Synful Intentions: My Demons

[Syn]

May 24th, 2019
Los Angeles, California
Rollins Manor

Brytain was absolutely shaking with rage as she stormed out of her studio and up the stairs to the second floor. She didn’t care who she woke up in the process, too blinded by rage as a whirlwind of thoughts clashed inside of her head. But the one that fought it’s way to the forefront of her mind, that kept repeating over and over is one single question: Why?

Why would he do this to her… to their family, after having seen the gruesome aftermath she herself had left for him two times over?

Why would he throw himself into that match, and chance her being forced to raise Evie on her own?

Why would he not tell her about this…?

The tangled mess of thoughts abruptly come to a stop as she walks up to his study. Brytain didn’t think twice about her next action as she burst into his study without bothering to knock.

“What the actual fuck, M-Syn!” she hissed, catching herself. After all, she had promised to never say that name in anger and right now she was seething fucking mad. Perhaps more than she’s ever been over the course of their tumultuous relationship.

Syn is turned away from her as he looked out of the window with both arms folded behind his back. He knew what brought her here. Richard’s frantic texts to the unregistered phone in his desk were enough hints of the storm he’d knowingly unleashed.

“... I suppose I owe an explanation of why.” He said calmly, not trying to back away from the situation at all as he finally turns to face her.

As cool and collected as he seemed on the outside, a war waged within his own mind on exactly what it is he’s to tell his beloved. What could he say to justify his reasons for walking into a match he knows she’ll? That he’s been off-kilter, even more than normal, since his Hell in A Cell Match with Mister Reilly? That certain urges… certain cravings he’d long since thought were under control have bubbled back to the surface, demanding that they are sated with the blood of his enemies… of himself?

Brytain is unaware of her husband’s conflicting thoughts as she stared at him with a look of mama bear rage so vivid he could have melted on the spot.

“Start fucking talking, Syn.” She hisses out, creeping deeper into the room. “And it had better be a better story than Game of Thrones because if it isn’t I’ll play jump rope with your intestines before I make our beautiful toddler breakfast.”

“Then I’ll prepare the rope.” He quips, looking right into her eyes unblinkingly, even as her rage, her anger, her sadness all reflected back at him through her gaze.

“I’ve no excuse as to why I chose the match. I’ve no ‘chasing the white whale’ tale. I’m willingly and knowingly submitting myself to this. I simply thought it appropriate. I don’t have the companionship with the arrogant little toe-rag as I do with Mr. Reilly, so I wouldn’t sully my Cell with his blood. I don’t want it to end quickly, so I wouldn’t bring him into Set’s own personal cage.”

He didn’t need to try and exaggerate the disgust and disdain he felt for the man currently helming his Father-In-Law’s company. Syn didn’t hate Brian Stryker. He loathed the egotism that the little fool waltzed about with, knowing it was far from deserved. Leaning forward, Syn looks right into the angry, otherworldly beautiful blue eyes of his wife and continues to speak.

“I want him and the miserable charade he wishes to call a career to die slowly and painfully, fighting until his last. Then scamper, flail and struggle as the realization of what he is about to endure.”

She trembled with barely held in emotion, far from at ease with his reasoning, or lack thereof. “Syn. I get it.” She says after a few moments, trying to compose herself and keep from throttling Syn if she could help it. “I was young and stupid and I put you through hell every time I got into the Cage against your wishes. But I would have NEVER done that if we’d had a CHILD.”

Her voice broke on the word child. “We have a CHILD. This thing ENDS lives. It nearly ended BOTH mine and V’s life last time. You will NOT make me raise our daughter alone.”

“You chased for years, died at least once and continued this damnable, bone deep NEED to conquer this bloody cage and find some measure of peace while we were /planning/ for her, Brytain. To the point where it left a piece of it in you and made us believe we lost her.”

He nearly snapped, but barely managed to reign himself in but it was too late. Bone deep hurt flashed over her face at his words, at the memory of the terrible day. And the realization that all along he HAD blamed her for her body’s almost inability to carry their child to term. He’d cut her deeper than he ever had before.

He sighs, immediately regretting the words as he leans against his desk, allowing his hair to fall around his face.

“... I had nothing to live for before the two of you. I wanted death and once I got it... I fought to get back because you gave me a purpose. A reason to continue on by being a single, solitary bright light that shone in the misery and darkness that was my life. Do you honestly believe so little of me that you think Brian /fucking/ Stryker will be what ends me?”

She took a step back from him and said stiffly, “If you think it’s that human jizz stain Stryker I’m worried about then you’re not as smart as I’ve always given you credit for,” she said, a hint of ice in her voice. “But you’ve never been inside it. You underestimate that the Cage itself becomes the third in the match. The /Cage/ is what I’m worried about.”

Her blue eyes reflecting the hurt she doesn’t bother to try to hide from him, she turns to walk away. At that moment, even as he reached out a gloved hand to attempt to stop her from leaving and his mind worked to find a way to make amends for his words, to apologize to her for every ounce of misery he knows he’ll bring to her with this decision. A small part of him knew all he would have to do is tell her. To let her in.

But he’s already sworn that his affliction would never be known to his family… not as long as he can contain it.

---

Six Months Later
Unknown Medical Facility

Syn held back a wince of discomfort, attempting to remain calm and collected as he awaits the doctor to possibly discharge him. He closes his eyes, attempting to block out all noise as he feels another fresh wave of agony wash over his body, causing his hand to unconsciously drift up to his side. His fingers find the source of the pain, a long, jagged looking wound. While it had been cleaned and stitched close, nothing could stop the pulsating pain that dug deeply into his core, gripping him tightly and seemingly becoming worse by the minute.

Nor could anything stop the feeling that came with it.

Syn is dragged from his musings as he hears the sounds of a pen scratching against paper and glances up, seeing a doctor has entered the room during his distracted state and apparently began taking notes. As of late, Syn has found himself more and more in the company of the “Friendly” doctor’s office that handles more delicate and discreet matters such as this, being stitched back together again and again after each moment he’s given in to his addiction.

Enough times that most of the staff has become rather… familiar with his mood and it’s swings

“Alright, Mr. Rollins. Everything seems to be in order. You’ll feel some lingering pain for some time. Due to your injuries, I really should inform your wife or next of kin that you’ll be staying overnight -”

The doctor didn’t even have the time to finish the sentence before he felt the atmosphere in the room change very drastically at the mere mention of telling this to Brytain. The Doctor slowly lowers the papers in front of him and found himself unable to repress a shiver of fear as he stares into a pair of cold, empty eyes. In that moment, he suddenly realized why the younger man’s file had the note “Do not assume or agitate” written in bold lettering.

The silence is almost deafening as Syn tilts his head, allowing his purple and gree tresses to fall along his face as he stares unblinkingly at the doctor, who takes a small step back.

“...You’ll notify my younger brother of my status, and no one else.”

“Y-yes, of course.” The Doctor finally manages, averting his eyes as he jots something down in his notes. “I’ll go and notify him now…”

The doctor abruptly turns and very quickly walks out of the room, be it to do ask he’s been asked or simply to run the hell away from the man seated on the bed was anyone’s guess.

“Ya know, you keep doin’ that and they’ll eventually be too scared shitless to treat you.”

The electronically scrambled voice cut through the silence as one of Syn’s various Project Venom Members, Lin, spoke up from his place at the bedside. Syn’s lips curl into a sneer of distaste as he swings his legs over the side very gingerly, reaching for a shirt that Lin had retrieved beforehand.

“Or they’ll learn to do better in time.”

Lin mad a sound crossed between an amused snort and a cackle before the two lapsed into a brief, amicable silence.

“You know she’s gonna be pissed, right?” Lin says casually, leaning against the wall as he looks towards the door. Syn’s lips uprsed into a thin line, knowing all too well how his wife will handle the idea of him having been away from her as well as Evie…

And knowing the reaction will be much more drastic due to his rather secretive nature as of late.

“I do, yes.”

“And you still think this shit is gonna be a good idea?”

The relationship between The Mad Merc and Syn was an odd one when one considers how Project Venom operates. They weren’t friends by any stretch of the imagination - Lin didn’t think Syn HAD people he considered friends. Just people he hadn’t used yet. Jinzai aside, they were essentially bodyguards to the Rollins family and everyone under Syn’s umbrella. Little more than spare meat shields he kept within bullet blocking distance to be not heard or seen unless necessary.

But they had a respect that went a bit deeper than simply being employer and employee. Lin respected the fact that the man before him could - and probably would - kill him in various gruesome and horrible ways before he could blink if Lin ever considered betraying him or his. And despite the many times it’s caused him to return to Charlie beaten, battered, and on death’s doorstep? Syn, in turn, respected his willingness to speak his mind.

However annoying it may be at times.

“I never said that withholding this would be wise… just necessary.”

Lin arches an eyebrow.

"Because you know how she is when you keep shit from her or start actin' different." Lin retorts, causing Syn’s eyes to snap towards him with a hard stare.

Lin very calmly held up both hands in a placating manner, all the while absently watching Syn’s hands in case they made any sudden movements. While Syn afforded him the opportunity to speak his peace every so often, he knows that he’s always one comment away from being severely reprimanded.

Syn’s eyes linger on the mercenary for a few seconds longer, before he turns away and continues to dress. Realizing that his employer wasn’t planning on interrupting, Lin continues on.

"Look, all I’m sayin’ is when you get into that zone, that place that drives you and you become all secretive and shit? She’s not herself. And when she figures out that you takin’ that trip into the cage of death is what set all this off, she’ll blame herself for not fighting harder to talk you out of it. Maybe this secretive shit should get tossed to the side and let her try to help. She is… well was...”

Lin very quickly ended that train of thought as he remembered the last time someone made a comment about Brytain’s past. Bracing himself for the hit, he’s surprised when Syn let out a small, bitter chuckle instead.

“They don’t make a treatment for what ails those such as us.” Syn says softly, looking up at the ceiling as his eyes, as far as Lin can tell, begin to trail over the ceiling panels.

“There’s no method of detoxing or weening off of being an individual who enjoys violence in excess. It goes deeper than a desire to simply indulge in my baser urges… it’s a bone-deep need, something that rewires my mind, my very being…”

Syn’s free hand absently plays with the wedding band around his left ring finger, winding it against the tattoo of her name inked into his flesh.

“’Brytain will understand on the surface because of her own struggles. She’ll empathize because, despite everything, she seems to accept everything that comes with me… even against her best interests. And I’ll forever adore her for it. But she’ll never truly understand what violence and conflict bring me. The pleasure of the vibrations through my fists upon contact. The euphoria that comes from the sound of flesh and bone being struck, the sounds of my own heartbeat quickening in my ears and the taste of blood in my mouth…”

“The feelin’ of adrenaline rushin’ throughout your entire goddamn body, from the fingertips all the way down while your own blood streams down your face.” Lin picks up as Syn trails off. Syn didn’t need to turn towards the mad merc to know that there was a sleazy, almost sickening smile etched into his face beneath the mask he wore. “Lettin’ you know that despite the pain, despite the agony and everything you’re goin’ through? Despite the fact that the fucker right in front of you may end up takin’ months, maybe years off of you? Nothin’ else will ever make you feel as alive as the situation you’re in, in that moment…”

Lin froze as he felt Syn’s eyes on him. The look in his eyes wasn’t one of a man who enjoyed the violence he spoke of. Not when it stood to cost him so much in the end to continue chasing it.

“Which is precisely why she, nor my child, will ever be told of this disease that must be gouged from me. This sickness in addiction that grips my heart.”

---

You fools just couldn’t allow it to die, could you…?

None of you bleeding hearted fools could stand to allow the moment in time where fame clung to your names and glory awaited to fade into nothing. Where you were revered as legends, kings- GODS… simply pass and be forgotten in time as others before you have been forced to do, could you? Some have adapted, some have perished and are now one of many that your dear, beloved industry has thrown to the wayside. But the lot of you? Those who cling to those three little letters like a lifeline, still passing off what you dare to call a career here…?

You couldn’t live with your own failure to adapt, and you simply refuse to accept the alternative. And all it has done is lead you back to The Wonderful World of Premium.

Back to me.

Perhaps I should thank Mister Reilly and Brian Stryker for their contributions to this. Mister Reilly, for giving back those pieces of me I’ve dearly missed with his refusal to allow his defeat to me to be what defines him…

And Mister Stryker for solidifying the fact, and allowing the lasting image I leave of him throughout the ages to be one that even his own commission will never allow to see the light of day. For now, at least..

Both dragged me back in while I was content to fade into the dark, to walk away from this business because I’ve nothing to prove and you all made it painstakingly clear that running roughshod over you once more would prove no more challenging than my previous reign. And now… well, I wish to give you exactly what you’ve longed for.

A return to an era where madness is king. And yet you thought to take it upon yourselves to do your best to curb this. To place me in a match with two men whom you believe can equal my own appetite for destruction.

Yoshiru Long And Curtis Wilkes

Two men who, the last time they were across from me, proclaimed me to be nothing more than a fake. A con. A cheap imitation of a man whom many believed to be what defines brutality in Mister Long. And then… they were shown what horrors I could bring. Twice you stood before me as an enemy, and twice I saw you laying in a heap, damaged and broken beyond repair. Though I feel I must ask...

Do the memories still plague you, Mr. Long…?

The fact that for all of your posturing, all of your bloody grandstanding as you best your chest and proclaimed yourself superior to me, that the final image many have of our encounters left you beaten, bloody, gasping for air and set ablaze…?

What is more amusing after the fact is that all the while, I managed something that neither of you could accomplish: I made the wrestling world bow before me. I’ve transcended everything you could hope to achieve, and I never relinquished it to another.

And now? For one night, where all wish to relive the days of their glory? I do the world one last service and send you both back into oblivion.

Welcome back to The Age of Armageddon: Fear me, hate me… but none of you can stop me