7:42 pm - Somewhere in the Mojave - December 11th



The gentle citrus glow of a sunset in the Mojave painted the canvas of the horizon's edge. A perfect companion for a drive through the desert while the stars fall. A fiery glow, a celestial fire, a tapestry woven in the twilight - the striking backdrop of my own personal symphony of sadness.


The ayahuasca had finally taken hold. My heartbeat felt electrical. Through periscope eyes I pulled the car over about a mile off the lonely road.


I desperately needed a change.


It was here I knew I would find myself. Through the desperate loneliness that really only can be found in the desolation of the devastating desert. I was here for a vision quest. A journey through a broken mind. Through my broken mind. With cocaine coursing through my veins and a hallucinogen leading the way, off I went searching for God knows what. I'll know it when I find it.


The desert flowers danced as I paced across the desert floor. No entrance theme, no pyro - just crickets singing songs of longing in a place where if you listen close enough, the wind whispers tales of the dead. Secrets submerged in solitude never to be uncovered.


But it was the silence I was after. The tranquil reverence of a poltergeist world that I craved.


The world is so crowded now. Neon lights, billboards and signs. A frenzied attack on your senses. There was a certain intimacy in the seclusion. There were no slippery men, barking at carnivals, decorating our lives in shades of crimson. There were no parlor tricks that would only end in compromise.


Out here, in the vast expanse of an antique land it still felt prehistoric, primitive. A twisted place where you could actually get to the core of you. Not the version of you that spends your time hiding in a comatose joy - but the raw, unfiltered version that yearns to spread its wings. The you that you'd be if you actually stopped giving a fuck.


So there I stood. Still and peaceful. Intimately connected to the nothingness. Waiting for even just a brief moment of tranquility.


This business pushes and pulls you in every direction and it does it at one hundred miles per hour. Most days you find yourself in a different city, a different state or a different country. Each day bleeding into the next.


WarGames had come and gone and while my team technically made the finals, I did not. This one stung. Not quite like losing the Universal Title match to Ned but it is right there. Anything short of winning the entire thing was going to be a disappointment. I fucking hate losing. I've thought about it every day since.


I needed to get away for a while. To clear my head.


I just want to sit alone in this lonesome desert, as high as I can possibly be until I forget that I can talk.


I've been burning bridges through cocaine fueled calamity for as long as I could remember. After Holly, I didn't have a reason to care. Couldn't find one anyway and even if I did, I would never let myself get close. It was easier for me to push people away.


Life brought the worst out of me. Violence isn't inherent, isn't ingrained, isn't rooted in your DNA. It's nurtured and bred through circumstance and I was the fucking poster child. Trauma's titular tin man.


There were rumors as far back as I can remember about a shaman who roamed the Mojave. Waiting on tortured souls who have come to find the meaning in their lives. Just rumors. Whispers in dark bedrooms and darker attics. Fairy tales from a child or a drunk at the bar. Nobody I knew ever met the Shaman and I know a lot of people, especially the unsavory sort. The type of people who would wind up in the desert on their knees begging for a meaning or bargaining with death.


I had to sit down.


The desert landscape was painting colors that were unfamiliar. Revolting jukebox colors. A mosaic of the mind and it was spilling into the here and the now. The sand beneath my boots was pulsing with an untapped energy. I could feel it in the back of my throat. Two hours in and a sudden surge of euphoria rushed through my body.


The stars exploded around me like an atom bomb. My mind unraveled as the desert contorted into a landscape of memories. As the hallucinations deepened, I stared wide-eyed into the endless void.


Why are you here? a voice called through the shadows.


My heartbeat grew rapid, I could feel it pulsating in my ears. I took a deep breath, was it him? Could it actually be? I wondered to myself.


To find you. I said as the Milky Way spilled onto the grains of sand casting long shadows.


So that you could help me find myself. I choked the words out through cracked lips from the dry desert air. A cool calm had settled over me as I sat in the haunting silence waiting for a response. Wingbeats fluttered in short bursts around me. A melodic, powerful whistle enveloped the still desert night. A gentle bird song hummed before I saw the rustling of the Joshua Tree just a few feet in front of me.


Well you've found your way to me, that's a good start. The voice echoed through the silent calm. Squinting my eyes to see through the endless darkness I noticed a nightingale perched just above my eye level.


Okay, the birds are talking. I whispered. This ayahuasca was stronger than I expected. Here we go, I guess.


Are you the Shaman? I shouted. The bird wasn't deaf but I thought it would help him understand the question. With this hallucinogen running through my body I no longer had any sense of spatial awareness. Thinking that I was probably going to scare the damned thing off, I said it again, with a little less bravado than before.


Are you the Shaman?


What do you think, young man? It said to me calmly.


Well I've been roaming this desert for about two hours and now I'm talking to a bird. I'm high as hell on cocaine and ayahuasca. I guess you're not exactly - what I was expecting. I lamented.


Let me stop you there, what were you expecting? My newfound feathered
friend asked with a slight tinge of curiosity.


I don't know, a man. A ShaMAN, I said with an annoyed emphasis.


His eyes began glowing a deep, unnatural red. He stared, unblinking. It would seem that I have pissed him off. Par for the course with me I guess.


Do not condescend me. he shrieked.


I am not merely a bird, Matthias, you'd be wise not to paint me with such a broad brush. I am a Nightingale.


Matthias? You know my name? I inquired.


Of course I do. I know everything about you. I know that you came here for answers, the nightingales voice steady and low.


I cut him off again. A Nightingale? In this desert? I questioned what I could only assume was a figment of my imagination.


I am what the desert needs me to be. I am what you need me to be. The Nightingale represents transformation. Do you not seek transformation?


I nodded slowly. Yes, but aren't Shaman supposed to be inspiring?


You got it wrong, kid. That is a fairy tale. I am here to show you the part of yourself that you don't want to see. His eyes burned brighter still.


Okay. Christ, relax. I said, this was my journey and I was going to make the most of it.


Let's start with some word association. I say a word or a name and you tell me what comes to mind.


Yeah, I know what word association is. I snarled back. Boring, but I'll play your fucking game.


Madison Dyson. The bird didn't hesitate. He wanted to get right to the matter.


Madison. I hesitated only briefly. In this business, having someone you can trust usually isn’t something you can expect. It's a very self-serving industry and I get it. But to answer you, I would say that I consider her a friend. I don't know that she would say the same about me but when you go to war with someone, it changes your perspective. Your perception of who someone is in their bones. I know that if I needed someone to have my back, she would be at the very top of the list.


Good. The winged Shaman said.


Oz. He inquired.


Same as Madison. I would consider him a friend. Someone I could trust. It's never a bad thing to have a monster hiding in the shadows, willing to have your back when you push the chips into the center of the table.


Very good. He spoke. His voice calming me with every syllable.


Mark Flynn. I let his name hang in the air.


Fuck Mark Flynn. Stealing my goddamned gimmick. I owe him one. I underestimated him. That was my mistake. It'll never happen again. Fuck Mark Flynn. I reiterated. A smirk adorned my face.


Say it with me, Shaman - Fuck Mark Flynn. I said, tilting my head with a half cocked smile.


I will say no such thing. He exclaimed.


Snooty little bird bitch. Taunting him under my breath.


Moving on. Atara Raven.


That was unexpected, I mouthed the name again - Atara?


Shaking my shoulders I let the words flow. She's hot. I like the way she talks. She's too good for that washed up husband of hers. When people say the last name Raven now, it's her name that comes first.


Why did you ask about Atara?


I told you that I know everything about you. Her name was in the back of your mind. I can see it. Whether you can or not, is completely up to you.


Last name. There is a point. Are you ready?


Aurora.


I smiled as I let out a soft chuckle. My hand lightly scratching the back of my head.


It's… complicated. On the one hand, she's the single most beautiful woman I've ever seen. Those fucking eyes, man. The way they catch the light, the curve of her smile, the way that when she walks into a room, she's the only thing I see.


I started to drift off for a second. There was something so different about her. Something that made me feel alive. Something I hadn't felt since Holly.


On the other hand, because of that, I'm terrified of getting too close. For her - for me. All that I have ever done is hurt people. Hurt the people closest to me.


He just let me talk.


I've been having awful nightmares and they've been made even worse since my time in Silent Hill. I saw what I did to Holly that night. Clear as day. I was lucky enough to get to hang out with Aurora in New York. She was house sitting for Lucy. Just being with her, being in her presence makes me a better person. I didn't drift away, I didn't lose time. I didn't even have to take the medicine. But the night after I left, I was sleeping in some rundown motel room just outside of Chicago and I had a dream. Well, a nightmare. THE nightmare. But instead of Holly on the other end of the makeshift monster that was in that room, that took over my body, it was Aurora.


I couldn't wake up. I couldn't snap out of it. I had to watch it play through. What if it wasn't a dream? What if I actually hurt her? I'm a bad guy and I know that. I don't always mean to be, but I am. I've come to terms with it. She's perfect and I can't live up to that standard. As much as I wish that I could. But I just want to be around her. Maybe I can break whatever curse that haunts me, long enough for her to know what she means to me. That's what I hope for at least.


Hmm. He said, you do realize that for a man who fashions himself a lone wolf, a bad guy, four of the five of those people I asked you about, you said good things about. You even used the word friend.


Catharsis


Huh. I guess I hadn't thought about it. I could feel my mind start to steady. The jukebox colors slowly fading into a blood red dawn. The sun - peaking through the dark side of the horizon.


I'm glad you did. The Nightingale interrupted. I've got one more for you. The red in his eyes melting away.


Revolution.


I smiled.


It's time, he said.


It's time, I repeated.


It's time that you tell them that you're a fake. A charlatan. A liar. I sat up, he caught me off guard.


A man who only preaches revolution but doesn't follow through.


Fuck you, I interjected.


You let yourself become a caricature of a revolutionary -


I wasn't listening to this shit anymore, even if there was some truth to what this fucking bird was saying. I dug my hand into the sand and threw it as hard as I could. As my eyes regained focus, he was gone. I sat alone, deep in thought. I couldn't help but wonder, did I lose focus? Did I lose the plot? Did I become one of those men, those countless boring men before me, who preached revolution and a better world, but never amounted to anything more?


Fuck no. I screamed. My voice echoing through the crisp desert air. 








12:00 pm - Toronto, Ontario, Canada - Just outside of Toronto City Hall - December 14th


The air outside Toronto City Hall was electric. Charged with a palpable tension that reverberated through the dense crowd. Nathan Phillips Square had been transformed into a sea of bodies, banners and a burning determination. With a mic in my hand and the attention of a small army, the Matthias Syn Revolution was about to begin.


We are on the brink, living on the knife's edge. Can you fucking feel it?


For too fucking long, we have labored under the tyrannical thumb of greed and corruption.


For too fucking long, we have endured the chains of oppression. Inequality.


No more.


This is a movement. OUR movement. A vision of a world without boundaries.


Let me liberate you.


There is a fire burning in the hearts and the minds of each and every one of us. Unyielding, uncompromising, unshakeable.


Let me be your catalyst.


Let my words envelop your psyche but understand that no one has ever changed the world through just words. Words are not enough. We change the world through violent retribution. Most people spend their time threading the needle between what's right and what's wrong. With Matthias Syn, there is no such delusion. Right and wrong need nuance.


Kill one measly, corrupt, bloodsucking CEO and the entire world comes to a stop. We have their attention. They’re shaking in their three piece suits. They expect you to be subservient, obedient, submissive. Watching the world pass you by glued to your windowsill. Your hopes and your dreams washed away - buried under the blacktop. Waiting for the news cycle to take the heat away from them.


Not anymore. Not with Matthias Syn around. Today it changes.


Let them feel fear in the shadow of their skyrises.


Let them learn their lessons in the ashen remnants of twisted cities.


Let them KNOW that we are here. Comfort breeds fear. Reject conformity.


Disrupt the status quo.






Welcome to your funeral, GG. Here is your fucking Requiem.


Beep boop beep boop or said another way, can. I. Smash? Syn says through a sly smirk. A sentient sex doll, sent from the future, to do nothing more than household chores. A living, breathing cum dumpster for teenage boys that would fuck a light socket or middle aged men coming out of their fourth divorce.


Of all the people to take offense to what I have said since I have been here, it was you that took the most offense. Not SEB, not Flynn, not Ned, not even that hyper emotional twink, Johnny Backshots. That's what disappoints me the most.


GG? Who cares?


Tell a girl you want to fuck her and she cant keep your name out of her mouth. You even had Dolly Waters saying my name in her promo. Dolly has never said a word about Matthias Syn and then she joins your WarGames team and boom….” Bring that bum who lost to Matthias Syn.”


You’re obsessed and I get it. I really do. But why you can't stop thinking about me and talking about me, to Matthias Syn, you’re nothing more than a sexual conquest. 


You’re a full kitchen in robot form. A refrigerator, a microwave, I mean with you being a computer and all, you probably can't do the dishes but you damn sure can load the dishwasher, GG.


They want spectacle, let's give them spectacle. No need to hide behind pleasantries. Pleasantries are just something else for you and half of that locker room to get offended by and I stopped giving a shit about the infinite number of things that offend people years ago.


I had to go back to 2022 to find the last time that you were relevant. Cypher syndrome. Believing that anyone actually gives a fuck when you cant be bothered to show up more than a handful of times a year.


I am going to send you back to that eight bit retirement home that you were hiding in for the last two years. Because I RAGE against the machine and at the end of the day, GG, you’re just a goddamned machine. Not capable of having feeling. Experiencing real emotion. You’re just wires and circuits and code.


There is a void in you, GG. A void that no matter how hard you try, you’ll never truly fill.


You’re just a boring machine. Nobody cares about you. If you go away tomorrow and knowing you, you probably will, nobody will give a shit. You’re nothing more than a means to an end.


I spread violence like napalm nightmares and at Warfare, I end this fucking charade once and for all. I am going to stick a quarter in your fucking neck and make you enjoy the ride.