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Matthias Syn · (06-20-2024)

We open as daylight begins its slow dance with nightfall. The pale crescent moon and glistening stars radiate the backdrop of Route 66. An ethereal mist rose from the searing pavement as the hum from the engine of the nineteen sixty-eight El Camino roared down a desolate stretch of the highway.

Matthias Syn places the handheld camera on the dash, positioning himself in view. Behind him the faint echo of some shitty little sundown town in the cold, dark heart of middle America. A relic of a bygone era. Antiquated and on the verge of extinction. A dreadful barren place that would be better suited if it were wiped off the face of the planet by a natural disaster.

It wouldn't be missed

The jobs and the money have long since moved on to bigger more bustling cities, leaving only decaying farm land, abandoned buildings and broken dreams. A dire, dying town that looks its best through a rear view mirror.

Right now, at this very moment, you, Syn points through the camera, and everyone that you know is at a crossroads. You're being sold an illusion disguised at reality.

You wake up every day commuting single file to your deathbeds. Anchored to Ikea desks or assembly lines. Where every fleeting second feels like drowning. Mindlessly marching to extinction until you get cancer or kill yourself.

Why would you choose to live that way? A biting snarl in his voice.

Seduced by algorithms designed with nefarious intention. "Free thought" monopolized by only a handful of corporations.

A digital war on your imagination, your critical thinking, is underway, yet you're so consumed by the mundane being forced fed to you through six inch screens, that you've become subdued and boring.

YOU'RE ALL SO BORING

Too timid, too afraid to take what you want, when you want it.

Their plan? Same as its always been, to divide and conquer and you allow it to work for them to perfection. They keep you busy arguing over issues that reside just on the political edges so that you wouldn't notice the largest upward transfer of wealth in human history.

They are militarizing the police forces in every city in the developed world so that when you've finally had enough, when you finally decide to to get the requisite balls it takes to fight back, it will be too late. And I see you cheer it on. War, famine, even genocide, I see you cheer it on.

You should ALL be embarrassed with yourselves. I'm embarrassed for you.

Too many people don't stand for anything. Content on riding whichever side of the fence allows them to get the most likes in their digital fairy tale. Terrified of being cancelled.

There's one thing that you cant cancel though and that is...TRUTH.

You see, the truth is stubborn that way. And the truth is, there's an entire generation claiming to be woke without ever truly being awake. There's a calming comfort in it I suppose. Pretending the world exists in a vacuum. In your small, trite bubble that only feels big because tribalism congregates to scale.

WHEN WILL YOU WAKE UP?

Syns eyes pierce through the camera

The fires in the streets are raging. Can you feel it? A world on the precipice of combustion. It just needs a catalyst.

I am that catalyst.

Welcome to the event horizon of chaos, of violence, of disorder. I'll be your guide.

He says through a maniacal smirk

I am Matthias Syn and I am the nightmare that followed you out of your dreams, that lays coiled beneath your pillow. Next Thursday on Anarchy, you'll witness my love letter to the X...W...F, written and carved on the backs of broken men.

Harmon Greyson Hays... HPV, Syn says through a smile, you should've never come back. You should have stayed firmly nestled in the memory of that one time, however long ago that you were the Anarchy Champion. A time before Matthias Syn was here. A time before and I hate to say it because he's only slightly less boring than you, Sean Parker was here. You're a lower mid carder cosplaying as the Main Event and when that bell rings on Thursday night, I'm putting an end to the HPV comeback tour.

Sean Cameron or Cameron Parker or Sean Parker, what the fuck is actually going on with this brand Jett? I'd make two of the three of them go back to whichever boring, bland name generator they used and try again. One of them has the Anarchy Title so I guess it would have be one of the other two.

Sean Cameron, are there a lot Seans in Romania? Camerons? Whatever you want to call yourself, you should've never showed up at all. You should've kept grinding out paychecks for gas money in whichever rundown armory for whichever nearly bankrupt independent shit hole fed that you came from. This is the X-treme Wrestling Federation. The lights are the brightest here.

When I drag you both from turnbuckle to turnbuckle by your Adams apple, I want you to realize in that moment, that it didn't have to be this way. It's not personal. You two are simply the ink from which the Syn City Saints poem flows.

As those final words fall from his lips...

STATIC

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