Mindy stood in front of her boss' office with a nervous look on her face; she knew he was going under a lot of stress lately, and we mean A LOT of stress, and she didn't want to dare bother him. However, she knew she had to face the music. After taking a moment to brush a hand through her hair, she quietly tapped her knuckles against the thick wooden door.
"It's open," Shanahan's voice echoed through the frame and onto the other side, letting the young assistant know that she could enter.
She hesitantly grabbed the handle and pushed the door open, then poking her head in to look around the room. Her boss was standing at the opposite side of his desk, with his back turned to her and his arms seemingly crossed from her angle. Strange, but she didn't dare question him. "U-uh... H-hey, Mister S-Shanahan... H-how are you feeling? D-do you need anything?"
"No, I'm fine Mindy. Why?" He asked in a calm, reserved tone. Something was clearly wrong with him, but she didn't know what.
"W-well, I know you're not having a good time right now... B-but it'll get better, sir! I just know it!" The young girl stammered out in some attempt to cheer Matt up.
"Oh, I know. Don't worry. I'm not worried..."
Mindy cocked an eyebrow at his strange words. She knew Matt could be rather off at times, she had heard all the stories and seen first hand. But, he was being weirder than usual tonight. "Uh... that's g-good... So uh, B-Boom wanted me to visit his match tonight... I-is it okay if I go d-down to the ring?"
"Of course, just be safe," Matt muttered while making a ripping noise, tossing a roll of masking tape aside. As he turned, his assistant could see that he had actually been taping up his hands and wrists much like some competitors chose to. One by one, he began to pull his old leather, fingerless gloves over his hands, raising even more concern with the girl.
"U-uh, Mister Shanahan... what are y-you doing?"
Shanahan took the moment to look up at her, his stare colder than ice. An anger that some would say hadn't been seen in a long time was very visible in his eyes; perhaps he had finally been pushed over the edge. "I'm doing what I should've done at Hardcore Harvest, Mindy." He quietly responded before turning to his wall, his eyes locking on the displayed baseball bat he kept on a plaque. The 'Punk-ville Slugger'. He walked over to and grabbed the handle, giving the weapon a proper yank off of its resting place.
"B-But sir... What's that?"
Without looking at her, Matt went back to the corner of his desk and brought his legendary weapon up into a practice swing stance. He swung the weapon forward a few times, stopping short just mere inches from the computer monitor on his desk. "Dealing with the problem that's already out of hand, woman. What do you think?"
"Sir, I-I'm not su- EEP!" Mindy suddenly jumped back and squeaked as a loud crashing sound mixed resonated through the room. Matt finally made contact with the monitor, sending it careening into the wall behind his desk. It left a decent sized dent in the wall before smashing into the ground in a heap; oh yes, Matt still had his swing.
"Enjoy the match. Get someone to clean that up. I've got some kids to punish," The God of Punks commanded as he turned on heel and walked by the shocked Mindy, his baseball bat on his shoulder primed and ready. Matt had finally had enough.
=======================================================
Right as the fans were getting ready for the final stretch of matches for the night, the opening riff to Hell or Highwater's "Crash and Burn" resonated around the arena, the song that had become known as Monday Massacre's theme tune. The fans let out a roar of cheers for the sound, as it usually indicated the General Manager would be making an appearance. After having the beginning of the show hijacked by The House, he was surely going to be a welcome sight.
Life is a long, long road I know,
Take it one day at a time!
But days are wasted,
I cant replace 'em.
If I'm not mistaken,
I don't have time for this!
The nights are getting longer and longer,
I swear that I used to be stronger.
But I wont forget that I can't regret where I've been,
So until then I'll say...
Before the chorus could even begin, Matt Shanahan walked out on stage without any of his usual flair or upbeat spirit. He had put his aviators back on over his eyes, hiding his icy stare from the world, and his gloved right hand was wrapped tightly around his fabled weapon. It became really apparent to the fans that he had his old tool of destruction out for a reason. Some even figured out that reason rather quickly.
He marched down to the ring without any acknowledgement of the crowd. He was all business tonight.
Crash and burn, my friend!
I'll see you at the bottom of the
Deep, dark blue descend!
This is the end!
Begin again!
As the chorus finished and the next verse threatened to the begin, Shanahan took his time to walk to the crew area near the ring and take a steel chair that had been propped up against the barricade wall. With a small heave, he tossed the chair into the ring and rolled in after it. The music quickly faded away as Matt pushed himself up to his feet, the crew noticing that he wasn't wasting time with theatrics tonight.
He took a moment to pick up the chair and open it up, setting it down in the center of the ring. With a sigh, he collapsed down onto it, dropping the baseball bat down to his side. Matt lifted a finger to motion for the crowd to wait while he pulled a microphone from his pocket, switching it on with his thumb once he had it revealed.
"One day, I'll invest in one of those microphones that clip onto your shirt," he muttered into the microphone, getting a few laughs from the audience. His serious tone didn't do much for the bad joke, though. Shanahan leaned his forearms onto his knees, hanging his head down to stare at the mat.
"Helluva night, huh?... It can honestly only get better, right?" He asked out loud, taking a pause to process his thoughts. "Freakshow made an appearance with his pasty-a** thighs... Salem ranted about that... Jarel ranted about me showing favoritism, when I could've just as easily not given him -any- of the shots I have... Heh, we found a stage hand unconscious in the back with 'prepare' written on his chest... Vaseline Man got beaten down by The Gallant, a man I was certain that I had released since he disappeared after the very first show. It's like... everything's going crazy. Everything that could go wrong, is going wrong, you know?"
Matt seemed to be having a heart-to-heart with the fans, but they knew none of those events were enough to get the General Manager to show up this late in the show. "I mean, I guess it could be worse... and I wish I could say that tonight was the first night s**t's gone wrong... but we all know that'd be a lie. s**t's been going wrong since Hardcore Harvest... Since my trailer was tipped over... Since we saw Omega beat Serenno King... then watched The House beat the man down to a pulp. Ever since, they've destroyed Hiro Shin-Mozas, Seita Gray, and most recently, Andrew Styles. In fact, Andrew's injuries were so severe that I had to strip him of the Crimson City Championship. The kid's first title reign... ruined by The House... but, let's address the elephant in the room..."
Matt finally looked up from the mat, staring out at the fans through his tinted shades. "Tonight, The House dared to cross the line on a whole new level. They hijacked the opener to my show. They took over the arena, just to threaten me. They didn't threaten Salem Croft, or Shadow, or anyone in the Sanguine Invitational, or even the entire roster... no... they threatened ME. They threatened the man who runs this ********' show, who has signed every single one of their paychecks. Why? Because of our history? Because I once made a mockery out of the the entire King family? No... Because I haven't given their precious ape of a leader a shot at any of the championships? Nah... Is it because I didn't have Kayla's favorite kind of cotton candy in stock? Nope... They threatened me, because they can..."
"Because they don't really have a reason. Because they'll do it just because they can. Because <******** you, that's why!... So they say. No Bastion... for those that don't know, that means no fortification; if anything, you can go home tonight, knowing that you learned something new. They think that nothing will protect me from them. I almost wanted to test that. I was going to hire a group of bodyguards to follow me for the rest of the night, complete with tasers and batons. I thought about staying in my office. I thought about filing restraining orders. I thought about firing them. I thought about a lot of things, because I know the determination they have. I even considered scrapping most of the matches tonight, and declaring Monday Massacre Number Seven as the end of The House; how? I was going to book the ENTIRE roster to face them, and lock down the arena until all three of them were so... disfigured, so... broken, that they would never cross -me- again. I thought about ways I could avoid having to deal with this, and that's when I realized this job is getting to my head... because I thought about being scared."
Matt took a moment to pause, letting his words sink into the audience. "I, Matt Shanahan, thought about being scared. It's three of them, and one of me. Look what they did to -four- of my roster's names already! What could I possibly do? What could I... do... but then, suddenly... I realized something... something that I had to ask myself, and I didn't realize it until I asked Cyrus Leone earlier..."
Shanahan took a moment to turn his head and stare at the entrance ramp, as if The House members were standing right there. His lips twisted into a scowl as he spoke, his tone filling with hatred quickly. "Just who the ******** do you think -I- am? Do you really think you scare me? Really? Do you know who I -am-, Serenno King? Do you remember when I chokeslammed daddy's little boy in his own ********' castle? HUH!?" Matt suddenly roared, pushing up off the chair.
"Do you know who I -am-, Carmyne King? Do you remember when I nearly broke your back with the Scepter your family grew to praise? Do you know who I -am-, Kayla King? Do you ********' remember when I had you cowering for your ********' life in the corner of daddy's bedroom? Do you remember when I had you crying as I choked your father with his own weapon? I don't think you ********' do, because if you did, you wouldn't be dense enough to threaten ME!" The General Manager huffed into the microphone, his features getting a small tinge of red with his rage. With his free hand, he ripped his classic aviators off and tossed them to the outside, staring at the stage with his manic eyes now.
"All three of you watched first hand what I can do, and you felt it too. Each. One. Of you. I've broken men with more accomplishments in life than all three of you combined. Men that didn't have a name to ride into the business on. Men that, unlike you ********, were respected in this business! I took their careers and I broke them over my knee! I smashed their faces in with a baseball bat! You think you can threaten me? You think I'm scared? On the contrary, kiddies, I'm excited! I'm goddamn ecstatic! I haven't gotten to break someone's face in nearly a year! So just imagine my joy when I saw that I'd have No Bastion tonight! Just think how -happy- I was when my 'niece and nephews' decided to make this little conquest of theirs personal!"
As Matt shouted, he walked back towards the chair and picked the baseball bat up off the ground. On his way back towards the ropes, he kicked the chair over for good measure. "So, Serenno!... So, Carmyne!... So, Kayla!" Shanahan stopped near the ropes and pointed to the backstage area with his baseball bat, his facial features going cold once more, his tone dropping back down to its serious level, "You wanna do what others have only wished to do? I beg you to try. You wanted No Bastion, I give it to you. No referees, no security. Just you and me. The House against Matt and his Slugger. Let's see if you have what it takes to walk the same road your father and sooooo many others have. The hospital bills are on Uncle Matt tonight."
Shanahan backed away to the farthest side of the ring from the ramp, his baseball bat gripped in his right hand, the microphone remaining in his left for now.
[Planned]
"It's open," Shanahan's voice echoed through the frame and onto the other side, letting the young assistant know that she could enter.
She hesitantly grabbed the handle and pushed the door open, then poking her head in to look around the room. Her boss was standing at the opposite side of his desk, with his back turned to her and his arms seemingly crossed from her angle. Strange, but she didn't dare question him. "U-uh... H-hey, Mister S-Shanahan... H-how are you feeling? D-do you need anything?"
"No, I'm fine Mindy. Why?" He asked in a calm, reserved tone. Something was clearly wrong with him, but she didn't know what.
"W-well, I know you're not having a good time right now... B-but it'll get better, sir! I just know it!" The young girl stammered out in some attempt to cheer Matt up.
"Oh, I know. Don't worry. I'm not worried..."
Mindy cocked an eyebrow at his strange words. She knew Matt could be rather off at times, she had heard all the stories and seen first hand. But, he was being weirder than usual tonight. "Uh... that's g-good... So uh, B-Boom wanted me to visit his match tonight... I-is it okay if I go d-down to the ring?"
"Of course, just be safe," Matt muttered while making a ripping noise, tossing a roll of masking tape aside. As he turned, his assistant could see that he had actually been taping up his hands and wrists much like some competitors chose to. One by one, he began to pull his old leather, fingerless gloves over his hands, raising even more concern with the girl.
"U-uh, Mister Shanahan... what are y-you doing?"
Shanahan took the moment to look up at her, his stare colder than ice. An anger that some would say hadn't been seen in a long time was very visible in his eyes; perhaps he had finally been pushed over the edge. "I'm doing what I should've done at Hardcore Harvest, Mindy." He quietly responded before turning to his wall, his eyes locking on the displayed baseball bat he kept on a plaque. The 'Punk-ville Slugger'. He walked over to and grabbed the handle, giving the weapon a proper yank off of its resting place.
"B-But sir... What's that?"
Without looking at her, Matt went back to the corner of his desk and brought his legendary weapon up into a practice swing stance. He swung the weapon forward a few times, stopping short just mere inches from the computer monitor on his desk. "Dealing with the problem that's already out of hand, woman. What do you think?"
"Sir, I-I'm not su- EEP!" Mindy suddenly jumped back and squeaked as a loud crashing sound mixed resonated through the room. Matt finally made contact with the monitor, sending it careening into the wall behind his desk. It left a decent sized dent in the wall before smashing into the ground in a heap; oh yes, Matt still had his swing.
"Enjoy the match. Get someone to clean that up. I've got some kids to punish," The God of Punks commanded as he turned on heel and walked by the shocked Mindy, his baseball bat on his shoulder primed and ready. Matt had finally had enough.
=======================================================
Right as the fans were getting ready for the final stretch of matches for the night, the opening riff to Hell or Highwater's "Crash and Burn" resonated around the arena, the song that had become known as Monday Massacre's theme tune. The fans let out a roar of cheers for the sound, as it usually indicated the General Manager would be making an appearance. After having the beginning of the show hijacked by The House, he was surely going to be a welcome sight.
Life is a long, long road I know,
Take it one day at a time!
But days are wasted,
I cant replace 'em.
If I'm not mistaken,
I don't have time for this!
The nights are getting longer and longer,
I swear that I used to be stronger.
But I wont forget that I can't regret where I've been,
So until then I'll say...
Before the chorus could even begin, Matt Shanahan walked out on stage without any of his usual flair or upbeat spirit. He had put his aviators back on over his eyes, hiding his icy stare from the world, and his gloved right hand was wrapped tightly around his fabled weapon. It became really apparent to the fans that he had his old tool of destruction out for a reason. Some even figured out that reason rather quickly.
He marched down to the ring without any acknowledgement of the crowd. He was all business tonight.
Crash and burn, my friend!
I'll see you at the bottom of the
Deep, dark blue descend!
This is the end!
Begin again!
As the chorus finished and the next verse threatened to the begin, Shanahan took his time to walk to the crew area near the ring and take a steel chair that had been propped up against the barricade wall. With a small heave, he tossed the chair into the ring and rolled in after it. The music quickly faded away as Matt pushed himself up to his feet, the crew noticing that he wasn't wasting time with theatrics tonight.
He took a moment to pick up the chair and open it up, setting it down in the center of the ring. With a sigh, he collapsed down onto it, dropping the baseball bat down to his side. Matt lifted a finger to motion for the crowd to wait while he pulled a microphone from his pocket, switching it on with his thumb once he had it revealed.
"One day, I'll invest in one of those microphones that clip onto your shirt," he muttered into the microphone, getting a few laughs from the audience. His serious tone didn't do much for the bad joke, though. Shanahan leaned his forearms onto his knees, hanging his head down to stare at the mat.
"Helluva night, huh?... It can honestly only get better, right?" He asked out loud, taking a pause to process his thoughts. "Freakshow made an appearance with his pasty-a** thighs... Salem ranted about that... Jarel ranted about me showing favoritism, when I could've just as easily not given him -any- of the shots I have... Heh, we found a stage hand unconscious in the back with 'prepare' written on his chest... Vaseline Man got beaten down by The Gallant, a man I was certain that I had released since he disappeared after the very first show. It's like... everything's going crazy. Everything that could go wrong, is going wrong, you know?"
Matt seemed to be having a heart-to-heart with the fans, but they knew none of those events were enough to get the General Manager to show up this late in the show. "I mean, I guess it could be worse... and I wish I could say that tonight was the first night s**t's gone wrong... but we all know that'd be a lie. s**t's been going wrong since Hardcore Harvest... Since my trailer was tipped over... Since we saw Omega beat Serenno King... then watched The House beat the man down to a pulp. Ever since, they've destroyed Hiro Shin-Mozas, Seita Gray, and most recently, Andrew Styles. In fact, Andrew's injuries were so severe that I had to strip him of the Crimson City Championship. The kid's first title reign... ruined by The House... but, let's address the elephant in the room..."
Matt finally looked up from the mat, staring out at the fans through his tinted shades. "Tonight, The House dared to cross the line on a whole new level. They hijacked the opener to my show. They took over the arena, just to threaten me. They didn't threaten Salem Croft, or Shadow, or anyone in the Sanguine Invitational, or even the entire roster... no... they threatened ME. They threatened the man who runs this ********' show, who has signed every single one of their paychecks. Why? Because of our history? Because I once made a mockery out of the the entire King family? No... Because I haven't given their precious ape of a leader a shot at any of the championships? Nah... Is it because I didn't have Kayla's favorite kind of cotton candy in stock? Nope... They threatened me, because they can..."
"Because they don't really have a reason. Because they'll do it just because they can. Because <******** you, that's why!... So they say. No Bastion... for those that don't know, that means no fortification; if anything, you can go home tonight, knowing that you learned something new. They think that nothing will protect me from them. I almost wanted to test that. I was going to hire a group of bodyguards to follow me for the rest of the night, complete with tasers and batons. I thought about staying in my office. I thought about filing restraining orders. I thought about firing them. I thought about a lot of things, because I know the determination they have. I even considered scrapping most of the matches tonight, and declaring Monday Massacre Number Seven as the end of The House; how? I was going to book the ENTIRE roster to face them, and lock down the arena until all three of them were so... disfigured, so... broken, that they would never cross -me- again. I thought about ways I could avoid having to deal with this, and that's when I realized this job is getting to my head... because I thought about being scared."
Matt took a moment to pause, letting his words sink into the audience. "I, Matt Shanahan, thought about being scared. It's three of them, and one of me. Look what they did to -four- of my roster's names already! What could I possibly do? What could I... do... but then, suddenly... I realized something... something that I had to ask myself, and I didn't realize it until I asked Cyrus Leone earlier..."
Shanahan took a moment to turn his head and stare at the entrance ramp, as if The House members were standing right there. His lips twisted into a scowl as he spoke, his tone filling with hatred quickly. "Just who the ******** do you think -I- am? Do you really think you scare me? Really? Do you know who I -am-, Serenno King? Do you remember when I chokeslammed daddy's little boy in his own ********' castle? HUH!?" Matt suddenly roared, pushing up off the chair.
"Do you know who I -am-, Carmyne King? Do you remember when I nearly broke your back with the Scepter your family grew to praise? Do you know who I -am-, Kayla King? Do you ********' remember when I had you cowering for your ********' life in the corner of daddy's bedroom? Do you remember when I had you crying as I choked your father with his own weapon? I don't think you ********' do, because if you did, you wouldn't be dense enough to threaten ME!" The General Manager huffed into the microphone, his features getting a small tinge of red with his rage. With his free hand, he ripped his classic aviators off and tossed them to the outside, staring at the stage with his manic eyes now.
"All three of you watched first hand what I can do, and you felt it too. Each. One. Of you. I've broken men with more accomplishments in life than all three of you combined. Men that didn't have a name to ride into the business on. Men that, unlike you ********, were respected in this business! I took their careers and I broke them over my knee! I smashed their faces in with a baseball bat! You think you can threaten me? You think I'm scared? On the contrary, kiddies, I'm excited! I'm goddamn ecstatic! I haven't gotten to break someone's face in nearly a year! So just imagine my joy when I saw that I'd have No Bastion tonight! Just think how -happy- I was when my 'niece and nephews' decided to make this little conquest of theirs personal!"
As Matt shouted, he walked back towards the chair and picked the baseball bat up off the ground. On his way back towards the ropes, he kicked the chair over for good measure. "So, Serenno!... So, Carmyne!... So, Kayla!" Shanahan stopped near the ropes and pointed to the backstage area with his baseball bat, his facial features going cold once more, his tone dropping back down to its serious level, "You wanna do what others have only wished to do? I beg you to try. You wanted No Bastion, I give it to you. No referees, no security. Just you and me. The House against Matt and his Slugger. Let's see if you have what it takes to walk the same road your father and sooooo many others have. The hospital bills are on Uncle Matt tonight."
Shanahan backed away to the farthest side of the ring from the ramp, his baseball bat gripped in his right hand, the microphone remaining in his left for now.
[Planned]
