My Home

Roleplay Roleplay by SYNDICATE
On Mon, Oct30, 2017 7:48pm America/Phoenix
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My Home


*A long burst of static comes on-screen, eventually giving way to the interior of a mid-size Los Angeles house.  The camera is set up in the living room facing a green, retro-styled felt couch and long wooden coffee table.  To the right, the edge of a blue La-Z-Boy recliner can be seen.  Behind the couch sits the dining room and kitchen, featuring wooden chairs surrounding a decently-sized table.  The kitchen is lit by a small white chandelier, while the living room can be seen featuring warm-colored overhead floodlights.*

???: Welcome to my humble abode.

*The camera pans to the right, where the full La-Z-Boy can now be seen.  Here, Syndicate is found sitting back with a white mug in his hand, staring at the camera.  He is wearing a black t-shirt, ripped-up blue jeans, and white socks.  The Los Angeles Outlaw takes a sip from his mug and sets it down on the coffee table to his right, being sure to place a coaster underneath.*

Syndicate: Bought this place about a year ago, fully furnished, comes with the full suburban package - or at least as close as you can get to it here in LA.

*He chuckles.*

Syndicate: You know, I was in Atlanta just a few days ago and planned to stay there for the week, but then I got told Press Day was Wednesday so I was like, "|BLEEP| it."  And, well, here I am, back home one last time before the biggest match of my life.

*Syndicate leans back in the chair, not fully reclined but also very much relaxed.*

Syndicate: Now, for the next ten minutes, I'm going to whine and bitch and moan about injustice and losing and being screwed and all that stuff.  Well, I'm not actually going to do that, but according to Darkness, that's all I |BLEEP|in' do around here.  Let me ask you a question, buddy.  If all I do around here is whine, and if I truly don't have any real talent, then why did it take outside interference to beat me at World Series?  Moreover, how the hell did you lose to me two weeks later?  How did that happen, Mr. World Champion, huh?  I mean, you won the Crusade Cup, I'll give you that, but once you got your World Championship opportunity, you couldn't even finish the job by yourself.  Meanwhile, look at me.  I ditched The Follower because he was a useless piece of shit and I didn't need him anymore.  I broke up Big Time Agency because they were a HINDERANCE.  Having other people around gets in the way of my GREATNESS, Darkness.  If you're ten times better than me, as you seem to proclaim, then why can't you finish the job anymore, hmm?

*He cocks his head to the side, jokingly.*

Syndicate: You see, Darkness, you've got it all wrong about me.  You always have.  You and everyone else in this God-forsaken company have always labeled me as a lucky son-of-a-bitch that doesn't deserve shit.  Fine.  Call me that.  Say whatever you want.  It just makes it that much sweeter when you get your ass beat later that week.  Because the moment - the MOMENT - that you underestimate me, Darkness...that's the moment that you lose any advantage you might have over me.  Contrary to what you may believe, I didn't win four World titles by whining and complaining.  I won four World titles by being persistent, by surviving onslaughts, and by NEVER TAKING A DAMN BREAK.  Can you say that, Darkness?  Can you say that you've never - NEVER - taken any time off?  Thought not.  I am the HARDEST worker in this business, day in and day out, and at Hall of Pain, inside the House of Horrors, you're gonna get your neck broken in half by the No Signal.

*The former World Champion reaches over, grabs the mug, and takes another sip.*

Syndicate: Quick riddle for ya'll: what has two hands, is named after a dinosaur, and wastes opportunities more often than a drunk guy at a college party?  Ding-ding, you guessed it!  It's Rex |BLEEP|ing McAllister!  You know, Rex, for a guy with "superior intelligence" and an "unconquerable mind", you sure as hell get a lot wrong.  I carried this company for well over six months because you ALLOWED me to?  Umm, I'm calling bullshit on that one!  I was on top because I was - and still am - BETTER than you, Rex, plain and simple!  All you have done in the past year is lose your title at Hall of Pain, NOT cash in your rematch clause like a rational person would, and join up with Tommy to preside over a division that has never, EVER been relevant in order to say that you've actually done something!

Syndicate: You can say that I hide behind my accomplishments, you can say that my words don't mean shit, but when we meet in that demonic house at Hall of Pain, it's going to be fists and baseball bats and frying pans that do the talking.  There is going to be PAIN, Rex.  And do you know who's very much accustomed to surviving that kind of thing, Rex?  Me.  I LIVE for matches like these.  At Hall of Pain, you're not only going to be facing a motivated, pissed-off, desperate Syndicate, but you're going to be facing a Syndicate that has access to weapons to bash your head in with!  Seriously, Rex, I am SO looking forward to wiping that smug little grin of yours off your face.  You have been nothing but a nuisance, a thorn in my side for the past two years.  You have done nothing but bother me, and why?  Because I'm in "your" spot?  Because I'm MUCH more successful than you ever will be?  Or is it because you're scared that if you don't come at me, I'm going to come at you and embarrass you in front of the world?  Hmm?

*Syndicate smiles into the camera, now leaning forward in his chair.*

Syndicate: I don't care what you or Darkness or Tommy or Korath have to say about me.  In the end, it doesn't matter.  None of this does.  At the end of the night, it's going to be the only CONSTANT wrestler in this company at the top of the house, holding up the Undisputed World title for the FIFTH time.  Like I've said before, this is still MY world, and the World Championship is still MY title.  If you guys don't see it like I do, that's fine.  You just better be prepared to face the unexpected at Hall of Pain.  Welcome to the Syndicate.

*He smirks and gets up from his recliner, walking behind the couch and into the dining room.  As he walks, the screen is slowly consumed by static.*



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