Fall of Man

Roleplay Roleplay by SYNDICATE
On Thu, Jul12, 2018 5:46pm America/Phoenix
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Fall of Man


*Black-and-white static eats up the screen before fading away into a shot of a beautiful summer day.  From the parking lot of what appears to be a rather large airport, the sky can be seen as partly cloudy but also quite sunny with nothing more than a few cirrus clouds dotting the landscape.  Down below, a Delta-owned Boeing 747 is lifting off the runway where it begins its journey into the atmosphere.  The air traffic control tower can be seen towering over everything else, its rotating radar dish allowing the staff members inside to direct traffic and make sure the day goes smoothly.  The camera is positioned near one of the airport's numerous entranceways, where passengers filter in-and-out through thick glass doors.  It is here that the exact setting of the shot appears in the lower-left corner of the screen.*

JULY 12, 2018
12:19:34 PM

*The camera zooms in towards the LAX entrance as the door swings open, revealing a man in a black zip-up hoodie, ripped blue jeans, and black Nike sneakers.  A streak of blonde hair slips out the side of the hood, revealing himself to be the Lone Wanderer of the WWX, Syndicate.  His face - which looks as if it hasn't been shaved in months - conveying a sense of utter disappointment and complete hopelessness, likely as a result of the outcome of the Outrage main event.  Carrying a black Under Armour duffel bag in his right hand, Syndicate strides out from underneath the entrance's awning and walks down the sidewalk in the direction of a parking garage.  However, as he passes a metal bench, he pauses before collapsing onto it.  Placing his head in his hands, Syndicate lets out a heavy sigh.*

Syndicate: I had that match won.

*He pauses once again, staring straight down into the pavement with a lost expression on his face.*

Syndicate: For the second month in a row, I was one second away from winning...one second away from placing the World Wrestling Championship over my shoulder...before he got in the way.

*The Lone Wanderer leans against the back of the bench, now looking up at the sky.*

Syndicate: This isn't about the World title anymore.  This isn't about Rex McAllister or the Rouges or Korath or anyone else.  This...is about Tommy Lipton.  Since day |BLEEP|ing one, he's been after me, trying to take me down at every turn.  He's gotten involved in matches, tried to sabotage my alliance from the inside, attempted the World title away from me, and screwed me over as much as he could.  I thought I took care of the problem back at Armada, when I put him into retirement.  I thought, after the events of Bloodshed, I'd be able to move past him.  But that wasn't how things went.  Instead...the poison that is Tommy Lipton reared his ugly head one more time.  And now, it's very clear to me that to get back to the top of the ladder, to become World Wrestling Champion once more...I have to rip the head off of the snake.

*Once again leaning towards the camera, Syndicate stares into the lens with a slightly crazed look in his eye.*

Syndicate: Maybe the reemergence of Duncan McIver will help soothe matters out...maybe he'll stop bothering me now that he's forced me out of the World title picture.  But I'm not going to wait to find out.  Tommy...your reckoning is coming.  You have single-handedly caused the fall of man...you've pushed me off a metaphorical cliff into the abyss.  Your poison has seeped so deep into the fabric of this company...that it's finally started to take out the men at the top.  It's clear now that I didn't finish the job at Armada, nor has this exorcism been successfully completed since then.  Now...it looks like I'm going to have to take care of things myself.  So Tommy...if you wanted my attention, you've got it.  But I hope you're ready to go through the same hell that you've put me through over the past five years.

*Sighing for the second time, Syndicate sighs as he stands.  After picking up the duffel bag from the bench, Syndicate continues walking down the sidewalk and towards the parking garage.  He stuffs his left hand in his sweatshirt pocket as he speaks, looking dead ahead.*

Syndicate: Tommy...you're a relentless one.  First, you steal my title, then you make sure I don't win it back.  Now, you're apparently trying to ruin my few remaining personal relationships with the people backstage.  Take 420, for example.  I may not hang around them much, but I enjoy their presence.  Matt and Gary are fun guys to be around, and I have no personal problem with them.  But you don't seem to care, Tommy, because you've booked me in this match against Gary Tinordi at the next Ravage.  Seems innocent enough, but with you...I know there's always an ulterior motive.

Syndicate: Gary, don't take this personally...but I really don't care about you.  Not right now, anyway.  Sure, I'll face you on Prince Edward Island in a few days, and I'm sure it'll be a barnburner - or is it a harbor-burner? - of a match.  But we both know you're not my focus.  Hell, I just went on for a solid five minutes saying just that!  But even then, you're still a threat to me...and because of that, because Tommy Lipton put you in front of me as a punching bag, you've gotta be taken down.

*Syndicate reaches the edge of the parking garage.  After walking past a few yellow poles designed to make cars drive the correct way, he opens a brown metal door labeled "STAIRS".  The camera follows as he begins to climb.*

Syndicate: Any sort of prior experience you have wrestling me is useless.  I don't care about being flashy, nor do I give even a single shit about being conservative in my matches.  No, no, no...that's far too weak.  Instead, I care about breaking bones...causing concussions...drawing blood.  In other words, Gary...I'm out to hurt you.  And although you may be a nice guy, even though I don't have a problem with you being here...you still have to suffer just like everybody else in this damn company.

*The Lone Wanderer reaches the third floor and opens the door, entering an area filled with colors of all shapes and sizes.  He takes a left as he walks through the doorway, walking past a few vehicles before coming to his crimson 2008 Hyundai Elantra.  Taking the keys out of his pocket, Syndicate opens the trunk and throws his duffel bag inside.*

Syndicate: Tommy Lipton has put us together, Gary...and just like Adam and Eve caused the fall of man...


*Syndicate slams the trunk shut, staring directly at the camera.*

Syndicate: ...Tommy Lipton will be responsible for the fall of Gary Tinordi.

*With his now-signature sick smile present, Syndicate turns and opens the driver side door.  Stepping inside of the Hyundai, he shuts the door and turns the car on.  As he backs out of the stall and drives away, the screen is eaten up by static.*



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