this is where it would all begin for him once again. At this point, he'd proven his worth as a champion. But now? It was no longer just about the journey and the protection of his personal Golden Fleece along with the other Argonauts gathered under his banner. As he had done so many times in his career, it was time to take another step up the ladder and to evolve further. He would not allow himself to die out here, not when he had come this far in his own revolution as a professional wrestler.
It was time for another metamorphosis.
From a soldier of fortune to the greatest warlord who has ever lived...
From a World champion to EXODUS Pro legend...
From a King to a God.
"So every single word you've thrown my path, every single clever insult, every little tirade about how I'm not a man you respect that you're going to regurgitate...I, Strike, am going to force feed you every single goddamn bit of it until you fucking choke on it in such a biblical way that you'll finally understand what it feels like when you try to shove your member down your girl's throat.
At EXPRO on FX #36, I, Strike, cement my status further as the absolute best to have ever walked into EXODUS and as the true standard bearer in this industry...and you become just another footnote in my story, being able to do nothing more but to live with it.
Welcome to Strike's World, bitch!"
Fade to black.
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August 10, 2015
San Diego, California
“Thank you for joining me here, the both of you…”
Nestled across from Balboa Park on 5th Avenue sits Azuki Sushi, a cozy sushi joint that oozes sophistication. Although the space itself is small, it was a local favorite. Be it due to specialty rolls like the Super Dragon Roll with spicy rock shrimp mix, shrimp tempura, avocado topped with unagi, avocado, crunchy sweet potato and eel sauce to their desserts like the green tea crème brûlée and toffee pudding, all of it packs a big punch with its flavors and dishes and that was what brought the three men at hand to one of the corner booths where they wouldn’t be disturbed. Empty plates with remnants of rice, soy sauce, wasabi and the like already were brushed to a side where their server could swing by and grab them in a heartbeat as Chris Strike sat on one end of the table, hands resting over the counter while overlooking the two men sat on the other side.
Ryoma and Ryusei Arino.
Having just come from a set of radio interviews, Chris Strike reached into the pocket of a green, zip-up track jacket with yellow stripes on the right hand side of it, the word “BRAZIL” across the chest area as he placed a piece of paper in the middle of the table. A topographic map.
“We’ve narrowed down the area where we will be traveling to in order to seal the Marks…” Strike explains, sounding far more confident than he did days ago before setting up this meeting. “Once we have all members of our party, we’ll fly to the location and then take a boat to where the X is on the map.”
Ryoma a.k.a. Papa Arino nodded, while Ryusei glanced at the map closely, curiously studying its concept.
“Who will sail us there?” Papa Arino asked.
“The plan is to have Ciaran Samuels do it.” Even with the odd behavior displayed by the Helmsman and the sudden reappearance of his brother, Strike was still confident that “Poseidon” of their Pantheon would be able to navigate them safely through those waters. “But for now, our focus will be to bring in Anderson Cobalt and the Mark of Libra to our side. A task that won’t be particularly so easy given one of the Imperium members saw fit to wreck him based on a small sample size of intel.”
“It is worrisome that young Cobalt was struck down the way he was,” Papa Arino laments, having also had a hand in training him along with some of the Gen 1 and 2 kids in (R)Evolution Wrestling. “But it give us opportunity to perhaps find out exactly who is the person taking his blood, like that fool Oshima described.”
Strike nods. “Earlier this morning, Reika sent a rather promising lead.” He pulls out his cell phone, turning on the screen and unlocking it in order to show both Ryoma and Ryusei a set of text messages from his manager and the being bearing the Mark of Capricorn. “It seems in the process of trying to figure out who exactly is trying to take Cobalt’s powers away that we stumbled upon one of the last people we need to head on our journey.”
The Arinos looked closely at the text, which had detailed information and the picture of a young black woman with curly hair, a bright smile and an attire that didn’t leave much for the imagination in the first place, including nine particular stars aligned together on a tattoo across her left hip.
Ryusei Arino blinked.
“...Virgo?”
Littleton, Colorado
“We need to dispute that decision.”
Reika Seragaki was not at all pleased by what they currently saw on the EXODUS Pro website and the card that had been announced for EXPRO on FX #36 and the main event that was to happen by orders of Director Michelle Collins. As they stared at the screen, Reika felt rather compelled to immediately grab their cell phone, dial up the Director themselves and make sure they heard an earful for granting a match of that caliber to somebody who had barely done anything in the company since his return to the fold.
They looked over to Chris Strike, who was already sat in the recliner in his living room, a remote control resting there as he stared at the television and a specific wrestling match that was already playing through...in fact, it was the last match of the man who had just recently returned to EXODUS Pro weeks before Battle Without Honor or Humanity II. It was EXPRO on FX #31 and the San Diego Bay championship match between Kevin Hardaway and the man who would be the King of the Pantheon’s V4 defense challenger in Black Jones. His eyes are almost glued to the screen, almost as if fixated on the fight that the then-champion put against the Reed brothers who made their presence known and have the numbers game on him, almost as if analyzing for any of the challenger’s movements during that match before he left the company for a short period of time until his recent return.
“Strike...are you listening to me?” Reika asked sharply, snapping the World champion from his gaze to the screen.
“Yeah. Loud and clear,” Chris replied, averting his gaze over to his manager and the person who’d been basically riding with him to different shows and the like since their arrival on the scene. A situation brought together by curse Marks put upon them by none other than Hal Snyder.
“Well, a little bit of approval here would go a long way,” Reika remarked. “Come on, you beat the living shit out of Christian Kane, sent him packing into retirement like a loser and because another one of his blind loyalists is more than willing to pick a fight, they wanna just hand him a World title shot against you on a silver basket?”
Strike simply shook his head. “So you’re basically saying we should raise up a storm, further insult Black Jones in a way even I haven’t managed to do yet, add to our tensions with management and do it all only to end up with where we’re at right now.” There was almost a smidge of amusement on the EXODUS Pro World champion’s face as he glanced at his manager, surprised that they hadn’t already thought this one through themselves. “It’s the equivalent to talking to a wall. They’re not going to change their minds on that.”
“Putting down another one of their upstart, cocky little hopefuls - especially one who hasn’t wrestled a match since March isn’t going to do shit for us or the Pantheon,” Reika shot back, at this point, their voice becoming far more argumentative and growing loud with annoyance at the champion’s attitude. “We have pull. We have Singer on our side and with her minority share, we can EASILY swing this to where we can put you in a far more favorable position. Black Jones does not deserve a World championship match and you know it.”
“First...the last time I had any semblance of favorable positioning, Carey Caldwell showed up and Fiona Collins now owns a victory over me.” And boy, did it still hurt Chris Strike on the inside that he lost to her. It had been, thus far, about the only time his pride had been wounded deeply since regaining the EXODUS Pro World title from Abby Park. “Second, he doesn’t. But it doesn’t change the fact that he’s been given one in order for me to get this match against him.”
Reika scoffs. “Your foolish pride…” Shaking their head, they make their way towards the living room from the kitchen - donning sweatpants, a sports bra and their red hair tied up in a neat bun. Even with no make-up, their features still quite feminine even if they didn’t dare classify themselves as either end of the normal gender spectrum. “It keeps getting you into more and more trouble, Chris. I agree with the decision of going through all methods necessary to keep the championship, including The Pantheon but were the visits to (R)Evolution Wrestling and spurning the wrath of the entire company such a great idea?”
“I know what I’m doing here, Reika. And even if you’re my manager, that doesn’t mean you get to mandate how I run this show. You agreed as much when you signed on the dotted line,” Strike said, not having to raise his voice an extra octane since Reika was at a closer distance now. “The Pantheon’s inception needed me to detach myself from anything that I was once associated with and if it took sacrificing a couple of bonds to do it, then so be it.” He looked down for a moment. “We have a far bigger purpose at hand.”
“Ah yes, our favorite subject,” Reika rolled their eyes, their mind shifting from the wrestling portion of things to the real heart of the matter. “Oshima doesn’t look so pleased these days. What exactly did you do to him?”
“It’s not what I did. It’s what I said,” Chris replied, sitting up a little straighter on the recliner as he reached for the remote and paused the footage. “Gave Oshima a few pieces of my mind, some thin-veiled threats and shoved it in his face that I’ll be using the moth’s abilities to keep him from reading our Fates going forward until we end this.”
“I still think we should take that Mark from her for ourselves,” Reika stated, crossing their arms as they took a seat on the bigger couch, getting a stare right back from the EXODUS Pro World champion. “You know the only reason the moth did this was to get that little fuckboy back to consciousness after what SHOZO did. For all we know, she’s working with Caldwell. Or worse, Collins himself.”
Strike shook his head. “Yeah, remember how well your whole thing with trying to take the Mark of Taurus away from Caldwell went the first time around?” The same stare he’d given them was now turned right back onto Strike himself. “Hildegard has been instrumental in keeping us safe and sound from Oshima suddenly turning the Paths like he did with Higashikata. She’ll play her role...and in return, I’ll give her what she wants when the time is right.”
“...Shozo Arino…” Reika whispered, knowing well the end game that the young woman under the kaiju costume sought after. “Do you think she’ll be able to handle the boy’s rampage? Who is to say he won’t break her enough to where she cannot accompany us in our journey when the time is at hand...”
While Reika made a rather fair point given SHOZO’s streak as of late, Chris Strike’s faith wasn’t one to deter or let itself hang in the “what if” scenarios of the world. “When the time comes? She’ll fight SHOZO and she will triumph. My concern, however, is with young miss Sullivan...” Strike inhaled and exhaled slowly, as his own mind was coming to a certain realization. “I’m afraid she won’t be suitable to accompany us when it comes to sealing the Marks…”
“Are you afraid she’ll fall to Caleb Storm?” Reika asked.
“It has nothing to do with what’s within the ring,” Strike replied. “Win or loss, she’s one of the future pieces I want to help going forward. But for our particular mission...do you really think somebody like her is capable to wrap her mind around the fact that there are far bigger forces currently playing a hand in EXODUS Pro’s fate?”
“Well, Lanning, Kessin and Ciaran seemed to have grasp the concept quite nicely...and we know which Marks they’ll bear. Venus seems like a Virgo, to be quite honest...what’s her birthday again?”
“She’s not them. This is somebody who prides themselves on being a wrestler’s wrestler, even with all the glamour and the helpers,” Strike’s retort was one that sounded similar to that of a father trying to grasp the concept that his daughter was old enough to date but still wanted to hold her at arm’s length to make sure she wouldn’t get hurt. “We may need to reconsider...”
“Not before you test her,” Reika replied. “She signed up for this. She wants to be a part of THE Pantheon? Then she needs to prove she can withstand the heat of what’s to come...especially now with this whole Imperium thing coming out of left field.”
Imperium...a faction brought forth by the EXODUS Pro Owner in Nicholas Gray, consisting of the Storm members, a new face in one Jolyne Dysart who saw fit to take out a key piece in the Pantheon’s own future plans and former Gods & Monsters member in Kira T. Zeppeli - who viciously took out Christum Furor after Battle Without Honor or Humanity II while Strike watched it all from the announce table. It was a faction that brought even more questions forward into the grand scheme of things. While The Pantheon had been built with the purpose of conquering from the wrestling side - winning championships and keeping that part of the power struggle under their dominion - neither Strike nor Reika were certain that the Imperium’s purpose to “save EXODUS” was as clear-cut as Nicholas Gray attempted to make it sound when they laid an unholy beating upon Christum Furor.
“I have a bad feeling about them, Chris,” Reika said, bringing their hands together. “That little display of theirs might have been against Christum Furor but the fact they asked you to take a seat and watch it unfold is just as easily a challenge towards The Pantheon.”
“We haven’t done anything other than win matches and the bits of interference,” was all Chris Strike could reply back with, soundly. “Hardly company threatening, if you ask me.”
“We have the biggest prize in the industry at the top of our mountain,” Reika stated. “It’s going to make us into targets. The sooner you’re prepared to deal with that reality, the better.”
“It’s still a lot better than Jonathan letting his idiot sister run amok until his wife dealt with her and whatever the hell Doctor Collins thinks she’s playing at, Reika.” They could tell from looking at him. Chris Strike wasn’t fully convinced. “Nobody is in the right in all of this, but I have to believe Nicholas knows what he’s doing...because if I don’t…”
“It’s already all gone to shit, Chris.” Blunt, simple and to the point - Reika Seragaki wasn’t going to mince words on this particular subject. “At this point, all we can do is defend the ONE thing that hasn’t been stained by it.”
The EXODUS Pro World Heavyweight championship. The purpose of their Pantheon inside of that squared circle was to defend that title or any other titles in their possession at all costs, be it Chris Strike going at any length to keep it or using their own resources to do it. It’s why they brought in Daniel Lanning to knock Vivienne Robichaud unconscious to bring in Venus and the Orange County championship in (R)Evolution Wrestling. It’s why they went through lengths to amend bridges between two people who would normally not even speak to one another to further their own power and influence.
Reika was right...EXODUS Pro had lost its way somewhere on this journey of Year 3.
But while Reika Seragaki spoke of championship purity and the like, Chris Strike was far more focused on playing for the number in the back of the jersey than the name on the front at this point. As the World champion stared back into the screen and the pained expression of Black Jones, the young man standing to try and fight even against insurmountable odds, he saw perhaps a glimpse of hope that emanated from the likes of Abigail Park and Christian Kane when he fought them. But he also saw the reality of the reign that he had embarked during his second time holding the biggest prize in professional wrestling.
Even if Black Jones was that glimpse of light in the darkness that EXODUS Pro has become consumed by, Chris Strike would snuff it out.
To protect the integrity of his Pantheon.
To assert himself as the greatest World champion in this company’s history.
To make sure that they couldn’t erase him from history even if they tried.
--------------------------------------------------
Our scene at hand is set up indoors, inside of a certain wide location in which contains mostly empty space although the background does spot an entire 20x20 wrestling ring, some protective matting around it and the surrounding area as it also sees a spot where a heavy bag is chained up to the ceiling, a spot for a pair of speed bags next to one another are set along with a station containing weights and some exercise machines, including a treadmill. It was a humble but small little gym in the La Jolla area that was ran by a mutual acquaintance of the man who stands in front of this environment and stares at the recording camera lens. He's sweating and the gray "All Star Wrestling Gym" t-shirt he has on sees some of that perspiration bleeding on through and leaving its mark, his sweatpants match the color of the t-shirt and the Mizuno tennis shoes indicate more the type of workout he was doing rather than trying to exhibit any semblance of fashion sense like he's always done with Nike shoes whenever in street clothes and out in public.
The EXODUS Pro World Heavyweight champion Chris Strike doesn't quite look like the same man who audiences have come to boo fervently over the past few months at EXPRO events but it doesn't take the champion and the "King of the Pantheon" long enough to flash the hint of a smile that serves as a reminder to the audiences who follow EXODUS Pro so blindly that he's the man they see every two weeks on their TV sets. They mistake his confidence for absolute arrogance and he cares not for their fickle ways and attempts to appear like THEY are the stars of the show alone and that all should spin to their narrative
While the title isn't around his shoulder at the moment, the gleam of gold can be seen sticking out from a duffel bag that's a few feet away in the background to the champion's left.
"An opportunity of a lifetime is upon us, Mr. Jones." He began, wiping a few beads of sweat away from his forehead with the right sleeve of his t-shirt. "Your first match back since you were mauled by the Reed brothers and Kevin Hardaway. Your first match back since losing the San Diego Bay title. Your first match back in almost five months. And even with those things in mind, you have the chance at the jackpot, the Golden Fleece of EXODUS Pro, the World championship that anybody who is anybody in this industry covets. The EXODUS Pro World Heavyweight championship..."
The fifteen pound piece of hardware that had become Chris Strike's most cherished prize was shortly thereafter brought out from the duffel bag and then placed across his right shoulder, its every detail still shining bright as the day in which it was produced. His obsession with being the absolute best drove him to go through hell and back in order to win this title on two occasions. But it was in the second reign that the obsession truly began to be seen, where his pride wouldn't allow for anything other than him to stand at the top of the mountain. Like a lion who leads his pride, he was more than willing to fight any and all comers even when it might not be considered the wisest thing to do.
However, Chris Strike knew all too well that his worth in EXODUS Pro wouldn't be anything other than "paper champion" unless he put his money where his mouth was and performed in the squared circle, where it mattered most.
"For a while now, we've gone back to back on the trivial insults, the pandering, the calling out and at last, we get to settle it all in the ring. Even if I, Strike, know very well that the office is more than happy to try and find any way possible to get this championship belt off of me because their New Hope fell short of the mark. And really, people have no idea how absolutely satisfying it felt to take all the weeks of every single little asinine insult thrown my way from you lot along with all of your hopes placed on Christian Kane to take this championship away from me and to squash them all under my boot. Because in this world of ours, the only more satisfying thing than succeeding at life is seeing all of your detractors be forced to eat every single one of their words after you get done proving them wrong.
...But then again, Mr. Jones, you probably understand that far more than most of your peers both in EXODUS and in the developmental system from where you came. Since you're one of Philadelphia's proud sons after all. As for Philadelphia, I could go on about the extremely fickle and crappy sports teams who are far better known for their fans' classless behavior rather than the product put out on their field or how much like a cesspool the city looks, maybe go into some detail about how disgusting a city with so much historical value has become over the years - from the timeless Liberty Bell to the disgraceful club Roxxy. To put it simply, Philadelphia has become a cesspool of the weakest gene pools. Anyone with any fortitude pushes west. Which explains you to a tee, doesn't it Mr. Jones?
After all...you're living here in San Diego nowadays."
The smirk on the face of the EXPRO World champion is exactly the kind you'd want to punch at this point. Although some of this was over exaggeration on his part, as he's done his fair share of visits to the city not to mention having worked for a company based from that city and having won a plethora of championships there. But the mental edge over a youngblood who was getting too damn hot for his wheels was going to do the World champion wonders when the time was right and they got to a certain point in the main event that was to come.
"Yeah, we all know you talk a good game about representing Philadelphia even after migrating like anybody else smart enough from there ends up doing while still claiming to represent your hood. Your mannerisms, your slang, the way you breathe and walk around, you act like you're this hard ass because you're from that city. Gifted as an athlete as you may be, book smart as you might have had to become in order to escape that hellhole, you still act like we all should just realize that shit right off the bat and give you your props, right? Because it's supposed to be impressive that you dodged a few bullets or won a fight that would have gotten you stabbed if you didn't act fast enough. Is that it?
See, that's the part that really intrigues me the most about you, Mr. Jones. You are possibly the most naturally gifted athlete I have seen in my fifteen years of professional wrestling and by far, the quickest rookie to just outright get it during your training with Jimmy Riley to the point where the office had no choice but to fast track you to the main roster. The first ever (R)Evolution Wrestling trainee to make it to EXODUS Pro and you made your mark here quick...winning the Tag Team titles as part of Hot Sauce & Ramen and then winning the San Diego Bay title, putting you just a step away from a triple crown and one of the few in the main roster who could complete an original Grand Slam. You are somebody who will be a World champion one day. Not even I, Strike, am foolish enough to say otherwise.
So, how does a man with all of those attributes and accolades still looks, talks and acts as if he's nothing more...than the black clone of one Blake Jones."
Chris Strike let that one sink in for the viewers watching for a moment or two. Blake Jones was one of the early young guns of EXODUS Pro in its inception and somebody who was gradually on his way out when Strike first arrived in the company. Likeable kid. Immature at times but that almost couldn't be helped due to the early age and the lack of experience in aspects of life.
Black Jones fell under some of those same categories as well. He almost wondered how insulted the hardened man would feel at being compared to a man that Black had gone on record in calling "the inferior Jones" many times in the past while he was still a part of the infamous and overly annoying "Section B" of fans at the RIMAC.
"Maybe people around this company have forgotten about it, given that revisionist history is something a few members of the roster and higher brass in EXODUS Pro enjoy using when it suits them...but I, Strike, know and see all. The parallels between you two are actually incredible, in fact. Both of you are Philly Young Guns, both of you have been incredibly coddled and fondled even through temper tantrums and the like by Jonathan Collins and the offices here. Along with that, both of you pride yourselves in your athleticism and college backgrounds, both of you are also former San Diego Bay champions and part of dysfunctionally short-lived but successful tag teams to boot, both of you tucked tail and ran when the going got tough inside of the ring.
But you wanna know the biggest similarity is between you two, Mr. Jones?"
The King of the Pantheon paused for a moment, adjusting his championship on his right shoulder, no condescending smirk on his face, no particular pleasure specifically taken from delivering nothing short of an attempt at character assassination. But sometimes, the truth was the truth...and it was time somebody set "Black Jones" free. For his own good...
"Inconsistency.
You can have all the tools in the world and potential out the ass but what good is it if it's never used on a consistent basis? You can be the best wrestler in the world on any given night but if you can't do it over and over again, neither the office nor the audience will trust your abilities let alone any claims you make of being the best. You can claim to be the hardest and that your chick is the hottest in the game, but any of that gets flushed down the toilet if you can't perform at the highest level at a moment's notice.
Blake's inconsistency eventually got him to where the office decided to not re-sign him. You might end up the same way unless something changes...and maybe that's why Director Collins made this a World championship match in the same vein that her predecessors gave Blake Jones a shot at Christum Furor when he held this title. As a means to kick you in the ass after you punked out like a bitch from this company for five months on some emotional hiatus bullshit because you couldn't bear teaming with Kamigawa after he unmasked and because you couldn't bear the fact Aries Reed caused you to lose gold.
...I, Strike, am almost insulted by the fact that they would dare use the biggest prize in this industry as a dangling carrot for a boy who still is nowhere near ready to face THE WORLD! And you had better believe that the biggest fight you have ever had in your life is coming, Black Jones.
This is the fight that will either make you THE man in this company or break you even further than Ryuji Kamigawa's deceit ever could do it!"
At this point, Chris Strike takes the championship belt from his right shoulder and raises it by its strap up at his head-level. The camera zooms in, noticing the champion's hardened expression just hours before his showdown against the youngest and perhaps hungriest challenge he may end up having in his reign as EXODUS Pro World champion.
Even the inconsistent ones managed to score upsets from time to time. Mike Tyson and Buster Douglas was an immediate example that came to mind and even if Chris Strike had managed to shed the "paper champion" status with three solid defenses of the World title, he knew what he was closing in on. He knew his own place in history right now and what it could be if he survived the next month with the gold around his shoulder.
No...it wasn't a matter of "if" for Chris Strike. Not after nearly fifteen years of being a professional wrestling, not after all of the sacrifices endured to get to this point. No matter the cost, no matter what methods, he wouldn't allow the young upstart to just simply take this from him. He wouldn't allow the blind sheep attending EXODUS Pro shows to roar for another fairy tale ending like they did at Dead in Hollywood.
Not when the "King of the Pantheon" still had his own story to tell.
"I am on the threshold of making history, Mr. Jones. Slowly but surely closing in on a mark that has almost stood the test of time in EXODUS Pro, something that the pundits and experts of the world at large said couldn't be replicated due to the fierce level of competition. A mark that the office would love to see forever associated with our esteemed asshole of an Ace.
Five World championship defenses. And you're defense number four in my reign, Black Jones. You are one of two people over the next month standing between I, Strike, tying that mark and then overcoming it entirely. You're in my path to cementing myself as the greatest champion to have ever held gold in this entire company while flipping off every single human being who puts Fiona Collins' reign on a fucking pedestal. See, you can claim to be hard and say that nobody expected you to get this far, let alone to be alive at your age given the shithole of a city you come from but this isn't Filthydelphia where shit gets settled with incomprehensible slang and weapons in the middle of a basketball court or some dinky, piss-stained alley.
This is the professional wrestling ring, boy! This is a World championship match! THIS IS THE BIGGEST STAGE YOU WILL EVER STAND ON IN YOUR ENTIRE LIFE! You beat me here, I personally shake your hand as you cement yourself as the undisputed future Ace of EXODUS Pro. You lose and you go home empty-handed along with further proving your own inadequacies in the same manner Blake Jones did after losing to Furor.
It's put up or shut up time and I'm going to enjoy shutting you up just like I've done every single motherfucker who has dared to doubt that I, Strike, am unmistakably the absolute best professional wrestler in the world today! This championship that I hold is proof of that and in my V4 defense of this championship, I will prove it again by any means necessary!"
In a way, this is where it would all begin for him once again. At this point, he'd proven his worth as a champion. But now? It was no longer just about the journey and the protection of his personal Golden Fleece along with the other Argonauts gathered under his banner. As he had done so many times in his career, it was time to take another step up the ladder and to evolve further. He would not allow himself to die out here, not when he had come this far in his own revolution as a professional wrestler.
It was time for another metamorphosis.
From a soldier of fortune to the greatest warlord who has ever lived...
From a World champion to EXODUS Pro legend...
From a King to a God.
"So every single word you've thrown my path, every single clever insult, every little tirade about how I'm not a man you respect that you're going to regurgitate...I, Strike, am going to force feed you every single goddamn bit of it until you fucking choke on it in such a biblical way that you'll finally understand what it feels like when you try to shove your member down your girl's throat.
At EXPRO on FX #36, I, Strike, cement my status further as the absolute best to have ever walked into EXODUS and as the true standard bearer in this industry...and you become just another footnote in my story, being able to do nothing more but to live with it.
Welcome to Strike's World, bitch!"
Fade to black.
--------------------------------------------------
August 10, 2015
San Diego, California
“Thank you for joining me here, the both of you…”
Nestled across from Balboa Park on 5th Avenue sits Azuki Sushi, a cozy sushi joint that oozes sophistication. Although the space itself is small, it was a local favorite. Be it due to specialty rolls like the Super Dragon Roll with spicy rock shrimp mix, shrimp tempura, avocado topped with unagi, avocado, crunchy sweet potato and eel sauce to their desserts like the green tea crème brûlée and toffee pudding, all of it packs a big punch with its flavors and dishes and that was what brought the three men at hand to one of the corner booths where they wouldn’t be disturbed. Empty plates with remnants of rice, soy sauce, wasabi and the like already were brushed to a side where their server could swing by and grab them in a heartbeat as Chris Strike sat on one end of the table, hands resting over the counter while overlooking the two men sat on the other side.
Ryoma and Ryusei Arino.
Having just come from a set of radio interviews, Chris Strike reached into the pocket of a green, zip-up track jacket with yellow stripes on the right hand side of it, the word “BRAZIL” across the chest area as he placed a piece of paper in the middle of the table. A topographic map.
“We’ve narrowed down the area where we will be traveling to in order to seal the Marks…” Strike explains, sounding far more confident than he did days ago before setting up this meeting. “Once we have all members of our party, we’ll fly to the location and then take a boat to where the X is on the map.”
Ryoma a.k.a. Papa Arino nodded, while Ryusei glanced at the map closely, curiously studying its concept.
“Who will sail us there?” Papa Arino asked.
“The plan is to have Ciaran Samuels do it.” Even with the odd behavior displayed by the Helmsman and the sudden reappearance of his brother, Strike was still confident that “Poseidon” of their Pantheon would be able to navigate them safely through those waters. “But for now, our focus will be to bring in Anderson Cobalt and the Mark of Libra to our side. A task that won’t be particularly so easy given one of the Imperium members saw fit to wreck him based on a small sample size of intel.”
“It is worrisome that young Cobalt was struck down the way he was,” Papa Arino laments, having also had a hand in training him along with some of the Gen 1 and 2 kids in (R)Evolution Wrestling. “But it give us opportunity to perhaps find out exactly who is the person taking his blood, like that fool Oshima described.”
Strike nods. “Earlier this morning, Reika sent a rather promising lead.” He pulls out his cell phone, turning on the screen and unlocking it in order to show both Ryoma and Ryusei a set of text messages from his manager and the being bearing the Mark of Capricorn. “It seems in the process of trying to figure out who exactly is trying to take Cobalt’s powers away that we stumbled upon one of the last people we need to head on our journey.”
The Arinos looked closely at the text, which had detailed information and the picture of a young black woman with curly hair, a bright smile and an attire that didn’t leave much for the imagination in the first place, including nine particular stars aligned together on a tattoo across her left hip.
Ryusei Arino blinked.
“...Virgo?”
