Lab Rat King Vs. Matt Knox

If it breathes, it bleeds

If it bleeds, it dies



The dawn found Matthew Knox staring out of his suite’s scenic window, over the Inner Harbor. His last cigarette burning in between his fingers as he sat in the leather recliner so graciously provided by his seemingly new landlords at the Marriott. The unfiltered camel’s noxious fumes would no doubt be a thorn in the maid’s side but that wasn’t his concern. Not right now.

No, he found his mind preoccupied with monsters.Not those from folklore, more those that imposed themselves onto humanity. Adolf Hitler, Josef Stalin, Jack The Ripper, The Zodiac Killer. These monsters, they were truly terrifying. Unlike the monsters found in those fables, they were not of scale and did not breathe fire. No, they were simply men. Flesh, Blood. Fathers, Mothers. Rich, full lives with people who loved them despite their monstrous acts.

And that was truly more terrifying than any Dragon, Vampire, Werewolf…

Or Rat.

He thought briefly of how he first saw the promotional circular for Zane King. The Lab Rat King. He had brushed it off as another crazy person playing a part to be more intimidating, until he saw the man at Chaos.

And then he saw the match.

Most assuredly, he had been keeping an eye on Adrienne Levi. Her raw talent impressing him as much as her general rawness bugged the fundamental purist within. But seeing the Rat abuse her the way he did? Standing on the girl’s throat? It stirred that unused protective gene he had discovered when he met Hope.

He wanted to throw his hat in the ring for the following show but then the situation with Winter and Matthews happened, and then the Rat got lost in the shuffle with Insidious and that ongoing war. A war he could finally see the finish line to.

Knox took a drag off his cigarette, down to it’s very nub before turning it out in the black ceramic ashtray, where it joined an unhealthy looking amount of it’s used brethren. He brought a hand up to his face, wiping his hand over it and paying his cheek a light slap, mostly just to feel the sting. He leaned forward in the seat, staring out at the ocean and finding himself lost in the scenery a moment, before speaking.

“I’m more of a monster than you’ll ever be” he said directly to the Rat, who he could just feel was out there somewhere, even now. Did their match register to him? Did he register the potential danger of it? Or was this just another moment to him? He, crowned monster and feral beast of Carnage. Was a fight with a former world champion any different to him than the hellacious car wreck he endured with Mitch?

Deep down, the egotistical side of him loathed the thought. Some would call it natural, as a competitor. But Knox knew deep down that he was different. Humble, and helpful as he could be. As much of a team player as he was, there was that part of him that stated plainly “You’re better than the rest of them”. The part that made every loss sting.

Hell, he still felt slighted by his own stupidity in his loss to Silvio. Who had suddenly become a very good friend to him. Had given him a whole new perspective on his mantle, hell, on his outlook of the world he had created for himself. And yet, despite those soft feelings, despite the warmth he felt being around him and Levi.

He would break him in the ring if they were pitted against one another again.

But that particular bridge would be crossed when it came his way. And he hoped that it was a long way off.

No, the bridges most immediate. Those were where his attention had to lie. Less they crumble and he be carried off in a flood of his own making.

---

Later That Evening, Rooftop of the Marriott

“Are you afraid of what goes bump in the night?”

Matthew Knox stood in a different setting now, the wind whipped around him as the Baltimore skyline proudly stood behind him, overlooking the mighty Atlantic and the merchants sailing upon it into her harbor. Matthew stood in his full ring gear, hood drawn back and face paint applied.

“Or heights? Maybe that’s it.” He began strolling along the roof of the Marriott, passing a cluster of industrial Air Conditioners before coming to the edge of the building, and staring down as he toed the ledge. The camera shot over his shoulder a moment, to the ground far below.

“No. That’d be too simple. Almost comedic for you, Rat” His head snapped so he would be facing the camera, eyes popping from the coal black face paint surrounding them as he spoke “And you’re not a joke, Rat. Not yet.”

He stood silently at the ledge a moment, outstretching his arms and turning his back to it. Like that day at the pier..His facial expression changes in an instant, serene and distant before he seemingly snaps back to reality. Shaking his head before strolling from the ledge and continuing his verbal assault.

“See, Rat, you’ve gained quite a reputation within Carnage. Unbeaten, nigh unbeatable. A god chiseled from granite, bestowed a killer instinct and devoid of humanity. The perfect maiming machine. Maybe Killing, if it came to it”

Matt stepped across the roof, his boots crunching the random debris and dust gathered beneath them as he slowly approached the camera, the world around him gradually disappearing as his form filled the entire shot. He grabs the camera and slowly raises it so it’s focused on his face, which now fills the shot. His eyes stare intensely a moment before he rotates his head and stares with one eye as if through a peephole. His drips now with condescension, as if talking to a small child or idiot pet.

“Are you listening, Rat? Spit that out. Put it down, and pay attention now.” He backs away from the camera, a smile playing on his features as he lets the lens breathe in the rest of the world around him once more. Gray skies, and a Dark man. “Because you need to know, Rat. You need to know that I. Don’t. Buy. It” He spat out the last collection of words with as much venom as he could muster, beating a fist into his chest to accentuate each one.

“You are not a monster. No, Monsters are aware of their actions. Monsters...Monsters do things like beat their children near to death for their legacy. Monsters throw away friendships for oversized, shiny belts. Monsters..” His expression soured a moment, before twisting in anger as he spoke “Monsters abandon their families. Monsters tell people they have no worth, and make them believe it.. No, Rat I don’t think you’re a monster.”

“I don’t think that you think enough to be one”

He bowed his head as he backed away from the camera, wiping at his nose, at the emotion that threatened to pour out.

“No, when I saw you. When I SEE you. I see an animal. A rabid dog let off it’s leash. For what purpose? I don’t know, nor do I want to.” He raised a hand, pointing at the camera as a chuckle escaped him. Sinister in tone. He jabs the finger toward the lens to accentuate his point “But what I do know. Is rabid animals. They have to die. Not just for everyone they’ve bit, but for their own good”

“I’m sure anyone watching this, including you Rat, can’t help but laugh at that. What chance do I have of beating a giant mutant, who bleeds such unnatural life blood? What chance do I have against someone who fell off the Carnage stage, and got on social media to laugh about it? What chance do I have against a man who withstood the assault of Mitch “The Broken” Heart in all his glorious violence?”

He takes a moment to draw a deep breath, exhaling it slowly. He paces a few steps before taking a seat on the roof, cross legged. He rocks back and forth, gaze darting along his surroundings before settling back on the lens. The camera zooms in as he speaks, his tone much softer now, almost lost to the wind that blew furiously around him, cascading his black hair in it’s path. It’s roar almost as if God was trying to drown these venomous words from existence.

Maybe to prevent the stain they would leave on the soul that spoke them.

Maybe, to stop a war.

“I have the best of chances, Rat. Because unlike them, I understand you. I understand you, because I am everything you try to be. Everything THEY think you are…. I, Rat...I am the real monster here in Carnage. I am the reckoning for people like you...if you can be considered people. People like Davidson, Winter, Steele, Quinn, Michaels, Bane, Ryan, Johnson, or Goode...I’m the answer to the question no one is brave enough to ask.”

He takes a moment to compose himself, sneering as he takes a deep inhale of the roaring wind, before returning it to the world. He cleared his throat, before continuing.

“And I'm the monster who’s going to beat you, Rat. Because you breathe, you bleed. And because you bleed, you die.” He takes in a sharp inhale and starts to withdraw from the lens before freezing and stepping back into it, spitting his words with a pure, unfiltered malice “Can’t you feel it, you fool?! You’re in danger now, Rat. Because unlike Mitch there’s no warrior’s glory at the end of this for you. There’s no mutual respect to be found in the wreckage after. No, all there will be is a pair of corpses. One just gets to walk away”

Another interlude of silence, a silence filled with contempt and tension. His eyes a raging fire of indignant, pugnacious rage. It was a suicide mission, this one. But the urge to protect, redeem, and avenge won out over self preservation, as they always had. He spoke through clenched teeth, voice dripping with a visceral, primal rage.

“I don’t want your off putting pleasantries. I don’t want whatever resembles camaraderie with you..I want to put you under, Rat. I want you gone. Maybe not from Carnage, but I want that fear you induce in others gone. And in turn, I want to induce it in you, when you see me. I want you to hear “Matt Knox” and shrink away…I...”

His jaw hangs agape a moment, eyes going blank before his face breaks into a slow, maniacal smile “I am The Raven, Rat. And at Chaos, I will swoop down and feast upon your vermin corpse…and you will be afraid of ME then, Rat.”

“You, and the rest of them”

He sat there with the smile plastered on his features and eyes fixated on the viewer as the feed slowly fades to the Carnage Wrestling logo.

---

Violence affords a certain reverie.

An escape for the mind, the soul, and the man. Only a certain violence, though. You go out, beat a stranger to death and all you are is a criminal with mental issues. Get booked to beat someone near to death in front of a bloodthirsty audience? Acceptable in gradually less gruesome displays since Roman times.

Wrestling was a science. It was every other combat sport rolled into one, with a penchant for theatre. But more, it was science. You had to draw a hypothesis for a match, do your research, draw up a thesis and prepare for every possible outcome. But you only had one chance at execution. One chance, to prove your theory right or show the world that you weren’t bright enough to crack your opponent’s code.

Matthew Knox considered himself the god damn Albert “Elon Musk” Einstein of ring work and Nikola “Archimedes” Tesla of ring psychology. Although he’d only tell a select few and only at varying degrees of sobriety. Take the match at We Are Relentless. It turned out, all he needed was self control to help propel his team past Insidious. They had him figured out early. Because as clinical as Knox was, he was equally an emotional animal.

The six and a half foot man sat within the lobby of the marriot, entranced by the fireplace found within. It had been lit to offset the cold night, and provide that warm, welcome atmosphere that made the wallet of the customer that much more open to letting their fingers rummage through it. He tilts his head slowly, thinking briefly of the fireplace in his own home. He wondered for the state of it. He hadn’t set foot in California since joining Carnage. .

Bert had gone back once or twice, to check on family but was always insistent upon returning. Quietly, Matthew wondered if he wasn’t failing the boy by not making him stay back in the Golden State, pursue his education further. Maybe focus on and train for a real career, instead of being the witty sidekick of a pugnacious man with a death wish.

“I don’t want you hurt, kid” he whispered to the fire then, A few nearby heads turned, but quickly returned to minding their own business. It was one thing to entertain or criticize someone talking to themselves. It was another thing to try and mess with the biggest guy in the room.

He shifted in the high-back reproduction chair. Made to look much older than it was, and shoddily built. He brought one leg up, resting his foot on the cushion as the other stretched forward. He dangled an arm over his bent knee as he considered a dark thought. One that haunted him much more recently. A ghost he never liked speaking of..

Failure.

What if this all proved fruitless? What if he never reached that mountain top? What if this is all an exercise in futility? Was he really as good as he felt like he had been, or had the quality of opponent just been sub par? What if age had truly caught up with him, but rolling in the dirt with goons and rookies had delayed his realization?

Most immediately, what if he gets in the ring with Zane, and it proves too much for him to handle? The man nearly shelved or flat out ended every single opponent he had ever competed against. Levi coming out with the boot shaped mark on her throat. Jon Willis suffering his first ever loss.Mitch going through all that rubble and wreckage. Then the cage?

He shifted once more, his long form gliding until both feet were flat on the ground and his upper body leaned forward to stare even more intimately into the fire.

“Hell.” He whispered in confidence to the flames once more

It would be hell. For all the posturing, the threats, and the history of success they both shared there was no way this match would leave either man unscathed. Mitch had said that the only strategy was to survive. He had done that plenty. But now, on this night, staring into the fire as he had come so accustomed to doing for most of his existence.

Doubt started to threaten him. Any time he let himself think of his losses. Both caused by dumb mistakes on his part. Lack of awareness and an unruly temper. Precise rookie mistakes that held him back when he first began. Briefly, he thought of the APWO and the men he cut his teeth with there before the owners got Chapter 11’d..

He thought of Marv, the snake.

Matt shifted once more, idly rubbing his wrists as he glanced over another memory before shoving it within the same rusty locker the rest lay dormant in. He pat the arms of the chair once, before pushing himself out of the chair and heading up to his room. He needed to empty his head somewhere..

Nothing wrong with the written word.

---

September 5th, 2020



    I wonder often, the point of keeping a journal? Sometimes, I think it’s an exercise in self mutilation. Sometimes, I think it’s an exercise in ego. Maybe it’s both? On one hand, you’re documenting major events. Failure, Success. Love, Heartbreak. And God knows everyone who has ever written one of these will occasionally look back upon those memories, as nostalgia is often much warmer than the chill of reality

    Personally, I write this so that someday, when I am gone maybe it can provide some insight to how I will eventually fuck up this last chapter of my life? And it is the last, it has to be. However long the chapter is, that’s not up to me but I know that when the lights go down on my time in Carnage, so too will they go down on my time here on earth. It’s what drives this. Drives me.

    I have beaten six people in Carnage, ranging from piss poor to frighteningly impressive in talent. The one person who has pinned me is now suddenly a comrade friend. Shockingly, I seem to have found a group of those here. An Oracle, A Rookie, and a young man who’s anger burns brighter than even my own.

    Now, as a defining moment approaches with my Father in Law at the centennial edition of Chaos (isn’t that impressive?) I’ve moved on to my second dance partner. A man who many consider to be an actual monster. Inhuman. Ungodly, even. And there are times where I cannot help but agree

His blood was thick like tar. That isn’t normal

    I need this though. I need to prove, ahead of ENDING Sah’ta Thor and Insidious once and for all that I am even more than what I already seem. Jack Michaels introduced himself to me on twitter, boasting on behalf of the step daughter HE NEARLY KILLED at a previous show and how he did not believe I had the ability to defeat her

He said the same about Ken Davidson, and….here we are with a newly anointed “Godly” World Champion

    There is a shift in the tides here. Anyone with sense (So, not Vegas) can feel it. The old guard have become content on their thrones in Olympus. They are so focused on their ancient in fighting that they have turned a blind and dismissive eye to those in one of their own “Talent Initiatives”

    The most egregious sin in this business is to overstay your welcome. Equal only to stagnation. And here we are, not half a year after supposed “Retirement” and Jack Michaels is active on Social Media, Johnny Vegas salivating over scattered members of a super stable before my time. A stable with no representation left outside of Eli Goode, who from what I can tell only wishes to be Jack Michaels Jr. I wonder if he is jealous of Amber Ryan?

    No matter. That bridge, that war will be fought when it is time. And I will be there to usher in a new era, and fill the legion’s lungs with a fresher air than they have known. They can’t ignore us forever. We won’t let them.

But for now, I focus on the Rat.

    If I survive this, then I will know I can do anything. If I WIN this, then I am most assured that I can defeat anyone in the back.

    If I don’t win? Well. If I get out alive, I work harder for the rematch. If the Rat takes it personally and sets to reestablish his tarnished image at the expense of my corpse? Then at least I’ll be at peace

unam viam aut per aliam, victoria

---

Matthew set the pen down gently, closing the journal. He rested his elbows on the dining table set to the east side of the suite, and clasped his hands together. He leaned his head into them with his eyes closed as he drew and released slow, deep breaths. He snapped back in the seat, idly tapping his fingers on his legs. He reached into his pants pocket and produced his phone. He opened the contacts and began swiping through them.

He stopped over Hope’s contact, and tapped on it. He stared at the recent calls. Just one, from her on the day of the Youth Wrestling event. He never bothered to listen to the voicemail. Even if he enjoyed pain, as one had to to an extent to be in this business, he was no masochist. Her tongue cut him deeper than anything in this world.

Because he loved her the most.

He admired what Jon had done, the love and adoration he swam in from the healings he helped administer. And the affection from the circle of friends he had made was a welcome change to the emptiness. Hell, Bert made him smile pretty often. But nothing could ever substitute for the child he chose. For the soul he plucked out of the unsure life of being an orphan. Sometimes, he wondered about her biological parents. Both dead, like his.

“You’d be proud” he whispers to the lonely, dimly lit room. The Night sky filling the panoramic window to his left catching his attention. The heavens hidden somewhere within. He just hoped, someday she would be as proud of him as he was of her.

There’d be time, he hoped. Time to mend and time to heal. But now his time and effort had to go toward being the Father, and protector of a bunch of people who wouldn’t appreciate it in the end, he was sure. Hell, maybe he was really just doing it for himself. Maybe it was both. Either way, this was one more...nest he made. And he’d sleep in it.

His phone rang then, rousing him from his thoughts. He stared at the caller ID





His thumb went over the accept button, but it froze as “Lullabye (Goodnight, My Angel)” by Billy Joel continued to fill the room. He closed his eyes and exhaled a breath he hadn’t noticed taking before answering



“Hey, kid”