I'd promised them nothing. Which In turn made me the most honest man they'd ever met. Street rats, needle queens, veterans from every war that the government ever denied. I found them in the places that the cameras don't sanitize.
No names. Never names. Only I get an identity. It's Syn, always Syn. Never Matthias.
I don't place ads. I find loyalty in the places society has long since forgotten. Abandoned malls, collapsed factories, subway tunnels where trains don't dare stop anymore. Matthias Syn is looking for the ones who already know the truth.
The meth addict who can't help but laugh when the propaganda parade preaches “economic recovery”. The runaway who set fire to her own birth certificate because that life never felt like hers to begin with. The veteran of some forever war, who sold his medals for a bottle of bourbon and never thought twice about it.
I don't promise them a better life, I just simply ask the question:
Do you want to make them see?
Welcome to the end of meaning.
Enjoy the show...
Every lie that ring has ever told you - began with once upon a time. You fashion yourself a King. You think you're a ruler? A tyrant? Someone who is in control? You're no more than a man playing dress up. A lonely jester with delusions of grandeur. That's your weakness, York. Your borrowed reputation will only mask the crushing weight of your irrelevance.
I've seen your career. You're a B+ player on your best fucking night, only you're too dumb to notice because you spend your time in second rate feds with second rate wrestlers. While you're making the rounds in places that put quite simply, do not matter, I've been here. In the most talented fed with the deepest roster in the entire industry. There are absolute killers in that locker room, and I've bled with almost every one of them. King of fucking what? King of his own delusion. You're not walking into my show, in my home, in my ring, and beating Matthias Syn. Triple threat or not.
You've beaten the bottom of the card here since you've arrived. Oz and Cypher. Everybody beats Oz. He should have a shirt with that slogan on it. It would sell more than whatever the fuck gimmick he's doing this month. And Tyler? I've never seen anyone choke harder in career defining moments. They gave him opportunity after opportunity to get a match with me, and Tyler did what Tyler always does, and he wilted under the pressure of the moment.
It's level up time for you, York, and you just moved up to hard mode. Matthias Syn. You wanted this. You've begged for it. I had to let you know that Anarchy is my show. Anarchy is my brand. I've been a champion in the top company in the world, for eight of my eleven months. The longest reigning champion in this company, the most dominant champion in this company. And like every time before that I've defended this title, my music is going to hit twice and I'm going to drag this belt back through that curtain like I always do. Because I cut my fucking teeth here. I made my bones, right here. So when you step through those ropes and you feel the sudden knot of fear that creeps into your stomach unannounced, that's me, York. It's always been me.
Run, fake King. Run back to your kingdom. Because when I'm done with you, they won't even find enough of you left to bury.
Autismo. I read your suicide note. “I may regret this, but I want to challenge Matthias”. Two wins in his entire career in the XWF. I'm literally not kidding. And he's calling Matthias Syn out? You're going to wake up in a chalk outline.
Take note, York, there are levels here. Kline can venture outside of these walls and win a championship? Our resident curtain jerker, our young upstart riding daddy's coattails, like it will help him in a land of killers, can walk into another promotion, go undefeated on his way to a title. Levels, York.
Christ, Kline, nobody even knows who your dad was. Invoke his name in every promo until your fucking heart explodes, but it won't change the fact that he is a nobody. A loser. Just like his boy.
The first, second generation wrestler. What does that matter if both generations are entirely forgettable? If your dad had any brains at all he would have left you chained to the radiator. I rate you 47/46, Kline. And if you don't get that reference just know that it's villainous.
Call a guy Phony Hawk one time and he leaves his skateboard back in 2002. Syn smirks. They're doing everything that they can to give you some confidence. To try and force a crowd to relate. Only you continue to do what you do, and you fail. TV title shot, Revolution title shot, March of Ides tournament. Jesus Christ. They're doing everything that they can to get you over but you do what you always do. What's inherent in you. In your blood. Passed down to you by a failure. You reek of it. A born and bred loser.
Nobody cares about your dad, Dork. He's a lifetime loser, who bred a loser son, who is carrying on the torch of being an absolute nobody. So go call out Hixx again, so that we can all watch you two fumble fuck your way through a promo and all will be right in your world. When I'm done with you, you can lick my fucking boot clean. Levels.
![[-]](https://xwf99.com/images/portal2/collapse.gif)
The following 8 users Like Matthias Syn's post:
