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Matthias Syn · (08-01-2024)

February 23rd 2018 - Office of Doctor Camden Fowlston

Doctor Fowlston: Matthias! Come in. Have a seat.

The room felt heavy. I knew what this was. This wasn't going to be a normal doctor - patient visit. This wasn't a normal doctor - patient relationship. He's going to want something. He figures I owe him my entire life. I've always seen through the facade. That fucking half-cocked smile on his face, those beady brown eyes hiding behind those prescription glasses that he thinks shroud the darkness. I have always been able to see behind the veil. He's a world renowned psychologist, closer to Hannibal Lecter than Sigmund Freud on the spectrum. Ulterior motives are his forte. Today would be no different.

Prison may have been the better option. At least then I wouldn't feel like I owe a debt. A debt to anyone but Holly. A debt to a devil in a business suit no less.

Fowlston: Almost two years you've been here now. A model patient. Just like I told them you'd be.

His elbows resting on the oak desk, he intertwined his fingers. A calm sense of superiority washing over his face. I just nod, I know it's coming. He will call it a favor, I will know its a command. It is what it is, what am I going to do? For once in my life, someone else holds all the cards. I slouch back in the red leather chair, he is a shitty human with even worse taste in decor. I'll play the game. I have no choice.

Fowlston: If you play your cards right, I can get you out of here in a few months. Back to your life. Obviously under strict supervision. My supervision. How would you like that?

He says with a hint of dominance in his voice.

Syn: Of course I'd like that. I don't need this place anymore Doc.

The emptiness that echoed through the white walls and endless halls of Peace Valley Psychiatric Hospital had long since worn out their welcome. Peace Valley. They always give psychiatric hospitals bright and charming names because who wants to "seek help" from a place called Lunatic Meadows. At this point though, I would do anything to get back to some semblance of normality and he fucking knew it.

Syn: What do you mean by strict supervision?

I could feel in my bones where this was going. Long ago he found the perfect mark. A child from a broken family. An absent father, a drug-addled mother and the eight year old boy with debilitating nightmares. Someone he could mold and form in his image. I am grown now. Bigger than most people. Stronger. A weapon he could use to do his bidding.

Fowlston: At first you would stay at a halfway house that I have set up for you and you would be required to report to me at least three times per week. After six months or so at the halfway house, which is really more of an AirBNB to be honest, we could talk about you getting your own place. But I would need certain... concessions from you. I would need you to do things for me.

There it is. The point of this visit. Everything has a fucking caveat with this guy. I will get you out, back to your life or whatever life he was willing to allow me to have. Fuck it, I thought. I can't do this anymore.

Syn: Ok Doc. I don't see what other choice I have. I just want to be out of here.

He had me by the balls. We both knew it.

Fowlston: Perfect!

Most people spend their entire lives running away from violence when they should be running towards it. Only through violent situations can you find who you truly are. So I intentionally and purposefully put myself into those situations. Violence, chaos and disorder, these things are what genuinely make Matthias Syn feel alive. The risk of death that is inherent in barbarity, chaotically built into savagery, are what define our careers and our lives John.

I don't think you understand the dark and sordid world that you're going to be walking into when you step through those ropes and the Syn City Saint is staring back at you. I listen to you speak John and I hear a broken man who has let a mediocre career seep into his every being and turn him into a sniveling, whiny bitch. A feeble man who stumbled upward into the Revolution Title by beating up on also-rans, has beens and neverweres.

You have no confidence. No swagger. No aura. I listen to you question whether you want the belt and whether you deserve the belt in every single one of your promos. If you have to ask yourself those questions John, then you don't deserve it. And that's okay John because I am going to relieve you of that burden. The weight of the Revolution Title is too much for you. A revolutionary you are not.

You wish you were me, John. There are no half measures in my world. You're in or you're out. I go all the way. The dynamite is lit. It wont be long now. You can retire back to Baltimore where you can continue feeding conformity into the machine. Back to the Razor Blade Promo School for the Mentally

. Maybe then you can get through one promo without some lazy racial epitaph cursing the "man" for holding you back. You see John, I don't care about the color of your skin, my brand of violence is equal opportunity.

I want to hurt EVERYBODY

After Anarchy, the weight will be lifted, that belt will be around my waist and the Revolution can truly begin.

STATIC

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