March 10, 2010

At Mercy Hospital, Chuck’s cold eyes pop open…for the first time in a month and a half.

Chuck Matthews: “SALVATION!”

He tries to sit up in his bed, only to feel the tubes and monitor cables tying him down. He reaches for them, ripping at the heavy post-surgical bandages that bind him.

Chuck Matthews: “What the fuck?”

The door bursts open. Chuck doesn’t look up from what he’s doing, but hears a woman gasp.

Nurse: “Mr. Matthews! You’re…”

She doesn’t finish her sentence, instead grabbing the intercom off the wall beside the door.

Nurse: “Doctor? Yes, this is Bethany, the nurse attending room 836.”

Chuck hears the doctor’s voice crackling through the speaker.

Doctor: “Matthews’s room?”

Nurse: “Yes, that’s the one.”

Doctor: “What seems to be thr problem?”

Nurse: “You’ll never guess who just woke up…”

Doctor: “Wonderful! I need you to keep him calm, as he’ll likely be perturbed. Make sure he’s lying down, take his readings, and make sure to call Dr. Beck in immediately.”

Chuck rips another oxygen tube out of his arm. The nurse looks nervously at Chuck.

Nurse: “Mr. Matthews, please! I need you to lie down!”

Doctor: “What’s going on over there?”

Chuck looks around.

Chuck Matthews: “Where the fuck are my things?”

Nurse: “Mr. Matthews, please…lie down…”

She touches his arm, trying to ease him back into his bed. Chuck rips his arm out of her grasp, upsetting a tray of surgical tools.

Chuck Matthews: “Where are my things?”

Doctor: “Nurse? What’s going on over there? Someone get to 836 now!”

Chuck grabs the nurse by the throat. She gasps for breath.

Chuck Matthews: “Bethany? That’s your name? You’re gonna help me out.”

Nurse: “Mr. Matthews, you’ve been through a lot…please, let me go…I’m here to-”

Chuck tightens his grip, causing her to make a sick gurgling noise and stop talking.

Chuck Matthews: “You're here to help, yes yes, I know. Well great, you can help me. I’m going to let go of you. When I do, I want you to tell me where my stuff is.”

Chuck slowly releases his grip.

Nurse: “In the closet.”

Chuck smiles.

Chuck Matthews: “Was that so hard?”

He drops the nurse, who falls to her knees. Chuck pushes past her, and digs through the closet, pulling out his old gym bag.

Chuck Matthews: “Beautiful.”

He pulls on the pair of jeans and the Chuck Matthews t-shirt that was in the bag. He digs through the bag once more and pulls out a small plastic bag, which holds his cell phone and sunglasses, among other personal belongings. Chuck slips on the shades, and puls the phone out of his bag.

Doctor: “Mr. Matthews!”

Chuck looks up. The doctor is standing in the doorway, looking at the scene. The nurse is cowering in the corner, medical supplies scattered on the floor around her. The machines and monitors are going haywire, and Chuck stands at the rear of the room, bandages hanging off his face and body in shreds. The doctor slowly approaches Chuck.

Doctor: “Okay, I’m going to need you to get back in the bed.”

He grabs a syringe off the table as he approaches.

Chuck Matthews: “Get the fuck outta here.”

The doctor continues advancing. He reaches out for Chuck’s arm, but Chuck grabs it and shoves it away. The doctor looks to inject the needle into Chuck’s leg, but Chuck kicks his wrist, causing the doctor to drop the needle. Chuck grabs the tool tray from beside the bed and smacks it over the doctor’s head, knocking him out and leaving a nice dent in the tray. The nurse screams. Chuck shakes his head and walks out of the room, only to be face to face with two of the hospital security guards.

Security: “Back to your room, Matthews.”

Chuck shakes his head and continues walking. The guard grabs his shoulder, but Chuck brushes it off. A second guard puts his hand on Chuck’s chest, stopping him. Chuck grabs the man by the throat and shoves him into the wall, leaving a hole where the man’s head hit. His partner rushes forward to stop Chuck, who turns around and catches the man by the gut, taking him to the ground. Chuck stands, looking at his handiwork. He smirks, and takes his phone out of his pocket as he walks down the hall towards the elevator. He punches in a number, hearing it ring a few times before the man at the other end answers.

Chad Mason: “Hello?”

Chuck Matthews: “Morning, sunshine!”

Chad Mason: “WHAT THE FUCK!”

Chuck hears tires screech and a car horn blaring at the other end. He grins.

Chad Mason: “Chuck? You’re alive?”

Chuck Matthews: “Well don’t sound too excited. Where are you?”

Chad Mason: “Coming to visit, but…but you’re alive! You’re awake!”

Chuck Matthews: “Yeah, we’ve established this. How fast can you get to Mercy Hospital?”

Chad Mason: “Five minutes.”

Chuck Matthews: “Make it two.”

Chad Mason: “What? I-”

Chuck hangs up. He punches the main floor button inside the elevator, and waits. Floor 7...6...5...The door opens, and a doctor steps forward to get on. He pauses at the sight of Chuck and opens his mouth to say something, but Chuck shoves the man, sending him tumbling back into a passing gurney. The elevator doors shut. 4...3...2...1. It’s a short walk to the main entrance, and by the time he reaches the front doors, a blue SUV pulls up in front of the building, with Chad sitting behind the wheel.

Chuck Matthews: “Perfect timing.”

Chad gets out of the car, and shakes Chuck’s hand.

Chad Mason: “How are you feeling man?”

Chuck Matthews: “Like I just woke up from a long nap.”

Chad laughs.

Chad Mason: "You were out a long time, dude."

Chuck's expression darkens.

Chuck Matthews: "I know."

Chad pats Chuck's shoulder.

Chad Mason: "Listen man, I know you're pissed, but-"

Chuck Matthews: "But nothing. Chad, you're a great friend of mine. You've never given me a reason not to trust you. What Salvation did to me...to everyone...is unforgivable, and I swear to you, they'll pay for it. Can I count on you?"

Chad grins.

Chad Mason: "You know it!"

Chuck nods.

Chuck Matthews: "Good. Then we have a lot of work to do. Come on. We're going to-"

Chuck stops. He looks across the street. A man stands there, staring in disbelief at Chuck. Chuck smirks, a malicious grin spreading across his face.

Chuck Matthews: “Oh, this just gets better and better!”

He walks across the street, approaching the man, who stands petrified at the sight. He tries to run, but Chuck grabs him by the collar of his shirt and yanks him back. He drags him towards Chad’s car, and smashes the man’s face into the rear window of the SUV, leaving a splatter of blood across the blue paint.

Chad Mason: “Dude!”

Chuck slams the man’s face into Chad’s car again.

Chuck Matthews: “You follow Salvation, don’t you?”

The man says nothing. Chuck slams his face into the car a third time.

Chuck Matthews: “You know how I know? That stupid fucking cross you wear around your necks. And the fact that you just about shit your pants when you saw me walk out of that hospital.”

Chuck thinks for a moment, staring at the man. He opens the trunk of the car and throws the man inside before turning to Chad.

Chuck Matthews: “Get in the car and drive.”

Chad does as he’s told, and Chuck jumps into the trunk with the man before pulling th door shut. Chad has the seats down in the back, so there is a lot of room to move around. Chad peels out of the hospital parking lot, and onto the main road.

Chuck Matthews: “You don’t look so good, pal. Didn’t think you’d see me again, did you?”

Man: “You’re supposed to be dead.”

Chuck growls, and punches the man in the face. The man swings back, writhing and kicking. Chuck reaches behind him and finds a long hooked chain, used to tow things behind the truck. He swings it into the man’s head, wrapping the chain around his neck. The man stops moving immediately in fear of being strangled. Chuck wraps the chain around the man’s body, binding him tight.

Chuck Matthews: “Better. Now where were we?”

The man says nothing, as he tries to wriggle his way free of the chains.

Chuck Matthews: “So you thought I was dead? Thought Corey had me beat, didn’t you?”

Man: “The Lord was not yet finished with your suffering.”

Chuck Matthews: “My suffering, huh? How’s sitting in that fucking hospital since January for suffering?”

The man says nothing. Chuck punches him across the face.

Chuck Matthews: “Answer me!”

Man: “The Lord did not expect that you would return. Your death was scheduled for Sunday.”

Chuck Matthews: “My death?”

Chad speaks up from the driver’s seat.

Chad Mason: “Chuck, we were trying to find a new hospital for weeks. Mercy Hospital has that policy. If you’re there for seven weeks without improvement, they pull the plug. Without those machines, you would’ve died. Seven weeks would be this Sunday.”

Chuck Matthews: “Oh, how perfect!”

He looks back to the man.

Chuck Matthews: “Well unfortunately for your ‘lord’ and his little cronies, I’m still alive and kicking. And more unfortunate still, I remember the things they’ve done. And they’re going to pay.”

Man: “You cannot hope to stand up to the might of Sal-”

Chuck grabs him by the head and smashes it into the window. The man rolls onto the floor of the car, and Chuck rests his foot on the man’s skull.

Chuck Matthews: “Au contraire, my friend. You see, I was once a part of Salvation. I was crucial to it’s success and it’s growth. Do you realize how many people follow Salvation because of my teachings?”

Man: “But then you betrayed us, and you spat in the face of-”

Chuck presses his foot down on the man’s head.

Chuck Matthews: “I did what was right.”

Man: “You did what was right for yourself.”

Chuck presses his foot down harder, grinding the man’s face into the floor. The man tries to jerk free, rattling the chains around him.

Man: “What do you want from me?”

Chuck Matthews: “I want you to help me destroy Salvation.”

Man: “Why would I do that?”

Chuck Matthews: “Because you’re not in any position to negotiate. You’re a follower, and therefore you have the answers I need.”

The man says nothing. Chuck takes his foot off the man’s face and lifts him off the floor, staring him in the eye.

Chuck Matthews: “You’re going to take me to the city.”

The man spits in Chuck’s face. Chuck glares furiously at him.

Man: “I’ll never betray my lord. I’ll die first!”

Chuck wipes the spit from his eye and smirks.

Chuck Matthews: “So be it.”

He plants his foot on the man’s bound chest and kicks hard. The man rolls backward, into the door of the trunk, which flies open.

Chad Mason: “What the fuck!”

Chuck looks at Chad and points to the road ahead.

Chuck Matthews: “Chad, shut the fuck up and keep driving!”

He looks back to the man, who has tumbled headfirst from the car. The hook from the chain latches onto the bumper of the car, and the chain begins to unravel around the man before catching upon itself at his ankles, forming a large knot at his feet. The man screams as he’s dragged by his ankles behind the car, his face torn apart by the asphalt, and his body dancing dangerously close to the cars around him. Chuck watches the man die slowly before him. In his head, his mind is racing.

Chuck Matthews: “Chad!”

Chad glances in the mirror at Chuck.

Chad Mason: “What’s up?”

Chuck Matthews: “Get off at the next exit.”

Chad Mason: “Why?”

Chuck Matthews: “We’re going to visit some old friends.”
Chuck Matthews: “The Road to Wargames…How many of you dumb shits really thought you’d make it without seeing my face?

I need to get a few things off my chest.

I am the current tag champion with…Brenton Cyrus. Oh, how poetic! Figures, of all the people who become tag champion alongside Chuck Matthews…what was I thinking, of COURSE it’s gonna be Cyrus!

This changes nothing.

Let me correct Brenton, and anyone else who may elieve him…Yes, as a matter of fact, NLWF does suck when I’m not around. Yes, as a matter of fact, NLWF manages to get along just fine, even without Brenton Cyrus. Don’t believe me? Let me take you back to a magical world where Brenton Cyrus fakes his own death, leaves NLWF…and nothing really changes. Oh wait…I got my ass kicked a few times…Apparently, no Brenton Cyrus means Chuck Matthews can’t win…which in turn means NLWF sucks. Yes, as a matter of fact, I am that damn important to this company. Get off your fucking high horses and give credit where it’s due. See, unlike the rest of you sorry sad sacks, I have never “given up” on NLWF. I’ve gotten really close, yes. But never, in the past year, have I ever gotten in front of this camera and flat out said ‘I’m out of here. Good luck carrying on without me.’ And if anyone says ‘OH BUT DER CHUK YOO SED YOU QUIT RITE BEFORE YOO LEFT’

No. I considered it. I’m a man, I’m only human, just like the rest of you. Even I’ve considered giving up now and then.

But as I said last week, I’m not here to get the respect of Brenton Cyrus, or Shadow Demon, or Connor O’Shannon, or the Deep Throat Union, or the NLWF fans, or anyone else for that matter. I’m here to right the wrongs in my own life. What confuses me is why Cyrus has made such a big fucking deal out of this.

‘Chuck’s doing [insert what Chuck does], just like he always does, blah blah blah. He only cares about himself, blah blah blah. [Insert denial of other people’s importance] blah blah blah. I’m God and [insert pro-Brenton propaganda] blah blah blah.’

Dude…this is old news. We’ve known since the dawn of time that I do everything for myself. We already know that, with rare exception, everything I do, directly or indirectly, benefits me in the long run. We know that every decision I make, everything I say, is all part of my plan to better myself, to put myself higher on the pedestal. This isn’t grounbreaking by any stretch of the imagination. But for some reason, you continue to make it out as if this is a recent trend…I must be missing something.

I’ve said it to the point that it’s kind of annoying me now to keep saying it, but I’ll say it again anyway…I love you like a brother Brenton. A real brother, not those assholes I feel the world is better off without. But that’s bsides the point. Isn’t this whole God thing getting a little old now? I mean, yeah, it was all good fun, beat up a wrestling legend here, torture a kid there, write a bible, preach it to the world, see how many people we could convice with it…but this was how long ago?

But of course, this seems to be the way of the world. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, right? Everybody and their dog has gotten a slice of the Salvation pie at one point or another, myself included. But what separates names like Chuck Matthews, The Notorious K.I.D, Nick Ridicule, Shadow Demon, from people like Corey Casey, Connor O’Shannon, Aaron O’Shea, Brenton Cyrus? Some of us have developed this happy ability to move on.

Sad to say, there will never be a ‘separation of NLWF and Salvation.’ Salvation made it’s claim to fame in NLWF, it owes it’s entire existence to NLWF, and look…all the power players in Salvation happen to compete in NLWF. Cyrus, amigo, you know as well as I do that Salvation and NLWF will never be done with each other. Yeah, you can make them enter the ring separately…but they’re still going to collaborate behind the scenes. They’re still going to make their enemies, try to convert people…Hell, I can tell you right now Corey Casey still wants my head on his mantle. Did you forget why half the NLWF roster hates my guts? It all leads back to Salvation.

I think I’ve made myself very clear. Salvation has done nothing but make my life a living hell. Brenton, you made a long speech about how egocentric I am…surely, this isn’t a shock to see that I want a little revenge. And yes, normally, that would mean I’ll fight you as well…but with you, I find myself in a funny predicament. See, when Salvation put me out of commission…you weren’t there. It was under Corey Casey’s command that my friends were attacked, it was Corey that brought the O’Day family pain, and it was under Corey’s orders that I was taken out and nearly beaten to death…Not you. So here I am, and yes, I am going to finish what I set out to do, and I’m going to make Corey Casey and Steven Angel suffer. I’m going to make Aaron O’Shea suffer, simply because he sold out. I’m going to make Derek Wallace and Connor O’Shannon suffer, partly because I need a good warm-up before jumping back into the bloodbath, but mostly because I think it’ll be good fun.

You on the other hand…while you’re pulling the strings of all the men that I’m going to tear apart…you’re also responsible for saving me from the City, and for that, I’m grateful, and for that, I leave the decision up to you. You stay out of my way, and I’ll go about my happy business, dismantling Corey and Co…or you can try and stop me. Like I said before, if you get in my way, I’m not backing down. And your ‘clean slate’ philosophy is shot.

I am very proud of the tag team title I have around my waist. Of all the belts I’ve won, this is one of my favorites. Regardless of the lack of competition in the tag team division, I love holding the belt. To me, holding this belt represents a bond. A partnership. When I hold this title, a connection is made between myself and the man who holds the other half. That man knows, no matter what happens, I always have his back, so long as we’re the champions together. In fact, if memory serves, there’s only been one instance where this wasn’t the case. But I’m sick of talking about that. Point is, even if Brenton Cyrus walks to the ring on Monday and slaps me across the face…I’ll be there to help him out. I might not like it…and I might want nothing more than to watch someone fuck him up good…but that bond between champions always gets the better of me…and I make sure my tag partner leaves unscathed.

Perhaps that’s why Brenton doesn’t give a shit about the titles. Because, while I’ve been proud to hold the belt, and I’ve been there to help my partner when he’s in need…Brenton uses the tag belt like a cheap whore. He’ll give it away, he’ll toss it in the trash…In essence, the tag title represents his tag partners. He gets what he wants out of them, and that’s the end of it. Aaron O’Shea…Mexican Samurai…Corey Casey…Chuck Matthews. You know what’s funny? He goes ona bout how egocentric and selfish I am…but he’s just as self-centered as me.

Flashback time, Brenton.

I want you to think back. I want you to remember, way back in the good ol’ days…before Salvation, before anyone really gave a shit about Brenton Cyrus, or Chuck Matthews…Two young men…talented. Brash. Both a bit hot-headed. Both new to NLWF. Both trying to make it big.

One World Nation. That’s what they called themselves. In the ring, they were the most egotistical pricks on the planet. They were after success, and god damn it, they were gonna get it. They weren’t afraid to challenge the powers that be. They weren’t afraid to break rules. They saw their opportunities, and they took them.

Outside the ring, they were best friends. They traveled together. They fought together. They worked together to sway people to their perspective. They were jokers, fun to be around. Brothers. And even though their personas were near splitting images of the characters they portrayed on screen, they got along. And it baffled people. Two of the biggest egos in NLWF, somehow coexisted. Better than coexisted…they thrived. They fed off each other’s momentum. When one won, it made the other look good. When one was losing, the other was always there to pick up the slack.

Management became afraid. They saw the potential, and they did everything in their power to prevent their inevitable success. They made each other fight, once at New Era, again at King of the Throne. At New Era, one won, one lost. They shook hands. There were no hard feelings. In their minds, someone had to take the occasional hit in order for both to reach the top. At King of the Throne, they worked together. Like a well-oiled machine, they walked in with a mission, and they succeeded. And at the end of the night, those two young men, along with their protégé, held every title on Direct Hit.

Somewhere down the line…power began to shift. The powers that be were failing fast…and the lines that separated who was really themselves and who were just actors playing a part were blurred, and eventually erased. And those same two young men…the same ideals they always had…the same personas they always had…hated each other. And those same doubters. Those people that once wondered how those two men could work so well together now found themselves wondering how those two could bear to hate each other so much…

I don’t care, truth be told. Last week, you left the decision up to me. Fuck you. It always seems to be up to me. Our entire fucking friendship or lack thereof is always in my hands. I’m done with it. The ball’s in your court.

Here’s what’s going to happen. Monday night, we’re going to defend our titles against The Notorious K.I.D, Shadow Demon, Connor O’Shannon, and Nick Ridicule. I’m going to walk to the ring, and I’m going to hold out my hand. From there, you choose where to go. You can hate my guts, try and convince anyone that’ll listen that I’m just full of hot air, that I don’t pose as anything more than a show-opener…you can give me the final slap to the face…and I’ll shrug it off. I’ll walk back up the ramp, and I’ll leave you to decide whether it’s worth defending the titles on your own. Or, you can shake my hand like a man, and, in your words, we’ll start again from a clean slate…and we’ll defend our titles…titles that once upon a time meant more than life itself for us…and it’ll be like the good old days. But I want you to know…should this be the case…I’m not changing. I never have, I never will. I will never see you as God, I will never bow to your feet or pray for your approval, or whatever the fuck it is you expect me to do. Know that if you shake my hand on Monday, we leave everything behind us. Crucifying me, fucking Alison behind your back, trying desperately to sabotage each other’s careers for who knows how long…it never happened. I won’t speak of it, and I expect you to do the same.

I feel better now. I’ve gotten everything off my chest. I’ve said all I feel I needed to say. Now, the choice is yours.

I suppose I should pay some attention to the other men in the match, lest I get chewed out for ‘disrespecting champions’ or whatever the fuck you want to call it.

Shadow Demon and The Notorious K.I.D…Two guys that I’ve known for a while, and two guys that I’ve had some great encounters with.

Shadow Demon…Actually, fuck it, I’m not talking to you. You’ve gone from Rob Langdon to Shadow Demon to Rob to Shadow to everything in between. I don’t care which one you bring on Monday, I’ll beat it. I’ll beat it like a fucking runaway slave.

The Notorious K.I.D…you’ll remember, last week, I said NLWF is completely helpless without me? Case in point, Notorious K.I.D. KID, one of, if not the single most entertaining world champion I’ve ever seen, and a better champion than I ever was. KID, who I’ve seen come up from the little shit we know as Kid Kill to the high-flying main-event player we know and love. And when Chuck Matthews went MIA, what happened? KID isn’t half as dominant as he once was. I’ve seen the tapes. I know what it’s like to fight KID, and quite frankly, that’s not the same guy that hurt my knee a while back. That’s not the guy that went on to become the greatest No Limit Champion in history. And you know something, KID? I think, deep down, you agree with me. Yeah, you have the World Heavyweight Title. But for what? You’re looking down the road at Brenton Cyrus, gunning to take the title back. You know why he chose you? Don’t sit there and fool yourself into thinking he’s doing it because he wants his favorite belt. You know damn well you’re the weakest of all the champions. You’re ripe for the picking. Now ou find yourself fighting the biggest match of your life at War Games. You know something KID? You can’t do it. You know it, and I know it. But the KID I know? The KID I’ve fought, the KID that’s taken me to the limit and back again? That’s the KID I want to see at WarGames. Because that’s the KID that’ll walk out of WarGames as the World Heavyweight Champion. Until I see that KID, though, this match becomes a cakewalk. I’ll go in, stomp you out, and leave. Make me proud.

Nick Ridicule. Another man I’ve watched grow into one of the most dominant figures in this business…and another man that makes me sick to watch now.

Let me make this really plain and simple, Nick. You were the NLWF Champion of the year…and lost it to a guy who wasn’t even here a day. You let the love of your life get away from you, and for what? My sorry ass? Come on, Nick. You’re better than that. You’ve never been one to let someone else fight your battles, but as soon as Ashley leaves you, you become a loser again? Ashley isn’t the secret to your power, contrary to what you may think. The only person who can go out there and win matches, win titles…is Nick Ridicule. I’ll let Brenton speak for himself, but I know I didn’t train a pussy, and I know I didn’t train a guy who becomes an emotional wreck because a woman left him. Apparently, I was wrong.

And that leaves us with ol’ Connor O’Shannon. Mr. O’Shannon, I don’t believe we’ve ever met, have we? A bummer that our first encounter is under such…harsh circumstances, but what can you do?

You’re our big bad NLWF Champion, eh? You’re the guy everyone’s talking about. The literal overnight sensation. Came into NLWF, won the big prize in his second match. You must feel like hot stuff right about now, don’t you?

Don’t get a big head, O’Shannon.

You’re our fighting Irishman, aren’t you? Just like Aaron O’Shea. Or Connor O’Sullivan. Seems to be a rule of thumb. If your name is O’anything, it’s a sign that you’re really fucking annoying.

What can I do y’fer, Connor? I’ll tell ye what ye can do fer me. Ye can get the fuck outter me ring befer I kick yer arse outta thur.

Connor, I know you don’t want to fight me right now. You’re the NLWF champion, what do you want with the tag belt, right? Not to mention, you’re teaming with Nick Ridicule, a man that you’ll be fighting next week, and a man I know you really don’t like, nor do you want to be tag team champion with. What am I trying to say? You pose no threat to my title.

As a matter of fact…..none of you do.