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Chris Chaos · (11-19-2016)

The Brass Tap in East Tampa was a lively venue, but even more so during happy hour. Families were there, in the back, eating and socializing and making noise---laughing, slapping the table, even fighting. You never knew what you were going to see at the Brass Tap, only a few short miles west of the white trash capital of Western Florida—Wesley Chapel.

Chris sat the the bar section, a pint in front of him, but not containing beer. It was a whiskey drink of some sort. His XWF=Chaos shirt on, jeans, and a pair of Nike Air Max sneakers had him looking a little more casual than usual. All the limo riding and suit wearing has its place, but right now he would need to choose comfort over style. There was no style points in the Elimination Chamber. There was no style points when you needed to get savage. Nobody cared what you looked like in the Chamber, as long as you survived.

Survival of the fittest---the natural order of the world. Those who can, do. Those who can’t---well, they simply don’t. Nature was a beautiful thing. It was so chaotic, which made it beautiful. Human’s were too caught up in feelings and morals. Animal’s have no morals. George Carlin said it best during one of his shows, a segment Chris still remembered vividly.

There are three types of brains: a primate brain, a mammalian brain and a reptilian brain.

The primate brain says, give peace a chance.

The mammalian brain says give peace a chance, but first lets kill this motherfucker.

The reptilian brain says let’s just kill the motherfucker, go to the peace rally and get laid.

Chris related the most to the reptilian brain. He honestly felt like right now, at this moment, he was void of any human emotion outside of anger and hate. He couldn’t feel anything at this moment if he tried to. It had been that way for a while. He knew with every fiber of his being that he would ever feel a shred of happiness until he held that Universal Title. All the times he was screwed out of the belt in PW….here it was being attempted again. Vinnie is going to try everything in his power to disrupt the natural order of chaos. He is all butt-hurt about being punked last week and he is abusing his power, taking it out on Chris. He is all upset that Chris has basically taken control of his show and has done what he wanted.

You can’t control chaos.

Chaos is the ebb and flow. It is the yang to the ying. It keeps nature in line. You can’t have order without chaos. Existence isn’t possible without it.

Vinnie Lane is apparently trying to play God. He is trying to create a little unnatural chaos and not letting it flow on it’s own. He is trying to disrupt the natural order. He is in for a shocker, a surprise. You see, he thought it was a genius move to put Chris in a match with his tag partner 2 weeks before his title shot---with his Chamber spot on the line. What a brilliant idea---until it backfires on him.

Because it WILL backfire.

Clink Clink Chris’s pint was empty. He reached into his pocket to get some more bills out. He always paid cash here---most places, actually---as he didn’t trust the security of the card readers. The most important part of creating chaos was understanding chaos.

Pulling out a few 20’s, and some 5’s and 1’s sprinkled in, he looked at the mix of fresh ATM crisp and pocket-worn not so crisp bills in his hand. It was always fascinating to him---where money has been. Every bill had a story, just like a person. New bills, which come out the ATM slot like like a child being dispersed from the body of it’s mother, didn’t have a story yet. It’s journey was just beginning. Who knows what it could be. Just like a new person, it could end up being spent on something great like the cure for cancer or the building of a youth recreational center. Or, it could go towards drugs, booze, prostitution---it could be used to buy a weapon that kills someone. Like a new person, you just never knew what would happen when it left the comfort and security of your guidance.

The older bills---those had a story. Anyone could have held that bill at one point or another, you just didn’t know. Literally anyone. Celebrities, serial killers, rapists, regular guys named Bill---anyone. Any person in the country, the world even, could have held that bill. He often times wondered where it came from. What mother ATM it was dispersed from. Where in the country it came from. Sometimes dollar bills traveled cross country. You never know. Someone could have gotten change in Iowa and went home to Florida and spent it. It could have been picked up in Seattle and spent in Boston, then made its way back. It was fascinating. It was chaotic.

Beautiful.

How come people only use 20’s and 5’s to roll up to snort a line? Seemed like such a waste. Just use a damn straw.

Rubbing the threads between his thumb and index finger, he signaled to the bartender.

“What can I get ya?” she asked with a smile and a wink. The way her outfit fit around her assets was damn near perfect. “Jameson and Ginger, you should know this by now” he said, still sliding the bills between two fingers. God he hated these dumb bimbos sometimes.

She set the drink down and he slid the money over. He couldn’t help but wonder how many other people would every touch that money. How many people would think the same thing he did.

The familiar clicking of the ice in his glass as he brought it to his lips was a good feeling. Not as good, however, as the warm burn as the beverage touched his esophagus.

RENO, he called himself the radical one. He surely was crazy. Damn near bat shit. Sure, he won Shove It! So? His title reign was shorter than Vern Troyer. He was the new fad, the hottest new thing, the flavor of the week.

…..But that is all that he was, a passing fad.

RENO was nothing but a new age version of POGS, Game Boy, Yo-Yo’s, JNCO Jeans---you name it, he fits it. He’s hot now but he will fizzle out. Sure, Chris had to tag with this man and he thought maybe it might be an interesting team---but for the time being he wasn’t on a “team.”

He was a victim.

But he had spunk, charisma, Chris could give him that. Hell, he had certainly tried to cause chaos in the past few days. Barging into Vinnie’s office, with a gun, and tried to work over the General Manager. Hell, Chris loved the idea, but it could have been executed better. Gabe fucked it up because Gabe doesn’t understand chaos. Gabe doesn’t know how to be chaotic, but he gets an A for effort. Chris thought about it for a second as he took another sip---he would have done it differently. Still not entirely sure what the hell Gabe even wanted from Vinnie, he made up his own scenario. He pretended that he wanted a title shot, because he did.

---He would have walked in with something cooler, more chaotic. Something like, oh lets say, a flamethrower. Or, if he wanted to get up close and personal, a blow torch. He would have seared every iota of peach fuzz off of Mr. Lane’s face, then went to work on his flesh if he continued to resist. Gabe Reno never PLANNED to shoot Vinnie. He didn’t have an end game.

Another rule of chaos---always have an end game.

Gabe wasn’t an agent of chaos, you see. He just...did things….

No order, no structure, and no reason. Chaos cannot be forced, why can’t people understand that? Gabe had no end game and was lucky he wasn’t in jail for Savage. Shotty work. With a little mentoring he could be a good chaotic apprentice---but that comes later. Warfare was an eternity away---now he had to focus on taking Gabe Reno apart.

Systematically.

Sadistically.

Chaotic.

---Then an idea popped into his head. He would begin the teaching segment early, actually. He put that idea in his back pocket…...Gabe would learn soon enough.

Finishing his drink, he set is drink down on the bar. Looking around he remembered feeling how good it felt to be alive. There were so many times where he questioned if he still would be. Sliding a few dollars over to the minx behind the bar he got up, heading to the pisser being getting out of this establishment.

His mind was wandering again. Why did guys always put a hand on the wall when they were pissing? Why did guys always groan? And why put a division in between? Guys aren’t going to look, the mini-wall just gets in the way.

Finishing pissing, he grabs his keys out of his pocket and auto-starts his Jeep Wrangler Sahara. Yes, he auto-starts it. No, it doesn’t get cold in Florida. He just likes it. Can’t a guy like something?

A drive would be nice. Driving back to Clearwater from here was a long way, and there was a lot to see. Getting into the driver seat he put it into gear. An audible sigh. His mind was sharp but his body ached. His spirit was tough, for sure. There were so many times when your body wanted to quit but your mind pushed you through it. But his mind was cold, calculating even. RENO wasn’t calculated. He was reckless. Bringing a gun into Vinnie’s office and threatening him and his secretary with a gun to get what you want isn’t chaotic---it’s dumb. Chris didn’t need to lay a single hand on Vinnie’s blonde head to get what he wanted. He had a calculated way of creating chaos and getting what he wanted. Taking out two of Vinnie’s champions in consecutive weeks what on way. He was just getting started.

But bringing a gun into his office?

Chris appreciated the effort but the execution needed a bit more practice. C+ on this test.

As his Jeep roared down I275 he began to wander again with his thoughts. He began to feel the Jameson kicking in as well. It wasn’t a good feeling. Stuck between two of his personalities, not knowing which one to follow. One wanted to shrug RENO’s lame ass off, go home, and sleep. The other wanted to twist his neck around like Reagan from the Exorcist. The second side was starting to overpower. He gripped the wheel with white knuckles.

“Vinnie wants to test me, okay” he muttered, “he wants to make me a big joke. Joke’s on me. I lose my wild card and then have to team with the same man the next week. Well the joke is on him because I am NOT losing my wild card---I’ll take Trax and Bourbon on solo if I have to because I may have to kill RENO at Savage. I will kill him at Savage if I need to. There is no way that title is being taken from me—especially like this.”

The road lights were starting to blur a bit—rain? Tampa is known for it’s intense thunder storms. This had potential to be good. Driving in the rain was so unpredictable…..so chaotic. I275 was pretty wide open so he didn’t have to worry about other asshole Florida drivers. Any chaos he ran into would have to be made by either himself or nature.

The city light’s of Tampa’s skyline could be seen in the distance. The buildings sat like giant metal trees over a forest of many different aspects of life. So many stories sat between I275 and those buildings on the bay. So many people, stories, passions, fetish’s—you name it, it was there. You could find almost anything in Tampa. Leading the east coast, outside of only Miami, in strip club numbers Tampa was so diverse that some of those clubs sat next to Ruth Chris’s and Tiffany’s. Trash in one place, absolute wealth in the other. All living in simultaneous unity. All together in chaos.

As he rounded the bend towards the city, it all came to him. Finally, he understood chaos for what it truly was. The natural order of life.

***Jack Bryne was a normal guy, living a normal life, on the east side of Downtown Tampa. Having gotten a degree in broadcast journalism from USF, he was trying to make his way as a reporter in the city---but his true passion was sports. He wanted to cover the Bucs. Having been screwed over—in his mind—by ESPN and CBS affiliates in the city (truth is they simply weren’t hiring at the moment but he took it personally for some reason), he decided to start his own company. It was a sports and pop culture website. He and a partner of his had invested some money into creating the website, but getting money coming in was difficult. Nobody would buy ads for $50 for 30 seconds and $100 for a minute like they would on FM for a stupid podcast on the internet. You could advertise on Facebook or iHeartRadio for like 4 cents and get rotations all day. Pennies on the dollar. To Jack it wasn’t even worth it.

----Spending his days handing out business cards and telling everyone he knew bout he site, he just couldn’t get anyone to invest. Sure, they read the articles and listened to the shows, bit no-one wanted to spend money. Day after day, hour after hour, he would walk out of businesses, cursing under his breath, and lighting a Camel Gold cigarette after getting into is 2007 Chevy Impala. He would drive home on E, listening to whatever was on the radio and flicking ashes out the window.

His apartment was nothing special. The building had the paint chipping off the outside, and the railings were loose. The carpet inside the hallways was from the early 90’s and smelled faintly like cat piss—though animals weren’t allowed in the building. The lock on his apartment door often times got stuck, making him have the jiggle the key a little to get it open. Sure, this isn’t a big deal but small things add up sometimes.

Dishes piled up in the sink, he just didn’t have time to do them. He was trying to build a business. He did have bills, however, so he was working at a local bar as a server and bar back to bring in at least some revenue. Sitting on his kitchen table were bills that remained unopened—he didn’t have the heart to open them. Cable, gas and heat, water, credit cards---both Capital One and store cards. Not to mention the small business credit card he opened as a bail out when him and his partner Terrence wanted to start the business.

----Bills, bills and more bills. Just not enough money coming in to cover them. He was behind on his car payment and had to park his Impala down the street in case the tow trucks came. He just sat around eating raman noodles and watching television because he had just gotten out of a 3 year relationship and was currently single---pushing thirty---and was too picky when it came to girls. He wasn’t a bad looking dude but he wasn’t Brad Pitt. His problem was he wanted a Megan Fox. So maybe he would be alone forever---but at this point he just didn’t care. But he did. She didn’t answer his calls or texts anymore, but he still tried sometimes at night when he got lonely. He would eat left over mac n cheese out of crusty bowls that he set on a sticky wooden table. Then call her phone. No answer.

There was never an answer.

Earlier in the day his partner Terrance dropped a bomb shell on him. He didn’t even have the guts to call him (not that his phone bill was paid with enough minutes anyway), but through Facebook messenger.

“I can’t do this anymore, Jack”, the message read, “I have a family. I can’t keep paying out of pocket and working to keep a site up by myself. I didn’t know you weren’t going to put your all into this or I would have never signed up. I just want all the debt that is in my name paid off then I am wiping my hands of this. I am sorry but my wife and kid come first.”

So now he was in this by himself too. He had spent all night hustling businesses and drawing up proposals—writing articles. He had slept 7 hours in 3 days.

On this particular day he was standing in line in Hillsborough County Traffic Court. He had gotten pulled over for using his GPS on his phone. It was illegal to use your phone and drive in Florida. He noticed all the people in the court—from all walks of life. Doctors, lawyers, little old ladies, truckers and trailer trash. Everyone from bikers in ripped jeans to soccer moms in yoga pants.

When it was his time to get to the judge he couldn't help but wonder if he smelled. He had worn the same shirt for three days because laundry was 5 dollars. He tried to subtly smell his pits.

“Mr. Byrne, you are here for an unlawful operation of a technology device while driving, correct?”

Jack nodded sheepishly.

“The assistant DA has decided not to plead it down because of your record.”

The Judge was an older man, with a white beard and glasses. This man sat here and handed out sentences, fines, made lives complicated. He put people in bad situations financially while he went home in his Mercedes to his white picket yard and his boat.

“My----my record?”

“Yes, Mr. Bryne, you are suspended in 2 other counties. Your license is suspended here, as well.”

“How can that be!”

“I don’t know but you can plead to the charge, pay the fine. You can take it to trial. I don’t care, but you have to take care of this today.”

“I don’t even remember those tickets your honor. What counties are they?”

“Polk and Manatee”.

Jack racked his brain but he couldn’t remember those tickets. He just couldn’t! Suspended in two counties! My god!

“I need this plead down, your honor. Can I take care of those tickets and come back to this one? I need to figure out what those suspensions are.”

The judge rolled his eyes. “Yes. Take care of those suspensions. Then come back. No promises, though. We will mail you another conference date”

After being handed his paper work he almost ran out into the lobby. He could feel himself sweating. If he wasn’t sweating before he was now. His aunt had died in her sleep a few weeks before and he didn’t have money for a plane ticket to her funeral in West Virginia---and his entire family was mad at him. His parents have told him they wouldn’t help. His ex girlfriend’s parents had a order or protection against him because he came to their house wanting to see her. He was a good person, but why is all this happening to him?!

He was definitely smelling now.

He frantically dialed the numbers on the courts phone, practically slipping off each number with his sweaty hands. Finally, after about 6 rings, he got an answer.

“Polk County Court.”

“Hi! Yes, my name is Jack Bryne. I was in court for a ticket here in Hillsborough and I was told I have a suspension there. That can’t be right!”

“Date of birth please.” Her voice was cold, shrill, uncaring.

He provided his birth date.

“Yes, Mr. Bryne. You got a speeding ticket here that you never answered. That is why you went into suspension.”

“Well can I give you a card number? Can I take care of it right now?”

“I can’t take a payment over the phone, sir. It has to be in person. Check, card or money order”

“Well I mean if I drive there, it’s against the law--”

“I don’t suggest driving here”

“Well I have no other way of getting all the way up there.”

“That is not my problem, sir.” Goddamn was she cold.

He hung up his phone, not knowing what to do. Part of him wanted to cry. Suddenly he heard a ding in his pocket. It was his landlord.

Landlord: I can’t keep doing this, I am losing my ass. You are late, AGAIN. You have 3 days to pay your rent in full or you are out. I am sorry but this has gone on long enough.

His world sunk. What else could go wrong? He now had to weigh his options. The money to take care of these tickets and suspensions would go towards rent. And vice versa.

He decided that maybe he could live out of his car for a few weeks, at least that way he could get to work and make some money. Work to get his life back on track. Without a car he would be screwed.

Getting into his car he took a deep breath, popped in some gum and lit a cigarette. He would drive to Polk County. If he drove and never came back, who would miss him anyway? Just kept driving.

His GPS said 45 minutes. The court was in Lakeland.

Driving he was shaking slightly. He had hit rock bottom, he had nothing left. Nobody cared. Nobody would remember him. He just wanted this suspension lifted so he could begin to change his life. I275, however, was as busy as usual.

Every time he passed a cop, his nerves increased. He was going exactly the speed limit on a road where most people traveled 90 or more. He wanted to keep up with traffic but didn’t trust his luck. Then, about halfway to Lakeland, it happened. He got cut off by a driver in traffic. His GPS told him to get off the exit to go on a back road, claiming it would cut 10 minutes off the trip, and the split second he looked down he swerved. Before he could count to 10, he saw the lights. He was being pulled over. With double suspensions. Several options went through his mind---panic, calm, and worse.

He took a deep breath and smiled to himself. “Here we go” he said, pulling over to the right side of the road. He heard the muffled thud of the cops door closing. Then the footsteps. Then the tap tap tap on the window.

Rolled it down.

“License and registration, please.” Without a care in the world, he handed both over. “Do you know why I pulled you over?” Jack shook his head. “You were swerving through two lanes of traffic on a busy freeway.”

“Oh” Jack said, as if he didn’t know.

“Okay, sit tight, I am going to run this.”

Every fiber of his being told him to bolt. He would be at least a half mile away before the cop got it into gear. The exit was less than that. His foot pressed lightly on the gas, but the car remained in park. His knuckles wrapped around the shifter. He was ready.

About 10 minutes later the cop came back. “Sir, please step out of the car and make your way to my vehicle.”

Turning off his car, Jack grinned. It was a wicked grin---wicked, yet empty.

“You have suspensions in two counties and pending one in another county. You are being placed under arrest for unlawful operation of a motor vehicle.”

“Okay, officer, but can I take the knife out of my pocket first?”

The officer put his hand on his gun, but before he could make a move Jack was on top of him. Punch after punch—strength he didn’t know he had. He grabbed the officer’s mace, and maced him. As the officer cried out and grabbed his face, Jack bolted. Jumping into the patrol car, he took off.

It was at that moment he felt like his life was worth something.

It wasn’t long until he had a convoy behind him. Soon the helicopter appeared. The freeway was shut off up ahead but all the times he was forced to watch Cops because it was the only channel his TV could pick up he knew the spike strips were up there. He few off the exit. It was amazing how these cars handled. No wonder nobody out ran these fucks.

He was now in a town, Apopka, to be exact. A residential area. He hit the siren and ran every red light he could, weaving in and out of on coming traffic. “WOOOOO!” He yelled. This was the most alive he had ever felt.

Finally, he realized the error of his ways. The road he was on was a dead end. There were probably 40 patrol cars behind him.

He saw a McDonalds on the end of the street. Everyone would remember him now! Everyone would know his name! He wondered for a split second what the judge would think before he plowed into the side of the McDonalds. He felt his body fly. A sharp pain over took his head and neck and before he knew it he was surrounded by glass and laying in what looked like a kitchen. There was a fire. An employee ran over, asking if he was okay.

“Oh my god! I saw you on the news! You are Jack Bryne!” the 20 something girl said.

Jack smiled before everything went black.

Chris’s thoughts came back to the road in front of him. “Now THAT is chaos” he said to himself. “RENO will learn soon enough. Chaos cannot be controlled. It just happens. In a split second,” he said “chaos can change a life. It can make one and it can take one"----and Chris now finally understood. For the first time since he called himself Chaos, he finally felt like he understood chaos.

“RENO, you know the best thing about chaos? It is fair. I am an agent of Chaos. It runs through me. It is like Obi Wan and the force, it is inside me. I have no choice in the matter. Although I can’t get rid of it I can choose when to apply it. RENO you and I might be teaming Wednesday, but do not think for one second I like you. Don’t think I respect you. You are the new guy here, and you have a cute story, but I have worked WAY to hard to have it all taken away because Vinnie has his panties in a bunch. I have worked too hard and been through too much here to let some new kid on the block take it all from me.

Let me ask, what makes you think you are worthy of a Universal Title shot? Hell, you can’t even keep a hold on the Xtreme Title for more than a day. You are beyond pathetic. Oh, and Gabe---decaf. Please. Not everything needs to be a sugar rush. Calm the fuck down. You may have been hopped up on Sweet N Low’s when you barged into Vinnie’s office and you may be patting yourself on the back but that was not chaotic. It wasn’t cute, it wasn’t brilliant. It was dumb. It was an calculated risk that could have back fired on you. Could have blown up in your face.

I kind of wish it did.

But instead, Vinnie has backed me into a corner. Like an animal backed into a corner, I know no other strategy other than to attack. I am cornered, and I have to fight my way out of it. I have to defend what I have earned. To let some young punk come in and take my entire world away is out of the question. You see, since Day 1 in this fucking place I have said I am coming for that belt. I have set the bar high from the moment I signed that contract. I have done everything I have needed to do to secure a shot, and now some little runny nosed is going to come in and fuck up my plans? I DON’T THINK SO. Whether it is Peter Gilmore or Scully, I am going into that chamber and I am winning that belt. Gabe you have had a good run but you just are not on this level yet. I am top tier, you are still up and coming. Hell, if I have my way you won’t make it to Warfare. I am going to ask Vinnie for a stipulation to assure that. But I am going to do it the right way. I am going to do it the chaotic way. And it will work. You can move into all the neighborhoods you want. You can disrupt all the social order you want. You still are an apprentice to the chaos. I am the lord. You do not qualify to even be in the same ring as me. Vinnie claims I want better matches? I don’t see this being a better match, only another road block. Only this time my livelihood and reputation is on the line. If I can’t beat a snot nosed punk like you then I don’t deserve a shot at the chamber.

So Gabe just remember this when you go to sleep tonight. There is nothing I won’t do. There is not a damn thing in the world I won’t do to you. If I have to kill you, I will. I am not afraid. I will be going to that chamber and I WILL be the next Universal Champion. So either step aside or get run over.

You will understand the chaos soon, Gabe…….

You will understand……..

Very soon……..

XWF RECORD: 11-2-2
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