Post by Chuck Matthews on Aug 20, 2017 14:43:25 GMT -5
When the camera opens to this new Chuck Matthews’ promo, fans and viewers may be surprised to see that it is not open to that familiar blank space. Chuck Matthews, normally looking as nonchalant as ever, standing in an open white area, devoid of any other stimulus, leaving the viewer to focus on what’s most important: The thoughts and the words of the one they call the Smartest Man in Professional Wrestling.
Today, the camera pans over a bulletin board, where pages upon pages of notes are pinned to the walls. They’re filled with what appears to be utter nonsense, gibberish. Chicken scratches, scribbles of seemingly random words and phrases, with no real rhyme or reason to any of them. Despite this, some words have been circled repeatedly, others underlined, a few scratched out entirely. The camera swings around to see the man himself, sitting at a desk, writing furiously, muttering to himself, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he now has a camera pointed at him. A sweet, soft voice calls to him from behind the camera.
Voice: “Chuck?”
Chuck jolts nervously, and turns to the camera, but immediately hides his face, refusing to look into it.
Voice: “August 16, 2017. Current time is 8:30 PM. This is our 6th log on Charles Matthews following a concentrated dosing of promethyrol. Patient responds well to outside stimuli, and aside from the word salad and compulsive writing, seems completely aware of his surroundings. It is currently unknown the extent to which he understands what’s going on; he has not mentioned any close friends or family, except for the occasional mention of Dr. Jessica Matthews, and the ‘Betsy’ I mentioned in my previous log. I have since learned that Betsy is a significant other; at this time, no investigation into either of these persons is necessary. Communication seems to be the greatest difficulty. It appears that his brain is still in a constant state of frenzy. It is uncertain if he’s aware of the current date or time. His personal calendar tells me he’s now missed three meetings with clients and colleagues. I found him in his gym this morning, and he appeared to be exercising as though nothing was out of the ordinary. I’m finding that he still follows longstanding habits; he eats at roughly the same time each day, works out each morning at 10 AM, and then returns to his desk and continues writing. His wrestling career has been all but put on hold; he has a match Sunday. It will be curious to see how he performs, or if he’ll even remember where he should be.”
Chuck mutters to himself, and the camera moves closer in an attempt to capture his thoughts.
Chuck Matthews: “Match. Match, fire, campfire, ceasefire. Fire, burning, scorching. Fire from the gods. Stolen fire. Titan. Who is Titan?”
He seizes his pen, scribbling “Titan” on a scrap of paper, underlining it and pinning it to the wall.
Voice: “Chuck?”
Chuck Matthews: “Chuck. Throw, upchuck, what’s up chuck? Match, bout fight… wrestle. Fighting. Sunday. Trixie? Trixie’s list. Shopping list. Schindler’s List. Hit list. Redemption. Find redemption. You’ve only ever cared about yourself.”
His muttering isn’t to anybody in particular. Rather, he appears to simply be speaking out loud, trying to make sense himself of the words bombarding the camera.
Chuck Matthews: “Sinner… Find your way to heaven. Paradise. Paradise lost. Find paradise. Can’t THINK.”
He slams his fist on the desk, groaning loudly. The camera rotates slightly, trying to get a glimpse of his face. He turns away.
Chuck Matthews: “Don’t… not like this. Can’t focus. Can’t think. Too much clutter. Too many thoughts, not making sense. They don’t make any sense. Can’t make them make sense.”
Voice: “Chuck… look at me.”
Chuck slowly turns and catches a glimpse of the woman behind the camera. He scrambles out of his chair, his eyes darting around, examining the unseen girl.
Voice: “Chuck, come on… I’m trying to help you.”
Chuck Matthews: “Help, harm… above all else, do no harm. Doctor, pharmacist, assistant, technician… medicine.”
Voice: “Do you need medicine?”
Chuck backs away from the woman slowly, running his hand through his hair, straining to find the words he needs.
Chuck Matthews: “Medicine, chemistry… biology? Not biology. Biological. Not a symptom. Not a cure. Can’t… focus.”
He clenches his eyes closed.
Chuck Matthews: “Army. Not army. Power, weapons. Might is right. Political power grows from the barrel of a gun. Only the strong survive. Soldier? Find the soldier.”
His eyes pop open. He looks into the camera.
Chuck Matthews: “Find the soldier.”
Voice: “Chuck, that… doesn’t make sense. What soldier? Who are you fighting?”
He stares at the ground, sputtering out the first words that come to his mind, hoping the right one will come tumbling out with it.
Chuck Matthews: “Fight… keep fighting. You can fight this. Not mad. Not crazy. Can’t ORGANIZE, can’t STRUCTURE. Structure. See the structure. All the pieces fit together. Pieces. War and peace. Peace corps. World peace. Piece of the pie. Piece of the puzzle. Solve the puzzle. Solve the riddle.”
He looks back to the camera, almost pleadingly.
Chuck Matthews: “Solve the riddle.”
He stares at his feet, eyes closed again, trying to think.
Voice: “The riddle? How to beat you?”
Chuck Matthews: “Beaten, broken… break the code. Code of ethics. Codebreakers. Hammurabi’s code. Babylon, Mesopotamia, Greece, pantheon, Greek pantheon. Olympus? Not Olympus. Greece, rome, Egypt. Horus. Ramesses. Find Ramesses. Find the pharaoh.”
The voice sighs.
Voice: “Chuck, think… what are you trying to s-“
A loud thud interrupts the voice, and the camera falls to the ground. A scuffle is heard off camera, before a man’s voice is heard.
Man: “Chuck… hey buddy, you hear me? Look at me… What did they do to you?”
Chuck’s incoherent muttering is too soft to be picked up by the cameras. A third unknown voice, a younger woman with a slight southern accent, comes in.
Girl: “I’ll get her to the police. What’s wrong with him?”
Man: “I don’t know… they’ve done something to him.”
He picks up the camera, keeping it pointed at the floor.
Man: “They’ve been taping him. Let me take care of our nurse friend here. I’ll have my team figure out how to fix this.”
Girl: “What do you need from me?”
Man: “Get this video out in the open. I don’t care how you do it, make sure people see it.”
There’s a brief pause.
Man: “And see if you can find Chuck’s phone.”
The camera shuts off.
Today, the camera pans over a bulletin board, where pages upon pages of notes are pinned to the walls. They’re filled with what appears to be utter nonsense, gibberish. Chicken scratches, scribbles of seemingly random words and phrases, with no real rhyme or reason to any of them. Despite this, some words have been circled repeatedly, others underlined, a few scratched out entirely. The camera swings around to see the man himself, sitting at a desk, writing furiously, muttering to himself, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he now has a camera pointed at him. A sweet, soft voice calls to him from behind the camera.
Voice: “Chuck?”
Chuck jolts nervously, and turns to the camera, but immediately hides his face, refusing to look into it.
Voice: “August 16, 2017. Current time is 8:30 PM. This is our 6th log on Charles Matthews following a concentrated dosing of promethyrol. Patient responds well to outside stimuli, and aside from the word salad and compulsive writing, seems completely aware of his surroundings. It is currently unknown the extent to which he understands what’s going on; he has not mentioned any close friends or family, except for the occasional mention of Dr. Jessica Matthews, and the ‘Betsy’ I mentioned in my previous log. I have since learned that Betsy is a significant other; at this time, no investigation into either of these persons is necessary. Communication seems to be the greatest difficulty. It appears that his brain is still in a constant state of frenzy. It is uncertain if he’s aware of the current date or time. His personal calendar tells me he’s now missed three meetings with clients and colleagues. I found him in his gym this morning, and he appeared to be exercising as though nothing was out of the ordinary. I’m finding that he still follows longstanding habits; he eats at roughly the same time each day, works out each morning at 10 AM, and then returns to his desk and continues writing. His wrestling career has been all but put on hold; he has a match Sunday. It will be curious to see how he performs, or if he’ll even remember where he should be.”
Chuck mutters to himself, and the camera moves closer in an attempt to capture his thoughts.
Chuck Matthews: “Match. Match, fire, campfire, ceasefire. Fire, burning, scorching. Fire from the gods. Stolen fire. Titan. Who is Titan?”
He seizes his pen, scribbling “Titan” on a scrap of paper, underlining it and pinning it to the wall.
Voice: “Chuck?”
Chuck Matthews: “Chuck. Throw, upchuck, what’s up chuck? Match, bout fight… wrestle. Fighting. Sunday. Trixie? Trixie’s list. Shopping list. Schindler’s List. Hit list. Redemption. Find redemption. You’ve only ever cared about yourself.”
His muttering isn’t to anybody in particular. Rather, he appears to simply be speaking out loud, trying to make sense himself of the words bombarding the camera.
Chuck Matthews: “Sinner… Find your way to heaven. Paradise. Paradise lost. Find paradise. Can’t THINK.”
He slams his fist on the desk, groaning loudly. The camera rotates slightly, trying to get a glimpse of his face. He turns away.
Chuck Matthews: “Don’t… not like this. Can’t focus. Can’t think. Too much clutter. Too many thoughts, not making sense. They don’t make any sense. Can’t make them make sense.”
Voice: “Chuck… look at me.”
Chuck slowly turns and catches a glimpse of the woman behind the camera. He scrambles out of his chair, his eyes darting around, examining the unseen girl.
Voice: “Chuck, come on… I’m trying to help you.”
Chuck Matthews: “Help, harm… above all else, do no harm. Doctor, pharmacist, assistant, technician… medicine.”
Voice: “Do you need medicine?”
Chuck backs away from the woman slowly, running his hand through his hair, straining to find the words he needs.
Chuck Matthews: “Medicine, chemistry… biology? Not biology. Biological. Not a symptom. Not a cure. Can’t… focus.”
He clenches his eyes closed.
Chuck Matthews: “Army. Not army. Power, weapons. Might is right. Political power grows from the barrel of a gun. Only the strong survive. Soldier? Find the soldier.”
His eyes pop open. He looks into the camera.
Chuck Matthews: “Find the soldier.”
Voice: “Chuck, that… doesn’t make sense. What soldier? Who are you fighting?”
He stares at the ground, sputtering out the first words that come to his mind, hoping the right one will come tumbling out with it.
Chuck Matthews: “Fight… keep fighting. You can fight this. Not mad. Not crazy. Can’t ORGANIZE, can’t STRUCTURE. Structure. See the structure. All the pieces fit together. Pieces. War and peace. Peace corps. World peace. Piece of the pie. Piece of the puzzle. Solve the puzzle. Solve the riddle.”
He looks back to the camera, almost pleadingly.
Chuck Matthews: “Solve the riddle.”
He stares at his feet, eyes closed again, trying to think.
Voice: “The riddle? How to beat you?”
Chuck Matthews: “Beaten, broken… break the code. Code of ethics. Codebreakers. Hammurabi’s code. Babylon, Mesopotamia, Greece, pantheon, Greek pantheon. Olympus? Not Olympus. Greece, rome, Egypt. Horus. Ramesses. Find Ramesses. Find the pharaoh.”
The voice sighs.
Voice: “Chuck, think… what are you trying to s-“
A loud thud interrupts the voice, and the camera falls to the ground. A scuffle is heard off camera, before a man’s voice is heard.
Man: “Chuck… hey buddy, you hear me? Look at me… What did they do to you?”
Chuck’s incoherent muttering is too soft to be picked up by the cameras. A third unknown voice, a younger woman with a slight southern accent, comes in.
Girl: “I’ll get her to the police. What’s wrong with him?”
Man: “I don’t know… they’ve done something to him.”
He picks up the camera, keeping it pointed at the floor.
Man: “They’ve been taping him. Let me take care of our nurse friend here. I’ll have my team figure out how to fix this.”
Girl: “What do you need from me?”
Man: “Get this video out in the open. I don’t care how you do it, make sure people see it.”
There’s a brief pause.
Man: “And see if you can find Chuck’s phone.”
The camera shuts off.
