Post by The Cosplay Playboy on Aug 23, 2015 10:25:45 GMT -6
August 21, 2015
Myrtle Beach, South Carolina
Even if the weathermen predicted partially cloudy weather with rain showers to come through the course of the night in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina with the forecast following suit on that prediction as the skies hid away the sun, dark grey in color, it was not enough to stop Chris Strike from pulling out all of the stops in this particular lunch meeting at one of Myrtle Beach’s premiere restaurants, the Sea Captain’s House Restaurant - an establishment that has been named Best Seafood Restaurant four years in a row, making it a place that has now won more awards than any other restaurant in Myrtle Beach. Once the door shuts behind him, Chris Strike glances around the small waiting lobby area while walking towards the counter. While it had been years since he had come here, he had some fond memories of the location. It didn’t take long for a tall, lanky man in a white collared shirt, khaki pants, a captain’s hat and an acknowledging smile to greet him and snap him away from memory lane. “Hi, welcome to the Sea Captain’s House. How many for dining in today?”
Chris shook his head. “Actually, I have a reservation for today. It should be under Strike or Sharp, table for two.”
“Strike...Sharp...table for two...” The boy asked, checking the set of reservations on the sheet of paper in front of him before looking back at Chris with a smile. “Here you are. It seems Mr. Sharp is already here and waiting. Follow me.”
Strike straightened his navy blue single-breasted jacket worn on top of a pinstriped silver and steel blue cotton shirt with a pair of Brazilian flag cufflinks, a white tie in a four-in-hand knot, black dress pants and black leather shoes right out of Desmond Merrion’s Supreme Bespoke collection - hand-tailored and built specifically to fit the current EXODUS Pro World champion alone. He nodded and followed along while the staff member guided him further inside the Sea Captain’s House – most of its tables still empty as the lunch rush had not yet started, though with a few older couples sat together, huddled in their trifle conversations about the weather and life in general. Even in the cloudy weather, the staff in the Sea Captain’s House kept their ocean side view open and exposed for both visitors and regulars to marvel upon during the dining. Strike remembered falling in love with the view during his first visit to the Sea Captain after a show years ago with the likes of old friends like “The Tsunami” Jeff Fury, “The Mountain” Robert Porter and the “King of Submissions” Lyn Dallins and of course, the fact that this was the designated spot where the War Machines feasted their spoils of war during their time as a part of the Universal Wrestling League. This was where they broke bread, where they shared war stories, ate some of the finest seafood on the planet and at the time, never quite realized how big their own creation would eventually become...
Finally, the tall gentleman stopped in front of a booth. Just as Strike expected them to do it, they gave them their requested table next to the glass on the far left corner of the restaurant. Chris nodded to the gentleman, as he excused himself immediately before focusing on a now standing Michael Sharp, also dressed to the nines with something out of his own expensive arsenal - a three-piece, black colored William Westmancott Ultimate Bespoke suit complimented by a white bespoke shirt and a polka dot tie - and a gaze that stares daggers at his fellow War Machine brethren, a gaze that Strike returns in pure, defensive instinct and keeps for a moment before Michael Sharp sticks his right hand out.
“It’s been a while…” Sharp finally says, his gaze never leaving the man across him.
Strike looks down at Michael’s right hand and back to the man himself before shaking it.
“Yes. Yes it has,” Chris replied, not even a hint of a smile on his face, keeping it all very formal as if conducting a business meeting rather than breaking bread in the same fashion they had been able to do all the way until the beginning of this year.
Exhaling, Strike was the first to break the handshake before finding his way to the right side of the booth while Sharp took the left. As the EXODUS World champion took a moment to collect his thoughts - his left wrist showing a gleam of his gold and stainless steel Rolex GMT Master II - Michael Sharp was quick to fire off his own order to the waiter who’d just swung on by right off the bat as to not waste any time. It was one of the wonders of having been to a place like this one before. Throughout the years, the menu hadn’t changed and the staff knew them all very well...so when the question came his way, Chris Strike also spoke out his order without missing a beat.
“Sautéed crab crabs, fillet of flounder, fried with your rice of the day and a bottle of your Artemis 2005.”
“Very well gentlemen, I’ll be back with the wine and bourbon shortly.”
The server then goes his merry way again, checking on the other customers in nearby tables, as Chris Strike finally looks up again at Michael Sharp and the two have another tense moment of looking around and wondering who exactly is going to say the first word. They hadn’t seen one another since days before Chris Strike went into Korakuen Hall and reclaimed the EXODUS Pro World Championship from Abby Park. Long before he started to burn bridges. Long before he began confiding in Reika Seragaki and the Pantheon rather than the brothers he had known for so long. But just before his “betrayal” and forceful thrust of the baton unto Carey Caldwell and the second generation of the War Machines.
“What in the fuck have you been playing at lately, Chris?”
The question was a pointed gun, the barrel looking right at him. One of many questions, Strike assumed.
“I wasn’t aware that I was playing at anything here, Michael.”
“Okay, I am not here for the vague statements, let alone yinz’s passive-aggressive tone,” Sharp uttered, keeping his voice low but very much displaying he isn’t having any of this particular shit on this occasion. “I’m up to speed on a few things thanks to the kid and Zinkus. Not particularly happy with the fact that yinz forgot to mention that the odd fucking scars you got in Ellum last year were some sort of Hal Snyder binding bullshit.” Michael exhaled, the flash of a matching gold and stainless steel Rolex GMT Master II in his own left wrist peeking out as he shifted his left arm slightly on the counter. “We saw what happened throughout that whole Perfect Evil saga and yet, you proceeded to do something that stupid without telling any of u-”
“This was my decision to make,” Strike replied right back, defiant as ever that he would even be questioned on the subject matter.
“The fuck it was,” Sharp’s interruption was loud enough to where if this was a lunch rush, just about everybody within a short range from their booth would have heard that one and be staring right at them. “We went into that goddamned hellhole as a team. We went through hell trying to get Kadence Snyder and that entire lot to trust us, let alone to get in to find out exactly what happened with the long lost Stearns wife and find out exactly what was Iwakuma’s endgame was with the Perfect Evil curse, that’s it!”
“Magnus Gunner wasn’t just going to be beaten by a mere man, Sharp...”
“Beating Magnus Gunner for a championship isn’t worth sacrificing your goddamned humanity over!”
The exclamation point would have been followed by a probable pound of the table to make sure that Michael Sharp had Chris Strike’s full attention, had it not been for the arrival of their wine. Shooting Chris a quick glance to hold off on it for a moment, they watched as their server set-up the bottles and glasses of each correspondent wine next to the person who ordered it, even going as far as opening and pouring them before leaving the two men to their own devices once again. Sharp was the first one to take his glass, forgetting any customs or manners when it comes to drinking his wine and taking a large drink from his cup before setting it down while Chris Strike simply placed his hand on his own, hesitating to grab it and probably gulp the entire thing in one fell swoop.
“This isn’t about Magnus Gunner,” Strike stated. His naivety once did have him believing that he had to sink to the depth that the devil who once ruled EXODUS Pro had done in order to defeat him. Why else be a willing subject to a man like Hal Snyder, who enjoyed making people suffer for fun when he was an active competitor? “Not anymore. Not after finally understanding what the hell these things are and what they’re capable of doing if they fall in the wrong hands...”
“Is that your actual train of thought? Or is it the red-headed rodent planting ideas in yinz’s fucking head again?” Sharp asked, not missing the opportunity to take his shots at Reika Seragaki and using that as a way to further his own point on how far his War Machine brethren had strayed from their path.
“What exactly do you want from me, Michael?” Strike asked, his tone starting to lose any semblance of patience at this rate.
Sharp scoffed. “Some goddamned answers would be a start. Like when in the hell did you decide it was such an excellent idea to push away everybody who supported you and act like...” The financial force and brains of the original War Machine operation stopped himself for a moment, composing his thoughts for what exactly he wanted to convey. “Look, we may rub outsiders the wrong way with our attitude and the like...but goddammit Chris, you don’t do the shit that you did to Carey without there being some goddamned consequences for it. Especially when it means siding with a complete outsider over the Machines, over your own family...”
Ah yes...the sixty-four thousand dollar question. The path that had been chosen, the path least traveled and one that had turned Chris Strike within months and event after event from conquering hero to villainous scum. While a part of it had to do with his own personal distaste for the viewing audiences who attended these EXODUS Pro shows, there was that other part which no one knew, not even the Pantheon that he had formed.
“You wanna know why, Sharp?”
He let that question hang in the air. It was rhetorical. They both knew that much. Hell, Chris had expected this much. They were War Machines, after all. Betrayal wasn’t something they took lightly and something that they dealt with by going to war against the opposing party and putting a swift end to them. No doubt, Chris Strike had been afforded the luxury of time from those consequences by the man across the table but now, he felt the reality that Michael Sharp would turn every single resource on his end to dedicate himself to ending the “King of the Pantheon” if he had truly turned against them. But it was more than just a matter of war against allies, because he’d done that plenty of times over a damn near decade and a half of professional wrestling. At the end of the day, these were circumstances beyond normal comprehension and the kind that a proud man like Chris Strike had kept to himself, bottled up time and time again as he drove this narrative forward, all with one goal in mind...even if it eventually meant meeting his own doom...
Sighing, Chris Strike finally took his glass of wine and took a large sip of it until it all bitterly down his throat, not even bothering to enjoy the taste before setting the glass down. Try as he might, he couldn’t bear this weight alone anymore.
So, it was time to take the leap of faith and thrust it upon one of the few, familiar things that he still knew...
----------------------------------------------------
“Adversity causes some men to break; others to break records.”
And I can tell you right off the bat that there hasn’t been anybody who has faced as much adversity in their reign as EXODUS Pro World champion than me. There has not been anybody who has worn this crown and stood at the top of the mountain that people have wanted to see thrown off from it than I, Strike. And why is that, I, Strike, used to ask myself and anybody within earshot. Lately I, Strike, have had no problems making my opinions known on EXODUS Pro crowds lately and now don’t even dare for a second to play mind games with my challengers to create an advantage on my side of the fence...but surely I, Strike, couldn’t be as worse as the likes of Christum Furor or Omar Wise when they held this championship. That’s when I, Strike, remember the truth…
By now, they were expecting somebody to break me. Be it their heroes in the form of Christian Kane, Sally Talfourd, Justin Brooks, Felicity Banks, Black Jones…they would even take somebody who once attempted to destroy this company and make everyone around it kneel in Christum Furor putting me in my place. But so far, none of them have been able to do it. Outside of fluke victories by the likes of Abby Park, Simon Raines and even your Ace that you fans seem to have a marry/fuck/kill relationship with lately in Fiona Collins...nobody else has been able to figure out what it takes to beat Chris Strike, let alone take the EXODUS Pro World Championship off my shoulder for good.
So instead of lying broken and battered as so many of you have predicted and begged, I, Strike, stand here on the verge of tying a record that everybody believed to be impossible to equate.
Five World championship title defenses has been the standard held together in EXODUS Pro ever since July 28, 2013 when Heather Halliwell finally defeated the then-Fiona Rourke in perhaps the best match she ever wrestled in. I, Strike, remember it well when Dick Morosi said that the “Pretty Lil Texan” would be the one to carry the torch Fiona held high into the days in which EXPRO on FX began...only to see Heather Halliwell fall short in defense number two to Adrien Cochrane...who then fell to Zero McHannon...who then fell to Magnus Gunner...and boy, did that cycle continue. In fact, even I, Strike, was a part of that vicious cycle in my first go-around with this championship on my shoulder and with the more time it passed, the more everyone who watches EXODUS Pro considered exceeding the reign and standard set by the “Ace” to be one hell a Herculean labor, damn near impossible to be accomplished, a mark that would stand the test of time.
Yet, here I stand now in front of you with four World championship defenses under my belt and one to go until I, Strike, achieve the exact same thing that Fiona Collins did in a similar amount of time and against far, far better competition. And it kills you all inside, doesn’t it? Especially the Collins family themselves. Because this was a mark you were all so proud to hold up over everybody’s heads to prove that you’ve been better than anybody else for the past two years. Especially the fans who were more than happy to call me nothing more than a “paper champion” and somebody who they decided was fit to fall down the ladder and then crawl on out of this company like the Johnny Cannons and Chandler Scotts of our time to go make their money elsewhere.
But while I, Strike, would love to appear in front of a camera and grin from ear-to-ear at the fact I’m one title defense away from doing what was deemed to be impossible by so many...well, I’ve got far better things than entertaining you mortals in front of a camera this time around. There are far more important matters at hand and that is the fifth defense of my EXODUS Pro World championship against, by far, the most deserving challenger I, Strike, have had in the entirety of my reign. The only person who has actually earned their way into a championship match rather than just be handed out one by the office or by yours truly as a means of proving a point. Even if it means that challenger has to beat down every doubter in their path by any means necessary.
They say well-behaved women rarely make history. Wouldn’t you agree, Savannah Taylor?
See, Savannah is a particularly special case as a challenger in the fact that I, Strike, actually have grown to respect her. Far more than I ever did during the days in which she was a member of Gods & Monsters, where I felt she was nothing more than a flash in the pan aided by Cleon Gray at every turn. The hivemind in this company can be a scary thing sometimes and during that particular time of my life...I, Strike, sadly fell along with it and failed to see the brilliance behind her methods, even if it earned her the scorn and ire of the crowds. But at this point in EXPRO’s history, my dear mortals? Nobody can deny the reality that Savannah Taylor is the greatest San Diego Bay champion this company has seen and that as the current International champion, she could do the same thing she did with the San Diego Bay strap and cement her legacy in this company further. Add those nuggets to the reality she could be a double champion after Monday...phew. Now there are some high stakes. In fact, this is also Savannah’s chance to stake a claim in EXODUS Pro history herself by winning the famed Triple Crown in a far less shorter amount of time than our esteemed Ace ever could.
We’ve got all the elements of a Match of the Year candidate come Monday night, to say the least.
But this isn’t why I respect her.
Savannah Taylor has defied every single expectation that this company had for her and in fact, has exceeded despite EXODUS Pro’s best attempts to put her down and classify her as nothing more than a catty, opportunistic “bitch” who got by on nothing more than her supermodel-like looks and by exploring every shortcut in the book. All of these things while failing to notice that she’s beaten almost everybody there is to beat in EXODUS Pro, that she’s been here night in and night out ever since arrival in the scene and most importantly, the reality that she beat every other champion in this company two weeks ago to earn her way into standing between me and history...and without a doubt, much like Heather Halliwell stood defiantly against Fiona Collins’ trailblazing ways, a Siren from Sin City is trying to lure me with her enchanting voice to finally crash against the rocks before I, Strike, reach the shore and achieve the exact same task as Fiona did before moving on the path towards exceeding the Ace’s accomplishment.
She will be my greatest challenger to date. Greater than Abigail Park, greater than Felicity Banks, greater than Christian Kane, greater than Black Jones...and that is worthy of my respect. That is worthy of my attention. She is worthy of being the challenger that will make me exceed my own limits and push myself to take the next step into making history.
That leads us into the match we will for my World championship, Savannah Taylor. A match where you have everything to gain from it and nothing at all to lose. After all, your championship isn’t on the line and even a good enough performance against me isn’t something that the office is going to be able to deny down the road when they realize you’ve elevated that International title in the same vein that you did the San Diego Bay title and that it’s time for you to take that next step. Hell, maybe this is their own fucked-up way of auditioning you as future World championship material with the opportunity to jump the line and win it outright if you kill the audition. All to gain, nothing to lose...and maybe that’s the biggest thing that drives me in this entire scenario, Savannah…
You are good. You are very good, in fact. But you’re not ready for this. Not yet. Just like you weren’t ready for the “Monster of the Bay” Justin Brooks in your first encounter when he took every single shot you dished out, grinned, asked for seconds and then dismantled you the moment you gave him an opportunity to do so. Just like you weren’t ready for mara when she took matters into her own hands and swung for the fences, nearly sending you right back to the hospital before Fiona Collins made the save. Just like you weren’t ready for Chandler Scott’s overtly aggressive, shitty human being streak being all unleashed upon you because he valued championship gold far more than your affections for him. See, there’s a trend that I, Strike, noticed when it comes to you, Savannah Taylor and that’s the reality that against anybody who has been major competition to you, against people who have pushed you to your limits...you’ve always fallen short in that first, fateful encounter against them. You’re like a batter who has a slow start, swinging and missing on your first two at-bats or popping up for an out before you finally make contact on your third shot and sending that one over the goddamned fence. You adapt to your opponent’s moves, their little habits and all else in between. Anybody who gets to fight you more than once is outright unfortunate because by then? Your song is far stronger and in most occasions, even the mightiest of men and monsters will crash against the rocks or swim for their lives to make it to you...only to then be chewed up and spat out by you, you vicious little monster.
But against me, Savannah Taylor? You’re not getting that luxury. Because this isn’t just some man or a monster that you’re stepping against. You’re stepping against the King of the Pantheon, the God of Thunder himself and I, Strike, will not hesitate to absolutely demolish you in order to make my way into the history books by whatever means necessary. I, Strike, would expect the exact same from somebody as driven, hungry and obsessed with success as you. My confidence in you to eventually be a World champion one day is something I will make clear but I, Strike, will not allow it to happen for as long as I hold this EXODUS Pro World championship. Not when there’s still history for me to make.
Savannah, nobody wants to see the mark of World title defenses tied, let alone eclipsed by a man they all hate from both the outside and inside of EXODUS Pro. They would even go as far as cheering you rather than supporting me, so yet again, my back is against the wall. But it does not change my mission that I, Strike have set out on since my return from Tokyo with this title on my shoulder...that like a bad ex after dismantling Abigail Park and the hopes and dreams of the RIMAC, I am going to wreck havoc on anybody who dares to try and take this championship away from me.
I, Strike, will get through the chaotic waters and past you, Savannah Taylor. I will sail through and ignore the Siren’s calling in order to have this V5 title defense under my belt, to look the world right in the eye and tell them exactly how do they all feel at the realization that they can no longer deny my place in EXODUS Pro history books, let alone my status as the best absolute best living and breathing professional wrestler in the globe today. Shoving it in their faces isn’t enough at this point, Savannah. Shoving it in the face of anybody who stands between me and breaking records is not and will not be enough until you all get it through your skulls that nobody in this planet can stand up to me when they go one-on-one against Chris Strike!
No matter what happens on Monday night at the RIMAC, Savannah Taylor...one thing’s for sure.
This is Strike’s World that you now stand in, Siren. And in it?
The Pantheon…ALWAYS Wins!
----------------------------------------------------
August 21, 2015
Myrtle Beach, South Carolina
“...Fine. But this doesn’t leave this place.”
“Chris, they need to know…” Michael began, frustration growing in his own voice. “Especially the kid after what you and the rodent tried to pull off.”
“The more they know, the sooner they’ll be made into targets...it’s bad enough that Carey is already one.”
“If it is Reika Seragaki, we can handle Reik-”
Now it was Chris Strike’s turn to smack his hands against the table, visible frustration growing on his face. “Will you let me fucking finish?” Again, not so much a question as it was a way to keep Michael Sharp quiet for a few moments longer. “Because if this was just Reika, I would have dealt with this situation myself long before it got this out of control...”
Slowly, Chris reached inside of the suit and pulled out something from one of the pockets inside of it - a particular piece of paper folded up which the EXODUS Pro World champion slid across the table. Michael Sharp looked at it for a moment before picking it up and unfolding it slowly, finding a particular newspaper article completely written in Japanese with parts of it highlighted and with different sets of numbers around certain sentences, along with another page having multiple sentences written in English, numerically ordered.
Sharp scanned both pieces for a moment, analyzing carefully that these were the translated content of the article itself until one particular sentence made him stop in his tracks, his eyes widening…
“Wait a second, but this means…” He uttered, not being able to hide the shock on his face. “What the fuck is going on here, Chris?”
Strike grabbed the Artemis 2005 bottle on the table, not hesitating to pour himself some more wine. This wasn’t the easiest story to tell and the liquor courage would serve as an extra motivator to get it all out of his system. Really, none of this was particularly easy to swallow - especially for somebody who kept this particular card close to his chest ever since he began looking into the matter after the incident at Universal Studios in Osaka...something he hadn’t disclosed to anybody at all in detail.
“It’s just like the article says…”
Chris Strike took in a deep breath.
“Reika Seragaki was found dead inside of her home three years ago...”
...It was a good thing that the food arrived just in time...
Myrtle Beach, South Carolina
Even if the weathermen predicted partially cloudy weather with rain showers to come through the course of the night in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina with the forecast following suit on that prediction as the skies hid away the sun, dark grey in color, it was not enough to stop Chris Strike from pulling out all of the stops in this particular lunch meeting at one of Myrtle Beach’s premiere restaurants, the Sea Captain’s House Restaurant - an establishment that has been named Best Seafood Restaurant four years in a row, making it a place that has now won more awards than any other restaurant in Myrtle Beach. Once the door shuts behind him, Chris Strike glances around the small waiting lobby area while walking towards the counter. While it had been years since he had come here, he had some fond memories of the location. It didn’t take long for a tall, lanky man in a white collared shirt, khaki pants, a captain’s hat and an acknowledging smile to greet him and snap him away from memory lane. “Hi, welcome to the Sea Captain’s House. How many for dining in today?”
Chris shook his head. “Actually, I have a reservation for today. It should be under Strike or Sharp, table for two.”
“Strike...Sharp...table for two...” The boy asked, checking the set of reservations on the sheet of paper in front of him before looking back at Chris with a smile. “Here you are. It seems Mr. Sharp is already here and waiting. Follow me.”
Strike straightened his navy blue single-breasted jacket worn on top of a pinstriped silver and steel blue cotton shirt with a pair of Brazilian flag cufflinks, a white tie in a four-in-hand knot, black dress pants and black leather shoes right out of Desmond Merrion’s Supreme Bespoke collection - hand-tailored and built specifically to fit the current EXODUS Pro World champion alone. He nodded and followed along while the staff member guided him further inside the Sea Captain’s House – most of its tables still empty as the lunch rush had not yet started, though with a few older couples sat together, huddled in their trifle conversations about the weather and life in general. Even in the cloudy weather, the staff in the Sea Captain’s House kept their ocean side view open and exposed for both visitors and regulars to marvel upon during the dining. Strike remembered falling in love with the view during his first visit to the Sea Captain after a show years ago with the likes of old friends like “The Tsunami” Jeff Fury, “The Mountain” Robert Porter and the “King of Submissions” Lyn Dallins and of course, the fact that this was the designated spot where the War Machines feasted their spoils of war during their time as a part of the Universal Wrestling League. This was where they broke bread, where they shared war stories, ate some of the finest seafood on the planet and at the time, never quite realized how big their own creation would eventually become...
Finally, the tall gentleman stopped in front of a booth. Just as Strike expected them to do it, they gave them their requested table next to the glass on the far left corner of the restaurant. Chris nodded to the gentleman, as he excused himself immediately before focusing on a now standing Michael Sharp, also dressed to the nines with something out of his own expensive arsenal - a three-piece, black colored William Westmancott Ultimate Bespoke suit complimented by a white bespoke shirt and a polka dot tie - and a gaze that stares daggers at his fellow War Machine brethren, a gaze that Strike returns in pure, defensive instinct and keeps for a moment before Michael Sharp sticks his right hand out.
“It’s been a while…” Sharp finally says, his gaze never leaving the man across him.
Strike looks down at Michael’s right hand and back to the man himself before shaking it.
“Yes. Yes it has,” Chris replied, not even a hint of a smile on his face, keeping it all very formal as if conducting a business meeting rather than breaking bread in the same fashion they had been able to do all the way until the beginning of this year.
Exhaling, Strike was the first to break the handshake before finding his way to the right side of the booth while Sharp took the left. As the EXODUS World champion took a moment to collect his thoughts - his left wrist showing a gleam of his gold and stainless steel Rolex GMT Master II - Michael Sharp was quick to fire off his own order to the waiter who’d just swung on by right off the bat as to not waste any time. It was one of the wonders of having been to a place like this one before. Throughout the years, the menu hadn’t changed and the staff knew them all very well...so when the question came his way, Chris Strike also spoke out his order without missing a beat.
“Sautéed crab crabs, fillet of flounder, fried with your rice of the day and a bottle of your Artemis 2005.”
“Very well gentlemen, I’ll be back with the wine and bourbon shortly.”
The server then goes his merry way again, checking on the other customers in nearby tables, as Chris Strike finally looks up again at Michael Sharp and the two have another tense moment of looking around and wondering who exactly is going to say the first word. They hadn’t seen one another since days before Chris Strike went into Korakuen Hall and reclaimed the EXODUS Pro World Championship from Abby Park. Long before he started to burn bridges. Long before he began confiding in Reika Seragaki and the Pantheon rather than the brothers he had known for so long. But just before his “betrayal” and forceful thrust of the baton unto Carey Caldwell and the second generation of the War Machines.
“What in the fuck have you been playing at lately, Chris?”
The question was a pointed gun, the barrel looking right at him. One of many questions, Strike assumed.
“I wasn’t aware that I was playing at anything here, Michael.”
“Okay, I am not here for the vague statements, let alone yinz’s passive-aggressive tone,” Sharp uttered, keeping his voice low but very much displaying he isn’t having any of this particular shit on this occasion. “I’m up to speed on a few things thanks to the kid and Zinkus. Not particularly happy with the fact that yinz forgot to mention that the odd fucking scars you got in Ellum last year were some sort of Hal Snyder binding bullshit.” Michael exhaled, the flash of a matching gold and stainless steel Rolex GMT Master II in his own left wrist peeking out as he shifted his left arm slightly on the counter. “We saw what happened throughout that whole Perfect Evil saga and yet, you proceeded to do something that stupid without telling any of u-”
“This was my decision to make,” Strike replied right back, defiant as ever that he would even be questioned on the subject matter.
“The fuck it was,” Sharp’s interruption was loud enough to where if this was a lunch rush, just about everybody within a short range from their booth would have heard that one and be staring right at them. “We went into that goddamned hellhole as a team. We went through hell trying to get Kadence Snyder and that entire lot to trust us, let alone to get in to find out exactly what happened with the long lost Stearns wife and find out exactly what was Iwakuma’s endgame was with the Perfect Evil curse, that’s it!”
“Magnus Gunner wasn’t just going to be beaten by a mere man, Sharp...”
“Beating Magnus Gunner for a championship isn’t worth sacrificing your goddamned humanity over!”
The exclamation point would have been followed by a probable pound of the table to make sure that Michael Sharp had Chris Strike’s full attention, had it not been for the arrival of their wine. Shooting Chris a quick glance to hold off on it for a moment, they watched as their server set-up the bottles and glasses of each correspondent wine next to the person who ordered it, even going as far as opening and pouring them before leaving the two men to their own devices once again. Sharp was the first one to take his glass, forgetting any customs or manners when it comes to drinking his wine and taking a large drink from his cup before setting it down while Chris Strike simply placed his hand on his own, hesitating to grab it and probably gulp the entire thing in one fell swoop.
“This isn’t about Magnus Gunner,” Strike stated. His naivety once did have him believing that he had to sink to the depth that the devil who once ruled EXODUS Pro had done in order to defeat him. Why else be a willing subject to a man like Hal Snyder, who enjoyed making people suffer for fun when he was an active competitor? “Not anymore. Not after finally understanding what the hell these things are and what they’re capable of doing if they fall in the wrong hands...”
“Is that your actual train of thought? Or is it the red-headed rodent planting ideas in yinz’s fucking head again?” Sharp asked, not missing the opportunity to take his shots at Reika Seragaki and using that as a way to further his own point on how far his War Machine brethren had strayed from their path.
“What exactly do you want from me, Michael?” Strike asked, his tone starting to lose any semblance of patience at this rate.
Sharp scoffed. “Some goddamned answers would be a start. Like when in the hell did you decide it was such an excellent idea to push away everybody who supported you and act like...” The financial force and brains of the original War Machine operation stopped himself for a moment, composing his thoughts for what exactly he wanted to convey. “Look, we may rub outsiders the wrong way with our attitude and the like...but goddammit Chris, you don’t do the shit that you did to Carey without there being some goddamned consequences for it. Especially when it means siding with a complete outsider over the Machines, over your own family...”
Ah yes...the sixty-four thousand dollar question. The path that had been chosen, the path least traveled and one that had turned Chris Strike within months and event after event from conquering hero to villainous scum. While a part of it had to do with his own personal distaste for the viewing audiences who attended these EXODUS Pro shows, there was that other part which no one knew, not even the Pantheon that he had formed.
“You wanna know why, Sharp?”
He let that question hang in the air. It was rhetorical. They both knew that much. Hell, Chris had expected this much. They were War Machines, after all. Betrayal wasn’t something they took lightly and something that they dealt with by going to war against the opposing party and putting a swift end to them. No doubt, Chris Strike had been afforded the luxury of time from those consequences by the man across the table but now, he felt the reality that Michael Sharp would turn every single resource on his end to dedicate himself to ending the “King of the Pantheon” if he had truly turned against them. But it was more than just a matter of war against allies, because he’d done that plenty of times over a damn near decade and a half of professional wrestling. At the end of the day, these were circumstances beyond normal comprehension and the kind that a proud man like Chris Strike had kept to himself, bottled up time and time again as he drove this narrative forward, all with one goal in mind...even if it eventually meant meeting his own doom...
Sighing, Chris Strike finally took his glass of wine and took a large sip of it until it all bitterly down his throat, not even bothering to enjoy the taste before setting the glass down. Try as he might, he couldn’t bear this weight alone anymore.
So, it was time to take the leap of faith and thrust it upon one of the few, familiar things that he still knew...
----------------------------------------------------
“Adversity causes some men to break; others to break records.”
And I can tell you right off the bat that there hasn’t been anybody who has faced as much adversity in their reign as EXODUS Pro World champion than me. There has not been anybody who has worn this crown and stood at the top of the mountain that people have wanted to see thrown off from it than I, Strike. And why is that, I, Strike, used to ask myself and anybody within earshot. Lately I, Strike, have had no problems making my opinions known on EXODUS Pro crowds lately and now don’t even dare for a second to play mind games with my challengers to create an advantage on my side of the fence...but surely I, Strike, couldn’t be as worse as the likes of Christum Furor or Omar Wise when they held this championship. That’s when I, Strike, remember the truth…
By now, they were expecting somebody to break me. Be it their heroes in the form of Christian Kane, Sally Talfourd, Justin Brooks, Felicity Banks, Black Jones…they would even take somebody who once attempted to destroy this company and make everyone around it kneel in Christum Furor putting me in my place. But so far, none of them have been able to do it. Outside of fluke victories by the likes of Abby Park, Simon Raines and even your Ace that you fans seem to have a marry/fuck/kill relationship with lately in Fiona Collins...nobody else has been able to figure out what it takes to beat Chris Strike, let alone take the EXODUS Pro World Championship off my shoulder for good.
So instead of lying broken and battered as so many of you have predicted and begged, I, Strike, stand here on the verge of tying a record that everybody believed to be impossible to equate.
Five World championship title defenses has been the standard held together in EXODUS Pro ever since July 28, 2013 when Heather Halliwell finally defeated the then-Fiona Rourke in perhaps the best match she ever wrestled in. I, Strike, remember it well when Dick Morosi said that the “Pretty Lil Texan” would be the one to carry the torch Fiona held high into the days in which EXPRO on FX began...only to see Heather Halliwell fall short in defense number two to Adrien Cochrane...who then fell to Zero McHannon...who then fell to Magnus Gunner...and boy, did that cycle continue. In fact, even I, Strike, was a part of that vicious cycle in my first go-around with this championship on my shoulder and with the more time it passed, the more everyone who watches EXODUS Pro considered exceeding the reign and standard set by the “Ace” to be one hell a Herculean labor, damn near impossible to be accomplished, a mark that would stand the test of time.
Yet, here I stand now in front of you with four World championship defenses under my belt and one to go until I, Strike, achieve the exact same thing that Fiona Collins did in a similar amount of time and against far, far better competition. And it kills you all inside, doesn’t it? Especially the Collins family themselves. Because this was a mark you were all so proud to hold up over everybody’s heads to prove that you’ve been better than anybody else for the past two years. Especially the fans who were more than happy to call me nothing more than a “paper champion” and somebody who they decided was fit to fall down the ladder and then crawl on out of this company like the Johnny Cannons and Chandler Scotts of our time to go make their money elsewhere.
But while I, Strike, would love to appear in front of a camera and grin from ear-to-ear at the fact I’m one title defense away from doing what was deemed to be impossible by so many...well, I’ve got far better things than entertaining you mortals in front of a camera this time around. There are far more important matters at hand and that is the fifth defense of my EXODUS Pro World championship against, by far, the most deserving challenger I, Strike, have had in the entirety of my reign. The only person who has actually earned their way into a championship match rather than just be handed out one by the office or by yours truly as a means of proving a point. Even if it means that challenger has to beat down every doubter in their path by any means necessary.
They say well-behaved women rarely make history. Wouldn’t you agree, Savannah Taylor?
See, Savannah is a particularly special case as a challenger in the fact that I, Strike, actually have grown to respect her. Far more than I ever did during the days in which she was a member of Gods & Monsters, where I felt she was nothing more than a flash in the pan aided by Cleon Gray at every turn. The hivemind in this company can be a scary thing sometimes and during that particular time of my life...I, Strike, sadly fell along with it and failed to see the brilliance behind her methods, even if it earned her the scorn and ire of the crowds. But at this point in EXPRO’s history, my dear mortals? Nobody can deny the reality that Savannah Taylor is the greatest San Diego Bay champion this company has seen and that as the current International champion, she could do the same thing she did with the San Diego Bay strap and cement her legacy in this company further. Add those nuggets to the reality she could be a double champion after Monday...phew. Now there are some high stakes. In fact, this is also Savannah’s chance to stake a claim in EXODUS Pro history herself by winning the famed Triple Crown in a far less shorter amount of time than our esteemed Ace ever could.
We’ve got all the elements of a Match of the Year candidate come Monday night, to say the least.
But this isn’t why I respect her.
Savannah Taylor has defied every single expectation that this company had for her and in fact, has exceeded despite EXODUS Pro’s best attempts to put her down and classify her as nothing more than a catty, opportunistic “bitch” who got by on nothing more than her supermodel-like looks and by exploring every shortcut in the book. All of these things while failing to notice that she’s beaten almost everybody there is to beat in EXODUS Pro, that she’s been here night in and night out ever since arrival in the scene and most importantly, the reality that she beat every other champion in this company two weeks ago to earn her way into standing between me and history...and without a doubt, much like Heather Halliwell stood defiantly against Fiona Collins’ trailblazing ways, a Siren from Sin City is trying to lure me with her enchanting voice to finally crash against the rocks before I, Strike, reach the shore and achieve the exact same task as Fiona did before moving on the path towards exceeding the Ace’s accomplishment.
She will be my greatest challenger to date. Greater than Abigail Park, greater than Felicity Banks, greater than Christian Kane, greater than Black Jones...and that is worthy of my respect. That is worthy of my attention. She is worthy of being the challenger that will make me exceed my own limits and push myself to take the next step into making history.
That leads us into the match we will for my World championship, Savannah Taylor. A match where you have everything to gain from it and nothing at all to lose. After all, your championship isn’t on the line and even a good enough performance against me isn’t something that the office is going to be able to deny down the road when they realize you’ve elevated that International title in the same vein that you did the San Diego Bay title and that it’s time for you to take that next step. Hell, maybe this is their own fucked-up way of auditioning you as future World championship material with the opportunity to jump the line and win it outright if you kill the audition. All to gain, nothing to lose...and maybe that’s the biggest thing that drives me in this entire scenario, Savannah…
You are good. You are very good, in fact. But you’re not ready for this. Not yet. Just like you weren’t ready for the “Monster of the Bay” Justin Brooks in your first encounter when he took every single shot you dished out, grinned, asked for seconds and then dismantled you the moment you gave him an opportunity to do so. Just like you weren’t ready for mara when she took matters into her own hands and swung for the fences, nearly sending you right back to the hospital before Fiona Collins made the save. Just like you weren’t ready for Chandler Scott’s overtly aggressive, shitty human being streak being all unleashed upon you because he valued championship gold far more than your affections for him. See, there’s a trend that I, Strike, noticed when it comes to you, Savannah Taylor and that’s the reality that against anybody who has been major competition to you, against people who have pushed you to your limits...you’ve always fallen short in that first, fateful encounter against them. You’re like a batter who has a slow start, swinging and missing on your first two at-bats or popping up for an out before you finally make contact on your third shot and sending that one over the goddamned fence. You adapt to your opponent’s moves, their little habits and all else in between. Anybody who gets to fight you more than once is outright unfortunate because by then? Your song is far stronger and in most occasions, even the mightiest of men and monsters will crash against the rocks or swim for their lives to make it to you...only to then be chewed up and spat out by you, you vicious little monster.
But against me, Savannah Taylor? You’re not getting that luxury. Because this isn’t just some man or a monster that you’re stepping against. You’re stepping against the King of the Pantheon, the God of Thunder himself and I, Strike, will not hesitate to absolutely demolish you in order to make my way into the history books by whatever means necessary. I, Strike, would expect the exact same from somebody as driven, hungry and obsessed with success as you. My confidence in you to eventually be a World champion one day is something I will make clear but I, Strike, will not allow it to happen for as long as I hold this EXODUS Pro World championship. Not when there’s still history for me to make.
Savannah, nobody wants to see the mark of World title defenses tied, let alone eclipsed by a man they all hate from both the outside and inside of EXODUS Pro. They would even go as far as cheering you rather than supporting me, so yet again, my back is against the wall. But it does not change my mission that I, Strike have set out on since my return from Tokyo with this title on my shoulder...that like a bad ex after dismantling Abigail Park and the hopes and dreams of the RIMAC, I am going to wreck havoc on anybody who dares to try and take this championship away from me.
I, Strike, will get through the chaotic waters and past you, Savannah Taylor. I will sail through and ignore the Siren’s calling in order to have this V5 title defense under my belt, to look the world right in the eye and tell them exactly how do they all feel at the realization that they can no longer deny my place in EXODUS Pro history books, let alone my status as the best absolute best living and breathing professional wrestler in the globe today. Shoving it in their faces isn’t enough at this point, Savannah. Shoving it in the face of anybody who stands between me and breaking records is not and will not be enough until you all get it through your skulls that nobody in this planet can stand up to me when they go one-on-one against Chris Strike!
No matter what happens on Monday night at the RIMAC, Savannah Taylor...one thing’s for sure.
This is Strike’s World that you now stand in, Siren. And in it?
The Pantheon…ALWAYS Wins!
----------------------------------------------------
August 21, 2015
Myrtle Beach, South Carolina
“...Fine. But this doesn’t leave this place.”
“Chris, they need to know…” Michael began, frustration growing in his own voice. “Especially the kid after what you and the rodent tried to pull off.”
“The more they know, the sooner they’ll be made into targets...it’s bad enough that Carey is already one.”
“If it is Reika Seragaki, we can handle Reik-”
Now it was Chris Strike’s turn to smack his hands against the table, visible frustration growing on his face. “Will you let me fucking finish?” Again, not so much a question as it was a way to keep Michael Sharp quiet for a few moments longer. “Because if this was just Reika, I would have dealt with this situation myself long before it got this out of control...”
Slowly, Chris reached inside of the suit and pulled out something from one of the pockets inside of it - a particular piece of paper folded up which the EXODUS Pro World champion slid across the table. Michael Sharp looked at it for a moment before picking it up and unfolding it slowly, finding a particular newspaper article completely written in Japanese with parts of it highlighted and with different sets of numbers around certain sentences, along with another page having multiple sentences written in English, numerically ordered.
Sharp scanned both pieces for a moment, analyzing carefully that these were the translated content of the article itself until one particular sentence made him stop in his tracks, his eyes widening…
“Wait a second, but this means…” He uttered, not being able to hide the shock on his face. “What the fuck is going on here, Chris?”
Strike grabbed the Artemis 2005 bottle on the table, not hesitating to pour himself some more wine. This wasn’t the easiest story to tell and the liquor courage would serve as an extra motivator to get it all out of his system. Really, none of this was particularly easy to swallow - especially for somebody who kept this particular card close to his chest ever since he began looking into the matter after the incident at Universal Studios in Osaka...something he hadn’t disclosed to anybody at all in detail.
“It’s just like the article says…”
Chris Strike took in a deep breath.
“Reika Seragaki was found dead inside of her home three years ago...”
...It was a good thing that the food arrived just in time...
