Somewhere between here and eternity, he swore he’d make it work, for everyone.
Polarizing wherever he went, even down to his own flesh and blood, tension and ire were no strangers to Matthew Knox. Nor were the late nights that were birthed from their unholy, torturous pairing.
He took a sip of the bourbon sloshing within the glass he gripped with his right hand, the cigarette between index and middle finger raising to take its place a mere millisecond after its departure. The faint burn of the liquor mixed with that of the non-filter Camel brought about the lightest, most toxic of satisfactions. Punctuated by the noxious fumes he released through his nostrils, polluting the ocean air.
Captain Planet may never forgive the sin.
A chuckle at the joke no one was around to hear. Because of course, by his own design and to his own demise, Matthew Knox was alone tonight. Sat within a chair he dragged from his dining room table out to the sands down the hill from his back door. The pacific roared a mocking laughter at his destructive nature as he sat there with a bottle of Bourbon between his feet, eyes staring out upon its endless expanse.
Misery loved his company, as the years had shown. Tonight’s suffering? A succulent spread of Paternal crisis, the questioning of his own loyalties, and the influence of monsters on men. Ever since his faithful return in June of 2020 after all those years trying to kill himself with chemical vices he had paved a road to both damnation and glory hand in hand with it.
And now? Now he was determined to be carried out upon his shield, and take as many others with him as possible.
Between being the champion of Pro Wrestling Valor, joining the ‘True Society’ of Project Honor, and now a much more personal war for Sin City Wrestling? He would no doubt get what he so desired.
Or so he thought.
The opponents for his inaugural, and return matches respectively within SCW and Project Honor had a combined win record of precisely Dick. It almost felt insulting, given the game he was after. Given the exit he desir--no, DEMANDED of the universe that had refused to give him anything else.
A sneer, he knocked back the last of the brandy in the glass and stood from his seat, He reached down to grab the bottle, setting to refill it as his mind turned to the spark of tonight’s self loathing.
He’d only barely found out about their relationship, but truth be told he felt a special bond with the blonde Strader woman the moment he laid eyes upon her. Near a year on, and after meeting most of the rest of her family, he came to find out her entire existence was thanks to him and her mother being horny teenagers at a kegger in Northern California while everyone prepared for the doomsday of Y2K.
And in record time, he’d gotten her to hate him.
And he was really trying for the other thing.
Guess thats what hurt.
Part of him reasoned that it was a simple case of her being too damn much like him. Stubborn, prideful, absolutely Cardinal when it came to her opinions on people and events. And she held a grudge.
God, did she hold a grudge.
Another long sip of the bitter, yet somehow distinctly sweet brown liquid. Another hiss at the burn.
Another bit of hurt numbed.
And of course, aside from the troll on his horizon...he knew that Vegas needed him. Arrogant as it sounded, there were accounts that desperately needed settling. Fights that were never properly had that needed to be done before the curtain finally drew upon hm. Wrongs needing to be made right.
A friend straying from their path.
He couldn’t allow that. Not when there righteousness was all that kept the other one clinging to even the tiniest shred of the straight and narrow.
A venomous smirk cracks his pale lips, a scoff warmed by liquor and a thought cold as ice.
Once again, him loving something was going to lead to years being taken off a life that was already half over.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.
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“This is bad comedy.” a pause
“But, then again, you are a troll so..I guess that tracks.”The camera comes to life to find the tall, svelte form of Matthew Knox stood upon the side of a nondescript road in the middle of the Mojave Desert. He’s adorned in a brown leather jacket, black Carnage Wrestling T-shirt, slacks and a scuffed pair of Stacey Adams. His hands are buried in his pockets, glasz eyes staring into the camera as a bemused smirk spreads over his features.
“And, as a Troll, I'm going to go ahead and guess that you are equal parts dreadful and utterly predictable in every way...as predictable as your end by heart disease, should you survive our encounter.” a venom-laced chuckle rolls from his chest, one hand firing up from the shelter of its pocket in a mock surrender.
‘I’m Horrible’ the hand declared.
As if the world wasn’t aware.
“See, I’m far too active on Twitter. Truth be told, it’s what has fueled my resurgence. A...willingness to engage. To be recruited. To pick fights and answer the call of those foolish enough to darken my doorstep with violent intent. But see, for once? For once I'm not here for glory, or sophomoric mud slinging.”
“Well...not JUST glory and sophomoric mudslinging..”
“See, I’ve got my gold. I’m the World Champion of a company that is built of the best representatives of every company in this industry. A shocking lack of SCW talent to be found...well, shocking to me at least. Not sure if Cam Roth even knows this place exists. And frankly, you should all be thankful.”
“There are world beaters here though. Alex Jones, head of...well, Alex Jones. Amber Ryan, the most dangerous person in combat sports...taking it easy in a division filled with people unfit to pack her lunch. Mac Bane, Ken Davison..” a small pause, a smirk.
“Thomas Rivers…”“And who, pray tell, do they lay at my feet? The proffered first win to ‘get off on the right foot’? The sacrificial lamb used to see if I’m really worth a damn, or if i’m just another washed up has been never-was looking for a pay day? The Fat Kid…” he grits his teeth, openly cringing at himself.
“That’s the second time i’ve attacked your weight, isn’t it? How honestly awful of me. I do apologize, I’m usually very good at making you like me first before the inevitable ire..”
“But, see, there’s nothing of substance to attack with you, Troll. For the life of me, I can’t remember your name. Can’t remember a signature win, hell I couldn’t even find a win. All I could find, is the pre filmed rantings and ravings of a man who takes nothing serous and is convinced he has the inside track on life, all the answers and deserving all the glory…”
“...While arguing with his mother in her basement. And backing up none of his ravings..” a pause, he leans into the camera and ‘whispers’
“Startin to wonder where you were on January 6th, bud…”A mocking chuckle as he begins to pace up the road, the camera following each step.
“Me, though? Oh, I've got plenty for you to fill a Vlog with. I’ve made the mistake of leaving companies I didn’t feel were a good fit. Be it culture, the staff etcetera. People are incredibly tribalistic and...Stupid about that sort of rot. Even when they themselves end up leaving the place.”
“I’m Arrogant. Pompous. Rich. Good Looking. Everything you’ve hated since High School I'm sure. Where people like me excelled and reached important social milestones while you stared far too long at that pretty girl and couldn’t quite understand why she didn’t stare back…”
“Well, Troll...tragic as it might be for you, and funny as it will be for me..this isn’t High School. I’m not banging your crush-although you seem the type to fetishize my wife - and there is no counselor or principal that is going to stop me from bullying you to tears in that ring.”
“So, please, roll out the diatribe about Ravens, about me being an arrogant prick, About me failing...at least on the last one you’ve proven yourself an expert. Then, at Climax Control? We’ll go through the motions. I’ll kick the shit out of you, you’ll lose a-fucking-gain and then you will cease to matter to me, and I will spend the rest of my time here trying to wash the stink of your flop seat off my hands.”“I am Raze. I am Ruin...I am the Raven. And i’ve come back to this desert with a terribly pure purpose...and how unfortunate for you, they’ve put you in my way...I’m going to use you as an example to them. To Oblivion...to those that have lost sight of who and what they are in this world. I’m going to break you down, and garner you the sympathy you thought those blogposts about all the women who’d never sleep with you would get…”
“The last, and most important question. Now that I've laid it at your feet….”
“Can you stop me?”A cursory glance over his shoulder, one last small bemused chuckle and the spectral form of Matthew Knox continues walking up the road, passing the sickly green sign that proudly declares.
LAS VEGAS 100M
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Admittedly, the Mojave isn’t my favorite place. I thought I was quite done with it, after my time in Uprising had come to an end. But, i’ve been wrong before. God, i’ve been wrong about so much but I can’t be wrong about this.
Mac Bane had always been a true north in Baltimore. Maybe he wasn’t the most decorated member of the roster, maybe he wasn’t the strongest or the fastest but his heart? The purity of it? Him being a decent fucking man in an industry vipers? This is what earned him my respect.
When the whole world got sick of Jack Michaels, he was one of the few who tried to appeal to both sides while never compromising who he was.
He was even loyal to Ken Davison, seeing him as a brother even when he endeavored to ruin his would-be Bride in Amber Ryan.
….huh, maybe there were other reasons he was so close to Jack?
No matter. Even with these lapses in judgement, Questionably unquestionable loyalty to those undeserving of it in my humble opinion? I admired and RESPECTED Mac Bane…
...Until now.
I’d fought coming to SCW, determined to remove myself from those i’d met in Baltimore especially after Uprising. How can one be expected to write their own story, when they’re apart of so many around them? So, I left to pursue many a fruitless war and 20 pounds of rotten, golden validation. Everything thats expected of me in this Industry.
And I succeeded. I’m a Champion among Champions. In my wholly arrogant and self serving opinion? I hold the most prestigious title in all of Wrestling. One afforded to the best of the best gathered once a month to wage a terrible, industry shifting war.
I have a wife now. I have another child on the way. A son. We’ve decided to name him Asahi, japanese for ‘Sunrise’...because that’s what he is. The dawn of a new age for my terrible and wretched name. A name all my daughters may someday be so lucky to escape while it falls upon him, my sunrise, to redeem it.
So why risk it? Why come here, and throw a wrench in the gears when everything is going so well? Why lower myself to agreeing to a match with someone who looks and probably smells like 4chan.org?
Because my family is ruining my friend.
Mac Bane’s well has been poisoned by Supreme Machine. And if his well is poisoned, all those who drink from it will inevitably be made sck as well.
And there’s one person who drinks deep from it that I cannot risk.
I’ve got no real interest in more Gold. I’ve got no interest in accolades. I’m not here for a long time, not anymore.
I’m just here for a time.
There’s a tired old quote about Evil triumphing off the sloth of good men...well, there are no Good Men in Sin City. Not anymore, so it would seem.
So i’ve come to be worse, and make you look Good again.
Can you stop me?
Matthew A. Knox
12/01/2021
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