Pieces of the Puzzle

February 16, 2012
New Orleans, Louisiana

Chuck continues coughing, clutching at his chest.

Kim O’Day: “Chuck?!”

She rushes to his side, but Chuck shakes her off, leaning heavily against the wall.

Kim O’Day: “Let me call an ambulance! Chuck…let me help you. Charlie…”

Chuck stumbles away from her, dragging against the wall, leaving her behind. Kim leans against the building, holding her hand over her mouth, watching Chuck stumble down the street. Chuck walks to the last building on the block before slipping into an alleyway.

???: “Nicely done.”

??: “It was very convincing.”

Chuck straightens up, letting out a few final coughs. He stares at the two women before him.

Trinity Rollins: “I can see why you got that movie role.”

Chuck sneers at the Rollins sisters.

Chuck Matthews: “I don’t need your sarcasm.”

Kate smirks.

Kate Rollins: “So long as O’Day believes it, you’re in the clear. And I think she bought it hook, line, and sinker.”

Chuck Matthews: “Good. So I’ve held up my end of things.”

Trinity smirks.

Trinity Rollins: “Not quite.”

Chuck glares at her.

Chuck Matthews: “What do you mean, not quite?”

Trinity Rollins: “I mean we still have much to do, and so little time to do it. You’re going to be a busy little bee for these next few days, Mr. Matthews.”

Chuck Matthews: “And if I refuse?”

Trinity Rollins: “Then you never get your precious cure.”

Chuck stands at his full height, staring down at Trinity. Trinity stares into Chuck’s eyes, her smug grin not wavering for a moment.

Chuck Matthews: “I could crush you right now and take it by force.”

He hears the click of a gun behind him, and feels the cold metal as Kate presses it against the back of his skull.

Kate Rollins: “Could you?”

There’s a tense moment in the alleyway before Chuck finalls backs away from Trinity. Trinity grins, and pulls a small vial from the interior of her coat. She tosses it to Chuck, who frantically catches his, trying not to drop it. He looks expectantly at Trinity, who rolls her eyes, and pulls a syringe from her coat pocket. Chuck removes the spongy material from the needle and drains the contents of the vial into it before sticking it into his arm. He grunts as the fluid drains into his bloodstream.

Trinity Rollins: “Feeling better?”

Chuck Matthews: “Not really.”

Trinity Rollins: “All the more reason to continue doing what we tell you. You follow our lead, Mr. Matthews, and we’ll make all this pain go away…”

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May 5, 2012
Company Warfare
IWF vs. WEW

Chuck stares at the arena before him. It would be interesting to see how people would react. Last they had known, he was dead. They’d even thrown a nice service for him. Buried him at home in Chicago. Funny, really.

This was different than his other schemes. Partly because it wasn’t a scheme at all. The last few months…Chuck had gotten what he was after, but at what cost?

He runs his hand over his face, feeling the scratch of his beard against his hand. He runs his fingers across his lips. The scars would take a while to heal. Numerous little punctures, where they had sewn wires through his lips, binding them shut.

They were responsible for everything. His death. Her death. The death of the others. They had taken months from Chuck, months that he would never get back. Hell…he’d still be there, acting the puppet to their sick games…but something had gone wrong in their plan. Something they didn’t count on. Chuck was still trying to work out what exactly happened. All he had were memories…things he would never forget, no matter how hard he tried.

Chuck ties the bandana around his face, and walks through the doors. Empty. The hallways were deserted, though he could hear the screams of the fans in the arena itself. The show had already started. The marquee outside the arena had told Chuck that as of this moment, Sean Mendez was going head to head with Eliza Gray. He didn’t care. This show meant little to him. He had other priorities…but for now, he’d have to put them aside. He was there to make an impact. He was there to do what he did best: Shock the world.

Chuck walks down the hallways, towards the locker room. He had nothing to do until the main event. No interviews, no big pep talk, nothing. He would go in, he’d compete, he’d win, and he’d leave. That was all he wanted to do, and all he needed to do. Anything else would be unnecessary.

???: “Chuck?”

Chuck recognizes the voice behind him. Part of him demands him to continue walking, and for a while, his feet obey, moving away from her, down the hallway. The other part, though…it demanded him to stop. After a few feet, Chuck feels his stride slowly grind to a halt, before he finally turns around to face the speaker.

Anna Stone: “I didn’t think it was true…”

Chuck says nothing. What could he say? ‘Yeah, I was forced to fake my own death. My bad.’ Fuck that. There’s a short moment of silence.

Anna Stone: “What’s with the lame bandana?”

Chuck frowns. Anna reaches for it, yanking it off his face. She smirks at him, twirling the bandana around, but Chuck gives her no reaction. Eventually, Anna’s smile fades, and she slowly hands it back to Chuck, who clutches it tightly in his hand.

Anna Stone: “It’s nice to see you.”

It sounded more like a question. As if she was simply looking for anything else to say, rather than express her true feelings about their encounter.

Anna Stone: “How have you been?”

Chuck still doesn’t reply. In his head, the war continues to rage on. Part of him wanted to speak to her. To talk about…anything. What had happened. Where he’d been. What she’d been doing. Anything…but the other side was…angry. Angrier than Chuck had ever been. Chuck’s blood boiled just looking at her, and he couldn’t explain why. In a sense…his silence was out of fear that if he opened his mouth, he would do something he’d regret. He didn’t hate Anna. He had no real reason to. And yet…here he was, and with every word she spoke, his fury grew.

Anna Stone: “Is everything okay? How’s the family? How’s Ashley?”

There it was. That was the trigger. With the mention of her name, Chuck is lost. He’s no longer in an arena, about to compete again. He’s back in….that place. His memories flash before him. Ashley is cowering in front of him, blood splashed across her face, her hand shining with blood. Chuck stares down at her, forcing himself not to do anything. She cries, tears running down her face, washing away some of the blood. Chuck raises his arm, almost mechanically…as if he wasn’t in control of his own body. A voice echoes throughout the room.

Voice: “Tell him, Miss Matthews. Tell your father how much he means to you. Tell him how much you love him.”

Ashley looks up at Chuck. Chuck shakes his head, pressing his hands over his ears, pulling at his hair. Ashley chokes back sobs, struggling to speak.

Ashley Matthews: “Dad…I….”

Voice: “You love him, don’t you? Tell your father you love him.”

Ashley Matthews: “I…lo-….I….”

Ashley struggles to speak, a fresh wave of terrified sobs interrupting her at each attempt. Chuck continues to yank at his hair, stepping away from Ashley, shaking his head.

Voice: “TELL HIM!”

Ashley screams in fear, and sobs again.

Ashley Matthews: “I…love you, Dad…”

Chuck groans behind his stitched lips, and keels over, punching the ground with his fist. Chuck pulls at the wires binding his lips shut, struggling to tear them out as vomit seeps from his bound lips. He yanks at the wires, succeeding only in causing his lips to bleed, the blood mixing with the puke that falls to the ground. Chuck seizes, gagging and choking for a moment. The intercom plays Ashley’s recorded voice.

“I…love you, Dad…”

“I…love you, Dad…”

“I…love you, Dad…”

Chuck glares at Ashley, and struggles to his feet, still shaking violently with each playback. He grabs Ashley by the throat, staring into her eyes. Ashley looks pleadingly at him, gasping for breath, her eyes slowly turning red as he tightens his grip.

Voice: “Do it, Matthews. She loves you so much…”

Chuck stares at Ashley, and drops her, backing away, pulling at his hair. Ashley gasps for breath, moving away from Chuck.

Voice: “Don’t fight it, Matthews. Think of your daughter. Your dear, loving daughter…”

Chuck clasps his hands over his ears, trying to scream, but being unable to do so. He stumbles towards the table, and reaches for the first thing he can find. He knocks over a bottle, smashing it by mistake. Chuck reaches around, as if blinded, dousing his hands in the contents of the smashed bottle. He grabs a knife that sits, soaked in the fluid. He turns on his heel, staring at Ashley. He storms towards her as she cowers, looking for any means to escape. Chuck approaches, and Ashley kicks, driving her foot right into Chuck’s bad knee. Chuck crumples to the ground, whimpering in pain.

“I…love you, Dad…”

Chuck glares at Ashley, and struggles to stand, only for his knee to give way, and he falls to the ground again. He crawls towards Ashley, who sends another kick, which busts Chuck’s nose wide open. Chuck grabs her leg on the third kick, and crawls towards her, pinning her to the ground, and pressing the blade to her throat. Ashley freezes, not daring to move. Chuck stares at her for a moment…

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Anna Stone: “Chuck!”

Chuck snaps back into reality. He leans heavily against the wall, breathing hard.

Anna Stone: “Are you okay?”

Chuck looks at her, trying to gather where exactly he is. Anna stares at him, looking concerned.

Anna Stone: “Chuck….”

Chuck shakes his head, and turns to walk away, gently pushing Anna away. Anna grabs his wrist.

Anna Stone: “What happened?”

Chuck breaks free of her grip, walking down the hall.

Anna Stone: “Chuck…what did you do?”

Chuck stops. He clenches his teeth as the memories try to rush back, taking over his mind again. He struggles to fight them off, staying in the present moment.

Chuck Matthews: “Don’t ask me that.”

He continues walking, trying to shake the thoughts from his head.

‘Not to Anna…anyone else…but not her. Don’t do it. Don’t even think about doing it. Just keep walking. She isn’t going to pursue this. She’s going to let this go. She won’t ask. She won’t ask…please don’t ask…’

Anna Stone: “Why not?”

Chuck freezes again, clenching his teeth harder, trying to keep his temper under control.

Chuck Matthews: “Because if you ask…I’m going to answer. Don’t do that to me.”

He storms off, leaving Anna behind.

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Chuck Matthews: “They say that the greatest tragedy in the world is a parent who out-lives his kids.

Pfft, what?

Oh yeah, it’s going to be one of THOSE kinds of speeches!

I’d like to kick this off by taking the time to personally thank Mr. Cody Taylor for saving the world from a travesty that can only be described as “More Hart Offspring.”

He saw that we were at risk of Robbie reproducing, and…well, he took the initiative, and now those little Harts beat no more.

See that line? I just crossed it. Let’s see how many times I can walk all over it before the end of this bit.

I find it interesting, really. So many guys will come from these wrestling legacies. The son of a famous wrestler…the daughter of a superstar…the nephew of a legend…

My dad was an executive in an advertising firm. My mom was a psychologist. Wealthy, sure…but hardly worthy of note. They were intelligent individuals. Both successful in their own fields. My sister grew up to become a doctor. My brother was an athlete and a businessman. My other brother died before he was out of college.

I was the youngest. And I grew up to overshadow them all.

You know what I find amusing about this match, Robbie? Contrary to what you might think, I don’t see this as a revival of some feud between your father and me.

You’ll be lucky to become half the man he was. Like how your kids would have been lucky to be half as alive as you are.

There’s number two.

And even still…ol’ Frankie couldn’t hold a candle to me. Let me tell you a few things about your old man, Rob. Frank Hart won two matches over me, and never let me forget it. But after those two victories? He never beat me again. That rivalry was over as soon as I took my second world championship. That rivalry was finished when I beat him in an I Quit match and sent him packing out of NLWF. That rivalry was just beating a dead horse when he challenged me to a Devastation Match at From the Ashes.

Your father, Robbie, was washed-up. Your father needed the Matthews-Hart rivalry far more than I ever did. In the beginning, yeah, it helped the both of us. It established me as a force not to be taken lightly, and it established him as a man who wasn’t quite done with the game just yet. But as time went on…I didn’t need to establish my name. I had done that through feuds with Corey Casey, with Brenton Cyrus, with guys who were at the top of the company…but your dad? He still needed that one match to put him back on top. He needed that one feud that could keep him moderately relevant in the wrestling world.

He needed another match with Chuck Matthews to put him back on the map.

Unfortunately, I was having nothing of it, and I was beating him every time he threw out the challenge. He couldn’t accept that the rivalry would never be the same as it once was. I was in a league of my own, and that left his feud with me six feet under…just like his grandchildren.

Three!

Do you know why that match was so great, Robbie? Do you know why it failed so miserably as time progressed? It was because of the matchup. You see…Frank and I matched up perfectly. A perfect clash of style. A perfect clash of talent. The two of us fought to the bitter end to take that No Limit title…but that’s exactly the point. Frank Hart was a perfect match to a mid-card Chuck Matthews. He was my nemesis when I was too trivial to have a nemesis at all. As soon as I moved up to the main event picture, my rivalry with Frank was no more. I had simply moved out of his league. I was out of his reach. He would never beat me again.

You, now…you’ve managed to hold a world title…for all of a few hours. Amazing. Actually, your only accomplishment to date is that you have the High Impact title.

Ask me how impressive I think that is. No, don’t, I’ll answer it for you. It’s slightly less impressive than the super-period your fiancee had all over the ring when Cody killed your kids.

Four.

I’ve said it in the past, and I’ll say it again for old time’s sake. I am exactly what you accuse me of. I’m a legend of my own mind.

What you fail to realize, though, is that I’m a legend in everyone else’s, as well.

I don’t need to talk about myself, because people already know everything there is to know about Chuck Matthews. That’s the beauty of being me. I’m the only guy who can evolve without ever changing. I’m the smartest man in professional wrestling. I’m the guy who can be loved, who can be hated, who can be cheered, booed, idolized, shunned, whatever…and I never fucking change. I’ve been the same guy for the past six years.

Yet, somehow I’ve only gotten better.

How, you ask? Because I can manipulate the world around me. I can convince the entire world to do my bidding.

And you can…..win a midcard title because you’re friends with the company’s owner.

Congratulations. Shall I let you in on a little secret?

I was playing the whole “backstage politician” gig before it was cool. Kinda like how your old man played the whole “faked being dead” thing, right?

The difference between us, Robbie, is that I did it better than Frank did. Hell, I did it the best. You think of all the people who pulled the “being dead” game, and the only ones who did it better than me were Robbie Hart and Loca Rocsi Jr. I played my game, and I succeeded as well as Cody Taylor succeeded in his dream of becoming a Human Abortion Clinic.

Double whammy! I get two points for that one!

But while I played my game better than Frank did his, you’re not quite at my level. I was a politician. I was a manipulator. I managed to get title matches and main event slots from a company that hated my guts. You? You’re all buddy-buddy with the boss. I’ll give you a few originality points for taking the opposite route as me in the “let’s use backstage influence to get matches” game, but it begs an important question…

Are your knees red from all the negotiations with Corey Casey? Here’s what I don’t get, Robbie. If you’re going to grab your ankles for Casey, you should at least do it for a world championship. I don’t understand why you’re settling for some measly High Impact title.

I bet if you swallow next time, Robbie Hart vs. James Shark will be on the marquee for Ragnarok.

It’s amusing, really. You’ll claim to be better than your father was. You’ll claim that you’re the future. You want to know what I see?

More of the fucking same.

I see a lot of threats, and no real reason to take them seriously. I see a guy who calls himself the future of this company…despite the fact that he’s already taken his shot at the IWF Championship, won it, and fucked it up worse than Daddy Hart’s glorious half-Universal title reign. Or Loca Rocsi’s pregnancy.

What’s the count at? Seven?

Oh, fun fact for you: Remember who ended Frankie’s Universal title run? Hint hint, you’re fighting that guy this week.

Let’s break it down, shall we?

Failed as a world champion? Check.
Attached himself to a team with a generic nickname? Upper Limit vs. Heart Attacks? Check.
Failed as a tag team champion? Check.
Held a midcard title and hyped the shit out of it to make himself look important? Check.
Had a failure of a son who-

Oh, wait…Cody Taylor happened. Oops. Guess you’re not a complete splitting image of daddy dearest. There’s hope for you yet!

Also, I think we’re at eight now.

Do you see what I’m doing here, Robbie? I’m playing my games. I’m taking every opportunity I can to remind you of exactly what you’re already thinking about anyway. You said it yourself. You’re not focused on me. You want revenge on Cody for killing your unborn babies.

I don’t think I need to explain to you how ridiculously stupid it is to ignore me.

But then again…you are your father’s kid…

And so we come full circle. Chuck Matthews vs. Robbie Hart. Chuck Matthews, the smartest man in wrestling, against Robbie Hart, the man who calls himself the future, and has no credentials to back this statement up. Robbie, the man who is less focused on the monstrous force that’s waiting for Sunday to sent him back to the Upper Limit locker room with his tail between his legs, and more focused on taking out IWF’s human abortion clinic, Cody Taylor.

There’s nine.

You’re not focused on me, Hart?

You’d best get your priorities straight, and quick. Because I guarantee you, if you come to the ring on Sunday, and you’re not focused one hundred and twenty percent on me…I’m going to wipe the floor with you. I’ll make you look like the meaningless little locker room rat that you are…that the entire Hart family is doomed to be.

You want to talk legacies with me, Robbie? Yours is set for you. You’re destined to be a failure. Your father was a failure. Your uncle was a failure. Your cousin was a failure. And you‘re well on your way to joining their ranks. The only real consolation here is that you managed to get out of the womb. At least you didn’t fail THAT hard.

Ten jokes. I’m a fucking champ.

Think I’m crossing the line here, Hart?

I don’t fucking care.

This is my match…my show…my rules. You could have been paired against anyone on the roster…and you got the man coming fresh off a leave, fired up as ever.

You, my friend, are just an unfortunate victim of circumstance.”