Threaded Mode | Linear Mode

Chris Chaos · (11-11-2016)

It was a chilly time of year in Boston, Mass. The harbor was rippling from the breeze and there was a bite to the air. It was football season, and fall was transitioning into winter. There was no snow yet, but in Massachusetts this time of year snow was always right around the corner.

Boston was a nice city. Had a lot of money and a lot of history. It was a safe city with one of the lowest crime rates on the east coast. The only crime that was going to happen in Boston was what Chris Chaos was going to do to the washed up Kurt Angle at Savage.

The Jeep, now completely fixed, rolled up to the Marriott Long Warf hotel in Downtown Boston, right on the harbor. It was a beautiful hotel with a great view of the bay. Chris had rented the penthouse, even if just for one night.

If you are the best you party like the best.

Tonight would be a celebration. He had two more matches. Two more matches until the Pay Per View went off the air with him holding the Universal Title over his head. Two more matches until he was officially labeled as the best this business had to offer. It was about time someone would recognize. He could barely wait. The night couldn’t come fast enough.

But Chris knew well enough not to count his chickens before they hatched. Don’t focus on the future. Focus on the present. And the present was Kurt Angle. That washed up, bald trouser stain that was desperately clinging to any hope of a wrestling career at 40 plus years old.

Getting out of the Jeep and grabbing his duffel bag, Chris came with his usual crew. Jenny and her hot ass in the front and Bruce in the back. Bruce was always made to sit in the back and he had come to accept it now whenever Jenny was around. Hey sometimes you had to prioritize, and Chris prioritized pussy very highly. It was top 3, behind winning and winning a title. Both of which he was going to do very, very soon.

Checking in and putting their luggage on the wheel wrack, Chris told Bruce and Jenny to go to the room. He needed some alone time, he needed to reflect. This was a big couple of weeks for him and he just needed to clear his mind. The obliged, knowing not to question him.

---Walking down to the docks on the inner harbor, the cold wind bit his face. Goddamn he hated the north east. Bunch of entitled liberal elitists with bad world views. And it was cold. Too fucking cold. But it matched his heart. His heart was black and rotten. Sure, maybe that was his own fault but it didn’t hide the fact that it was that way. And he would need every ounce of that black heart to win in the chamber in two weeks. He would need every ounce ounce of sadistic craziness. Could he bring himself to do it? It had been so long. He hadn’t stooped to that level since he was in Hell in a Cell vs. Jinx back in Phoenix Wrestling. He didn’t know if he was that same person. He hoped he both was, and wasn’t.

He needed to realize, and realize quickly, that there were three different stages to chaos. Three different “I’s” to be exact. Not that bullshit that Kurt Angle preached. Three I’s, three him’s, three personalities in one body---and he would need to find all three. So who was he right now?

He was I

I being me, being him. He was Chris Jackson from Tampa, Florida. He was a normal man. He was Chris Jackson from West Tampa. He felt human emotions, compassion, even. He was capable of crying. He was capable of knowing when enough was enough. None of these tools would work in the chamber, but what would would be his street smarts. He knew how to manipulate his victims. He had years of out smarting drug dealers and punks on the streets of the most dangerous city in Florida, so he would apply these street smarts to knowing how to get around a tough match. He would use his college-educated brain. This was Chris Jackson, one of his I’s, and probably the one that would come to save his ass someday. For some reason, that made him smile.

Then there was the other I. Chris Chaos. The name Chaos alone said it all. It was the side of him that liked to create mayhem. To be unpredictable. To be over the top and brash. To be an asshole. This side of him would absolutely anything, as Kurt Angle pointed out so elegantly, to win a match. Risk his life, his ligaments, his career. He would keep the crowd chanting “Holy Shit! Holy Shit! Holy Shit!” as they rocked on the edge of their seats. This was the Chaos that Vinnie Lane needed to keep ratings up and the side of Chaos that would play a huge role in him becoming the new Universal Champion.

Then there was the alter ego, the dark side to Chaos. He didn’t go by a particular name, he was more of a mind state. This Chaos was the most dangerous man on the roster. This was the man who would gut you and walk of laughing. Maybe even use your intestines as a jump rope, or a yo-yo, whichever was more fun at that moment. This was a man who took great joy in hurting others. Torturing them. This was the man who took great joy in hearing his opponent scream and beg to stop---only to continue. This was the man who showed zero remorse and no regret. This was the man who wanted not just to hurt you, but to kill you. THIS was the man who needed to step into the Elimination Chamber at Wild Card Weekend.

----But did he still have it? That is in the future. Right now he needed to focus on Kurt Angle. Kurt Angle, Mr. Olympic hero himself. The man who spoke out. The man who called Chris a cheater, a fraud and other things. The man who got chanted at, “You Suck” every time the down beat dropped in his stupid entrance music. Kurt Angle, the 47 year old wash up who is trying to stay relevant. He is no better than Brett Hart. Everyone saw what happened to Hart two weeks ago. He got his head kicked damn near back to Canada. Kurt Angle was about to experience the same thing. Did he honestly feel he was going to take Chris’s Wild Card tonight in Boston? Was there Meth in that milk? He must be on something. Something strong.

Kurt Angle…….

Chris looked out at the cold, deep blue water of Boston Harbor. There was so much history here. The country was founded here. The Boston Tea Party was only a hundred or so yards from where he sat. More history was to be made at Savage. Chris was the XWF’s version of the legend killer. He was going to put a 1 in Kurt’s 3-0 record, and send his ass packing. Then, a tag match on Warfare with the new Extreme Champion Reno before winning the title that was rightfully his. A title he WOULD win, by the way.

Getting up from the dock he walked back to the hotel and made his way to the room. Jenny and Bruce had already begun the celebration. Champagne was popped, a bottle in an ice filled sink. Music was playing as the two seemed to be mid-dance as Chris walked in.

“May I ask what you two are doing?” He said with some force. The two stopped and looked at him.

“You said it was going to be a party tonight, we are partying.”

Chris shook his head. “We need to focus on bringing this title to my camp.”

Jenny set her wine glass down and walked up to Chris putting her arms around his shoulders. “Just focus on Kurt tonight, Chris. Kick his ass. Make him look stupid. Then we will come back here and have….a…..good…..night” she blew in his ear. He grinned.

“You know what, you are right. Tonight, Kurt is mine.”

-+-+-+-+

“Kurt Angle. Poor, helpless Kurt. I am actually going to feel somewhat bad giving you your first loss here in XWF. I used to watch you growing up. I liked you. I thought you were a good wrestler. But, wrestling has changed. The nature of the beast is different. Especially here. This is the most extreme and intense federation I have ever been a part of. People aren’t like they were anywhere you have been. They are a batch of deplorable’s and I am their leader. Kurt, it is nothing personal, it is just business.

That being said, I am going to leave you in a pile of your own bodily fluid tonight. I have to avoid the ankle lock, and I will. You won’t be conscious enough to lock that shit in tonight. And the Angle Slam? I don’t fear that at all. It is a gloried suplex. I eat that shit for breakfast, Kurt. But look on the bright side, your perfect record will be ended by the future top champion in this company. It is like losing to a national champion. It’s some sort of consolation, right? It is going to have to be.

You have accomplished a lot in your career and I can actually say I respect you, but I am on a warpath. This is wrong place, wrong time for you Kurt. I am sorry but it is true. There is nothing stopping me. I had one goal, do not lose a singles match until the Pay Per View. So far I have achieved that goal. Tonight will be no different. I am a buzzsaw, and you are the next log to run through it. As for using Jenny to win matches? I would have beaten Promo either way. You see, she is like me….she is intuitive. She is smart. She knows how to work the system and understands the art of chaos. But don’t worry Kurt. We don’t have live snakes for you tonight. We don’t have any gimmicks planned. Just a straight up ass whopping, Tampa style. Then a giant after party with the entire city of Boston as I prepare to make my run for glory. I will stand over your broken and beaten 47 year old body at Savage, Kurt, and I will hold my wild card high in the air. Because I am the next big thing here, and you and everyone else just needs to suck it up and get used to it.

I’ll see you in the ring, Kurt. Drink your milk.

XWF RECORD: 11-2-2
[Image: YoBLcba.jpg]

Threaded Mode \| Linear Mode The Three I's
Author	Message