- Event: Chaos 040
Hey boys, we got a quaint little night ahead of us. Let’s not waste another second…
Steve Solex, nice to see you again. You’ve really cleaned up your act and shot straight to the top of the charts over the past year, eh. #2 !ranked overall, I feel ya. Fuck that hits home with me. Gotta say, I saw the talent in you the second I walked into HOW when you were telling Lindsay Troy to scrub the dishes. Wish it took you a lot less time to make it to the main event, though. I hit the ground running the second I joined High Octane. You? Revisions. Then again, I guess that’s what happens when you surround yourself with Harrison, Clay and Bergman. Middle class plugs all the way.
Shane Reynolds, great to meet ‘cha, heard a lot about ‘cha. Fun little HOTv run you had going on there, incredible title defense versus Bobbinette at the #97Red pay-per-view. Not that I’d know or anything, since I’m not really into giving feedback. Awesome superplexes from the top of the cage. I don’t do that shit, I jump off. I jump off everything. Something you should be worried about but, luckily, I’m only brawling these days. Otherwise I’d jump through that stupid looking Casey Jones mask and break your orbital bones. Wait a second… I can still do it with my fists.
Charles de Lacy, hey I guess we know who’s taking the pin. Naa Charles, just joshing ya, it’s hard to be the new guy. Seeing so many of them run outta town, I got mad respect for a Brit who kicks around after a couple of months. It was really cool to team with you weeks ago, even Benny Newell said you brought it /sarcasm. Fuck me, eh. If Benny’s saying a comment that even remotely sides with Conor Fuse’s disposition… you’re embarking your skills on XPRO territory.
Speaking of XPRO…
Surprised a Best won’t be slotted into this match after I pin Charles. Don’t blame me, I’m gearing up for a lil’ chaos. The favoritism here is nothing to be shocked about. Rather a sticking point for me to think about when my contract ends at the end of the year…
Could be some kind of bidding war.
I kid, I kid. Why would I go anywhere else? I don’t have these excellent options in front of me if I walk into another game. No major money match with Evan Ward, no final battle with Jatt Starr, no “WHY’D YOU WALK OUT ON ME” contest with Dan Ryan 3 years in the making and most importantly… I’d forgo the ultimate opportunity to send the current World Champion back to ER.
I gave up video games to be IN THIS VERY MATCH, boys. Did you check my tights? They’re blank. Did you see my face? It’s angry.
Stevens says I don’t look tough. Word is others are commenting I’m a wannabe Mike.
I was ONE SECOND away from beating Mike in HOFC. And if you think I mean this as bragging rights… as a Vintage dick measuring contest…
I don’t.
One second away is pathetic.
Joke.
Nonsense.
I should wear a bag over my head.
One second, 97 seconds, or 64 seconds (if you can connect the dots) are ultimate sad emojis. Regardless, my fellow upcoming opponents, I am merely saying I lost to Mike Best. It’s nothing to promote. One second doesn’t make me above anyone.
The only reason ONE SECOND matters isn’t to show you how good I am. It’s to tell you how far off I still am.
Be scared.
Conor is hungry, frustrated, ENRAGED.
97Red in the face.
And you better be shaking in your boots because I don’t do complacency. I don’t handle silver or bronze. I don’t enjoy being told STAND BEHIND ANOTHER.
I refuse.
I am better than all three of you chuds combined. I deserve my World Title match with Stronk Godson, the man I am frothing at the mouth to absolutely destroy definitively. It’s my god damn shot, it’s my full blown right. If Mike Best Round II gotta go on pause, so be it, I’ll bring the video game lingo back.
Fuck me, throw him in and let’s make it a triple threat title match, that’ll be soooo Tyler Best XPRO.
Stronk vs. Mike vs. Conor for HOFC, LSD and 97.
Holy shit I’m a good booker. Never worry, I’ll place us in a tag match against one-another on the go-home Chaos!
At the end of the day it’s not in Godson’s House… it’s not in God’s, either. When de Lacy, Reynolds and Solex enter the squared circle with Conor Fuse across the way…
That ring is mine.
I’ll hold the house doors open, I won’t let them hit your asses on the way out. Because when I’m done with all three of you… in My GOD DAMN House…
You won’t even make it out alive.
Try me.
I dare you.
— — — — —
Here we are, two sad suckbags sitting on a park bench in a middle location both of us agreed to.
“Bloody ref said it was a second off…” I give my head a shake, continuing to stare at the weed patch in front of me. Tons of weeds on this field. Hey… you ever find yourself drifting off, keeping your focus on something random and you don’t know how long you’ve been doing it for? I swear it’s been hours. But when I eventually check my old vintage flip phone (still got one), it tells me I’ve only been staring at this grass for ten minutes.
Then again, time is measured in hours when you’re the one always carrying the conversation.
“That reminds me, Boy,” I nudge him on his massive, bulging shoulder. “Apparently you talk now? In HOW you never said shit. I don’t think you’ve said a word to me since we became friends. I thought you were mute. You have a voicebox? WTF!?”
The Game Boy gives a slight shrug. Still sporting that luchador NES-mask I put together for him over five years ago, he doesn’t want to show his actual face in the wrestling public. I’m like ‘dude, now you’re out in NORMAL public, don’t embarrass me! Take the thing off!’ but he’s all like ‘… … … … …’ and shit. As mentioned, I thought he was MUTE.
Except when he did that promo before the start of the XPRO tournament.
Don’t worry, even though it ended well, the Bests always pick up their victories in the end.
Tyler over ‘Boy. Mike over Conor. One second be dammed.
“Never felt the need,” Game Boy pipes up for the first time, as I give my head a shake.
“That’s a wonderful voice you have, my friend,” I try saying this without a hint of sarcasm. “I always thought you’d have this real cold, calculating tone. Then I thought maybe you’d sound like Bane from The Dark Knight Rises. That would be so cliché though since you already LOOK like a carbon copy of Tom Hardy’s iteration.”
Game Boy doesn’t look over. Instead, he reaches into his bag and pulls out a vine of grapes. He plucks a few off and tosses them in his mouth to suck on. Either way, I can tell he’s not thrilled with me.
“I mean you’re sooo much better looking than Bane. You have additional muscles. And, apparently, you’re a solid wrestler! Who rolls up Tyler Best? Nobody until yoooooouuuuuuuuuu!”
I lightly pat him on the shoulder, seeing as I don’t want to anger him further.
“Congrats on the victory, the title belt you won, and then lost as quickly. Maybe you’ll win it back. After you go through a bullshit gauntlet.”
Ah, fuck ‘em. They’re not worth my time, that Best family. At least not right now. I made a commitment to Mike, so I’ll face him again. But what I want…
What I really, fucking want…
What is grinding my gears so bad…
I want Mike and Stronk.
“Bring ‘em both!” I declare, suddenly realizing Game Boy’s not inside my head so he probably has no idea what I’m talking about. “Hell, bring Tyler over, too.”
Tyler Best, that is. Not my brother, Tyler Fuse. Again, should probably clarify to The Game Boy what I mean but screw it. I can tell he’s more relaxed now. He’s chewing on those grapes.
“Listen, buddy, gonna be real for a moment…” I am, that’s why I called him over here. Yeah, we can lick our wounds together but in the world of wrestling, there’s always another opportunity. They can come in a flash. One minute you’re down, the next you have an offer to the TOP. I’ve seen it time and time again, wrestlers who face devastating losses and then they cannot get up for the next one. So the second loss hits twice as hard. Third loss is triple whammy. Etc. Etc. I say screw that noise. Conor Fuse lives in the present and DIES for another opportunity A-SAP.
I always want to be booked.
Back-to-back-to-back-to-back, fucking trust me, bro.
I digress. Why I called The Game Boy over. Lucky for me, good ol’ Boy here has tons of patience to wait through my nonsense.
“So as you’re aware, I’ve recently made some changes in my life.” Pretty sure I told The Game Boy of my recent interaction with Walter. We said our goodbyes. Hopefully not forever, but definitely for the next couple of months. “I dropped the whole video game act from my life, too.”
Okay, the gaming shit was hard. Difficult. Worst thing I ever had to do. Needed? Sure. Forever? Jury’s out.
“Packed up all my systems and put them to the side.”
The next line I’m going to say is extremely tentative. In other words, I know what I want to say. I have to say it. It ain’t gonna be easy.
I look The Game Boy down from head-to-toe. He’s dressed pretty snappy. For a big guy, 6’6”, three-hundred-plus pounds of pure power, the dude could dress like a hick and still come across as imposing. Naa, it’s a sick getup he’s got going on… other than the mask. That awful looking Nintendo mask I made for him. Which brings me to my point. Since I can’t stop looking at that mask.
“Soo… uhhh…” Oh boy, here comes the dagger. “Gonna have to say we should spend some time apart, too.”
I close my eyes. I brace for a whack on my knee, a punch to my stomach or worse yet… a blow to my face.
I open my right eye. My eye jumps around from every angle. Then my left eye opens. Both eyes jump around. I check myself. I feel myself. (I feel myself appropriately, get your mind outta the gutter.) I see The Game Boy still sitting beside me, munching away on those grapes.
He didn’t lash out. He didn’t hurt me.
He didn’t walk away, either.
We’re okay!
“We’re okay?” I ask him. It takes him a moment, he keeps eating away at those things. Did he bring a whole fucking vineyard with him?
“Yes.” He says solemnly. I’d ask him to elaborate but he said four words to me today, that’s four more than he’s uttered in the five years I’ve known him.
“Amazing,” I begin, in a much easier tone as I hunch back on my side of the bench. “‘Cause it’s not forever, same as Walter. I need to free myself of all these games. No excuses. I’m not winning off my gimmick, I’m not losing off it, too. There’s more than meets the eye for Conor F-”
I’d love to finish that sentence but cartoon trash isn’t going to fly right now, either.
“Some goons don’t think I look serious enough, but I’ll show them. I’ve won world titles before, ‘Boy. You have now, too. We’re going to win them again!”
I honestly believe this comment. I start nodding my head with passion.
“It’s inevitable.”
I was a force, I AM a force. Yes, absolutely, in the world I reside, I can’t hang my hat on “one second away”. Maybe Mike saw the clock WAS at zero and put his guard down. If I decided not to Weapon Get his knee-
STOP. Straight-up, fuck it. It’s a rabbit hole of bullshit “what if’s”. Useless guys hold onto what if’s.
“Eat the god damn mother fucking reality, Conor. Own it!”
I gotta stop talking out loud at random. No wonder Game Boy is fine with us taking a break.
“On my own and start anew. It has to be successful. I feel totally rejuvenated!”
But Game Boy keeps eating away… until finally he pats me on the top of the head, stands up and hands what’s left of his grapes over to me. Off he goes, into the distance, still with that stupid looking mask on his face.
“You can take it off! Use your real name! Whatever the hell you want, brother!” I shout towards his general direction, hoping he hears me.
“Piss on the Best’s, too! I’m going to do it, I promise you. I’m going to beat Mike. But it starts THIS week when I defeat three others and get what’s rightfully mine since I pinned Christopher America… Imma get my World Title!!”
Dude, Conor, Game Boy is long gone. Even if he heard you, he was outta ear-shot sentences ago.
“Fuck ‘em all!” I scream again, for good measure.
I take a grape, rip it off the vine and toss it in my mouth.
Sour.
Go figure.
— — — — —
It is really tough doing this “on your own” thing. While I built a homemade prison and I was seemingly “isolated”, the reality was I had Walter, Game Boy and Bobbinette Carey.
New Fuse goes ground zero.
In my bachelor apartment, in this boring-ass space, I’ve packed up all my video games, comic books and action figures. Okay, the majority of my life was already based around the gym and watching wrestling tapes but now it’s ALL OF MY FUCKING LIFE. No excuses.
Didn’t really work out for HOFC, did it?
I can’t let that failure steer me down the wrong path. I cannot go back to the past and give into my inner desires (eg. gaming). In truth, I was only a second away from pulling off a victory that shocked the world. As I told my opponents… this loss is driving me to get BETTER. Losses are not setbacks. Weak-minded people think they are. Conor can ascend with a loss as fast as he can with a victory. TRUTH. Mike seems untouchable but heaven forbid, I am not Mike. I am also not Stronk. I was not born with their physical gifts. I have to put a full blown effort into every god damn thing I do. It takes me hours to prepare for a match. Literally hours. It might take Mike five minutes. Nevertheless, if I don’t put those countless hours in…
Maybe I’m wrestling in SHOOT.
No offense.
Those “top talented” guys don’t understand what it takes for a mid-tier guy like me TO be top tier. Godson can run off his pea-brain because he has the physical capabilities to allow a 2 pound mind to make up for a stature others can only dream of.
My opponents for this week. Solex, 6’3”, 275. These measurements MATTER. In earlier days, Solex was getting by on pure fighting ability. Charles de Lacy, 6’2”, 240. The guy can crank. I gave him a hard time for our tag match but he has the balls to put himself out there and not run away. Hopefully, I’ll make him RAGEQUIT. Reynolds is more of my size, although I can’t underestimate what he did to Carey. He took “Nettie”, the baddest creation Bobbie’s ever dreamt and Shane mangled her pretty little mom squad face in.
And yet the whole idea of sitting on my couch, THE ENTIRE DAY watching wrestling footage of these three, organizing a GAME PLAN for them… it des not seem appealing to me at the moment-
“Hey.”
I didn’t know someone else was in my apartment.
“I’m over here!”
Great, exactly what I need. Another delusionary Conor Fuse interaction. I thought I quieted these voices in my head loooong ago.
“No, idiot, on the TV screen!”
To my surprise, I have no recollection of this happening but there I am, on my 85” Sony BRAVIA XR 8K smart TV. (Side note: do I gotta put this away since I’m not gaming anymore??? Actual question, please send carrier pigeon.)
I suppose I recorded over one of my recent VHS tapes. I’ve been on such autopilot recently, I didn’t notice I put a tape in the machine and pressed PLAY.
I pinch myself. This isn’t my imagination “running wild”… this is actually me, filming me. Now I’m broadcasted on the TV, currently talking to me on the couch.
Bro, I’m fucking mental.
“Yeah, you are mental, Conor,” the television speaks. I decide what the hell, I’m captivated. Let’s see what former me has to say.
“For reference, Conor, this is Conor from July 15th, 2023…” The television Fuse looks down at his flip phone to make sure the date is correct. He smiles and nods with excitement at the factual information he conveys. “I’m gonna have a little talk with you. No doubt you’ll be in concussion protocol after the octagon…”
Was I in concussion protocol? I actually don’t remember. Sounds plausible.
Also, thanks for believing in me, TV Conor. Maybe it’s that attitude which led me to losing the HOFC match to begin with!
“Wanna talk to you about a couple things. Really doesn’t matter when you find this recording on tape. The only thing that matters… is what you DO with this information.”
Decent expectations. Go on, television me…
“You’ve removed Walter and Game Boy out of your life. At least I hope so.” The TV Conor pauses to give space for me to reflect on how hard that’s been. “The whole video game stuff is set aside, too.”
Tell me something I don’t know.
“I see you’ve done nothing different with your current setup.”
It’s been a month, guy. Chill. God, am I this big of a passive aggressive dick to everyone else?
“Easy, Conor. Messing with you.”
The demeanor on TV Conor changes and his voice gets lower.
“Real talk. You’re going to struggle with these changes, it’s clear. You’re a creature of habit and it ain’t gonna be easy living a ‘normal’ life.”
A weak looking grin crosses his face.
“Needless to say, you don’t have to be ALONE.”
He pauses to let the words sink in.
“Okay, Bobbie’s friendship is finished. Jatt’s nearing the end of his career. AKA he isn’t worth a heavy investment. Trust me, I looked up and down the roster and it’s not like there’s a lot of exciting figures to do business with…” TV Fuse shrugs. “Lee’s budget means the roster is smaller. Small pond, buddy. Smallllll pond.”
Makes sense. Remind me to throw Lee $10 to increase the roster size.
“Listen, I can’t tell you what direction to go in. I’m not even saying there is ‘a direction’. Simply providing you with an alternative reality when you’re struggling in this garbage apartment and cutting off ties with the world…”
He’s right about my current disposition.
“It’s important for you to go it alone. But you don’t have to be alone. You don’t have to ALWAYS be alone. These are silly rules you’ve placed upon yourself.” TV Fuse winks. “Anything in moderation is good.”
Not sure what he means. I’d ask him to elaborate but he’s behind a fucking television screen. I don’t think this is a figment of my imagination I can converse with.
“The most important thing is: you can’t let Stronk Godson lead this company.”
I am in total agreement. Hear you crystal clear, Conor!
“We both know he’s not beating Jace…”
DUH, old Conor. He didn’t.
“And no matter what happens between you and Mike, Godson’s the man with the World Title.”
TV Conor shakes his head in shame.
“We can’t have that, dude.”
God no.
“The man with the world title leads the company. Facts. Spitting them hard and fast. MOAR FACTS: YOU’RE the leader of HOW. You are the best wrestler. Go out there and prove you’re #1. The only way this can happen is to win back the World Championship.”
TV Conor pauses to collect his thoughts.
“Look at the current structure and wrestling disposition outside of HOW. A war is coming, Fuse. A big war. I dunno what it specifically looks like, not even sure who’s a part of it. All I know is… you’re the guy to lead the way.”
Hey, I led the way at 2022 WarGames and that didn’t-
“Sure, you led the way at WarGames 2022 and it didn’t work out for you. Whatever. Arthur Pleasant doesn’t work here anymore, dude. Everyone makes mistakes. Drafting a team is a tough business. Christ, signing talent is a tough business. Go look at the 90097 failures Lee’s inked before. Nobody’s blaming him. Ya gotta take your shots when you can.”
I make tons of sense. I’m a smart cookie.
“The ones who are in HOW right now are lifers. Plethora of Hall of Famers. Lots of devoted wrestlers. YOU need to lead the way in a real war. Nobody is gonna to follow Stronk Godson. Heaven forbid it’s someone like Solex in charge. These dudes are wonderful side hustle. They’re also SIDE HUSTLE. As big of a leader as Mike Best is, he is a BIAS Best who will be in a disposition because of his last name. It is not going to be a good thing with him as number one.”
Television Conor lowers his eyes and stares through the lens, right into my current soul.
“Get what you lost. You’re the most grounded and talented man. You’ll see clear, you don’t have Lee love blinders on. You have all the talent in the world. You’re not a massive, empty-headed pig, either. Take whatever Mike gives you and do exactly what you did the last time he beat you…”
Conor walks up to the camera, but says one more thing before he turns it off.
“Revive ICONIC 2021 all over again. Prove it.”
— — — — —
Boys,
In order to reach Godson I have to go through the three of you. And a very obvious thing in 4-ways is I don’t have to take the pinfall to lose the contest, either. Additionally, I lose these multi-man matches like crazy. It’s kinda sad. Preventing a pin on one of you nimmies might be the hardest part of this upcoming battle. There is hope for one of you yet!
Protecting de Lacy at all costs is gonna be a full time job. (But Conor, you already took a similar shot at him earlier, don’t beat a dead horse.)
(Go fuck yourself, Fuse. I’ll do whatever the hell I want.)
Maybe preventing the pin on Reynolds will provide myself with the most difficult of tasks. Hey, Solex could revert back to those underperforming days. Fingers crossed!
Regardless, the key is Conor Fuse has his work significantly cut out for him. It’s not something I’ve been successful at preventing, stopping pinfalls on others. My tag record is littered with Ls… where I easily survived but I couldn’t break up a motherfucking pin. Now I got two MOAR of you n00bs to babysit. I better get paid overtime.
So I’ve thought about it… thought about it… THOUGHT ABOUT IT…
I ain’t fucking moving.
As in, I’m not spending a second outside the canvas. Throw me out? I’m hopping right back in. Invite me over to a dance on the rampway? Pass. The flippy shit days of Conor Fuse are FIN. I punch, kick, punch, might throw a roundhouse boot in there because it is fucking tantalizing but instead, it’s a basic level shit storm coming at ya.
It’s gonna be enough.
No wasted time. I’m not trying to put on a good show and send the fans home happy. I send the fans home happy indirectly.
If Conor Fuse wins and they receive the honest MONEY MATCH.
Godson vs. de Lacy – won’t draw.
Godson vs. Reynolds – MEH.
Godson vs. Solex – Steve, c’mon, you aren’t winning.
Put Conor Fuse vs. Godson on TV or PPV. Rake in that $$$ and hit 800K+. None of those aforementioned matches are sexy outside of mine.
My match smacks. Tenfold. Getting a chub just thinking about it. Yourself?
I am fueled by what happened at the pay-per-view. #97Red said: Conor Fuse ain’t on Mike’s level.
News for everyone: You’ll fucking see.
I am god damn every bit as talented as ANYONE who has stepped foot in HOW. I bleed inside and out for this organization and I am kept around… I’m a major part of the payroll because even my strongest critics look at Conor Fuse’s body of work and say I gotta have that little scamp in my promotion.
Fuse subscribes to one mode: 100%. If I’m going to lose this match… you’ll earn it. IF I’m going to be pinned-
Forget it. Not happening.
100% means Sunday’s match is EVERYTHING. A chance to win. A chance for a title. And a chance to hand Godson his pending receipt for mailing in our fight at the Rumble. Wanna talk about always giving 100%? I will hang my balls on a rack and I will never STFU if you decide to take the easy way out during one of our battles. You can’t coast on a Conor Fuse match and get away with it. Others may be filled with joy when they pick up an easy W.
I take it personally.
I got up for this. Why couldn’t YOU?
Solex, de Lacy… Reynolds. Stronk did me so wrong in Alcatraz. I’m seeing his face on all three of your mugs when we enter the ring. It’s not even so much about you than it is about #97. I can’t have another day hearing Stronk ramble on in SCREAMING MODE. None of you are gonna wire his big trap closed.
Besides, SCREAMING MODE only works if it’s SELECTIVE. NOT EVERY SINGLE SENTENCE.
I will not grant his tiny dick syndrome to go without repercussions. The Rumble at the Rock anniversary is coming and what better way to commemorate last year’s unbelievable moment than giving the World Champion another sobering message.
Death.
In God’s House. In Godson’s House. Or on XPRO. I don’t care where Stronk and I have our second bout, I’m determined to see it through.
And the three of you. What do any of you have to bring to the table? I’ll wait. Tell me how you can defeat the current World Champion? Or defeat me?
You can’t.
Solex, you’ve never done it. You’ve never pinned my shoulders to the mat. You’ve received a couple championship opportunities last year, didn’t do shit with ‘em. You’re always right on that edge, bud. The glass ceiling is directly in front of your face.
Smell my fucking sneakers. It’s as close as you’ll ever be.
Reynolds, this isn’t 2008. While I loved that vintage emo look you had going on, I don’t particularly care for this current fashion trend. I don’t have any reason to hate you- except you hurt Bobbie. Consider this a payback, even if she and I are on rocky terms. Nettie couldn’t get it done. Fun fact: I popped that bitch’s forehead open so hard. I’m a hellalot angrier than she ever could be.
de Lacy, if you thought our tag match was a WELCOME TO HOW moment, consider this the cherry on top. Newbies don’t typically last long here, but hey, Imma good guy, I’d like to keep you around. Protect you. Pin you. Sounds fucking delectable.
If the three of you are smart, you’d ban together and make this a handicapped match.
Otherwise no shot, no hope, it’s over.
Give me what I want. What I need. What I deserve.
What I will ACCOMPLISH.
‘Cause unlike you dipsticks, I’ll follow through in the World Title match. Conor Fuse will be the next 97.
Might as well ensure it happens sooner than later.
Don’t cha’ think?