Roleplay Roleplay by SYNDICATE
On Tue, Aug07, 2018 5:43pm America/Phoenix
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*Static takes over the screen, covering it from head-to-toe with the telltale sign of signal loss.  After the disturbance dissipates, we cut to the exterior of McIver Towers in Chicago, Illinois.  The camera is pointed up at the top of WWX headquarters from ground level, the skyscrapers seemingly disappearing into the sky above.  Dark tinted windows line its sides, creating the illusion of a monolith that has risen up over the Windy City.  The camera slowly pans downward, covering the scope of the massive building, before settling on the main entrance to McIver Towers.  Behind the camera, typical Chicago traffic flies by as the cars honk their horns at each other, jostling for control of the roads.  Meanwhile, in front of the lens, the WWX logo, plated in gold, hangs over the swinging glass doors that lead to the lobby.  Important WWX officials enter and exit the building, as they do every day.*

*The camera pans over slightly to the left, where leaning against the black tiled wall is none other than the Lone Wanderer, Syndicate.  Wearing his black tank top, tattered blue jeans, and black Nike sneakers, Syndicate is seemingly people-watching as he blankly stares out at the heavy traffic in front of him.  His hair fluttering in the Chicago breeze, he speaks softly, but his words carry the weight of many burdens.*

Syndicate: Five years ago...I got the call.  I was working in a dead-end promotion in Los Angeles, barely making ends meet.  All I had to my name was the back room of Broken Knuckles that I lived in and a couple bucks left over from my last paycheck.  I had run away from Apter to pursue my dream...but I couldn't even get off the |BLEEP|ing ground.  And then...the phone rang.

*He scratches his chin, remembering the events of all those years ago.*

Syndicate: It was Duncan McIver's voice on the other end.  He wanted to sign me to a rookie deal, see what I could do.  I would compete on Mayhem, he said, with all the other guys that wanted a shot at the big time.  It was the best news that I had ever received...but at the same time, it was disappointing.  From that five minute call, I could already tell that Duncan didn't have any faith in me whatsoever to find success.  Hell, he pretty much admitted that he just needed another guy around to fill the card, and it could have been anyone that had gotten the opportunity.

*Syndicate lets out a small chuckle as he realizes what could have been.*

Syndicate: Anyone could have gotten that call.  Anyone could have received that opportunity.  But Duncan gave it to me...and I decided to milk it for everything it had.  When I was put up against the great Tommy Lipton in my first match, I was seemingly destined to fail.  But I didn't.  When I had to wrestle Korath, Fill, Euan Milton, Black Angel, and all the other guys that I came across, I should have drowned in my own incompetence.  I should have been let go, as I wasn't seen as anything more than a fluke.  But I wasn't.  Over the years, I've faced more and more adversity as I've tried so hard to make my mark in the history books of the WWX.  With all the criticism and disrespect I've endured, I should have quit.

*Breaking his stare at the passing vehicles, he switches his attention directly to the camera.*

Syndicate: But I didn't.  I persevered, I kept going, and now...look at me.  A seven-time World Champion.  A World Series winner.  The conqueror of legends.  The face of the WWX.  I fought through the pain, I endured all the suffering...and now, as I near the top of the mountain once again, it is clear that I have found success...the same success that Duncan McIver seemingly never thought I'd find.

*Standing up straight, Syndicate sticks his hands in his pockets and moves towards the entrance of McIver Towers.*

Syndicate: I bring all this up...because it's clear that Xander Adams doesn't give a shit about any of that.  He, like every other opponent I've ever faced, has decided to dismiss me out of hand, as though I am nothing more than a worthless pile of trash.  I don't know why I'm surprised by any of this anymore...I should be used to it by now.  But even still, the blatant still pisses me off, and if anything, it makes me want to hurt Xander just that much more in order to teach him a lesson he should have learned long, long ago.

*Stepping towards the tall glass doors, the Lone Wanderer swings one open and steps into the lobby.  Two curved staircases lead up to the second floor, and between them sits the main reception desk.  A giant curtain with the WWX logo printed on it lines the wall, reminding everyone in the building where they are and who they work for.  Syndicate takes a look around for a moment, smirks, and then makes his way to the left set of stairs.*

Syndicate: Every time I come face-to-face with my opponent, it's the same old story.  "I'm better than all those other guys you've beaten," they remark.  "I'm gonna be the one to end you, Syndicate!"  But yet, every single |BLEEP|ing time, they end up looking at the lights by the end of the night.  Why?  Because in their quest to finally be the one to dethrone me, they forget exactly who they're dealing with in the first place.  Xander is no different in this regard.  I am the modern WWX success story...someone that came from absolutely nothing and attained a legacy unlike any other.  And, unfortunately for our resident World Champion, my story is FAR from over.

Syndicate: Xander, I know what you're trying to do.  You're trying to verbally berate me in such a way that I may become emotional in our match and end up losing in the end.  You're trying to get into my head...ain't that just great.  Some men have been very successful in that strategy - Tommy Lipton and Rex McAllister, to name a few.  But you, Xander, are not them...and to be quite honest, I don't give a shit about what you're trying to do.  All I care about right now is the golden belt that you're carrying around.  I have spent too long trying to reclaim that championship, and I'm not going to let you delay that any longer.  This isn't personal, much as I'd like it to be, anyway.  In reality, you have what I want...and I will stop at NOTHING to get it.

*Climbing the red velvet staircase, Syndicate reaches the second floor which features a balcony overlooking the lobby.  Placing his hands on the banister, Syndicate looks down at the passerby, smiling.*

Syndicate: At Fury, everything will be on the line once again.  Xander, Tommy, Airen, and hell, even Rex...won't be able to do a damn thing to prevent me from winning my eighth World Championship.  The way I see it, this has been a long time coming, and if Tommy |BLEEP|ing Lipton doesn't like the outcome...maybe he shouldn't have caused this mess in the first place.  When that bell rings in Toronto, I'm either going to become World Wrestling Champion...or I'm going to burn this place to the |BLEEP|ing ground.

*With his now-trademark sick smile obviously present on his face, Syndicate spins around and walks down a large hallway into the depths of McIver Towers.  As he moves farther and farther away, the camera falls victim to the ever-present static.*



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