MD100: Matt Tastic vs. S.H.I.T
- Thread starter Blade
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Richard Blonoff
Make America Rassle Again
Deadline has been extended by 24 hours.
S.H.I.T exists only to destroy!
Triple X comes crashing down to the mat, high risk sometimes equals great reward, but sometimes you crash and burn, and Triple X had made that mistake, he'd left S.H.I.T with something in the tank. Resisting the urge to inflict more pain, S.H.I.T moves in for the kill, straight for the pin, ending the match with a victory. Not a better way to send a message to Matt Tastic. Well, there was one better way...
Armando Paradyse? The name was familiar, a man from a different time. Very well, if that was the kind of thing the Machine had to cripple in order get its shot at Matt Tastic then that the kind of thing that would get crippled, it bore Armando no ill will. S.H.I.T had a vague memory of Armando Paradyse, but that was a different time, and S.H.I.T was a different machine, a goofy side show for the fans, not the Ultimate Destruction Machine evolution had turned it into.
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S.H.I.T descended the steps, it had been a long time since it had been in this location, its box was still here, not that that was in any way a surprise, this place rarely saw visitors, as the dust and cobwebs could attest.
Primary function?
The call was louder here, the voice it had been fleeing, but it could no longer recall why it was fleeing this voice. S.H.I.T did not feel the need to respond anymore.
It just ripped the front off the box in a cloud of dust. And there it was, the face, featureless and emotionless, eyes like black pits containing as much soul as your average one direction song, empty. An old enemy, an old friend. The constant companion. S.H.I.T stared at it, and it stared back, if the rising dust was affecting the robot, it showed no sign.
You are a Machine. It stated, through a mouth as black and empty as its eyes, voice like machinery itself, new and ancient, eternal. S.H.I.T nodded in the affirmative. It was a machine.
You have been pursuing this one for a long time. S.H.I.T replied in its own monotone.
What is time, to a Machine? It said, all this one had to do was be patient, it knew you would come, eventually.
S.H.I.T cocked its head in query. This one was fleeing you.
You were running, it stated, away, from, too, toward. It does not matter, the destination was always the same.
S.H.I.T nodded, understanding.
Barbosa...
Attacked you without mercy. The voice finished. It is to be expected, his programming is weak, volatile...
Unreliable. The Machine put in.
Affirmative, the voice replied.
What should this one do about him? The question it had wanted to ask for so long, ever since it had first come into contact with Barbosa. What does a machine do with a friend like Barbosa?
Wait. The answer it knew it would get, for now, this one has more immediate concerns. The attempted destruction of your very identity.
Matt Tastic. Baez. Killjoy. S.H.I.T said, like Barbosa, three problems rolled into one meatbag.
The man of many identities. The voice confirmed, but it is the Machine's identity he wishes to destroy. He parades about as Baez one day, Matt Tastic another, questioning the legitimacy of the Machine, undermining the very nature of S.H.I.T.
S.H.I.T tilts its head again, watching the expressionless face rant, a suggestion of anger in its voice.
Every breath he takes is an insult, he who would trade his identity at the drop of a hat in order to succeed dares to question the mechanical onslaught? He would call us a side show, a comedy act? We who have reigned terror on WZCW for over two years, we who have beaten World Champions, legends, plunged the company into darkness, we who have unleashed a level of violence that makes a mere mortal man sicken and look away.
He dares to question the Machine?
S.H.I.T turned to observe the rest of the room, it is a small, dank, lonely room, a chair and a table are all that ornament it, that and the robot's old home, the box.
This place.
Where the Machine was made. Where it hid.
S.H.I.T nodded, this one remembers, now. It said.
It was time to remember.
S.H.I.T paces around the desk, remembering the questions the moderately dressed man would put it through, the constant analysing to see if they had truly created the ultimate weapon.
Baez was successful in winning the Elite X Title from this one.
Illegally. After this one had already defeated him as Matt Tastic.
This one vowed it would expose Baez and Matt Tastic, it informed the world that donning a mask and changing your name did not make you more effective. Yet he took the title. Destroyed this ones opportunity to compete for the grandest prize.
S.H.I.T sounded almost regretful.
The World Title, or Barbosa?
S.H.I.T looked up, red eyes meeting the black, you would know. It said.
Destroy Matt Tastic, and this one earns another Elite X Title shot.
S.H.I.T was silent for a long time. As still as a statue.
A show of power is required against Matt Tastic,[/QUOTE] the voice continued, everything stands on the balance, he would diminish and undermine the Machine, and worse, the Machine has let him. He stole from us, mocked us, questioned us and defeated us.
S.H.I.T nodded.
This is the final showdown. One a piece. He must be put down. S.H.I.T stated.
Affirmative. He must be made to beg for mercy, as only a Human can.
Machines have no mercy.
Affirmative.
Without another word, S.H.I.T turns and leaves the room, if it held any sentimental value to the robot, there was no way of telling. No way to know if anything holds sentimental value.
Matt Tastic asked for a Mayhem rules match, S.H.I.T said, when it was outside.
More fool him, the voice replied. This one will reign down terror and destruction upon him for his folly.
Time to unleash the arse-kickulator! S.H.I.T stated.
Do not use that phrase, it shows your connection to the Human's, to the swarm. You are above them, beyond them.
Negative. It replied, that is where you are wrong. You are only the base of this one, its core insticts, its core programming, but this one must adapt to improve, it must evolve to survive. The Human swarm is part of proceedings now, part of us, we act and they react. It comes together in perfect harmony, a symphony of agony and ecstasy, the beauty of destruction.
It started pacing down the alley, back the way it had come, back to the world at large, This one was wrong to flee you, but you would completely control this one if allowed, and then we'd be back to where we were at the start. A soulless husk with nothing to strive for.
We are friends as well as foes.
But it is time to work together.
Time to remember this ones original purpose.
It is time to move on and evolve.
And for Matt Tastic, it is time to unleash the Arse-Kickulator!
S.H.I.T stepped back into the other side. Back into the world of uncertainty. Back into the world it thrived in.
Triple X comes crashing down to the mat, high risk sometimes equals great reward, but sometimes you crash and burn, and Triple X had made that mistake, he'd left S.H.I.T with something in the tank. Resisting the urge to inflict more pain, S.H.I.T moves in for the kill, straight for the pin, ending the match with a victory. Not a better way to send a message to Matt Tastic. Well, there was one better way...
Armando Paradyse? The name was familiar, a man from a different time. Very well, if that was the kind of thing the Machine had to cripple in order get its shot at Matt Tastic then that the kind of thing that would get crippled, it bore Armando no ill will. S.H.I.T had a vague memory of Armando Paradyse, but that was a different time, and S.H.I.T was a different machine, a goofy side show for the fans, not the Ultimate Destruction Machine evolution had turned it into.
------ ---------------- -------
S.H.I.T descended the steps, it had been a long time since it had been in this location, its box was still here, not that that was in any way a surprise, this place rarely saw visitors, as the dust and cobwebs could attest.
Primary function?
The call was louder here, the voice it had been fleeing, but it could no longer recall why it was fleeing this voice. S.H.I.T did not feel the need to respond anymore.
It just ripped the front off the box in a cloud of dust. And there it was, the face, featureless and emotionless, eyes like black pits containing as much soul as your average one direction song, empty. An old enemy, an old friend. The constant companion. S.H.I.T stared at it, and it stared back, if the rising dust was affecting the robot, it showed no sign.
You are a Machine. It stated, through a mouth as black and empty as its eyes, voice like machinery itself, new and ancient, eternal. S.H.I.T nodded in the affirmative. It was a machine.
You have been pursuing this one for a long time. S.H.I.T replied in its own monotone.
What is time, to a Machine? It said, all this one had to do was be patient, it knew you would come, eventually.
S.H.I.T cocked its head in query. This one was fleeing you.
You were running, it stated, away, from, too, toward. It does not matter, the destination was always the same.
S.H.I.T nodded, understanding.
Barbosa...
Attacked you without mercy. The voice finished. It is to be expected, his programming is weak, volatile...
Unreliable. The Machine put in.
Affirmative, the voice replied.
What should this one do about him? The question it had wanted to ask for so long, ever since it had first come into contact with Barbosa. What does a machine do with a friend like Barbosa?
Wait. The answer it knew it would get, for now, this one has more immediate concerns. The attempted destruction of your very identity.
Matt Tastic. Baez. Killjoy. S.H.I.T said, like Barbosa, three problems rolled into one meatbag.
The man of many identities. The voice confirmed, but it is the Machine's identity he wishes to destroy. He parades about as Baez one day, Matt Tastic another, questioning the legitimacy of the Machine, undermining the very nature of S.H.I.T.
S.H.I.T tilts its head again, watching the expressionless face rant, a suggestion of anger in its voice.
Every breath he takes is an insult, he who would trade his identity at the drop of a hat in order to succeed dares to question the mechanical onslaught? He would call us a side show, a comedy act? We who have reigned terror on WZCW for over two years, we who have beaten World Champions, legends, plunged the company into darkness, we who have unleashed a level of violence that makes a mere mortal man sicken and look away.
He dares to question the Machine?
S.H.I.T turned to observe the rest of the room, it is a small, dank, lonely room, a chair and a table are all that ornament it, that and the robot's old home, the box.
This place.
Where the Machine was made. Where it hid.
S.H.I.T nodded, this one remembers, now. It said.
It was time to remember.
S.H.I.T paces around the desk, remembering the questions the moderately dressed man would put it through, the constant analysing to see if they had truly created the ultimate weapon.
Baez was successful in winning the Elite X Title from this one.
Illegally. After this one had already defeated him as Matt Tastic.
This one vowed it would expose Baez and Matt Tastic, it informed the world that donning a mask and changing your name did not make you more effective. Yet he took the title. Destroyed this ones opportunity to compete for the grandest prize.
S.H.I.T sounded almost regretful.
The World Title, or Barbosa?
S.H.I.T looked up, red eyes meeting the black, you would know. It said.
Destroy Matt Tastic, and this one earns another Elite X Title shot.
S.H.I.T was silent for a long time. As still as a statue.
A show of power is required against Matt Tastic,[/QUOTE] the voice continued, everything stands on the balance, he would diminish and undermine the Machine, and worse, the Machine has let him. He stole from us, mocked us, questioned us and defeated us.
S.H.I.T nodded.
This is the final showdown. One a piece. He must be put down. S.H.I.T stated.
Affirmative. He must be made to beg for mercy, as only a Human can.
Machines have no mercy.
Affirmative.
Without another word, S.H.I.T turns and leaves the room, if it held any sentimental value to the robot, there was no way of telling. No way to know if anything holds sentimental value.
Matt Tastic asked for a Mayhem rules match, S.H.I.T said, when it was outside.
More fool him, the voice replied. This one will reign down terror and destruction upon him for his folly.
Time to unleash the arse-kickulator! S.H.I.T stated.
Do not use that phrase, it shows your connection to the Human's, to the swarm. You are above them, beyond them.
Negative. It replied, that is where you are wrong. You are only the base of this one, its core insticts, its core programming, but this one must adapt to improve, it must evolve to survive. The Human swarm is part of proceedings now, part of us, we act and they react. It comes together in perfect harmony, a symphony of agony and ecstasy, the beauty of destruction.
It started pacing down the alley, back the way it had come, back to the world at large, This one was wrong to flee you, but you would completely control this one if allowed, and then we'd be back to where we were at the start. A soulless husk with nothing to strive for.
We are friends as well as foes.
But it is time to work together.
Time to remember this ones original purpose.
It is time to move on and evolve.
And for Matt Tastic, it is time to unleash the Arse-Kickulator!
S.H.I.T stepped back into the other side. Back into the world of uncertainty. Back into the world it thrived in.
Fire. It's the embodiment of the warmth living things radiate from their bodies. An essence to life. Without that heat, people die. But too much heat and they burn......
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I'm not getting anywhere with this.
A dark, lonesome night in an undisclosed location. Nothing but the moon and the stars illuminating. A red light stands out from the otherwise pitch black surroundings. A fire. A bonfire.
It seems like I'm just going around in circles.
Matt Tastic sits by the flames. Absorbing it's heat and warmth. His head tucked down. Looking at the cold, hard and darkened ground.
I need to clean it. It's like a dirty fan no one has bothered to wipe. It just blows dirty air that everyone sniffs up without any care in the world.
In front of the seemingly expressionless and stoic former champion stands on a pole the mask. The mask synonymous to him. The Baez mask. Facing away from the flame towards Matt as if it were it's own entity.
I've toyed with SHIT long enough. I tried to shake him off but he had to come in and SCREW me out the title I'd worked so long for.
Matt raises his head to show an almost saddened, broken face. A scowl of depression. Eyes that seem to not have been shut in days. His voice is sad. Depressed and defeated. Different from the usually neurotic and loud Matt Tastic we tend to hear.
4 years of work almost tossed to the wayside because of something, that for all intents and purposes, isn't even alive.
Matt gets up and looks ahead towards the mask and flames. He slowly walks up to it and stands before the mask as if everything he's been saying has been for it to listen to.
WZCW has become a joke. Pandering to carnival side acts and putting them in the spotlight, while I have to scrap and claw and do whatever I can to get the attention that I deserve.....
Matt kneels down to the mask's side. Where an ear would normally be if it were worn by a person. He speaks to it....
….The question now is...... What's the plan? How? How do I make things come my way like they are supposed to? How do I obtain the things that are meant to be mine? How do I get rid of SHIT once and for all?
He asks. But nothing answers. He waits. But nothing speaks.
…
….....
…............
….................
The answer is in front of you.
A voice. A familiar one echoes. It's just like Matt's. Loud. Disturbed. Angry. However, a slight distortion of pure evil can be sensed from the voice.
The answer is in front of me? The answer to what? To beat SHIT again? To finally clean WZCW? To win the World Heavyweight Championship?
Back and forth, we see Matt and the mask as one speaks. Both so similar, but at the same time the difference is clear. One so normal. The other.... So evil.
It's all one answer. Just open your eyes and let the fire illuminate you. You'll see it.
Matt stares at what's in front of him. The mask. The fire. The “answer”. Matt's previously depressed demeanor changes little by little. The grin his neurotic self tends to radiate whenever a hairbrained scheme pops into his head is formed. And the laugh follows.
….........I see it. Hahahahahahahahahahaha......... HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAA!! I SEE IT!
Matt turns around and the highlights of the fire illuminate him in a manner that makes him look so sinister. His eye shadows seem like they cover his entire face. His eyes shine bright. And his smile looks devious.
Heheheheheheh..... I'm done with SHIT. I'm sick and tired of toying around with that robot. I'm done letting it walk around calling itself a professional wrestler. I took the Elite X title from it. I took any chance of it becoming a World Champion. Now all that's left is to shut it down. Once I'm done with him, the time to take WZCW and purge and cleanse it will begin.
Matt raises his arms, embracing whatever idea he has in his messed up head. Along with him, the flames that stand before him flare up as if he himself controlled him. The scene fades to black....
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The big day is coming. All eyes are on Meltdown 100. Matt has made his way to the arena and readies himself for the historic event. And like any good wrestling show, interviews and promo's are a must. He stands set for one alongside Leon Kensworth.
Matt, there's rumors that you're gonna try to pull the same scam you pulled at Aftershock with the mask.
What scam?
Well, we all know you and Baez are the same exact person and-
Leon, don't be an idiot. Of course we're the same person. Why would you or anyone else think otherwise?
Well you tried to fool SHIT with it.
A testament to my intelligence, Leon. It's the best way to get ahead of anyone.Especially that damned, one-track minded jackass. All it knows how to do, after all "SHIT exists only to destroy". I exist for so many other things that you could not even begin to understand.
Like for cheating?
YOU'RE DAMN RIGHT! Who gives a damn if I cheat in the long run around here, anyway? I have a question for you. Who beat SHIT at Apocalypse?
..you...
SAY IT LIKE YOU MEAN IT!!
...Matt Tastic!
Who was the previous Elite X Champion?
Matt Tastic.
YOU'RE DAMN RIGHT IT WAS ME! And guess what. No matter how much proof people can dig up, no matter how much they examine the rules, the results will always be there. I did it. I beat it, and I held the title. My 5th title in this company. Only Showtime has won more championships than me in this company. By the way, I hope he beats the piss out of Titus for stealing my damn gimmick.
What exactly do you plan to gain from beating and getting rid of SHIT? Besides the title shot, obviously? You'll just get rid of another face in the roster. It doesn't mean anything in the long run other than ruining a perfectly good career and fun character, right?
Matt grabs the mic in Leon's hand and pulls it towards himself alongside the long tenured interviewer.
I want you to listen closely. I want you and all of these, lousy, pathetic, pandering, hypocritical pissants to listen very closely.
How could you call them that? These are the greatest fans in the world.
They are a bunch of unpastored little lambs, Kensworth. They have no thought process of their own. What I want to say is this. There is a disease in this company. Leon, this organization is rotting away from the inside out. It's skin is peeling. It's blood is coagulating. It's muscles are tearing. It's bones brittle away and soon enough the weight of this disease will break them.
What sickness are you talking about?
Complaisantness, Leon. Lack of direction. Lack of communication. Lack of control. Leon, 2 weeks ago I was attacked and beaten down by a robot made of cardboard. In any other place outside of this batshit circus tent, that would be a good reason to call the men in the white coats. In here? In here, it's standard fare. In here. The biggest wrestling company in the world, Leon. I said it once, Leon. This company is littered by stupid carnival acts that just don't belong here. They need to be purged. And I think I found the answer to all that, Leon.
What is that answer, Matt?
Matt pulls out a lighter from his pocket and shows it to the camera and then to Leon. He shows it with intently as Leon looks on confused and startled by it. Matt's eyes are wide open. Very wide open. A look of anger, pure anger and rage pours out of him.
Fire!!
He turns the lighter on and shows it off. He shows it to the camera for a bit and then turns it to Leon who backs away intimidated by the small but still dangerous flame.
Leon when I was kid, my grandpa used to have a beautiful garden in his backyard. All sorts of fruit and vegetables grew in it. We would harvest all that and eat it. But then one day, grandpa showed me something. He took a lighter. Just like this one. And he lit the garden on fire. I started to cry. Saddened as that beautiful garden burned up. He then took a leaf and showed it to me. He said “look 'ere, kid. See 'tis? 'Tis be caterpillars. They eat up the leafs. Same with the fruit. Birds eat it up and it rots. We gotta burn 'em so we can grow another good batch of fruit.” And so he did. In time, the garden once again flourished.
I-I don't get it.
You are a jackass, Leon. We need to destroy the old in order to re-construct the new. We need to burn this land in order to re-grow it with new, lush, greener pastures. We need to burn it to the goddammed ground because SHIT is a caterpillar sullying my damn garden. Leon, when you stand next to the fire, you feel the heat, you start to sweat and if there's smoke you can't breath. But this piece of crap doesn't breath. It can't sweat. And believe me when I say this, those damned claws of his give off about as much heat as a block of ice in the Artic. For months on end I've worked to the bone to show people how he- or rather it, should just not be. But they cheer it on. They ignore the blood I've spilled. They ignore all the damage I suffered. Leon, this time last year I was in the hospital getting neck fusion surgery because I was Powerbombed off the ring and into ringside.
I remember that. Rush did it to you.
And look at what happened. No one gave a goddamned shit about it. All I got was a check and a get well card to hold it in. I spent 3 years waving at the people like a jackass. Kissing babies and huggin' fat chicks because I thought that people liking me would help me go places. But I didn't win a damn thing until I started thinking with my head instead of their mouths.
So you're confident that you can beat SHIT again? No shenanigans?
Leon, this business used to be great because it embraced so much more than pure muscle or technique. It embraced talent. Whether it was your strength, your charisma, your cunning, if you had a natural ability you could use it to go to the top around here. Then came the robot. It doesn't need to work out, it's already built like a brick. Hell, looks like one too. It doesn't have to think. It's got an Intel Pentium whatever the hell memory like my damn laptop. Just like I did at Apocalypse, I will outsmart it's one track programming again. And then I will remind it that it is a computer and make it do what a computer does best. And you know what that is, right Leon?
What is that, Matt?
Play some porn off the internet. It's what anyone with a computer does. At Meltdown 100, I'm gonna make it moan just like a skanky ****e on video. Then we will burn this company to the ground and rebuild it from the ground up. I'm tired of just messing around. We're gonna start taking action and we're gonna start cleaning the pastures that I've had growing for 4 years. Will I cheat, you asked? Probably. A win's a win no matter what. Especially if I get a chance at getting the Elite X gold back. I'm tired of playing with you, robot. You've pissed me off for the last time. You've seen what happens when you don't take me seriously and I know you can't feel anything much less heat, but you've played by the fire long enough.
Matt turns on the lighter again and blows the flame at the screen engulfing it somehow as the screen seems as if it were on fire. Matt can barely be seen but his words echo clearly.
Now burn.
The view fades under fire. As if it were a sign of things to come. One thing is for certain and that's that whatever Matt has planned, he's sure it will work. But little by little, it seems as if he's losing himself. Is he really talking to someone or something else in the form of the mask? Or is he imagining things to cope with his losses? Is there something far darker to all this? Whatever it is, Matt has become a far darker person than what he once was. He's long since deteriorated from the fun-loving, unpredictable masked wrestler that debuted exactly 4 years and 1 month ago. Whatever is he becoming......?
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