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Chris Chaos · (11-04-2016)

Chris is sitting in his locker room, before the big event. He can hear the road crew setting up, and the pyro going off as practice. It all sounds muffled to him, but he knows what it is. Sometimes he feels like he is pyro....ready to explode the push of a button.

......The push of his buttons.

And those buttons aren't arent hard to push.

He didn't really have anything else to say. Each member of this match was allowed 5 promos for this match but he wouldn't need it. He has said all he needed to say. Everything Trax, Dolly, Bourbon......all they put out is the same shit over and over and over again. The same insults with different words. The same bullshit reasons why they will win. The same lies.

He had just got done watching Robbie's newest spewing. What did he refer to Chris as? A burning house? Catchy. Creative. He had seen pieces of dry wall with more intellect. He guessed muscles didn't translate to brain cells. And where was his promo taken? A DMV? Can this lunatic even drive? Can he even fit in a normal car? He must have to drive a bus of some sort. He didn't envy his registration price.

Chris was taping his wrists, looking at his battle scars again. He had EARNED those battle scars. He was going to earn a lot more before his tenure here was over.

He was going to spill a lot of blood and hopefully a lot of his would be spilled too. He loved blood. It was one of his favorite things. Blood was so chaotic. And so many people were afraid of it. So many people---including many people in this match--were afraid of it. Despite what they said. Some say they crave it, but they don't. They want to avoid it at all costs. They think that a battle royal won't produce blood. Oh they are wrong.

......Oh yes, there will be blood.

Chris was digging through his bag when he saw a pocket knife at the bottom. Looking for the tape he shoved it aside, before pausing. He looked back at it and after a brief break he grabbed it. Flipping it open, he looked at it with a sick grin. Was he this crazy?

Was he this crazy?

Crazy.......

Crazy....

Crazy

Yes.

It was a simple three word answer.

He was this crazy.

He put the blade down on his freshly taped wrist and began to push down. Was he depressed? No. He just liked the rush. Liked the pain.

.....Goo Goo Dolls came into his head "when you bleed just to know you're alive."

It was such a rush. Maybe he would go to the ring with bloody wrists. Most of these pansy's in this match would run for the hills. God for bid it gets on them. He would cherish the squeamish screams.

Dolly for sure. Hell she didn't even bleed between her legs yet. She didn't know what REAL blood was. When had she ever bled in a match? None that he could remember. And guys like Payne, pretty boys, and Jakob Davis---god forbid they get anything on their perfect looks. God why do all the contestants in this match suck so bad? And not just from a skills level but on a personal level. There isn't one with any redeeming qualities.

He saw Dolly's promo for Warfare. Yes, he did say he respected her. He respected her accomplishments. But her as a person? A whiny little brat--as most girls that age were. Of course she took it as the ultimate compliment. She was such a twat.

He pushed down harder, cutting through the tape. A little bit of red could be seen. He grinned through the wince.

He felt so alive.

Robbie Bourbon.....he didn't know what kind of violence Robbie brings?

HAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA

That oversized shit log. I mean, he was still living in a fantasy world. He still dressed up like a superhero. I mean he was basically an overgrown child. How much violence could he POSSIBLY bring?

CHAOS IS VIOLENCE.

He pushed the knife deeper. The white tape was a pinkish mix now. He would probably need stitches.

Fucking beautiful.

He continued to press down. Maybe he would go until he saw his bone. How awesome would that me?

Running one hand through his blonde locks he looked forward with a sinister grin as the tape cut and unraveled, spitting blood out and onto the locker room floor.

It will probably take 7 men to get Robbie over the ropes. 7 men, or 1 Chaos.

Trax, Peter FN Gilmore.

WHY WERE THEY BOTH CALLED FN?

How cute. They have matching names.

Chris moved the knife up a bit, pushing down in a different spot. His battle scars were foreplay.

He was always goingto have new ones. Why not make some?

HE WAS THAT DAMN CRAZY.

And it was craziness that would win this match. That and stamina.

...and he already proved he had that.

Why would Doc make a match without needing to be crazy for it? He was batshit crazy, so why wouldn't his match be? The Xtreme Title was crazy too. It was all crazy.

HE was crazy.

As one wrist was leaking like a water main break, he took the pocket knife to the other wrist.

Dolly Waters. Gator. He was going to make a stripe for every member.

Cut.

Dolly.

Cut.

Gator.

Cut.

War Pig.

Cut

Kennedy....

His arms were going to look like bar codes.....and he loved it.

He needed it.

He was the most extreme in this match, hands down. Fuck everyone else. Nobody else could hold his jock strap in the extreme department.

He knew it.

They knew it.

But they would never admit it.

They wee lying to themselves. Blood lies. But, blood never lies. When you spill it, thats the truth.

Blood is the only thing that doesn't lie.....

And he would spill it. All over. The mat would be stained with it.

Once every mark on his arm represented a competitor in this match, he taped it back up. He double taped. Triple taped. It still was pink.

That was good. Motivation.

He would look down at his wrists. It would drive him late in the match. It would propel him to throw Robbie over the ropes. To eliminate Trax. Not like he needed any extra motivation.....all these guys (and gal) were clowns.

HE was the only real, true, CHAOTIC member..........

and he truly was insane.

+_+_+_+_+_+_+_

I literally have nothing to lose here. I am a Wildcard Holder. I am in position to win the Universal Title. I am in a position to win the most prestigious title in this business. This is a match that is only one more resume builder on my way to doing that.

Everyone in this match is so concerned about who is star of the month.....fuck that. I don't care. I have bigger goals. I want to be star of the year. I want them to look at me next year when Shove It comes along, when I am holding every belt here, and know that I am the best damn superstar to ever walk through those doors. Star of the month? Pssht. How petty. Sure I will take them as they come---because they WILL COME---but I don't sweat the little shit. I am going to be the best because I have to be. I will accept no less.

I said before I am done talking about this match and who is in it. I said what I have to say. I have made fun of all these fuckers more times than I care to count. Right now, it is about bigger and better things. It is about being elite. Can anyone in this match say they are elite?

NO

Because they are in this match hoping to be. You don't see Scully in this match do you? No. Because he holds a strap that puts him in that class. I am not yet but this match and my performance in it will put me there. Or at least close.

...........I will because I can.........

..........Fuck talking about this match, I am talking about being the best.

And it all starts with this match.

XWF RECORD: 10-2-2
[Image: Jp2wWNr.jpg]

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