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Chris Chaos · **03-17-2017, 09:53 PM**

Airplane bathrooms had to be the worst thing on planet earth. He always hit his head on the ceiling, he couldn't really move his legs, and they were always out of toilet paper.

Looking at himself in the mirror, he posed for a minute. He moved his jaw around in different motions, tilting his head then untilting it. But it was when he looked in the mirror that he saw something. His eyes were deep. He could almost see through them. The universe staring back at him was a universe of pain and torture. It was sheer hell. He looked away quick. Hitting the flush button it shot down with the familiar airplane bathroom sound.

SHHHHIIIIIOOOOOOOWWWWSHHHHHH

Washing his hands in the undersized sink, he popped the latch on the door. Nodding at the stewardess, he began the walk back to his first class seat. Looking at all of these people, he wondered their stories. Every one of these people were going to California for a different reason. How many of them had evil intentions? How many were going somewhere to kill a career? How many of them were going somewhere to potentially murder a human being?

How about the guy with his hood on over his hat, and his headphones. His eyes were closed, but you could tell he wasn't sleeping. What was going through his mind? Was he having relationship problems? Was the love of his life fucking someone else? Was he escaping loan sharks? Was he on his was to a funeral? Or how about the lady sitting there with her tablet, playing a game? Or the kid with his Holmwood High School Basketball tee shirt on. There were literally so many possibilities. How about the man in the business suit with clear sweat stains, sandwiched between the fat guy and fatter woman, fiddling with the air jet to get a cold burst on him? Were all of these people good people at heart? How many of these people who help each other if this plane went down? How many of these people would make sure that someone else had their mask on properly, before securing their own?

Not a damn one of them.

There are no good people. Just images, facades. You can push their buttons to start up like new cars, and the charade begins. Everyone is in this world for themselves. Their own self interests.

Do you really think these stewardesses give a fuck about your problems, or what shit storm you are walking into when you get off the plane? No. They care about their lives. To them, you are just a number. Just another face.

Chris didn't know what that felt like. Everywhere he went, people knew him. Everywhere--flashbulbs, selfies, autographs. Everywhere he went he couldn't escape the hords of questions and people wanting to figuratively dick ride him. But this plane was different. Here, he could walk down the isle, and nobody said a word. Everyone was lost in their own worlds. Everyone had their own shit to focus on. The world didn't, for once, revolve around him. It was peaceful, serene, but in a way, he felt like he finally knew how guys like Oliver Last felt. Going through life as an ant on a map. Going through everyday as an insignificant member of society. He knew now how guys like Oliver lived. In a way he liked it and in a way he felt bad. But in a way he knew that he never wanted to live life like this. As much as he bitched about the limelight, he, in a small way, enjoyed it.

He pulled back the curtain and entered first class. A pillow was waiting for him, and a server was on him immediately.

"Mr. Jackson, can I get you anything?"

He smiled at her, taking his seat.

"Yes. Yes you can. Bring me the Art of War by Sun Tzu."

She looked at him for a second.

"Interesting request, sir."

"You have no idea." He shooed her off with his hands and put his head back. He could get used to this life, for just a little while longer.

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"Can I be the first to ask.....who the fuck is Oliver Last? I mean if you are trying to soften me up before managements Golden Child Gabe Reno steps into the ring with me, is he really the one to do it? If I wasn't mistaken, I would think they are helping ME here. They want to give me a cross between Andrew Dice Clay and Ferris Bueller and think I won't tear him limb from limb on national television? This is a match that is nothing more than a workout for me. A warm up. A trip to the gym. He is nothing more than the punching bag I have in my condo's gym. Oliver Last may very well be looking at his last match---because all of the stress, the pain, the anger and ther sheer rage I have been feeling lately......it will surface. Even a fraction of it will be more than Ollie boy can handle. It will be more than he has ever seen.

You stated, Oliver, that you spent most of your time in High School being shoved into lockers by guys like me because they said you look like a

. Well, I mean, I hate to be the bearer of bad news....but, you do look like a

. Your hairdoo went out of style in the 1950's. I mean jesus, your bio sounds like a description of a boy band member in Seventeen Magazine. It was nothing but rambling nonsense. You get high a lot? Sure seems like a great recepie to be successful in this business. I get high too.....but I get high on success and kicking as much ass as possible. That is why I am where I am and you are where you are. Why I am the face of the top wrestling company in the world currently and you are brooding in your own emotions in coffee shops, competing whenever they need filler. You can't even do a pull up. You are beyond pathetic. The fact that you are even in this match is a favor to you. Someone must be trying to give you a resume boost. All this is....a case of bad timing. This match at any other time.....take your L and go on about your way. But this night....oh this night.....your very career hangs in the balance. Gabe Reno and the puppeteers at the top have pulled one too many strings this time. They have struck one too many chords. At this point, they have created a bigger beast than the one they were trying to stop. They were trying to put out the fire but instead caused a blaze big enough to burn down an entire city. If Gabe Reno is the city, you, Oliver, are the Capital Building. You burn first and the rest of the fading republic crumbles from the inside out.

You are the least of my worries. Bruce may think I am unfocused....but he is old and senile. I have never been more focused in my entire life. I am beyond the point of caring about human life anymore. Based on your dreary and depressing bio, it sounds to me like killing you would do you a favor. If it isn't me, it will be the cigarettes. Or the shotgun you most likely leave cocked in your closet. Either way, your career and potentially your life ends on Saturday Night.

Oliver Last. His first real match. How ironic that it will be his last. This leather jacket wearing Fonze from Happy Days looking cockpouch. There have been a lot of men who have been fed to the big dog. Well I am the biggest dog of them all. You are nothing more than Purina Puppy Chow, and I am eating the entire bag. This match will be a grand total of about 3 minutes, then my sights are set on Gabe Reno. I know he will be in attendance. I hope he is paying attention. He thought I punished him last time---that was nothing but the tip. Now I will shove the entire dick in. Gabe is probably chuckling now watching this, hearing a dick joke. He is like a 4th grader in an adult body. What I am going to do to you Oliver, it will look like I am facing a 4th grader.....in a 4th graders body. I hope Colton has paramedics on hand.

The match with Gabe and I is going to be a classic. It is going to be epic. The title defense against Gilmour was a fight. The defense against Graves was a battle. This defense, it is going to be a war. It will hands down be the top match that has ever taken place in this history of this company, all 18 years of it. But that is where you come in. That is how you will be remembered. You will be remembered the same way McBride will be remembered......as the foreplay before the rape.

So go....sit in your all night diners and coffee shops, and think this over while smoking a cigarette and eating artisanel pickles. Pack your Birkenstocks. You need to really decide if you even want to show up to your own demise.

Your choice. But at Savage, victory has a name........

Chaos.

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XWF RECORD: 25-6-2
XWF Universal Champion: 1x (Current)

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