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Chris Chaos · (10-28-2016)

…..The best there ever will be.

Chris sat in the locker room of the newest Savage arena—whatever city they were going to invade this week. He didn’t care anymore, it was all just another nigh to him. It was all the same. Night after night, week after week, until he reached his overall goal. He WOULD hoist that Universal Title belt, and he would be the top guy on this roster. He just needed to get to the Elimination Chamber, then it would all be his to take. It would be right in front of him.

Recently the XWF, obviously desperate for ratings now that Chris had taken out much of their mid card talent, is making those phone calls to washed up has-beens like Kurt Angle and Brett Hart. I mean, Brett Hart, hell he hasn’t been relevant since 1997! Half of the XWF fan base wasn’t even born when Brett Hart mattered to anyone.

Taping his wrists was always a fun time, because he got to survey his battle scars. He had so many, and many of them were not even noticeable to the blind eye. Many of them were simply memories of the extreme, both extremely good and ghoulish nightmares.

Looking at his wrists, he remembered when they were slit like a goth kid in a high school bathroom in the Hell in a Cell. He remembers when he needed 12 stitches, but somehow….he liked the pain….

Was he insane?

No. He was the best, and he never got the chance to prove it. He probably would be in a wheel chair by 40 but he didn’t care—his body would quit long before his mind did. Long before his drive did. His motivation would drive him long after his body gave out. He would be remembered as a legend. The XWF was his second chance, and he wasn’t going to screw this up. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. If he did, there was no purpose to live.

He remembered the times his chest burned from his punctured lung, but he finished the match. Why? Because he needed to. He wanted to prove himself. He risked permanent damage to show that he was the best, and nobody could take his heart away from him. Even if it was ripped form him, he would continue to fight. Why? Because he was the best there is, the best there was, the best there ever will be.

Looking at his bicep, remembering when it snapped and curled up his arm like a snake coiling in the presence of a predator. He remembered coming back soon after because he needed to show that he was still the top linebacker at USF and it was homecoming. Pain cant keep him down. He loved pain. He needed pain. He expected pain. Quite frankly he had been disappointed the last few weeks. He hadn’t felt pain since Doctor D’Ville and that casket match, which now felt like an eternity ago.

He looked at his legs, the cuts the bruises and the scars, He felt a sense of pride in them. He got them in the heat of battle. He was never afraid to put his body on the line for the sake of winning, being the best, being a legend. Because he is the best there is…...the best there was…..

….and the best there ever will be.

Brett Hart. Who was he even? What had he actually done? The ONLY thing anyone remembered him for was his brothers death in the ring and getting screwed in Montreal, and not the good kind of screwed. He was a nobody, why was everyone so up on this guy? If he wasn’t such a dick, Vince McMahon wouldn’t have done what he did and he would have never had to go to WCW to let his career die. Because that is what he did. Now he wants to come here to revive it. That won’t last long because Chris was going to put his old ass on the shelf again. He has come into the wrong company at the wrong time. Kurt Angle wouldn’t last long either. Chris would make sure of that. He has ONE goal...don’t lose. It is simple. And someone is feeding a hungry bear….they are accessories to murder. The murder of careers.

As his wrist finished taping, he began to tape the other. He didn’t really need the tape, he just liked the reminiscing session. He liked to see his battle scars.

..He NEEDED to see them. It was an addiction. It is what kept him getting out of bed everyday. It is what kept him coming to the arena every week. It is what brought him to Norway...it is what brought him to Brooklyn.

….Saturday Night now had a different mood. There was no more smiles, no more laughs. It was business as business only. Warfare was the same. He would go into every match the same way he went into the Doc match….as someone he has to be but doesn’t want to be. As someone who would maim, torture and mangle. As someone who would set the tone of chaos like none seen before here. This was the Xtreme Wrestling Federation, but lately it feels like he is the only extreme one. He looked at his face in the mirror, knowing there was a scar on the top of his head under his blonde locks from being busted open time and time again. From the stitches, staples, and glue. He knew it was only a matter of time before he got busted open again and something in he simply could not wait.

Was he insane?

No he was the best. He would prove it, if he hasn’t already. And it all began with taking out a “legend” in the heart of Brooklyn. Taking out a “legend” in the place where so many had been dropped before. The Barclay’s Center wasn’t ready for the chaotic storm that was brewing. They weren’t ready for the massacre they were about to witness. The beloved Brett Hart, reduced to a quivering, bloody mess covered in his own excrement. Sad, pathetic and helpless. Why? Because he needed to. And he best…..

…...ever……

His thoughts were broken by Jenny, who barged in. She was wearing something skimpy, perfect.

“You ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Let’s do this.”

_=_=_=_=_=_=_=_

“Brett Hart…...you know, I used to idolize you at one point. I used to think you were the best technical wrestler I had ever seen. You won everything, and in a way I hated you for it. But then your ego went to your head. You weren’t THAT good…..but you talked like you were the hottest thing since the cordless phone. Your ego annoyed me. You didn’t back your words up. You never did and never will. Me, I have always proven myself. I said I was going to do something, and I did it. I said I was going to beat Doc, and I did it. The only thing you said you were going to do was go to WCW, and what happened? You allowed yourself to get worked over. You won’t be remembered for anything other than losing and throwing a tempter tantrum and ruining expensive equipment that Vince was nice enough not make you pay for. You are nothing but a cry baby bitch who needs to be in the limelight so you come to the hottest fed out there to try to re-establish your name. You are truly pathetic.

I am going to out there in front of a capacity crowd and give New York what it truly deserves….the best. I am going to ruin your career worse than Vince did back in 1997. I am going to make sure you are remembered for something other than the Montreal Screw Job…..your welcome.

Brett, when those pink lights go off and that guitar riff hits just know it will most likely be the last time it ever happens. Remember it. Cherish it. Feel it.

Feel it. This will be the last time you will ever feel anything like it ever again. A feeling of happiness. A feeling of mattering to someone. A feeling like you aren’t a complete fuck up. Cherish it.

I am going to beat you from pillar to post, Brett. From Brooklyn to Montreal and back. I am going to kick your teeth down your throat then make you pick them up, put them back in, just to do it again. You are too old, face it. You belong in a nursing home, not a wrestling ring. Maybe I will be the one to finally put you there….

Maybe?

Definitely.

When you feel yourself hoisted up in the air Brett, you will know that for the first time in your entitled life you are about to be put in a category you have never been put in before. You are about to be equalized.

Then when you hit the mat, and I hook that pink, wrinkly leg, you will know it is over.

You are officially on the same level as the rest of the jabronies I have pinned over the years…..

You will be equalized.

The best there is? No. The best the was? Maybe. The best there ever will be? Only one name first that title…..CHAOS

See you in the ring, old man.

[Image: LLRAcdQ.jpg]

XWF RECORD: 9-2-2

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