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Matthias Syn · (01-26-2025)

12:35 am - Syndicate - January 24th

“…”

No, no, no - Quit fucking talking. Just get me the goddamned building.

This shit is easy for me, Oz. Hitting that record button and turning someone into a chalk outline before I've even walked into the arena. I’m the best in the world at it. I'm the best in the world on this mic. Un-fucking-touchable. Fuck, Mads, she wishes she was on my level. Fuck James Shark, this isn't 2015. I'm the goat and I've done it in less than a year. It's time for Matthias Syn to get back to that. I have been too fucking soft in my promos. Too soft on an industry full of tissue boy, cry on my shoulder simps and the women that love them.

All week I asked myself, “Matthias, how do you want to handle this?” On the one hand, I like Oz. Truly and genuinely. He's MY monster whether he knows that or not. On the other hand, I don't like what Oz has become. A man the size of a mountain with all the potential in the world who would rather sit on the sidelines and patiently wait for opportunities to come his way instead of grabbing life by the fucking balls and making IT happen.

That's why It had to be you, Oz. You had to be next because in this business, it's about being remembered. I want every single person in that locker room to know that when they see MY name across from theirs, that they. Should. Tremble. I want their knees to weaken at the thought of what waits for them. You'll be another in a long line of examples that have come for my belt.

There have been three people besides Matthias Syn that have held this belt. John Black. I've crushed his dream twice now. Spencer Adams. I beat him in a land far away. And you, Oz. You're the only former Revolution Champion that I haven't beaten. You Couldn't defend the belt of course. That's the Oz that we all know. A lifetime loser that wilted under the weight of the big bright lights and his own mediocrity.

I've been here for nine months and this is the first time that we've gone head to head. They hid you from me, Oz. Your handlers in the front office. They didn't want to let their little lap dog off of his leash because they know what'll happen if he finds himself in Matthias Syns backyard.

But it's not just about being remembered, Oz. At least when it comes to you and I. With you and I - it's a little more personal. You only make that amount of money through the exploitation of people less fortunate. And that's the real reason, Oswald. The reason that I'm going to fucking bury you. Broken Oswald, Big Money Oswald, Green Eyed Oswald, that one was particularly hilarious, at the end of the day whichever personality decides to show up, you'll always just be Enhancement Talent Oswald.

I want you to bring whichever version of Mr. Oz that helps you feel like you can win this match. Bring whichever Oswald that you prefer to be buried in because this belt is never leaving my shoulder. I am the grim reaper going from door to door beating whoever they put in front of me for this title.

They can run as many number one contenders matches as they want. It won't matter. It won't be that fuck boy Cypher, it won't be that neuro Hixx, it won't be stuttering Jake Borden and it won't be Atara. Hi Atara! This belt leaves when I say it does. When I finally get my hands on the Universal Title and even then that boy band in the front office, Thad or Vin or Peter or Barry or Atticus Gold aren't taking this off of me. They're going to have to create a whole new belt for you and the rest of the shit show behind that curtain. I may just try to collect that one as well. I'll take every goddamned belt this company has and walk to the ring looking like fucking Canelo because I can.

So tell me, where do you go from here, Oz? Back to being the XWF lap dog. Doing whatever they tell you to do. Like the obedient, compliant coward that we all know that you are. A man as big as you with balls the size of tic tacs. Embarrassing.

This is it, Oz. Your big chance. Matthias Syn. The longest reigning Revolution title holder of all time. Snow Holds Barred. Revolution Title on the line in a steel cage. This is your opportunity, enhancement talent Oz. In spite of winning absolutely nothing you get another shot at a title. That's what you do. You sit around patiently waiting, doing what you're told to do like the lap dog that you are. A man your fucking size, just waiting. And waiting. And waiting. Because you know eventually, they'll give you another shot that nobody in the back actually believes that you can win. They’ll part the Red fucking sea and let Ol’ Oswald take his undeserving shot. Just to satiate his stupid. A monument to wasted potential.

I want the absolute worst version of you, Oz. The meanest, the most vile. Something different. Unleash that part of you that wants to rip my fucking larynx out of my throat while standing over me and telling me to talk shit now, mother fucker.

But I know that's not you, Oz. You're too fucking spineless. All of that money. All of that strength. Yet, the money couldn't buy you the balls or the spine that you needed to be anything more than a giant puppet letting them pull the invisible strings of control.

Let's get violent, Oz. Prove Matthias Syn wrong. Show us all what you're capable of and let's go steal the entire fucking show.

STATIC

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