revolutionizethegame-archived

[revolutionizethegame-archived]

Movements were certainly less refined than those of the man fighting alongside him. Berk moved with a ferocity and natural instinct that typically meant he was coming out on the winning side. Now, bar fighting where it could come down harshly on his head? Not his usual scene. No, there tended to be a bit more thought put into it all so that nothing came back to bite him in the ass. Though it was getting harder and harder to plan that out and make sure that his tracks were well covered these days.

Before Berk could comprehend it, the whirlwind was over. Adrenaline still coursing through his veins wildly left him panting and looking around for the next body to come his way. Each and everyone who had dared to join the fray were scattered on the floor. Some unconscious, some whining, some trying g to pick their wounded pride but knowing better than to get back to their feet and take a few more swings. They had had their asses handed to the decisively. Now, it was the aftermath that had to be dealt with. Something Berk was not particlar good at, if good could even be used to classify it.

When the older man spoke and seemed to get a nod from the bartender, with no angry shouts or promise to call the cops, it wasn't worth looking the gifted horse in the mouth. He tossed whatever cash he had left in his wallet, a decent amount for a college student, towards the bar and filed outside as instructed.

The cool night air was a stark contrast to the warmth and stuffiness that had built up in the bar. As if Berk's chest could finally expand for the first time. Not that it was a pleasant sensation but one that was relished all the same. Surely the comments were coming and he leaned against the wall, feeling the gaze of the other but not looking in return. Not yet. Settle the thoughts, remember to breathe. Coming down from the adrenaline high was never an easy task and one that Berk struggled with each and every time.

Explanations? Those were even more difficult. Words caught in his throat. Just like they always did. No one understood. They couldn't. He was supposed to be the smart one, the one destined to do things with his mind, not his fists. But there was no fulfillment there like there was in the middle of a brawl. Still, Berkeley recognized enough to know that he owed the man something for the help that he provided. Fingers flexed at his sides and a heavy exhale was issued through his nose. Eyes were able to focus some, though he still did not train his gaze on the other.

"Stupid shit..." He finally offered. As if there was any other explanation. "Asshole knocked into me, split my beer, spilt some of his beer on me. Just asked for an apology and he dumped the rest of the beer on me deliberately." A small shrug accompanied the final statement, Berk reaching up to wipe some of the blood from his face, though it was a fruitless endeavor. He knew he needed a proper clean up, actually feel it as the blood dried to his skin in some places and continued to drip in others.

@[ghostrider]

Matt was both pissed off and amused. He liked to pick his fights; being dragged into one without consent wasn't really his style - plus, he was old for bar brawls, but he never turned down one when it presented itself. He was born to fight, to feel and endure pain, and especially to hurt others, and to win. Fighting was one of the few things he was good at, and the only thing that allowed him to be completely himself.

There was poetry in the way he had to feel the weight in each step, controlling his breathing, being high alert and as precise as ever to be able to dodge and hit with precision. And there was skill in his lack of fear or remorse. May that be a bar brawl or a ring, his opponents had walked into it willingly, so it would have been their problem if they ended up hurt and broken in more places than just the body; the ego, for one, was a good one to break in assholes like the boys attacking him.

Matt didn't tend to cheat. He wasn't a dirty fighter; he had a high moral code he liked to keep. Unless he got wronged in the first place, in which case, he didn't mind playing dirty. And a situation like that, five against two, required a good deal of nut kicking and throat or solar plexus punching.

Matt stopped thinking about it after a while; his body acted instinctively moving, dashing, parrying and hitting with ease. The boys were amateurs at best and ignorant for the most part, which meant they quickly fell on their ass, rolling on the floor whining in a pathetic display of misery. A smug smile crossed his lips as he looked at the scene. The rest of the clientele had cleared off around them, watching more appalled than amused.

"Sorry Pete," he mumbled, raising a hand towards the bartender behind the counter, genuinely feeling for the guy. "Put the table on my tab, right? I'll pay it back. The rest? These bastards can pay for." As he spoke, the man realised his jaw was aching. He had taken a hit a couple of times, but was sure the other's hand hurt more.

His attention then moved to the boy who fought next to him. He looked like hell, blood smeared over his face, ruffled hair and clothes, but underneath it all, his gaze was lit. It was undeniable, even for someone who didn't know him. But Matt knew that look, the thirst for the fight. The other was a stranger, and yet recognition sparked in Matt, like he was looking into a fracture in time.

"Come with me," he commanded without the patience to wait and see if the boy was going to be in the mood to do so. It surely came time to bail. Matt walked out without checking if the boy followed, but knowing it wasn't like he had any better option. "Care to tell me what happened in there?" He wondered once they were out, flipping a hand-rolled cigarette out of an old-school looking silver box he carried with him. He sent a look over to the boy, studying him.

[revolutionizethegame-archived]

Another night. Another show. A life that Enily wouldn't trade away for the world. Wrestling was in her blood. Just as it had been with all the Rhodes children. Her two older brothers had followed in the footsteps of their father a little sooner than she had, but she had gotten there in the end. Emily couldn't think of a better life than being on the road, fighting for a living. Not to mention, she was able to do so with the two most important men in her life. Dustin and Cody. The Rhodes family had their problems, as all families do, but the tight-knit unit could never be broken. There was too much damn stubbornness there to allow it to happen.

Try as some may. There had been plenty of challenges and ill-wishers in the past. It was nothing new. Having that legacy and name on their shoulders, the army of challengers never seemed to shrink. Everyone wanted a piece in order to make a name for themselves. It was how it worked in the business.

Dustin and Cody often took the brunt of it. They were the older ones, the names that were known better. Emily wasn't naive to think she was immune to it. As much as her siblings tried to protect her and shield her from any harm. It had been that way from moment one and would continue to be that way. It was just what came with the name, and she was as willing to accept it as they were. She was proud of who she was, where she came from. She was proud of what her brothers had accomplished so far and continued to do so. And she was proud of herself for at the work and effort that had gone into things. She wasn't just riding on her name. Emily never wanted anyone to think that of her. She worked just as hard as her brothers, and it showed in the ring. The natural ability that seemed to be bestowed upon the Rhodes combined with that fierce work ethic and determination.

Even so, no matter what she did or what she proved, she was still the youngest Rhodes sibling. The baby sister to The Natural and the American Nightmare. A weak spot for them if there ever was one. Something she railed against but fought a losing battle. Because she was weak spot. Her brothers cared for her deeply and were protective. Meaning, anyone who wanted to get at this, would go for her first.

While AEW was proving to the platform for all of them to step into the spotlight, a place to perform and show just what could be done within wrestling as well as just how much each sibling had to offer, it was also a place of unease at times. Just like now. Emily was admittedly not wholly aware of the situation. She had been home the last few weeks, healing up from a minor knee injury and her brothers had played the situation close to the chest. Not giving her more information than they thought necessary. Something that happened with one of the newer wrestlers, Malakai Black. With neither set of men to be present on the show, Cody had given fair enough warning but felt she would be okay for the evening without the suffocating protection of her older brothers.

She had been listening to music, getting ready to do some warm ups before her match later in the evening. Head bopping slightly to the fast pace of the song, she had already changed into part of her ring gear for the evening.

The sanctity of the locker room was something that Emily had always appreciated. The one space in the arena that was really meant to be hers. A quiet place to prep for the night ahead or cool down from whatever had happened. A space that was entirely comfortable and familiar no matter what city that they were in. So, she never thought much of it since that sanctity had never before been violated.

The mountain of a man, known as Brody King had waltzed into her locker room as if it was nothing. There was a surge of both fear and anger that threatened to consume Emily, who had leapt to her feet but couldn't move entirely quick enough. No man that large should move that fast. She was pinned down and to the man by the crushing force of his arms. Shit. Without Cody or Dustin here, she was in this alone. Panicking would make things worse, she had to stay calm. A muffled sound that couldn't be classified as anything but angry was pressed against his large palm, her feet swinging in an attempt to land a blow to free herself. It was all for not as nothing seemed to work. Even with her head forced into position, so she couldn't look away, she continued to try and squirm.

Watching the shadows materialize into the form of an individual had her questioning if she had really been out in the ring instead of in her locker room, knocked out. That was the sort of thing that you saw in the movies, not real life. Her brow furrowed and that adrenaline coursing through her veins spiked. As did that primal instinct to put as much distance between herself and the well recognized predator before her. Anger still lingered just below that, fueling her actions to be more precise than wild. Anger was the better emotion in this situation over fear. It kept her in far more control.

The soothing, low voice hardly did anything for her in that moment. The defiance and anger only doubled when the man reached out to touch her, gentle as it was, it made her skin crawl. Eyes burned with those emotions, not letting herself back down from the surely overwhelming challenge that existed in front of her. Apologize? For what? For her brothers? Never in her life time. Screaming for help felt almost instinctual but she also knew that he likely wasn't bluffing. The thick doors and distance between rooms meant that the chances of anyone hearing her cry out were super low. Trapped between the two dangerous men though was the sort of situation that made her stomach roll. Being in the ring was one thing. Stuck in a locker room with the chance of no one finding out? A nightmare. Could she reach her phone sitting on the bench? Just maybe. The air felt near suffocating in the once peaceful locker room. Rage and fear made her hands shake at her side. Oh, how she longed to lash out at the man in front of her. Even if it did little to no harm, the satisfaction would be worth it.

As soon as the hand release some pressure, she knew what she had to do. Emily Rhodes would sooner die than submit to men like the two before her.

"Fuck you," she growled out before biting at the large hand that was kept close to her face. An underhanded move but one that she hoped would catch Brody off guard enough that she could slip from his grasp. Malakai's reaction was the wildcard here. She couldn't plan, couldn't expect. Simply had to go off instinct and anticipate the next course of action.

[@revolutionizethegame] @[kingoftheblackthrone] malakai + @[thehound] brody w/ emily rhodes

Brody crossed the backstage halls without a worry in his mind. After all, why would he have any reason to watch his back when he was at the top of the food chain? He was the biggest shark. He was the biggest motherfucker there, the one everyone had to look their back from. The true predator. Nothing worried him. Nothing scared him. He was the one doing the scaring and the hurting.

Some may think he was only a dog, good for nothing but to obey his master's orders, and part of that may have been true; he did have a leash around his neck, but not because he was forced into it. No one would have ever been able to make him do something he didn't want to do. He chose Malakai as a leader. He chose to swear fealty to him and never once doubted his choice. And, so far, Malakai had never failed to give him everything he promised and everything he deserved. Malakai Black might be his master, and Brody might live and breathe to obey him, but that wasn't degrading; it was the opposite. Malakai offered him a place to belong to in his House; he gave him a purpose, respect, and even affection. Now, why would Brody ever bite the hand that feeds?

No. Brody was scared of nothing. Not when shadows always lingered, protective around him, watching over him, as darkness bended under Malakai's will like to a god. Why would Brody ever wish to worship any other when he had the privilege to walk beside the lord of shadows himself?

The hound's black gaze moved around the halls, searching. He was indeed on a hunt like the good little dog he was. His target? The Rhodes.

He was about done with their entitlement, even when they were strangers, but it got worse when they crossed paths with the House. And now, Malakai wanted their attention and had sent Brody out for blood. Not literally, they weren't there yet, scarying their little precious sister was a message strong enough to hit them.

Brody approached her locker room. He knew she was alone because he could hear only one quick-paced but steady heartbeat coming from inside the small room, and anyway, his intervention was planned to hit her when she'd be alone.

Not alone, never alone, Brody felt the shadows whisps around him as darkness moved to encourage him - he knew Malakai was eager. Like a reply to his thought, the white neon lights above his head flickered and switched off, paving the way to more shadows to flood the space. Brody smiled.

Without caring to be polite, he kicked the door of the locker room in and barged in with the expected grace a man his size would have. He knew where the girl stood even through the door, so Brody's predator gaze fixed on her even before she had time to realise what was happening. He didn't give her any time to react and grabbed her from behind, rudely, strong arms caging her small frame to his large chest as a hand landed heavily on her mouth, suffocating any attempt for her to call for help.

If she tried to fight him off, any attempt would be useless.

Lights went off around them, all but the one from the bathroom, allowing the room to be slightly lit so she could still see what was coming for her. Brody smiled like a hungry wolf, sniffing the air around her and being pleased at the traces of fear surrounding her aura. And than that smile became a twisted laughter as shadows started to take shape and consistency. "Watch closely, little one," he hinted at her, making sure her face was pointed in the right direction. He didn't want her to doubt for a second what kind of entity her dear brothers had gone against. "Behold, the king of the black throne."

[revolutionizethegame-archived]

College parties. Something that Joe had no real experience with outside of the way that they were portrayed in the media. From those cruddy teen films to horror movies. He hadn't bothered with college, always knowing he had wanted to be a wrestler. That was the sole goal that had been worked towards since he was a teenager. There had been no allure of anything else, no way to shift that focus. And it was something that was finally paying off.

Along the way, he had met plenty of people. Some he got along well with. Others he didn't. The business was far more cutthroat than anticipated, which meant that the number of those people he trusted was significantly smaller. No one had managed to quite get under his skin or pull his attention off of the prize that had long been his goal.

That was until he met Olly. Olivia was something else entirely. An unexpected monkey wrench thrown into years' worth of carefully laid out and thought out plans. And it had not been as if she was trying. It was obvious that she was there to do her job but also use the platform as a stepping stone. Joe hadn't missed the way that she used each and every opportunity presented to her to get her name out there and try to build relationships. She wasn't simply a pretty face, and that intrigued him more than he cared to admit.

Joe had found himself doing something he had done very few times since he had become a wrestler. Create a steady and strong friendship with someone in the business. With Olivia, things had flowed easily. Talk came without trouble, and it felt as if they had been friends for years rather than just a few weeks when everything had started. Of course, the few close friends that he had did pick up on the change.

Punk had been the first to notice the looks that Joe gave the woman, how eager he was to seek her out and spend some time with her. He had left it alone at first, unsure if anything would come from it or if it was something more than a passing interest. Not that he had seen something that was even just a passing interest when it came to Joe.

When he realized it wasn't passing, he did start to bring it up and tease his friend about it. He could see the appeal. The woman was gorgeous. Smart, too. His friend could have chosen worse for sure.

Olly was the reason that they found themselves at this party in the first place. It wasn't exactly Punk's idea of a good night. Alcohol and drunk college kids. There were other ways that would have been more enjoyable. But Joe had asked him to come and so he had. In support of his friend. Though, getting to spend some time with the cute girl wasn't exactly a hardship either. A thought he kept to himself. And would do so without a word breathed aloud. Besides, he didn't mind being the ride home should Joe end up having something more than a drink or two.

The party seemed to be in full swing by the time the two arrived. At least they didn't look fully out of place. Music was playing, and the smell of charcoal told them that there were barbecues already going.

Allowed in, they waited. Frankly, it wasn't like either of them wanted to mingle with just about anyone there. They could be polite and manage it well enough if need be. But, it was simply easier to wait for Olly. They didn't have to wait too long as the woman in question appeared coming down the stairs.

"Good to see you too," he murmured as Joe didn't hesitate to return the hug. There was no hesitation in the action either. Happy to have her close. The music seemed to fade away momentarily, and Joe forgot that his friend was beside him. Though as she pulled back and seemed happy, did it really matter? The world came back into focus, though, once she turned to focus on Punk. "You know things are always boring without you there." His attention shifted to his friend.

"Punk's fine with me." He offered, hand extending out. There was no missing the way that the woman clung to Joe's side. Amusing to a degree. "Would say thanks for having us, but not sure you could even tell whose coming and going," he joked. Joe rolled his eyes.

"Why don't we all grab a drink and something to eat." Joe suggested, wanting to be able to keep Olly close. Hopefully, at least. It was her party, so who knew where and when she might be demanded. But the longer he held her attention, the better. He didn't exactly know where he was going, so he couldn't turn her in the proper direction like he could do at the arena or when they were traveling. He had to rely on her. Everyone else was all but ignored. "Didn't think the party would be this big. You guys normally do things like this?"

[@revolutionizethegame] @[theoneandonly] w/ cm punk + samoa joe

The small student house buzzed with energy. Downstairs, the party had already started. People had been coming and going ever since earlier that afternoon. Someone, at some point, had fired up the BBQ, making it official that the fun could start, so people started drinking and playing music. Upstairs, some of the girls were still getting ready. The multiple rooms were messy and open as girls and girlfriends came and went, borrowing make-up, trying on clothing and just generally chatting.

From downstairs came the loud chattering of many people mixed with music, the speakers pumped Nelly Furtado's last year's most famous Promiscuous, clearly setting the vibe up.

"How many people have you invited?" Olly asked, sending Val, one of her housemates, a look through the mirror while trying to fix her earring.

"Oh, you know how these things go. It was supposed to be just a couple of dozen but-" The girl shrugged innocently, sending Olly a little smile in response. "Can't help it if the entire campus decided to join. We are hot."

Olly laughed, shaking her head. "Well, it's clearly more than that. Let's just hope no one is going to break anything and that we won't get the police called. Neighbours already hate us enough around here."

"What is there to hate about a house full of college girls!?" Another housemate popped by the door bearing a bottle of clear vodka as an offering. Val took it without too much thought, while Olly shook her head, declining. "I think the answer to that is: a house full of college girls." They all chuckled, and then Val pressed on, trying to pass the vodka over again. "You got your boy coming over, right?"

Right. Olly's nerves shook and the warm twist of adrenaline tickled her stomach as she felt her anxiety rising. "He isn't my boy," she specified, obsessively checking out how her skimpy outfit fell on her thin body.

She met Joe at work. Most stuff about working there was pretty grim, but the pay was good. Good enough for her to ignore how she got hired exclusively because she was a "pretty face" who could catch the audience's attention being the new young little thing and not much more than that. And it worked; they certainly had an eye for business around those parts. Olly would have had fun with it; the mostly unwanted attention from the locker room and the audience alike wasn't the problem. Her barely having a say on what she could wear - which mostly included her being as uncovered as possible - and having her weight checked twice monthly was. But, working there had its perks besides the money. She got the chance to travel and network all across the US, something estremely lucky for someone in her position as an undergrad of sociology and public relations.

Who cared if to get there she had to go through a few uncomfortable conversations, it's not like she was going to do it for the rest of her life and she was twenty two only once in life.

Plus, the place had other perks. Like Joe.

Joe may not be her boy yet, but she had a pretty definite goal in mind. She liked him. She liked him a lot. He made her laugh, and he made her nervous, like not many other boys could say to have the privilege. And he was charming and easy to talk to, someone able to make her feel pretty, but not uncomfortable about it.

On that thought, Olly rolled her eyes, easily giving into Val's temptation, grabbing the bottle off her hand and taking a sip directly from it. Both her mates encouraged her with a cheer while the only thing the girl was thinking was how embarrassing it could have been if she was developing the biggest crush on a wrestler that did crazy shit for a living, and it may not be reciprocated.

"Olly!" Someone, a guy voice she didn't recognise, shouted from downstairs. "It's for you," to which point she just knew it must have been Joe arriving. Was it already six? She wondered in a slight panic, feeling like she wasn't at all ready or pretty enough. Both her friends, as she walked by, gave her a slap on the butt. "Go and get 'em," joked Val.

Olly hurried down the stairs, still trying to keep composure, unwilling to show her nervousness, especially to Joe.

As her eyes landed on him, a large smile popped on her lips while approaching. Her heart skipped a beat. He patiently waited by the door, chatting to someone she didn't pay attention to for the time being. "Hi, welcome," she caught his attention placing a hand on his arm, "it's nice to see you, glad you made it." She truly was, daring to pull him into a friendly hug only to have the excuse to feel him close. "Did you miss me?" She chirped happily.

Her eyes then switched to the other guy standing by, recognising his badly bleached hair. "Oh, hey," she was more surprised than anything, not expecting Joe bringing someone along. She knew him from work too, but it wasn't like her and Punk had talked much before then. "I don't think I know you as well," she hanged by Joe side, pushing a hand out, "I'm Olly. Punk, right? Or you go by something else while not in the ring?"

Olly then cleared her voice, deciding to shake off the awkwardness quickly. There was no reason why it was going to be a problem to hang with both. "Can I offer you anything? Want a drink? And I'm pretty sure we got hot dogs on the go in the back garden," she tapped her chin. "You tell me, boys."

[revolutionizethegame-archived]

"Hangman" Adam Page AEW Dynamite - May 7, 2025

[revolutionizethegame-archived]

There was something incredibly invigorating and enlightening about getting punched. About being made to bleed. It was never something that could have been pinpointed any time Berk dared to look at it for any length of time, which wasn't frequent and hardly indepth. All he really knew was that he never felt more alive, more comfortable in his own skin, more like himself than when he was in the middle of a fight, with blood being spilt on both sides. All the haze and all the bullshit just fell away. A pure sort of existence that simply was not experienced any other way.

Seeing the world through red, figuratively and literally, he didn't initially see the help that had come his way. The sound of a body crashing through a table registered, but his eyes didn't leave the men that were focused solely on him. Torso would be bruised and battered tomorrow, making it hard to breathe, his jaw would be sore enough that talking or eating might be out of the question, and it was possible there were stitches that were needed but right now, the adrenaline was covering everything up. Blood was dripping down his face, into his eye, into his mouth. But it hardly slowed Berk down. If anything, it simply added more fuel to the fire. Encouragement in a way. So what he wasn't able to see quite as well. So what he might never be able to come back to the bar. At least he felt alive.

His attempt to pick one of the guys up and slam him down had been cut off by another set of hands and a heavier bodyweight thrown against him. Things were slowing though and he felt some space given. It caused a little confusion as he looked up before realizing that someone was coming to his aid. That never happened. Berk didn't need the help but something held him back from saying it.

"Fuck you, old man." False bravado from the one who had started it all. There was some hesitation before the jocks decided that the number did still work in their favor, whether the second guy seemed a little dangerous or not. Two bodies launched separately at both of the men. Berk greeted it head on like he always did. A well placed kick to a knee had one man crumpling down to the floor with an agonized wail. Music to his ears. Berk wasn't at all preoccupied with whatever the man had joined him was doing. Even if he didn't take out the assholes that were trying to work him over, it just left more for Berk.

The sound of bodies hitting tables and the floor filled the air. What had once been the threat of a vicious bar fight had been ended relatively quickly, all things considered. It was actually a bit of a shame that they hadn't put up more of a fight than they did.

Berk turned to finally observe the man who had been fighting alongside him. The man didn't seem phased in the least. In fact, it almost seemed if he hadn't broken a sweat, like it had been a typical Friday night. There was a little begrudging respect for that. But, he didn't trust the man. It sort of went without saying that he didn't trust many. It wasn't worth it. People never understood. And having to continue to be fake? It wasn't worth the pay off.

@[ghostrider]

Matt didn't have the first clue of what happened but before he knew it he had been sucked into a bar brawl. Someone landed on him and, instead of getting back on their feet and being apologetic, the kid lashed out at him, as if Matt had been the culprit, hitting him first.

Shit luck for them, he thought. He was pissed off enough to do what he knew best - suppress the fight with a stronger fight. The kids would have thought about it twice next time if they all ended up with their ass handed to them. Matt took the first unexpected rookie punch to the jaw but was quick to react on his feet. The hit wasn't strong enough to confuse him, only enough to piss him off, maybe to leave a bruise. But Matt was certain the other must have hurt himself more, hitting his knuckles against his strong jaw. His body responded to the adrenaline of the fight with a skill that was, by now, innate. He didn't have to think about it. His responsive punch was a quick and well-set hook to the jaw, then, taking advantage of the boy losing balance, Matt roughly grabbed him by the T-shirt and rolled under him, threw him over his shoulder and through a table.

Matt only lost a second to look back, catching his breath. A proud smile popped on his lips as the boy moved, groaning in pain, but didn't dare to get back up. "Atta boy."

He then looked back into the rest of the fight, noticing how the rhythm had slowed now that he had put someone through a table. Matt didn't lose much time to assess the situation or think about right ot wrong, he only needed a quick look to know exactly the situation he had been dragged into.

One boy stood between the others. He bled but pulled a twisted smile as his gaze was full of the fight. Matt thought that look felt so familiar. "Five against one, uh?" Matt taunted the other four, siding with the single standing boy, who seemed more than ready to continue fighting despite having been punched a fair amount. Matt's dangerous look slipped on the rest of the boys; their cowardice was clear as day.

God, he hated kids.

"So? That's all you got? Cause I ain't done. C'mon," Matt readied himself, raising his defence and looking at them through his raised fists. "I can do this all day, bitches. Let's go." He sent a quick look to his temporary partner, thinking that was a hell of a way for an introduction.

[revolutionizethegame-archived]

Noise. It was all noise. Grating, frustrating. The sort of buzz that Berk had been trying to escape from. More often than not, the bar he had decided upon tonight was normally the sort of location that was free of the annoying gnats that circled the campus constantly. It wasn't playing popular dance music. It didn't serve the typical fruity drinks. Most of the crowd that typically hung around weren't looking for a quick fuck either. Basically, the entire place went against each and every thing that most college students were looking for. Which made it the perfect place for Berk to get some drinks and some time away.

Not tonight. The luck had seemed to fun out and the frayed ends of his last nerve were over exposed. The carefully curated control, the semblance of the individual he wanted people to believe he was, was all slipping away as he downed another glass of whiskey.

The majority of the campus knew Berk as the quiet type. A brilliant mind that was intended for greatest and meant to bring in a load of money for the university. The sort destined for the Nobel prize. His track record was spotless. Never once a trouble in school, from a young age all the way through his current college career. His mother would say the same thing. Berk wouldn't hurt a soul, he was a good boy who never got into trouble and never needed minding. Little did she know what truly lay underneath.

His fingers twitched, his entire frame coiled tighter than a spring. There was only so much that Berk was able to take before it happened. The loss of control, sating the need for violence and blood. Feeding the darker parts of his soul. The parts that really control who he was and what he did in the end.

It was that exact situation that he found himself in. The table he was at was bumped, shoved into him, the little remainder of his drunk spilt. The problem wasn't just the contact. It was the fact that the idiot that had done so laughed about it, flipped Berk off, and dumped the rest of his beer on him when Berk had demanded an apology. Red was all he saw. It hardly mattered that the jock asshole had friends with him. Berk was going to get his own.

Fists few, and he was hardly mindful of anyone else around her. Shoulder met the jocks abdomen as Berk rammed him into the wall before pulling back and landing a hard hook, instantly drawing blood. It was the only hit he was allowed before being yanked off by two of the assholes friends. An almost animalistic noise issued from his throat as he shoved his weight into one to break the hold the best that he could, lashing out with a kick at the other.

Finding himself a fight? Not unusual. Finding himself outnumbered? Also not unusual. Berk didn't bat an eye at the fact and used the adrenaline coursing through him to continue to lash out. The first punch that landed to his solar plexus barely had him reacting, even as muscles spasmed temporarily. The second blow drew his own blood, brow busted open from the hard punch. It just brought a laugh from him as he managed to slip an arm free and threw a few more punches himself.

[@revolutionizethegame] matt w/brek stoney

Matt was a regular at gritty-looking bars. He liked them. There was always something to see; quirky memorabilia, ugly furniture, the usual drunken who'd have stories to tell. He found places like that so in tune with his nature, making it more than a habit but a proper hobby to visit as many as he could while he was on the road. It wasn't just that he looked like he blended in perfectly in dark, crooked places, all dressed in leather and worn-out blue jeans like he usually did, looking as dark and dangerous as he possibly; it was that he simply found some form of simple pleasure in sitting there, sipping on a doubtful quality scotch while his elbows stuck to the counter surface.

"Hey Pete?" he called the bartender from the corner where he sat, "give me another?" he hinted at the empty glass, making the left ice-cubes clink in it. The nod he received was plenty friendly. He was known around those parts, making it a point to go enjoy a drink in that disgraced corner of the city.

While he waited, Matt's gaze circled around the room. Besides the usual crowd of a dozen unlucky bastards who were all there to enjoy cheap booze and share solitude, the place was slightly busier than normal. Students, for sure. The college brought in shit loads of youngsters each year and the only thing they would want to do on a Saturday night would be getting drunk, be loud and hope for a fuck.

Matt didn't give it too much thought, but he didn't appreciate them invading his space. Maybe, for everyone's well-being, he should have just got up and left. They would have grown tired of hanging out there. He didn't like young people. He didn't like many people in general. It was hard for him to be able to find akin spirits, and even in the wrestling industry, he mostly dealt with things on his own and his own way, just like everything else.

Matt was renowned and respected enough. People didn't tend to fuck with him, knowing consequences would have followed. And he wasn't known to take it easy either. He was the personification of the fight in the dog. Fighting was everything he knew, and not much else was worth to him but proving his worth in the ring. Now, at almost forty years of age, he had finally worked long and hard enough to be proud of his career, wins and losses alike. His occupation and all the expectations resting on his shoulders left little to no time for him to even notice everything he may have missed.

As the bartender brought his drink over, Matt chugged it down, slamming the glass on the counter. "How about I settle up? Don't see it becoming much more fun around here." Matt loosely hinted to the kids having their fun. Pete, an older guy who had worked there for a decade, laughed, shaking his head. "Didn't know you were in for the fun of it," he then shook his hand in Matt's face. "On the house for tonight, seems like I'll get my sales in."

"Appreciating it, man. I'll see you soon." Matt slipped back into his biker leather jacket and turned over to leave. Little did he know, hell was about to break loose. All he needed was to be standing in the wrong square meter at the wrong second, and before he knew it, a fight had broken out and kids were throwing punches at each other, dragging him into it. Shit.

[revolutionizethegame-archived]

r͠e͠v͠o͠l͠u͠t͠i͠o͠n͠i͠z͠e͠t͠h͠e͠g͠a͠m͠e͠ ;; independent, selective kayfabe based multimuse wrestling rp || mixed promotion and era canon/canon adjacent/au || mature content contained within: viewer discretion is advised || ships exclusive to @indiecircusrp || interactions 21 and older

Current Roster:

CM Punk: primarily early WWE era

Randy Orton: primarily Evolution era

TNA [early 2000s]: AJ Styles || Samoa Joe || Chris Sabin || Abyss || Rhino || James Storm || Lance Hoyt

AEW: Mike Bailey || Kenny Omega || Hangman Page || Matt Sydal || Lance Archer || Hologram || Mark Briscoe || Adam Cole || Orange Cassidy || Will Osprey || Bryan Danielson || Brody King || Berk Stoney (omc: wrestler - Kyle Gallner) || Emily Rhodes (ofc: wrestler, younger sister to Dustin & Cody - Olivia Holt)