“Sometimes, we have to look inside to truly understand what’s going on out there. I feel like I’m losing myself more and more. The deeper into the anger I get, the harder it is to break free from this haze. It’s like I’m living inside my own thoughts, unable to actually control myself. Jacked into cyberspace and just experiencing it. Experiencing everything but not having any control.”

A change of scenery, but the same prison. Sitting in a bathtub full of scorching hot water. His skin so numb he could barely feel the warmth, the heat. He could taste the steam in the back of his throat, eyes feeling like they were simply slipping from his skull. Bleeding grime in effortless collapse, crystals exploding behind his skull, slipping from existence and decay in moments. The world begged and he careened through it, watching it all.

The blood, the carnage. The birds, their necks snapping. Feathers pulled while they screeched, begging to be left be. Watching as their decay and carnage would fall upon a world that did not care for them. Looking to him, wondering why he would break them so. Smeared and decayed and the warmth. The water overflowing tinged red as his life oozed into the water. His mind was breaking and with it each breath demanded another closer to death.

“I’m going to die in here.” Alex said to himself, opening his eyes to look down upon himself. The cold lap of the ocean pulling at his very soul. Silver sand beckoned at him from a shore that seemed to be getting further and further away. No matter how he struggled, his body refused to move forward. Pushing toward the window of salvation, hoping beyond hope that for one moment he’d be free from it all. That he could lay on the sands and just not be stuck in the surging tides.

“Just for a moment, can we just be together? Like we used to?” His mind warped and demanded more from him. Demanded that he be free, that he could just be there. The blistering cold waters of the sea replaced by the warm crackle of fire, the two of them interwoven with each other. Luna and Alex stuck in each other, legs tangled, arms around her slip of a frame. His nose buried in her hair, but with each deep inhale there was a longing.

Here in this place he was stripped of his senses, of actual understanding. The cold was constant, like he was stuck in that sea eternally. The warmth of the flame lapped at them, but it did nothing to penetrate his skin. He knew what she smelt like. Coffee, cigarettes, the lightest waft of some floral perfume that she’d recently become fixated upon. Things he knew but was unsure of. Had he actually smelt it? Or was his mind torturing him with things that he couldn’t possibly know, trapped inside this place.

“This isn’t real.” Alex muttered gently, feeling her body dissolve. Feeling the world begin to melt around him. Candle wax sliding down an ornate display, the flames not extinguished in good enough time. The peeling walls, the stained-glass desires of a world that existed for him. The door that stood in the way, the door that never led anyway. Just to another room, another place, another time. But never to freedom. Never to a moment of reprieve.

“If you just gave in, you could have it all. Live in a world where you could finally be at peace, no more pain. You could be happy with her, be happy with the ability to change and mould this world to your whim. Learn to create the sensations, learn to be alive while being truly free. You just have to accept me, Alex. Accept that you are the Lost.” The Lost’s voice rang through his head, prickling at the back of his neck.

Making the hairs on his neck and arms stand up, goosebumps lining his body. He sat on the edge of the bed, in that room, the room that never changed. The wall filled with the large window, the allowed him just a moment of insight into the world beyond. The world that he was only occasionally allowed to exist in. He could see the macabre scene, the scene that he had orchestrated. No, not he. That The Lost had orchestrated. A scene filled with death and blood. The walls smeared with messages of blood, the skull with the eyes. The bizarre symbolism of it all. Too extreme for his liking.

But just perfect for the depths of depravity this creature that existed to trap him in of himself. He shook his head as he sat there on the edge of the bed. Thinking to himself about her. About James. About the life he once knew. He breathed deeply and wondered. Wondered if it would be better to just give in. Give in to that part of his mind that demanded he relinquish to it. To flow between the states of mind. Between the bath, the room, the beach, the sea, her arms. In front of the fire. Watching and waiting as the life seeped out him. Watching as his mind fully consumed him and he lost himself inside his own thoughts forever.

“No. I don’t want to lose everything I worked to earn.” Alex said to himself, standing slowly. Looking around the room, he shook his head. Shook the cobwebs out. Shook the thoughts and sounds from his mind. He turned and walked towards the door. He opened it once more, maybe this time it’d be different.

He could smell the flicker of fire, the burning of wood. The smell of coffee, cigarettes and some floral perfume. His skin pressed against that of another, small beads of sweat dripping down his spine. His nose buried in her hair.

“Just for a moment, can we just be together? Like we used to?” Luna asked him, arching back against him just a little more. He nodded a little, and leaned into her, breathing out slowly. He could only hope that this time, this was real. That he was outside, for just a moment. To be loved for just a moment. Real warmth, real smells. Real love. But he was worried.

Because his skin was still numb.

---

“Once again, I had it taken from me. On the finish line, someone decided that they deserved to be in control. They deserved to act. A friend decided that their ego, their desire. That it mattered more than my outcome. That their chosen path was the only path, and they had to make sure it happened the way that they envisioned it, even at my own loss. Kevin Carter, you stuck a knife into my back and tore me up. Attempting to make me little more than a head on a stick, and now. Now you have the audacity to claim it was my own hubris that made you act. Act and do things in a way that didn’t need you. That didn’t need your hand in it. You turned on me, and now, I’m going to make you pay.”

“I’m coming for you Kevin. I’m coming for your blood, your life, your fucking eyes and I’m coming to take the Internet Championship from you. Not for any reason other than I don’t want you to have anything left in this world that gives you joy. I don’t want you to have anything to hold onto. To have and love. You deserve nothing, Kevin, and I’m going to make sure you have it in multitudes. Kevin Carter, watch your fucking back. Watch your fucking front. Check every fucking shadow and every dark room, because when I’m done with you. You’ll be a quivering mess of fear. A quivering mess of nothing. A quivering mess of nothing.”

“I’m coming for you, Kevin fucking Carter.”

“But first, I have an example to make. A man who flounders about, almost as non-sensical as Bulldog Bill. A man so intrinsically tied to the heater of Sin City, that he has even taken Bill’s wife as his manager. So unsure of his own stepping, his own two feet, that the Cat is questionable in nature. Unable to win, unable to dance. Felix Hernandez, you’re nothing but a speed bump on my journey back to Kevin Carter. You are to be an example of what Kevin fucking Carter can expect when I finally get my hands on him. You are nothing to me, you are nothing to this place. You are nothing, Felix.”

“In my absence, filth and scum like you have been allowed to flourish. Surrounded by constant mediocrity. The Justin Smiths, Gabriel Wanks and Bill Barnharts have multiplied. We are now scorned with Liam Davis and you Felix. Scum not worthy to scrub the boots of those who have walked the path to greatness. Bottom-feeders not deserving of the right to stand here. People who infuriate me. People who make me lose myself to this hatred. To the anger. To the frivolity of my ineptitude to stop things like this from happening. I want you to understand something Felix. I need you to understand this. I’m going to come down on you. I’m going to drag your face across the fucking mat and grind your fucking nose off. I’m going to elicit on you a mere fraction of what I intend to do to that backstabbing git Kevin Carter.”

“This isn’t a walk in the park for you. Throw out these fanciful ideas of what is to come and understand this. Understand that I am going to break you. I’m going to hurt you. I’m going to leave you a pile in that ring, so that Kevin Carter can understand what he has done. What he has awoken. What is to be of him. You are nothing in this Felix, but a casualty. A casualty that need be hurt for your own sake. To open your mind. To break you so that you can understand what it is you need to be. I’m tired of it, Felix. I’m tired of ingrates like you begging for acceptance when you do nothing but muddle around at the feet of betters. Muddle at the feet of those who you do not belong with. You are in the class of unfortunates, and it sickens me to share the ring with you. I’m not here to be the workhorse anymore, Felix.”

“I’m here to hurt everyone for the pain I feel.”

“So understand this, Felix. Understand that you are not going to be the lucky one who gets one over on me. The guidance of those who cannot beat me will not hold you in any level of success. You are, and always will be, a loser. I’ll see you Sunday.”

“I feel like I’ve been here forever. No matter what I do, I just can’t seem to leave.” Alexander said to the gaping void before him. A void that was more like a room, a familiar room. A world that he felt like he was spending every day inside of. For a time he couldn’t quite put his finger on, he’d felt trapped. Stuck in this place, wondering if the next time he opened the door he’d finally be able to leave. His mind was holding him hostage. Watching the world exist beyond the windows to the soul.

The ghosts of torture were no less real than this room, but it was infuriating. Staring at this place knowing that he couldn’t be free of it. That the only peace he had was the moments he spent with Luna. He wasn’t even really sure if it was really her, but in the moments where she was present. He felt sane. Felt safe. Felt like he could simply slip away, but he had to stay present. He had to be there at this moment, to ensure that she didn’t just leave him. That he didn’t just run away. He had to be here with her, because at any moment…

The world would change.

His hand on the door handle once more, twisting and opening. Pushing it open, wondering if this time he’d be free of his own mind. That the voices for just a moment would let him be. That they would let him leave this place. Yet as he turned it, opened and stepped through. It would just shift again. Not leaving, but coming. Entering into the same room once more. This little hotel room, the chair in the corner. The curtains open showing him a world that existed beyond, but through his own eyes. The bed is filled with shifting images of ghosts.

His dead wife, his dead best friend. His dead former friend, and sometimes even Luna. Luna was alive, so it made no sense for her ghost to be here. His father and his mother sometimes would stand around, one to mock and one to soothe. A world that begged him to look at what had come and understand it. The more he tried though, the less it made sense. The less that any of it made sense. Today was no different. He would open the door, walk through and the world would be remade. A mirror image of the place he’d just left.

“Lexi, baby. Are you okay? You seem to be so lost.” Luna’s voice cut through the haze, bringing things into focus. The scent of the sea in the air, the slightest waft of coffee. Moments of freedom, of peace and escape. The few moments where he was free from his mental prison. Free from the voices and the ghosts. To be with her. To be in love, and human and free. One hand was wrapped around the warm mug, his other was linked with hers. Fingers interwoven, the warmth of her hand washing over him. Love warmed his soul.

“Sorry, stuck in my head. I don’t know what’s really happening. I feel…. Lost.” Alex said softly, furrowing his brow. The relief was hard to hide though. The wash of calm that took over his face. Being present in the moment. Being present for her. To look deeply into her eyes and know he was free for a moment. To be here with her. To be free of his mind before it stole him back. The world had continued to move on, but the more he tried to, the more he was stuck.

She was his freedom, and he didn’t even know how to really tell her. He just hoped the moments of freedom were enough to let her know. At the moments where he was truly here, she could see it. He had to hope she could see it. The world travelled with a man who was but a husk, but she had to know. Right?

“I love you, you know that, right?” Alex asked softly, his eyes locked with their interwoven fingers. The gentle squeeze. She tensed her own hand in response. A loving grasp, a loving response. He felt the fingers of her other hand brush his cheek.The softness of her fingers, the lightness of her touch. The soothing feeling. Her fingers gently curled to cup his face in her palm.

“I love you, Alex. That’s never going to change. I’m always going to be here for you, and I know, I know you’re in there for me. I know you love me.” Luna said gently, smiling. His eyes locking with hers, gazing deeply in the warmth of her. Deeply into her own soul. The radiance, the beauty. The warmth. It was all there for him. She was still there for him, even now. He suddenly was so aware of the chatter and the hum of the little cafe they were sitting at. The smell of cigarettes and coffee on her fingers. The light drift of sea salt from the nearby sea. It was quaint, it was beautiful. It was freeing. It was something he so desperately missed.

He needed to get out of that fucking room.

“You’re never going to be free Alex.” The Lost’s voice cut through his mind. A sharp stabbing pain behind his eye, a reminder of the world that was attempting to claw him back. Drag him back into his own mind. Drag him back into his own mental prison. He could feel the haze threatening to drag him back. The world threatening to shift back to the room. The fucking room. He tightened his grip on the mug. Leaned into her hand. She smiled, but he could see the pain in it. She had gotten really good at spotting when he was slipping. Slipping back into his mind. He just hoped the man he was when he was trapped, was good to her. That she was loved, and cared for still. That he held her hand, and showed her the beauty in what was left in the world.

Wiped her tears and kept her safe. He could only be there for so long, and he knew. He knew that when he was trapped, she wasn’t around. He could feel the rage and anger. The reminder of the man he once was. The reminder of the person he had spent so long trying to escape from. To be free of the uncontrollable anger and rage. To be his own safe and happy person. Calm and reasonable. Rational. He wanted to be okay more than anything, but the more he tried the harder it was. He could feel the heat in the room, he could feel the melting of its power. The Lost would mock and show him things that drove him mad. Closer to absolute decay and corruption.

“I’m so sorry, Luna.” Alex said softly, feeling the world creep back on him. Everything starting to shift. The concern creased her brow as she squeezed tighter. He could feel the world slipping from him, slipping back. His vision blurring and darkening, and then as he blinked…

“I’m always going to be here, Alex.” Luna said, and he was there again. Sitting in the chair in the corner of the room, staring at the bed that had never been laid in. A bed that had no ghosts this time. Nothing to distract him, nothing to torment him. No mother, or father, or friend, or enemy. No torture, just the empty room. With windows that showed him the world he’d be stolen away from. Her face staring into the windows of his soul. Trying to see the man that was trapped inside his head. Trapped in that room.

And so he screamed.

And screamed.

And begged.

And demanded that the world let him out.

---

“There’s a beauty in taking a moment for yourself. A moment to reflect, to realise who you are. There’s a beauty in understanding where you came from, where you are destined to go, and where you stand in the moment. I wanted my freedom, I wanted to be out. I wanted to be clear of mind. To be free. I wanted to unshackle myself from the doldrums of this reality, and in turn? I wanted to understand where I could go next. What I needed to be understood, to be perfect. To be my own person once more, and yet. The more I thought about it, the more I came to understand this singular truth. There is no calm in the future. There is no calm in being free. There is no freedom in the idea of being so. No, I had my failures, I had my shortcomings. I had my moments of inexplicable decadence. Yet it always comes back to this. To the beating of flesh on flesh. The agony, the bone splitting pain. The ache in your muscles knowing that another week has demanded another pound of flesh.”

“Yet here we stand once again, and the questions will be asked. The questions of why? Why are you here, Alexander? You demanded and screamed. Begged and cried, and wanted out. You wanted to be free of this, and yet. Only mere months removed, you’re here again. For what? Why? Why are you here again? Questions that I will answer. Questions that need to be answered for people to understand. To know why this is what it is. Where has The Conspiracy been? That’s a simple question, and the only one that I really think needs an answer.”

Alex is found sitting on a wooden chair, a dingy looking laneway. The flicker of a yellow fluorescent lightbulb, a doorway set in the brickwork of the laneway. Graffiti covered the walls, a rather artistic looking Raven painted onto the doorway. Alex to its left, Luna leaning against something covered in a tarp on the other side. Alexander Raven and Luna Pasilno.

“The Conspiracy is dead. That’s the long and the short of it. When we left, we left it all behind. The fear of the past, the fear of an invisible hand. This idea of the world being out to get us. It died the day we left. It died the day we were free. It died when we got what we wanted, because we were allowed to understand. Allowed to see that fate? Destiny? Karmic retribution? All of it is nothing but a lie. A lie told by us, to delude us. To control our own narratives. But in that, some level of understanding. Control is what is desired, by you, by us. By the world. Control over ourselves, yet we forsake so much to this idea of a greater force. Karmic retribution doesn’t exist. Destiny? Fate? Ideals cast by those who wish to throw aside their own confidences. Confidences in themselves that they don’t need to guide themselves. That the world ordains it for them. This isn’t true. It is a nice lie to tell ourselves so that we can feel better about our failings.”

“The Conspiracy is dead because there is no conspiracy. There is nothing to determine us, except us. The only greater force in this world is us. The only greater force is Alexander Raven and Luna Pasilno. We are the greater force. We are the Lost. We are the Broken. We are the Damned. Guiding sheep to understand. I  spoke of it once, and now I will let the world see. The world will know. Guiding those who think themselves perfect, unblemished. Guiding those who think themselves grounded and found. Guiding them to a better tomorrow. A world where they don’t have to pretend to be put together. To be so scared of failure, that they don’t allow themselves to be true. To be broken. To be lost. In The Lost, we shall be found.”

Alex leans forward in his seat a little. An oversized white and flowing shirt, bare feet, and simple black jeans. His brow furrowed in deep thought, the dance of frustration etching its way across his eyes. Luna steps forward, stepping in front of the door, placing her hand upon his shoulder. A wash of relief spilled over him. Bending his arm to place his hand upon hers. Squeezing gently.

“Love. Vanity. That's what I wanted to give the world. Self-actualisation, self endorsement. I wanted people to see themselves fully, and in turn, love themselves. Yet I grew to disdain myself in doing so. Anger, fury. A woman scorned by the world and the people she attempted to show a better way. Self love has nothing to do with their actual selves. No, to truly understand themselves, they needed to be shown a different way. A way that was staring me in the face the whole time. The man I married showed me a way to be perfectly imperfect once. He gave me insight into how one can be broken, but still able to move on. To be happy, to be loved. To be perfect in my own mind, in a way that didn’t demand the failings of others, nor did it demand them to be guided by a greater force. I was shown, and now, I’ll help him. I’ll help Alex show everyone. To love, to appreciate, to respect. To deny the ideas of something other than one’s self. This isn’t about redeeming our failures. No, this is about ensuring that it was only our faults that caused it. This is about ensuring that we get to find our own peace.”

“A year ago, we stood across from each other in this very tournament. At ends with ourselves, and having to make a choice. Who would succeed, and who would fail? The irony is that the ending meant nothing. I won, Sean won. Alex lost, and the other one too. Months later, it amounted to nothing. I didn’t beat Kayla, Sean didn’t beat Finn. A year on, and things never really changed. We just watched, and assumed things beyond our control. That our failings were a result of something beyond us. We were wrong. We know we were wrong. We are here to right those wrongs. I don’t need to be the winner, I just need to be there. To help my husband achieve what he always desired. To be the one to win this tournament. To be the one to go on to face for the World Championship, and this time? The world will be broken, and nobody gets to question why.”

Alex smiled, squeezing her hand as he slowly stands, turning to look into Luna’s eyes. Pulling her into his arms, into his embrace. The two of them standing there beneath the yellow light, in front of the door that really shouldn’t exist where it does. Yet it stands there despite it.

“And so it starts with you, Beauty. A certain irony in that. A creature so obsessed with oneself, self indulgent. Overstepping themselves. For better or worse, I can respect the desire to be the man to step into the ring. I can respect making the decision to throw it all to the wind. To attempt to be the best of the best right out of the gate. Part of me respects it. Part of me admires it. Part of me sees something in reflection of what I once stood with. Hawkes was a foe, and then an ally. Ego with ego, with ego. A merry band of failures who at the end of the day all had their comeuppance. I took my time away, Kevin continued to demand to be seen, and Hawkes… He did what he always has. Stomped and carried on and then disappeared. I don’t blame him. It's the way of egos. We can only do so much.”

“Yet it is unfortunate for you, Beauty. People may not like me. People may not consider me worth thinking about, but the truth? They’ll all tell you how dangerous this is. How problematic this situation is going to be for you. The truth? You pulled the absolute worst match you could have to start this tournament. Not only that, but you delayed it a week. You ruined my schedule, and for that. I have a problem with you. I have a problem with what you’re doing, I have a problem with your attitude. I have a problem because you have made me a problem. I do not like having problems in my life. Problems are issues that must be solved, and solving them… I’m pretty good at that. I’m pretty good at solving problems like you. Arrogance, ego and indulgence. Self-absorbed and obsessed. A person who sees perfection, not because they understand their shortcomings. Not because you see the fractures in your psyche, but because you need to be seen. To be looked and fawned upon. To be adored, to be loved. To be obsessed over. Beauty? That's in the eye of the beholder, and in this situation, I am the eye. I am the gazer upon truth. I am the arbiter of reality. I don’t see beauty in you.”

Alex and Luna look into each other’s eyes as they step apart slowly, standing either side of the door. Both hands come to rest on the lever handle, as they slowly push it down. A burst of lighting exploding out of the opening gap, quickly engulfing them in the blinding light.

“There is only one beauty in this world, and that is me. For there is a God, and she is me. Remember that, when you’re staring across the ring and are forced to reckon with reality. The reality that Alexander is the King to be. The one who will execute and tear down any who would stand in his way. Understand that there is only one bit of peace, and that exists in my presence. Without that, you’d be torn to ribbons. Ripped to shreds, and thrown to the birds as nothing more than a passing meal. With my presence, Beauty. You’re saved from having your one thing stolen from you. From having your life shattered before it can actually get it started. Your professional debut? You’ll begin to see the difference between the mewling brats of the Go Gym, and true professionals. World Champions. Ring Generals. You’ll be made to see the light.”

---

The lapping of the water at his feet was a cold reminder of what he was missing. He watched as Luna bobbed about in the water, getting an early morning swim in. The feeling of sand between his toes was aggravating, but it was pleasant. Sometimes he got to spend days in control. Able to experience the world, to be in control of what he was doing. To spend his moments with her, free from the room in his mind. Free from the torture.

Truthfully, he was hoping that this journey would be his true freedom. To give him an option once more. To give him the right to return to the world. By redeeming his failures, maybe, just maybe, he’d open the door for the final time. To be free of his own demons. To be free of this betrayal of his mind. To be free of The Lost.

It was hope for the sake of hope, but it was all he could do. Hope. Hope to be here in the moment, and to be here for her. To win the Blast from the Past on his own merits. To win the World Championship and prove that he was always deserving. The uncrowned king made real. To be on top for the first time in over a decade. He’d hoped it would be Finn Whelan. There was no point in denying it. He was adamantly disappointed that it was Alex Jones that likely stood at the end for him. Carter would be another pivot in the plans, but…

None of them were Finn Whelan. That was who he wanted, and it was stolen from him before it ever really had a chance to become real. It was a story that always repeated. Denied his opportunities for the World Championship over and over, in lieu of false pretense. A fear of giving away the marquee resulting in a complete loss of it. That was his justification anyway. He could do little but try to convince himself of these things. It was part of the process. Part of the growth.

He stretched his legs out, letting the lapping water flow up further, washing the sand from his toes, washing it back into the ocean. He gazed out towards the rising sun, over the beauty of one of the many Norwegian beaches. An excuse to travel was a benefit of the tour, but he wished he was present for more of it. He hoped to be present for more of it to come. To have more of these moments. To be truly alive for another moment. He closed his eyes and laid back, laying himself out on the sand. Tempting the ocean to simply sweep him up and away. Yet he didn’t move at all. He just lay there.

He didn’t really know how long had passed, eventually he felt the wetness of flesh on his. Luna laying down on his chest, her wet hair dripping onto him. He smiled, inhaling deeply. Her smell mixed with that of the sea. The wetness of the world bringing him to the moment. He opened his eyes slowly and his heart wrenched. He wasn’t on the beach, and she wasn’t on him. He was laying on the bed in that room. Staring at the ceiling as it dripped. The roof is leaking above him. Something different, but still the same prison. Maybe it was a sign of things to come. A change meant things were moving. Altering. Maybe the leak meant the world would collapse down and he’d be free of it.

He just wanted to be out there, with her. With everyone. To be alive and in the moment. To be free. He had to believe that getting to the end. Winning the Blast from the Past. Winning the World Championship. Standing at the apex of everything he’d worked toward had to fix this. Had to free him. Had to let him be himself again.

“Don’t deceive yourself. You’re stuck here forever. I’ve told you, Alexander. You’ll never be free of me. I am you, you are me. I am the fear, the doubt, the agony. I am you, because you are Lost. Together we will be found, but not alone. Never without our home. Never without this room. No matter how many doors you open, no matter how much the sky opens. You will never be free of me.” The Lost’s voice echoes through his mind.

Alex sighed, closing his eyes again. Feeling the tears welling in the corners of his eyes. Threatening to cascade down. He just wanted to be okay. To escape this all.

“Please…”

---

“I wonder, Beauty. Do you think you have it in you? Do you have the ability to do what needs to be done? Can you free yourself of the idea of your vanity and do what is required? It's one thing to be gifted. It's one thing to be a technical savant. It is completely different to brawl. To fight, to bite and claw. It is a completely different thing to step under the bright lights and stare down someone you know exactly how good they can be. There is all the tape study in the world available to you. A plethora of information, and yet. There is nothing that can truly prepare you for the first time you get hit by someone who truly wants to disfigure you. Who wants to break everything about you.

There is nothing that can prepare you to stand across from me, because there is no preparation for me. I’m sickened by the perpetual filth that oozes from these so-called ‘gyms’. This place is filled with miscreants and rats who tie their entire identity to this idea of a place being their family. A womb that birthed them as individuals who matter because of themselves. I took a disdain to Wolfslair, and in turn became one of the best Internet Champions Sin City had ever seen. I take a disdain to the Go Gym, and I will happily dismantle and tear down each and every one of you if that is what is needed. Because I want to show people how to stand for themselves. To owe no allegiance but that to what I have given them. A freedom. A change. The ability to be free of the decay that comes with being shackled to an ideology. To be told you are only good enough when you ‘graduate’.”

“There is no graduation in life. There is no graduation to understanding. Graduation is a pat on the back for passing the theory. Practicality however? That is a different beast altogether. See, think of this as your true first lesson. You drew the worst and you will experience the worst. You will be able to see the difference between professional and amateur. Between a hobbyist and a master. The difference between you and me, Beauty. That is what you will experience. That is what you will do. That is all you can look to do.”

A dark room, an empty void. A spotlight illuminates Alexander Raven, kneeling in front of Luna. Facing away from her. His head down, his hands hidden behind his back. One of her hands gently resting on his head, gently playing with his hair.

“You are a lesson. You are an example. You are to be a martyr for the ideals that I am here to spread. I am the Broken Messiah, I am the False Prophet. I spread lies, deceit and betrayal because that is all that worms are capable of. Lying, deceiving and betraying. That is all you will get, that is all you deserve. You will lay prone and you will accept the teachings I give. You will understand the gospel as I speak it. For there is no greater power, there is no divine force. The only beauty is that which I declare to exist, and you. You do not exist in my purview. You do not get to exist in the way of my journey. This is not your story, Beauty. This is not anyone else’s story, but mine.


This is the story of The Lost Raven, Alexander. This is the story that must have the ending I deem for it, for that is the only way I will ever be free. Truly free. To have the choice and the option. The option to do whatever I need, whatever I want. The option to exist without people like you. Miscreants and rats who need to be purged. Purged for the sake of the lesson I need to give to the world. If you can break, you will be broken, and in that? You will find your way to true peace. You will find your way back. You will find your way to standing on your own two feet, but to do so?”

“I will have to break you entirely.”

Alex slowly raises his head, staring directly in front of him. His eyes distant, his face surprisingly serene. Luna digs her fingers into his hair and takes hold, slowly pulling him up onto his feet. Once fully standing, she takes her hand away, the click of heels echoing as she walks away. Alex shakes his head and stretches his arms out wide, a subtle smile crossing his lips.

“Let me embrace you, and show you the way. Let me show you true love, Beauty. All you have to do, is let me. All you have to do, is exactly what I know you will do.”

“Let me break you.”

“For he who is lost, shall be found. For he who is lost, will be brought back home. For he who is lost, will be my sheep, and I shall shepherd you home. You simply need to let yourself break.”

Alex allows the smile to slip from his face, as he hands drop. Turning on his heel and walking away. Stepping out of the spotlight, and disappearing into the dark beyond. The click of a switch, and then the light is gone. All that remains is darkness.

And then…

“True freedom only exists when we’re dead, rockstar. Don’t you forget it.”

James’ words had been bouncing around in his head a lot lately. Alex thought it was most likely a result of no longer being half locked away in his own mind to the creature known as Vita Mors. Ever since he’d closed that door and signed his former friend’s fate away, he’d been free to actually be with his own mind. Things he hadn’t thought about for years resurfacing.

The part of him that he had long thought buried was starting to nag at the back of his mind once again. Part of him that he’d only really briefly shown in Sin City. The feeling of being lost, of being a leader. Of being the head of a broken ensemble of broken kids. The truth of it is that the Broken Messiah had been a shadow of what he ever really should have been. What he could have been. The voices were once again demanding blood in the back of his mind. Demanding to be listened to. Demanding to be freed.

See the thing about being free of inhibition, to be released from a prison controlled and touched by the infinite, and having seen everything that could be, would be and was. It made it just a little hard to readjust. Throw in the recent surge of success, and brutality that has come as a result and cause of that brutality. One has to begin to wonder if being simply the Kingslayer is a shackle placed upon oneself in a way of protecting others from what he really wanted.

There was a need to find purpose, especially now. The reality was getting closer and closer. At the end of last year, he just wanted to be free. He didn’t want to wrestle anymore, he wanted to be able to go home and mourn. To hang his boots and simply leave it all behind in the ring. That grace was not given to him, not even offered. Another series of matches led to more, and then more again. Another year, and despite wanting nothing more than to be free of it all. He’d legitimately become the Workhorse. On track to be the first person to reach double digits in matches for the year. He’d basically become a mainstay almost weekly in Sin City.

And there was only a week left to actually make decisions for the future. He doubted they’d simply oust him when the contract ran out, but he did expect them to make it increasingly more difficult for him until a decision was made. It was the simple truth of things. He’d held them to ransom, and now they could wait him out. They could force his hand, and that put him in a precarious position. A position he did not wish to be in. A position that made him feel… weak.

“How far we fall from grace, when we lock away the hate. Freedom is a farce, Alexander. The Lost and The Broken are the only way forward.” A voice that was both his and not at the same time, echoed around in his skull. A glass filled with bourbon hanging loosely in one hand. Sitting in the cuck chair of his hotel room, staring at the empty bed. Staring at the room he was slowly losing his mind in. Ghosts of the past, ghosts of the future and ghosts that would never be shifting in and out of reality.

Luna had stayed home with the dog, so he was travelling alone. It was the first time in a while that he’d really been truly alone with himself. Alone with his thoughts, and alone with everything. The freedom of himself now being cut apart by the collapse of his own mentality. He could feel all the work he’d done beginning to fracture and break.

“For once I was lost, but now I am found. In my peace, eternity bound.” Alex mumbled to himself, taking a long and deep mouthful of his drink, closing his eyes to the world. Trying to silence the murmurings. To block out the images around him. To drown himself out.

“Found in peace, but never free. You need me, Alexander. You’ve always needed me. For sanity exists in being broken, not in being found. Embrace The Lost, and we’ll be free forever.” The voice of this ‘Lost’, filling his mind again. Polluting his thoughts and demanding his full attention. Offering him things he knew were not true.

He opened his eyes slowly, seeing images of Luna and Leon. Smiling, embracing, loving. Being happy in their adultery, in their world without him. A happiness that they had from stealing his. Resentment and bile rising in his throat. A hatred for something he never truly forgave. Never truly get over it. He loved her, but there was a part of him that would always hate her. Hate her for her betrayal of all his trust. He swallowed deep and tried to shake away the thoughts. To clear his mind.

“She’ll hurt you again. She had no problem doing it before. When you no longer keep the demons at bay, she’ll hurt you and think nothing of it. Then you’ll see how much you need me. You’ll see how much you need to embrace the cracks. The dark. The Lost.” More words, more accusations. Further attempts to slip into his aching head. The alcohol blurred the world, but it did little to slow down his thoughts. He breathed deeply, sighing to himself. Shaking his head to clear his mind.

“No longer children playing at being adults. Bonded in shared happiness and sorrow. She won’t do that to me again. She wouldn’t. You’re wrong about her, and you’re wrong about me. You’re wrong.” Alex spoke into the world, into the room that felt so full of deceit, yet was empty. Empty and devoid of that of which he was attempting to fight.

Ghostly apparitions stood at the window, James and Luna. Brother and sister, smiling and happy. Happy with each other, but not with him. Lauren’s corpse laying on the bed, as devoid of life now as she had been that final day. His heart panged with pain, but his body refused to move. His eyes fixed on the scene. A world where everyone got their happiness except for those who were beside him. Broken kids are made more broken simply by being near him. By being around Alexander Raven.

He felt like the Angel of Death. For all those he loved, would be hurt, would lose their loved ones, and in turn die themselves. That was his truth.

“Let me make you whole again, Alex. Let me make you feel again. Let me make you who you are, truly. Be free of the shackles of normality, and embrace being lost. Forget the world and find me once more.” Final whispers, his mind filled with screeching and metallic scratching. Imaginary chains rattling and begging to be freed as she shook his head more. Closing his eyes, leaning forward. Draining the last of the glass and pushing on his eyes. Finding the space between space, and attempting to find a way to be free of the thought.

Free of the thought that demanded he free it. For being free meant that what was Lost would be found, and in being found it would be true. True in that being Lost meant that, yes, he was broken, but in being shattered he could be free. Being free meant dying, for James once told him that freedom existed only for the dead, not to be given willingly to the living. Living meant to suffer, and to suffer meant to hurt. Hurt meant to ruin others and in turn make them broken. To surround himself with the broken, to be uplifted by others who could see the truth. The truth of being free, of being Lost, of being broken.

Circles and circles, around they go. In his mind, the sharp edges became soft and in their softness her face. Her face brought the light, and the light burnt. For the light was not forgiving of his own crimes, of his own inadequacies. The light burnt for it knew that he was Lost and in being Lost he could not be free. Not unless he was to be found, and he felt he could only be found in her light. Circles and circles, they go around, and they do not stop. The edges are sharp and they cut deep into the psyche. For in the blood that falls, an image is painted. Painted and caressed onto a surface that demanded he look into it. Though it is not painted, a mirror stares back at him. Yet where he should exist it was not him.

No, for it was the darkness that looked back at him. Beneath the cracked surface of the shimmering lake, the lake that held the truth. Under the truth was the delusion, but in delusion freedom. Freedom and freedom in circles it does go. What was once free is no longer, because in death it will live again. All will live again. All hate, all pain, all of it will go in circles, and in circles we find a centre. A point of origin that exists not in but without. Without the pain, without the agony. Without the fear of loss and the fear of change. They cannot hurt him if they cannot find him. If they cannot find him then he simply is… The Lost.

The buzz of his phone. He sat bolt upright in bed, breathing heavily. Sucking and gasping at air, like he was breaking out from the surface of the lake, the mirror and the oppression. How long had he been asleep? When did he fall asleep? Was it all a dream? His phone buzzed and rattled on the bedside table. A reminder that he was here, that he was alive. That he was awake, and that for whatever it was. He didn’t remember getting into bed, but in bed he had gotten. Her name on the screen, and a momentary peace swept through him. Dependent on her for his own sanity, in the same way that he had been her rock. Necessary to remain together, if only to be happy and alive.

“Hey, you okay? Something in my belly made me worried. Sorry, I know it’s silly, but… we miss you Lexi. I can’t wait to see you when you get home.” Luna’s voice washed it away. If only for a moment.

“She’ll never truly love you.” His own but not his own voice, echoed once more.

He was losing his mind.


“How could you, Alex? That’s the thing I’m hearing. The fans, other people, hell even my own friends. They’re asking me, how could I do such a thing to a person who was just trying to defend the honour of their father? To stand up to the perceived tyrants tearing things apart and down. I’ll tell you how I could do it. I’ll tell you, like I have been telling everyone from day one. I am here for one thing and one thing only. I am here for me, to prove that I am the best, and that the corruption of the filth that parades around at the top will not survive in my world. That’s the simple truth.”

“So when I’m asked how I could ruin the upstart little brat? The answer is simple. I’m sending a message. I’m sending a message to anyone who thinks they can simply step up and get away with running their fucking mouth. I’m sending a message to every person who accused me of being the weak link in the trio that has been tearing this place apart week after week. I’m sending a message to every person who thinks that I was lying when I said I’m the motherfucking main event. Nobody is talking about the forgettable journey of Raine. Nobody is talking about the nothing defence of Carter. Hell, nobody is even talking about Miles Kasey pretending to be a big boy and putting on his angry eyes.”

“No, the thing that people are talking about? How Jayden Harris may never wrestle again. How Alexander Raven took a fucking cinder block to that boys head and showed the world that I am not here to fuck around. I put the boy to sleep, and I’m not sorry that he isn’t going to step into this ring ever again. That’s a message. That’s what I want every single one of you to remember. When it comes down to it? I have no issue slaying anyone. Which brings me to the older king, who is trying his luck at being something of a name once again. A veteran, a first ballot hall of famer, a former fucking world champion. The man who has the most cowardly keyboard warrior of a wife, and felt so slighted by the fact that Finn and Kayla were making a mockery of his singular fucking achievement. That he had to step back into the ring, to tout and flout about his one success over our reigning and defending World Champion.”

“Kris Ryans.”

“See, the thing is this. As forgettable as Miles Kasey’s little tantrum is? The fact that it overshadowed anything you tried to do? That’s upsetting to think about. That is frustrating to me, Kris. It’s frustrating because you had everything to fucking prove. You had the world in your hands, the man destined to upend Finn Whelan. Yet here you are. A nothing man in a nothing world, playing to the tune of sycophants. Filth perpetuating filth, and yet. You’re playing second fiddle to the little wolf that could, and the man you just aren’t in the same world as anymore.”

“See I saw your little attempt to invalidate Finn’s success. Talking about successfully pinning the World Champion. Success implies what it fucking stands for, Kris. Success is only success when it results in a favourable outcome. You didn’t successfully do shit. You didn’t successfully pin the World Champion, because Finn beat you. That’s the simple fact of life. So tell me why, Kris, you are on track for a Internet Championship match? You lost, and no matter the delusions you attempt to create in your own mind, the simple fact is that you should be back at the beginning of the line. This is the very fucking thing I have been trying to put in the spotlight for months now.”

“The disparity in fairness. The disparity in the treatment of different wrestlers in this company. I have been on a roll. Ruining and destroying person after person, establishing the Roulette Championship as so important that in reality it should have been the main event at Violent Conduct. Instead we got the out of gas old man looking for a new payday trying to prove he still belongs. We got you, Kris. Stinking the fucking place out in a match that did nothing but soothe Finn’s ego. Yet you’re on track to fight for the Internet Championship? So I must again ask, why? What the fuck have you done to earn it? As much as I loathe Eddie Lyons' power of positivity mindset, the boy has worked. Aiden Reynolds has been putting in the mileage, and for better or worse, at least Bill Barnhart is here every week. Yet it is you, Kris. You who get put in the spotlight.”

“A benefactor of an unfair system designed to keep those who deserve a chance to exceed at the bottom. I look across and see women like Alexandra Calaway and Seleana Zdunich getting the opportunity to work towards the Bombshell World Championship, yet Luna, who destroyed those women? Relegated to an extended vacation with the promise of a future Bombshell Roulette Championship. A placation for a woman who was overlooked in the Proving Grounds, and is now being overlooked as getting back to her crown. A system that is rigged in the favour of those who play to the drumbeat of those masters. People like you Kris, who benefit from the favouritism, and do nothing to fight for those being treated unfairly. Something you could have changed, and yet you didn’t. You don’t. You benefit and you see no issue in it. Upsetting, Kris.”

“See the real pity here is that in this ever dwindling roster of men, they continue to try to silence me. There’s a reason I’m almost at twenty matches for the year. There’s a reason that I am the most watched and noticed man in this entire company. There is a reason that I am here, week in and week out putting the boots to the ground. Because they fucking need me. They need me more than they ever needed you, Kris. They need me more than they need Miles Kasey. They need me more than they needed Peter Vaughn, Mark Cross and Goth. They need me more than they ever needed your lone supporter in your delusions, Fenris. I am indispensable, and I know. I know they are shaking right now knowing that this may in fact be the last time I ever wrestle a match here in Sin City. See, some history for you here, Kris.”

“October Twenty-Sixth, Twenty Twenty One. That was the day I inked the paper here in Sin City. A long break from in-ring competition. Five years, give or take. I was a World Champion back then. In fact, my whole fucking career I’ve been at the very top. Rubbing shoulders with the best and proving that Alexander Raven can hang. So colour me surprised when I turn up here, and find a place that plays favourites. That the Golden Children of their past become the worthy of today. People like you, Kris. So, three years after the fact. October Twenty-Sixth, Twenty Twenty Four? My contract is up. As the reigning Roulette Champion, I will be free. Free to make my own choices. Free to do as I see fit.”

“Do they strip me of the title, as they have done with any who refuse to tow the line? I mean, Mark’s throwing his weight around, practically begging one of us to lay hands on him to give him a match with Kevin Carter. Does Christian stop pretending to be a big bad man, and actually stand in that ring face to face with me and acknowledge everything I’ve been saying? Do they try and hush hush sign me to a new deal behind closed doors, because they are so desperate to keep one of the only men still drawing a dime around here? I’m not sure Kris. I’m not sure what they’ll do, and to tell you the truth. I’m not quite sure what I really want.”

“Because of people like you, Kris. The filth who parade around like this world is owed to them. That the actions of your past give you the right to ignore the requirements of the now. To be treated in a way that you do not deserve simply because you were brave enough to stick your neck back under the guillotine one more time. Except, the problem here, Kris? You may have been a king, but let me tell you who the fuck Alexander Raven is. I’m the motherfucking Kingslayer. They rack 'em up, and I cut every single one of their goddamned heads off. Just like Jayden Harris, I have put the end to every upstart and mouthy little cunt who has dared to try and defy the truth I am forcing down people’s throats. You’re just the next King in the line to be executed. You’re just the next one in need of a reality check. You’re just the current benefactor that will be thrown aside once they realise you cannot stop the wave of revolution that is occurring beneath their own feet.”

“See I don’t know if I’ll stick around, Kris. There’s something poetic about taking everything they have. Turning it all on them, walking out the door still champion. The man who they didn’t just want, but they fucking needed. The man who has done nothing but attempt to disrupt their system of abuse, and they need me. That’s pure poetry to me, Kris. They need me, far more than they’ll ever need you. So they pity you, and give you another shot at feeling like you are needed here. They put you on a path to fight the better half of the McKinney-Kasey marriage. Something you should be all too familiar with, right? I mean, you’re the only one with the actual drive to be here, and yet you’re still being overshadowed.”

“See, I’m not normally one for taking the low road, but something about you just really irks me. Actually, to be truthful, there is something about your other half that really irks me. Holier than thouism, lies and delusions, the persistent desire to mock and belittle despite the fact that she cannot find even the slightest bit of faith in herself to actually do anything but talk shit. It bothers me, Kris. It bothers me deeply, because people like myself, my own wife, and hell the man you tried to pretend that you were any level of successful against in Finn Whelan. The nattering of your other half and your inability to prove that those call you out on your hypocrisy wrong? It’s frustrating to me. It’s upsetting to me. It boils my blood that you are here and I have to simply accept the fact that the undeserving like yourself are just going to be handed opportunity after opportunity. That despite all the work put in by Kayla and Finn. By myself and Luna. By the workhorses who are here every single week, and the men at my side in Kevin Carter and J2H. We’re going to be constantly overlooked for bugs like you.”

“So I’m going to need you to prove me wrong, Kris. I need you to prove that you’re better than the ever growing throne of corpses that make up my kingdom. I need you to prove that you’re better than all the other relics of your era. Better than Fenris and Ben Jordan. I need you to prove you’re better than the upstarts like Eddie Lyons and Aiden Reynolds. I need you to prove you’re better than saviours and wolves like Ken Davison and Austin James Mercer. I need you to prove that you are better than me, Kris. I need you to prove that you fucking belong, because I don’t think you do. I don’t think you can, and I know you fucking won’t be able to.”

“You’re just like the rest of them. Happy to succeed when the system allows, and benefit from the abuse of those who deserve more. Never working toward anything, but being handed everything. Being given the world in your hands and then kissing the ass of those who gave it to you. I need the impossible from you Kris, because the reality is? If you aren’t going to be that man, then I’m going to have to make a statement. I had no problem ending Jayden Harris’s career, and for better or worse? I liked the kid. I liked the fight, I liked the desire to prove himself. He was a shithead with less sense than an ocean warped rock, but he at least deserved some recognition. You, Kris? I hate everything you represent. I hate everything you stand for. I simply hate.”

“I’m going to send you home. I’m going to send you back to where you belong. Behind a screen talking about how you did it first and how much worse the people doing it now are than you. Saddled up with your cow of a wife who couldn’t find the desire to fight her way out of a paper bag. That’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to send you home, and then I’m going to write you a postcard. A postcard from wherever in the world I decide to go, to make the decision about my career. Because if you don’t go home, Kris? Then we’re going to have to send you there. Broken, beaten and ruined. That’s what I’m going to do to you. That’s not a claim, that’s not the ravings of a mad man. That’s not the delusional rants of a person with too much bravado. No, that’s simply, a fact. A promise, a goddamn guarantee. I am the Napalm Kingslayer, and I’m ready to burn you the fuck down.”

“Have you been listening?”

“How’s the passenger?” Harrison asked, lighting up a cigarette. Alex and he stood on the balcony overlooking Tokyo, as Luna had disappeared into the bathroom to get herself ready for the night.

“Quiet, at the moment. Dreamless sleep is the biggest thing I’ve noticed. I suspect it is his doing, but I’m not sure. I really need to get in touch with Sullivan at this point.” Alex said, lighting his own, handing a beer to Harrison. Harry nodded in response, raising it for a moment in thanks, twisting the cap off.

“Working on that currently. Proving to be a little harder to get our former contacts to partner up against him. Loyalty runs deep when people are so afraid of a man. They’ll flip though. The threat of him turning rat on them, it’ll be enough to get us over the line.” Harrison said, taking a long drag on the cigarette, followed by a big mouthful of the beer.

Alex nodded a little, opening his own beer, knocking back a decent amount of it in one sweep. It was somewhat funny, now that he thought about it. Harrison and he had never really been on the best of terms, but here they were. Talking about a jail break, talking about essentially forcing the wiping of the mind of a friend from his past. Part of it was bittersweet. He never would have thought Harrison would be the man on the other side of the gun, as it were.

“I’ll let you know when I have him somewhere stateside. Harder to work the angles from halfway across the world, but man. You two would love it over there. I’ll have to convince Luna to come visit when you guys get a moment. I’m sure you could do with a break.” Harry went on, a smile settling on his face. It was somewhat off-putting seeing the man who was normally so gaunt and focused having some light back in his life. It was… different.

“Might have to take you up on it. All goes to plan, I should have some time off between October and the end of the year. Things never go to plan though. I’m not sure what we’re doing anymore. You know it better than I. This business chews people up, and refuses to spit em out.” Alex said, turning his gaze back out to the city. The lights almost felt like they were pulling him. Sort of what it felt like when Mors was trying to pull him into his own mind. To take control.

“Get out while you can. I know I’ve said this before. I know it ain’t easy, but trust me Alex. This business cares not for you. Not for me, not for her. It takes and takes, and it doesn't give back. But, I understand too. The lights, the crowd. The pulse, the energy. Doing what we did, it was the closest thing I could get to that rush of adrenaline again. Soak it up, make the memories, and get out while you can. Go run James’ bar. Fulfil his dream.” Harry said, knocking back the rest of his beer, placing the cigarette back on his lips.

“Funny how things have played out. Almost feels like the old days. Less two, of course. But, being here. Talking shop. Looking out into that neon city. Reminds me of better days.” Alex said, stepping forward to lean on the balcony railing. Holding the bottle by the neck loosely in one hand. Probably a little too blaise.

“Part of me wishes we could go back to those times. Only part of me. Maybe with the foresight we have now. Free from his oppressive hold. With less dead on our hands. Lauren and James still here. The depths can keep the other two.” Harry said softly, stepping up to lean on the railing next to Alex. He leaned over and clinked their bottles together, a second cheers.

“I miss her still, Lauren that is. I’m happier in life than I have been for a long time, but there are things everywhere that remind me of her. These tours, her stories of the world. Little things that she was obsessed with. I love Luna, but I miss Lauren.” Alex said, shaking his head a little. Leaning further forward on the railing, half hanging off it.

“It was an injustice, her being taken from us. Disease is a cruel mistress, Alex. No one blames you for feeling lost. I’m sure Luna would be happy to go home with you. To hold your hand, and talk to her. I think Lauren would be happy to know you let yourself move on. She was too good for us.” Harry said in response, putting a hand on Alex’s shoulder. It was nice to have some kindness back in his life. From Harry of all people.

“So what’s the plan boys? Where are we going?” Luna’s voice cut from across the hotel room. Harry lowered his hand as Alex stood up. Blinking the forming tears from his eyes, and slipping into a happier state. A more gentle part of his mind.

“Let’s go for a walk. See where the night takes us.” Alex said, turning around with a big smile. Luna had just cracked her own beer. Her make-up on, her hair brushed, and a new top and jeans. She was immaculate even with the most minor of effort. Some were lucky to find true love, even once in life. He’d been lucky enough to find it twice. Even moreso, twice with the same person. As much as he missed Lauren, he was happy too.

“We need to talk.” The voice of Vita Mors echoed in his skull.


“It’s a little bit funny to me, at this point. I can keep talking about these grievances, and yet, the more I do the more proof is presented. Unwarranted and unearned, I coined that for the horseshit that occurs in this company. The weekly title matches that are given in pity to those who do not deserve them. To those who have not earned them. To those who simply do not belong in the same conversation as those who hold the championships. For better or worse, the top and bottom are the only place where people can look and be proud. For at the bottom of this cesspool, there is a shining king of achievement that sits there. For at the bottom, in the muck and filth, there is me. There is Alexander Raven.”

“At the peak, Finn. Yet the distance between the base camp and the peak are not so far apart anymore. No, I would go so far as to say, despite my best fucking efforts to make that Internet Championship sought after? It has been thrown to the wind, and now sits as a mockery of what it should be. Peter Vaughn? A transitional champion in the end. Precious Peter made of glass. Like I said he was. When he lost the Roulette Championship, the Championship that I now hold? I told him that things would only be downhill from there. I told everyone that the man was fragile, and that when things went bad he would go away. So what happened? He lost the Roulette Championship. He lost to me in the Blast from the Past. He lost the Internet Championship, and failed to take the World title from Finn. So now where is he?”

“Gone.”

“I speak the truth, and people tell me I’m lying. They always tell me I’m lying. They call me crazy, they call me delusional. They call me so many things except for what the truth is, and the truth of it is? I was right. I was right about Peter. I was right about Finn. I was right about Sean, I was right about Miles and Austin and Jayden and every other person I have turned my eyes upon and spoken the truth. Yet, I am the one full of frivolity? I am the liar? So be it. Let them believe what they wish to believe, for I cannot change their mind. The only thing I can continue to do is to expose them for being the liars that they are. To expose them as their failures that they will continue to be, for subscribing to the idea of favouritism. To safety. To a belief that they will continue to receive what they have not earned, and what they do not deserve.”

“Which brings me to the newest undeserved that has been thrown an opportunity they do not understand the meaning of. A main event opportunity for the whelp that is still sickly wet with the moss of the swamp he crawled out from. Green as a grasshopper, and yet they think him deserving to be across the ring from me? That is disrespectful. Continuous disrespect from the men I have been attempting to expose since the day I walked in here. People call me a choke artist, but I have earnt every one of my fucking opportunities from the bottom to the top. I walked my miles, I took my whippings. I walked through the glass to bleed for what I earnt, and they told me I was wrong.”

“They tell me I was undeserving of the opportunities I was given. Jack Washington, another fickle boy of glass. He said it time and time again. He thought himself above me, and wondered why I was given any look. He ignored the truth of the obstruction that was there. He ignored the fact that I was denied every opportunity I should have been given. Then there is little Jayden, who now takes my ire too. The man whose father is unfortunately missing at sea. He too believes himself entitled to opportunities not his own. So allied with the men who see my worth, I now stand undeniable. Now allied with a man who suffered the fate I once did, and the man who is suffering simply for his benevolence. I stand, and see them for they see me.”

“And we see you, Lyle.”

“Oh yes, you are the man I was talking about. The green little grasshopper with a mouth too big for his boots to walk the talk. The cocksure arrogance of the Kasey family seems to run rampant in their bloodline. Props to Miles for taking the Roulette Championship from me once upon a time, but… by his own admission. Miles knows that beating me once? That was a fluke. Every single time I’ve stood across that ring since, I have dogwalked that plucky little prick from pillar to post, and made him my little bitch. Every time he mouths up, I am reminded that the confidence and bravado came not from his own bag, but from the people he surrounded himself with. Inarticulate, so he used another’s words. So does the older, so does the younger. Lyle, I see you. I hear you. I understand you, but know this.”

“Allowing the world to fight your battles for you? It will be your undoing. Allowing people to be your mouthpiece, it will ruin you. To allow Miles to defend you, and at the same time tear you down with acknowledgement of your inability? I would not stand for it. I would not simply let sleeping dogs lie. For when it comes to being the champion? You stand alone. For when it comes to stepping into the ring with the Napalm Kingslayer? Know that the world will tell you I’m delusional until you step up to that curtain. Until you go to move to the ring, and they pull you aside. They ask for a moment of your time, and they tell you to be careful. They tell you to watch yourself out there, for the man you step into the ring with? He will do more than simply beat you.”

“I want you to understand the opportunity being given to you, Lyle. I want you to understand that whilst you do not deserve it, you will understand why you are not ready by the time the bell rings. See, I want you to take a moment. I want you to go listen to what Aiden Reynolds had to say when we were put in a match with each other. I want you to listen to the respect that man had for me, and the ability of the man he was facing. I want you to go and listen to what he had to say, because that is what you need to keep in mind. I want you to go and listen to the drivel that spewed from the mouths of Bill Barnhart and Eddie Lyons before our opening match at Summer XXXTreme. I want you to hear what they have to say, and then understand the difference.”

“The difference in what they said, and what they did. I want you to understand what they wanted to do, and what they were able to do. I want you to understand the difference, Lyle. I want you to understand the difference between me and them, and then ask yourself. Are you even good enough to lace their boots? For I think you’ll find the truth is not so pleasant. I think you’ll find that the more you listen, the more you understand, the more you grasp the truth? The more you will come to acknowledge what the difference between you and I is. Inexperience is no excuse for stealing opportunity. An opportunity that should have been in the hands of the lost lamb Peter Vaughn. In the hands of the men who had at least attempted to battle their way to a championship opportunity. Hell, for better or worse? The only person I can see deserving of an opportunity right now, is the boy who pissed me off so badly I may or may not have participated in a potential life ending event with that kid’s father.”

“I want you to think about that. I want you to think about what I am willing to do, simply to punish someone for their perceived transgressions.I nearly ran Jayden down, I threw his daddy over the side of the cruise ship. In my past, I have broken and beaten people within inches of their life. I have been beaten and bled within inches of my life. I want you to go and look at what I did to get to Jamie Dean, and think about it for a second. These were things I was willing to do, when I wasn’t permitted. Which I ask you to really think about. I’m still here. I’m still the Undisputed Roulette Champion, and despite my screaming and demanding for people to earn their way to an opportunity. To earn the right to step into the ring with me, I am instead handed… you.”

“Little Lyle, the man who will be martyred in the name of their petulance. See the wheel spins, it lands and every single time, someone walks out just a little less put together than they were when they walked in. The wheel spins, and it gives a licence to me to hurt people who are participating in a system that I wish to dismantle. You know, they once respected my demands? When I was Internet Champion, I was given the damn right to pick and choose my opponents. So I picked the killer’s row of World Champions. I threw myself to the bloody wolves over and over, and you know what happened each and every fucking time? I walked away the king. The victor, the winner. You know who I beat in that run, Lyle? Your namesake. Miles Kasey. He got to taste the bitter fucking pill of defeat when he came to understand that while he had stood in place? I had grown, I had gotten better, I had gotten more vicious. I had become the killer he wished he could be.”

“I want you to go and listen to everything people have said. I want you to watch the tapes, and then I hope you come to the understanding that I wish of you, Lyle. I hope you come to understand that when that bell rings, the fact that you exist on the bottom, sucking and feeding at the scraps left by your betters? It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter that you’re green at the gills, and without the experience to know better. It doesn’t matter because when that bell rings, I do not care if it is your first, your fiftieth or your last match. I do not care how much strategising you and your new love interest have done. I do not care how much preparation you have done, because it will be irrelevant. The difference between you and I, Lyle? I fucking belong here. I am a motherfucking champion. I am the workhorse, I am the fighter. I am the man that this company needs, and instead they give pity to people like you. They give unearned and unwarranted opportunities to people like you, Lyle.”

“It makes me sick. It makes me overly upset. It makes me want to hurt you, so badly, that they reconsider throwing a mewling baby to the fucking birds. They throw the inexperienced little one to the veteran ring general, who gets his kicks by tearing the flesh from bone, and bleeding the little martyrs dry. So, I want you to think about all of that. I want you to listen to everything they say. I want you to understand the differences between those who have come, and those who will. I want you to drill it into your own mind, Lyle. So that when they pull you aside, just before your music hits. When they tell you to be safe out there. To be careful. I want you to understand that they are not telling you that because they care. They are telling you that, because they know what is about to happen to you. They know that when you step into that ring, they cannot protect you from me.”

“Nobody can protect you from me. There’s part of me that hopes we get something fun on that wheel. That we get locked in a funny little steel cage, or we get asked to smash and grab and fight and stab with anything we can get our hands on. I hope we get something overtly violent. I hope we get something that makes you truly understand why I am who I am. The ‘missing resident of Arkham Asylum’? That's the best you’ve got to get under my skin? You’re gonna have to try harder than that, boy. You’re going to have to do your best, to even stay in step with me. Just like Miles, I’m going to dog walk you. Hell, maybe we’ll get to be literal with that. Strap those pesky little collars around our necks, so I can hang you over that rope, and see the fear in the eyes of those who love you as you turn blue. The only question now, Lyle.”

“Will you give up or will you let yourself slip into arrogant unconsciousness? I think the latter. I think, you’re so certain of yourself, that you would rather be seen as the strong tough boy who lets his mind slip, rather than give me an ounce of pleasure in knowing I put you in such excruciating pain, that you simply had to give it up. Who knows though? I’m the choke artist, right? Maybe I’m too confident. Maybe I’m too sure. Maybe, just maybe. I deserve the way they look down their nose at me, and you are going to be the knot that trips me up. Maybe you’re the one who makes me look a fool. Another Kasey, another thorn in my fucking side.”

“Unfortunately, I just don’t think you’ve got the grit, boy. I don’t think you’ve got the stamina, and you sure as hell don’t have the skill. So take it from this Arkham resident. Count yourself lucky for this opportunity, because in the end this is the only opportunity you get. The next time you even think of putting a toe in my way? I’ll ensure you don’t ever get back in this ring again. So Lyle.”

“Are you listening?”

Celebration was the name of the game for the night. It was something that Luna had always heavily encouraged in their household. New jobs, successes, encouragement after a tough run. Realistically, celebration was just an excuse for them to keep things feeling fresh and exciting. Winning the Roulette Championship for a second time? That was a good reason to celebrate. Even if right now it felt little more than a consolation prize.

Part of Alex wondered if this was more a case of them attempting to keep him interested. To make the negotiation period a harder one for him to knock back. Reality wasn’t as clear cut as he was making it. It wasn’t so much he wanted to leave and stop. He couldn’t stop. Being in the ring, hurting himself, hurting others. Breaking his back and running himself into an early end. That was his goal. That had always been his goal.

So, when it came to his contract, to potentially leaving Sin City? It wasn’t the end goal. It had never truly been the end goal. No, the goal had been for him to have autonomy in his career. To have the choice to take the matches he wanted, when he wanted them. To be able to throw his ego-filled weight around any way he wanted. It had been that way since the beginning of the year. He had wanted an out, and that had been the goal when he put his career on the line against J2H. To give himself the space to be the supporter.

To celebrate Luna and her achievements.

He’d asked for the opportunity to simply take a step back. To be an observer for the time being. The discussion was meant to happen after the world title tournament. He’d made such an impression on J2H, that the man vacating the belt had all but demanded that Alex be given a chance to make a run to the end. In another situation? That might have been the right call. It might have finally given him the chance to make a run to the top and sit there. To fight off the likes of Finn Whelan, Goth and with how the Blast from the Past played out, new contenders like Sean Parker.

That wasn’t the case, however. He was still in mourning. Six months later, he was still mourning. Maybe not as fiercely, and not as heavily, but he was still mourning. Mourning the loss of his brother-in-law. His best friend, Luna’s blood brother. There was a fog of sadness and depression in their house. There was a fog of loneliness. Celebration was another way of hiding the pain. Slipping into the throes of romance and passion, covering up the painful thoughts with alcohol. They were dealing with it, and they weren’t even pretending to try.

He wanted time to grieve, and that had not been given to them. The discussion on giving him some autonomy had been shelved, and he had been screaming for them to pay attention ever since. He had been screaming for them to give him just a moment of their time to acknowledge what he needed. If that meant throwing accusations of foul play around, taking out other talent and disrupting the status quo? Then he would do so. That had always been his area of success. To take what was good and turn it on its head. If they would not listen, he would make them.

That was where he was at with it all. He just wanted the ability to choose. To take his own life into his own control. To be Luna’s manager. To work grudge matches and be the guy who put the spurs to those who thought themselves bigger than they were. To take arrogant upstarts like Jayden Harris and put them in their place. To make them understand that no lineage, no amount of training and no amount of bravado and arrogance was going to make them mean anything. To make people respect each other once more. No more failures, no more hypocrisy. An understanding. He wanted to grieve, heal and then hurt others. It wasn’t such a far-fetched idea.

If it meant taking the Roulette Championship? So be it. If it meant teaming up with the likes of J2H who had the autonomy he so desperately sought? So be it. If it meant putting people like Ben Jordan and Samantha Marlowe of the shelf? So be it. He would ruin tournaments; he would disrupt their ideas and he would make them listen. He needed them to listen.

This wasn’t all, however. He’d jumped in bed with the devil, for lack of a better phrase. He’d been attempting to meet with Sullivan Pleasant ever since Alex’s last meeting with Vita Mors. The host needn’t be willing, it simply needed to be someone who Mors could overpower, and Alex had no doubt the defeated and downtrodden Sullivan Pleasant would be able to fight back. The problem however was it was hard to talk to a man who was locked up, if that man didn’t want to take visitors. Mors didn’t seem particularly concerned, but for Alex? The sooner he could unload the beast, the better.

His head felt like a battlefield. Dealing with his own issues, with the blurring of lines between real conspiracy and his falsified ones and then the ever-looming presence in the back of his mind. No matter how much he worked to go against it? He could swear that he could hear Vita Mors whispering to his own mind. Having a conversation with his own brain and body, that he wasn’t privy to. He was used to the ghosts. He was used to having conversations with things that didn’t exist. With people who had long since died. Manifestations of his own psyche’s guilt that persisted to torment him. He could deal with their voices… for the most part.

But having someone essentially living inside his mind? Having someone having conversations with his own mind but keeping that hidden? That was a concern. That was not an ideal situation. It wasn’t an ideal outcome at the best of times, but currently? It was making everything else a far more difficult situation than it should have been.

“You’ll get stuck looking like that if you aren’t careful.” Luna said softly, her voice pulling him out of his thoughts. Bringing him back to reality. Blinking a little bit he suddenly remembered where he was. Celebrating. Sitting on a chair in their bedroom, Roulette championship draped over his legs. Luna had slipped on a dressing gown at some point, and by the looks of it had showered as well. He breathed in deeply and smiled at her, leaning forward a little in the seat.

“Unfortunately for you, this is just my face.” Alex said in response, looking around for something for him to slip on. As liberating as it was to sit around in the nude being covered up by nothing more than the championship, it was also a little bit exposing. Luna shrugged, picking up a bottle of champagne she’d left beside the bed. Refilling a pair of glasses that were nearby. She nodded her toward the dresser, Alex’s own dressing gown hanging over one of the drawers that was sticking out.

“When were you going to tell me about this little partnership with J2H, lover? It’s one thing to try run that poor Jayden boy over. It is another thing to get in bed with… that thing.” Luna said with just the slightest hint of repulsion. Alex had known this conversation would come along.

“You’ve been busy. You’ve got more on your plate than me. One thing to get to the end of the Blast from the Past. Another thing to go on to try and win the belt on that ship. We dropped the ball last year, my fault, not yours. Didn’t want you to worry about my machinations, you know?” Alex said softly, standing up slowly to cross the room. He placed the championship belt on the dresser top, pulling his own gown on slowly. Wincing slightly as he did. His body was held together by sticky tape and glue at this point.

“Shit excuse. I hope you’ve thought it out, that’s all.” Luna said sharply, casting a severe sideways glance his way. She handed him one of the glasses, and then stepped into him, throwing her arms up and around his neck. Her own glass hanging at a dangerous angle.

“Sorry, you’re right. Better the devil you know. Can’t say I’m ever going to be in Mark Cross’s good books, to see how he gets his autonomy. For what it is worth, there does seem to be some mutual respect between myself and Hawkes. He has what I want, too. Freedom to choose. If I can’t get it myself before that contract comes up, then I’ll put them in a losing situation.” Alex said, placing a soft kiss to the top of Luna’s head, wrapping an arm around her waist in response. She breathed in deeply and nodded a little into his neck, pulling back to look up into his eyes.

“I understand, baby boy. I understand. I don’t like it, but I understand. Just be smart, okay? Mantle needs a few more belts on it, you know?” Luna said quietly, nodding toward the Roulette championship. Alex laughed a little and nodded.

“Got space for at least three more, I think. You’ll show ‘em all.” Alex said, slowly walking them toward the bed. His neck was starting to hurt something fierce, and the extra pressure wasn’t doing much for it. Luna could see the pain etched on his face and dropped her hands, sitting down on the edge of the bed as Alex let his arm drop from around her waist.

“You need a massage, lover?” Luna asked softly, shuffling back on the bed a little before getting up on her knees, wobbling about. It seemed that the champagne had gone straight to her head tonight. They did seem to be drinking a little more than usual lately. Hiding their pain. Alex turned and sat on the edge of the bed, rolling his head back and forth a little. She held her glass out to him, gesturing that he holds it for her.

He took it with his free hand and held both glasses as her hands came to rest on his shoulders. Surprisingly strong and yet nimble hands. That was just another reason he had serious doubts and concerns coming into October. He was falling apart physically too. Ever since his Internet Championship reign, he’d been running on fumes. He’d been given small breaks, medically mandated ones, but it hadn’t been enough. Years ago, it took his skull nearly being turned into soup, and being set on fire in the middle of the ring to put him on the shelf. It was four or five years on before he felt okay again. Where he wasn’t waking up in agony.

The last year had not been kind to him. Busted noses, cracked ribs, and a plethora of strains and pulled muscles. The medical advice was often that he should take time off, but he was technically well enough to compete. Held together by sticky tape and glue, but still able to go. The freedom to choose his matches, that. That was for preservation as well. As Luna’s hands worked their magic trying to ease the tightened muscles and knots, he wondered how long he really had left in the game. At his current work rate, he might not even make it to October. Truth was that a thirty-minute ironman match against Jayden? It was begging for his body to shut down on him. Experience was going to be the play here, and maybe pulling in a favour. Quid pro quo.

He breathed in deeply and closed his eyes, trying to just take the moment as it was. To be happy here, as a new champion, with his wife who was going to be a future world champion, having ‘broken in’ the Roulette Championship. A firm but loving touch working out the aches, and a hopeful window at the end. Even if the path to that window was becoming muggier with every day.

“I love you, Lexi.” Luna said softly, as she draped her arms over his shoulders, and kissed his neck.

“I love you, Lu.” He said softly, taking the moment to just be… here.


“Everyone around here is a fucking comedian. I mean, there is no other reason that every single person would be talking about choking, right? I’ll give Aiden his props. The boy at least pretended to show me some respect. Acknowledged that when it comes to being in this ring? There’s none more lethal than Alexander Raven. He at least acknowledged that when it comes to preparation? There’s none that match the acumen of Alexander Raven. So, when Aiden Reynolds stepped into that ring he knew, that was going to be it. Simple as he is, simplicity was the only thing needed.”

“I walked into Climax Control, the challenger, and I walked out, the champion. Like I said I would. I appreciated what that man stood for, and then I washed his respect down his throat. For only moments earlier, I had put my hand in the grip of one of the few that actually deserve my respect. That being, James Huntington-Hawkes III, J2H. The man, who this week, will look to take that Golden Opportunity and hold it. Hold onto the opportunity to take back his World Championship whenever he goddamn feels like it. That’s one hell of a play.”

“I shook James’ hand, because there is nobody else that even comes close to that man in terms of the impact that they have here. So, when a mouthy little bitch like Jayden Harris looks to step out of his lane? That doesn’t sit well with me. When a Harris throws their weight around here, like the name itself doesn’t stir irrational anger and involuntary nausea. When a Harris steps to the bar and pretends that they mean something, well. I’ve got something to say about that, but before I do. I want to acknowledge something. To acknowledge the chirping and the nattering. The incessant barking and complaining, because it seems to me that no matter how much I tell people to fucking listen, they all talk and talk and talk, and not a single fucking one of them uses their ears.”

“Not me. I listen to the chirps of every bug that thinks they can get away with it. Christian himself pretends to be ignorant to my desires. To the one thing I have been saying for the last six months. Come October, I am gone. ‘Oh, but Raven, why don’t you just leave early?’ I hear them say. Well, if people listened they’d know already. I wanted out. I wanted to take my ball and go home. I wanted to explore the world and my options. I wanted to be fucking free of this company, and then they put me in the World Title Tournament. Now if it hadn't been for the request from James himself? I wouldn’t have turned up. I’d just lost my best friend, and I was in mourning. You know what this company gave me for that? Legal threats.”

“See I’ve wanted out, I’ve asked for my out, and every time I have tried to ‘break’ my contract, the same threats are laid on the table. Sin City Wrestling will take you to court and take you for all your worth. I’ve said it since day one, and not a single fucking time have they denied it. No, they have just simply kept on keeping on. So, for the final fucking time. All of you are being punished for the actions of two men who think in holding me hostage, that I will become subservient. That by occasionally feeding the frenzied beast, I will forgive them for their transgressions and let them walk all over me. Remain shackled and held in a place I resent. That I have spent six months attempting to destabilise, and successfully mind you. So, hopefully people will finally fucking listen, but now. Now you’ve got my full attention.”


“I’m glad we’re finally going to get this opportunity. To step into that ring together. Thirty minutes, as many falls as we can. Ironmen. That’s what this is all about. The man with the cape has determined that as recompense for my actions, that we will have to bang and bash heads for thirty minutes. I may be a little bit older, and a little bit more rundown, but. Like a good car, Jayden. I can’t be slowed down.”

“It’s somewhat apropos that we are thrust into this submission only ironman match. I get it, truly. I know you’re thinking that this falls into your ballpark. I want you to think about this for a moment. I want you to really understand why I don’t think you understand why this isn’t in your favour. Let’s go back to the end of last year. When J2H and I were butting heads, not over blood rivalry and hatred. No, nothing that dramatic. What it meant for us was a contest of respect. For the World Championship. You see the untimely firing of your relative, Michael Harris? It left a void up there at the top. Six men were chosen to try and fill that void, and the two that stood there? Alexander Raven and James Huntington-Hawkes. The two best that this company had to offer.”

“James walked away the winner, but he put it to me. To pick the time, place and stipulation. A confident champion, and one who demanded I win his respect. I went through the works, the different ideas and the concepts. The safe part of me wanted to go with the grit. The blood and the guts, the deathmatch ideology. That is where I feel safest. I feel safest when I slice my forearm open on a skylight in Peru. I feel safest when there is a threat of being dunked in a tank of questionable fluid origin, filled with Piranha. I feel safest when I get to slam person after person into an ambulance in an eliminator to the dulcet tones of the Death Grips. Where I didn’t feel safe? Technical masterclasses. So, what did I do? I picked a submission only match. I had the two options in mind, ironman or submission only. Those were my choices; those were my thoughts.”

“The things that put me outside my comfort zone, for only in reaching into a bag of tricks that isn’t attached to my heart, could I grow. Could I find a way forward, could I prove to myself once and for all. I wasn’t the second-class citizen of Sin City Wrestling, no. I was the god damn man to beat. I was the kind atop the fucking hill. I was the man who was going to be, and then. Like everyone keeps saying. I choked.”

“I lost that match. I got tapped out by James, a sweet irony of losing my best friend that same week. A man who shares his namesake. I lost my James and in turn? I was ruined by J2H. I wanted out, Jayden. You know what people didn’t have the confidence to say at the time? That they thought less of me. That they thought I choked. No, they were silent. They were silent, talking and laughing behind my back. Tearing me down in the private conversations that they were certain would not reach my ears. I know this, because of the confidence with which they mock me now. The confidence I’m sure you will mock with me. I know what people think of me, Jayden. I know what you must think of me. I want you to think long and hard about the choices you are making. The bravado of youth threatening to be your undoing. That is what you need to acknowledge. That is what you need to think about.”

“Let’s loop it back though, before I lose myself. The one thing I learnt in that match? When it comes to tapping someone out? When it comes to choking someone out? It wasn’t so far out of my wheelhouse. It turns out, I kind of like the feeling of someone losing their consciousness in my arms. I kind of like how it feels when someone is screaming and begging for me to let them go, at risk of breaking their fucking body. Hell, you go back far enough, and my Internet Championship reign started with me putting Lachlan Kane to fucking sleep. I am a fast learner, and a deadly tactician when I need to be. I want you to listen to the respect that Aiden Reynolds gave me last week. I want you to listen to the concern in his voice, I want you to see that. I want you to know it. I want you to talk to your friends, and your family. I want you to look at what I can do and understand this.”

“For thirty minutes, it is you and me. For thirty minutes I get to choke you out. I get to take your arm and snap it. I get to take your leg and break it. For thirty minutes I get to put you in every imaginable stretch, every imaginable hold and every imaginable choke. I get to hurt you for thirty minutes Jayden. I didn’t even have a stake in the game, and I was willing to run your ass down. What do you think I’ll do to you now? Now that I have something to win. Now that I have something to gain. I want you to consider this, Jayden. For there is nothing I would like more than to hurt the prodigal son of the man who dominated this company last year. For there is nothing I would like to do more than hurt the up and coming ‘Brat’ of Sin City Wrestling. To take another piece of the board and leave this place wanting just a little bit more than it already was. I took out Ben, no problem. Truthfully? I don’t know if we see Aiden Reynolds back in the same way, so we’ll chalk that one up to. Jack Washington? Hasn’t been seen around here since he came up short against me in the aforementioned six pack challenge. Mark Cross? Sent his fragile fucking ass home and left him feeling as foolish as his face makes him appear.”

“I don’t want to have to hurt you, Jayden, but I will. I don’t want to have to put you on the sidelines, but I will. I will hurt you, because you don’t respect people who you should. I will hurt you because your cock-sure arrogance does not sit well with me. I will hurt you, Jayden. I will break you, and at the end? You’ll thank me for it. You’ll thank me for putting you out of your goddamn misery. You’ll thank me for showing you that you are not the big dog in this park. That there is a reason you couldn’t get past Mark Cross and I could. That there is a reason that J2H hates you fucking guts and will shake my hand instead. There are reasons for everything, Jayden, and I intend to show you why.”

“I’m going to put you out; I’m going to hold onto this Roulette Championship. Hell, I might go win the Mixed Tag Team Championships with Luna, and in four months? I’ll walk away with it all. I’ll take the championships, I’ll take the careers of every person they put in front of me, and then at the end? Everyone will be thanking me. Thanking me for being kind enough to let them survive. Kind of enough to let them keep on living. They’ll thank me for giving them the opportunity to thrive, because right now? Mouthy little shits like you Jayden? Uppity hypocritical and flaky fucks like Carter? Delusional and forgetful cunts like Miles? Every single one of you, I will break. Every single one of you has a mark on your name, and that means that the Napalm Kingslayer will be coming for you.”

“So, I’ll start this week when I break you down Jayden. Straight off a championship win in the main event last week. I’ll tap your bitch ass out as many times as it takes to make you realise that thirty minutes with me? That’s thirty minutes of your life you cannot salvage. That is thirty minutes that is going to cost you thirty fucking years. When your knees ache, when your neck hurts. When your back struggles to hold you up, and you realise you’ve only aged another five years? You’ll remember the mistakes. You’ll remember that Guy put you in this match with Alexander Raven, and that it was the biggest fucking mistake of your career, and it only happened four matches in.”

“I don’t know how you swung this match with that freak, the pretender king, but I’ll make you regret it. I’m going to walk the floor with you, boy. I’m going to make you forget about redeeming your family in this company. I’m going to take what you think you are talented with and break it. If I must snap your arm, I will. If I must snap your neck, I will. If I must break your scrawny tiny little body, then I fucking will. I am bigger than you, I am stronger than you. I am more experienced, and Jayden? I’ve faced much more intimidating opponents than an uppity kid who thinks they can slap on a choke and be seen as something. Everyone keeps calling me a choke artist, and maybe that is apt. Because I got not problem choking your bitch ass out. I hope you listened, Jayden.”

“Sean showed me this thing. I don’t know what it was. But it felt so real, you know? I saw us in that house. Like we used to talk about. Jimmy was still alive. Fuck, I can still feel his hand on my shoulder, you know? I could smell my brother again, for just a moment. But now it’s all I can think of. And…” Luna began to trail off.

“And there was a baby.” Alex said, like something clicked in his head. Puzzle pieces falling into place.

“How did you know that?” Luna asked. Alex looked at her, and shook his head a little.

“I put on his mask. I saw everything.”


“I need your body, Alexander. I need access to your soul. This is a big ask, I am aware. Though it is not comfortable to offer your body as a vessel for what is essentially… a god. The TRIAD can give you everything you desire, and in turn? Give me the freedom to finally be free of the shackles that these beasts have put on me.” Mors went on.

“And if I do that? What do I get out of it?” Alex asked, his head throbbing now. His brain screamed at him to leave, yet his body refused to budge even an inch.

“I will give you James. Once I’ve been freed, I’ll have power beyond the reckoning of any person this universe, or any, have ever seen. My grudge lies not here, and I am infinitely consumed by curiosity at the musings of humanity. Yet I need to be able to see it with my own eyes. Touch with my own hands. You give me freedom, and I will give you anything. I will use your body, and together? Together we will bring your friend home.”

Alex turned to look at him. Looked into the eyes of the man wearing James’ face. The smile never seemed to reach his eyes.

“I’ll do it.” Alex said.

Mors nodded, the smile slipping. He pulled the mask from his robes and reached forward. Placing it upon Alex’s face.

He saw everything.

And then it went dark.

In that darkness a flash of light. A swirl of colours and shapes. Voices filled his mind. Whispers, thousands of souls asking for release. Asking to be freed. He saw infinite moments in time. Times where he accepted the mask, times where he refused it. Worlds where he was already Vita Mors. Everything flowed in and out in that moment, and everything continued on.

His hands went to his head, squeezing at his skull. His brain felt like it was going to explode, every moment another infinite possibility. Worlds where Lauren had never died, worlds where James was alive. Universes where he never became a wrestler, and ones where he never lost a match. Homeless, limitless wealth. Not just his own but that of every other person he’d encountered. Then as quickly as it all started, it stopped.

Darkness filled the space once more.

He pulled the mask from his face, and breathed deeply. His chest heaving, his brain screaming at him. Where Vita Mors had once stood, there was just an empty space. The entire office was empty. There was nobody with him. Just himself standing in that room, looking out the window into the infinite nothingness. The absence of everything. Holding that mask in his hand, he looked down at it. An almost irresistible urge to place it back on his face.

His mind struggled to comprehend everything he had just seen. Everything he had just experienced.

“It is a bit to take in, I apologise. Though no preparation in the world would’ve helped you to even mildly comprehend what was to come. Through my eyes, you see everything. Through my eyes, you can see what it is that I deal with. The infinite and limitless cosmos. Alas, such understanding and power does not come without limitation. With you, however? I may be free.” Vita Mors voice echoed around inside his mind. Soothing the thumping and pounding going on inside his skull.

“I feel like I’m already going to come to regret this.” Alex thought to himself, and now… Vita Mors. He held the mask loosely, turning around and attempting to leave it on the desk.

“You will need to take that with you, I’m afraid. Turn you off, turn me on. Like a light switch. Protect you, protect me. Stop a forceful possession, if you will. Though, I like to think of us as temporary co-inhabitors.” Mors voice came again. Swirling in his mind. His fingers tightened on the mask and he sighed.

What had he gotten himself into?


“He’s been pretty quiet since. I haven’t put the mask back on. I’ve seen him in a few places. A few times. Whenever I think it’s just an illusion, there he is to remind me. Jesus christ, what the fuck have I gotten myself into, Lu?” Alex said, slumping against the bartop. His mind throbbing as he finishes retelling Luna what he could remember. How does one even explain something like that?

“Maybe we should get some holy water. Give you a bath in it.” Luna teased gently. Trying to alleviate the situation a little. To ease the tension of it. To bring some ease back to the situation. He appreciated it, truly.

“So, miss lady. How do you feel about dancing? I’m pretty sure these walls are mighty soundproof, and I do like to get a boogie on when I’m a few whiskeys deep with you?” Alex rubbed his face, knocking back the last of his drink. Luna beamed at him. Smiling from ear to ear.

Things were upside down. The least they could do was attempt to have a night of normalcy. Reality was there was a chance they were going to have a hard time of it soon. An unwinnable situation. What happens when The Conspiracy is on opposite ends, in the final?


“He’s a cocksure arrogant cunt that Petey boy. Busted face, near broken neck, and a half a heartbeat between losing his championship as well as being eliminated from the tournament. He learnt that I am not the weak link in any team. He learnt that when I am focused, there ain’t no one that can step to Alexander Raven. He learnt the same lesson I taught Ben Jordan. That I teach to every person, every single fucking time that I step between these ropes. That I walk down to this ring. That I stand in the backstage area and simply glower at. Everyone is learning a fundamental fact.”

“You don’t fuck with Alexander Raven.”

“But Peter just can’t admit things that don’t fall within his narrative of arrogance and bullshit. To act like he did anything but fucking survive. That he did anything but run away when the risk got just slightly too high. Petey boy, I want you to know. I heard the bullshit you spewed last week. I heard the bullshit you used to justify your inadequacies. The glass and fragile man, who hides behind passive aggression. What are you going to do when you fail next time, Peter? I think I know.”

“I think you'll pack your bags, leave and blame the world for your shortcomings. Blame everyone else because it’s not your fault. It’s not your fault that the weakest link in your own life is yourself. I want you to know, I don’t blame you, Peyotr. I don’t blame you in the slightest for being a slimy, shitkicker. Just know, when the bell tolls and we come nose to nose again. Dropping you on the top of your head is going to be the least of your worries. So for your sake, Peter. Let us hope we don’t cross paths again. For your sake. I really don’t want your blood on my hands… again.”

“But that brings me to this week. To the heater team. To the team I expected might be across from the ring from me in the finals. Mark Cross and Eiley. The shadow of her former self Eiley, and the screaming for attention wannabe big man, Mark Cross. How lovely it is to see you both again. A little more recent in embarrassment for you, Mark. Eiley and myself only ever have crossed paths the one time. When they took the Mixed Tag Team Championships, and beat down myself and Luna for it. Embarrassing for us, but poetic enough. I was in a slump, and Luna didn’t need me. Hell, Luna still doesn’t need me. She’s a queen, and a successful killer in her own right.”

“And there’s nothing more terrifying than the idea that this is all going to come down to either her or me. That’s the biggest malarkey in this whole thing, and yet. It is poetic too. That us, The Conspiracy, will be the ones to determine it all in the end. The two people that everyone just beats down and rips to shreds. That they think we don’t have feelings. That we can just be insulted, over and over and we’ll just keep taking it. No more. We’re not standing for it anymore. So when it does come down to it, and it will. You can cry yourself to sleep over it Mark. You can cry yourself to sleep over it Eiley. This isn’t your game to win, but boy. It is your game to lose.”

“So let us talk a bit about it, shall we, Mark? Last time I saw you, you were trying to step outside your realm of success. Taste the field, and in turn. You ran into me. Strength Trials Tribulations. I almost ran the full gauntlet, and you? You fell to me. You couldn’t hang in that field, Mark. You couldn’t even keep up with Alexander Raven. Yet here you are, once again trying to throw your weight around. That’s all you ever come back for, right? Words of admission from your own mouth.”

“You only do the work you think is worth doing, and it is only worth doing when you get things the way you want them. Disrespect is what it is, Mark. Disrespect for me, for this business, for wrestling as a whole. You’ve won the big belt here before, in fact. You won the Blast from the Past tournament that year too. And you held the big title for less than two fucking months. Highlight of your career here. A former world champion, and one of the most forgettable. Yet, every six to twelve, you come back. You throw your hat in the ring again, and pretend like you actually matter. You throw yourself to the wolves and hope. Hope that this time it sticks. That this time, because there are no Mac Banes, or Alex Jones or Kris Ryans around to put you back in your spot.”

“Bravado is what I would call it. Over-confidence that you belong in this pool of piranha. Unfortunately for you, Mark. This isn’t your triumphant return. This isn’t your journey of proof. Your attempt at validating the horseshit you spew. Just like Peter, an arrogant little shitheel who thinks that their passive aggression and unassuming look will let you simply fly under the radar. Let you be underestimated, so you can capitalise on the shortcomings of those around you. Unfortunately for you, Marky Mark. I’ve done this tango before. I’ve seen you actually work at it. I’ve seen you attempt to raise your stock, and nothing. Nothing could be further from the truth. You seem to have this delusion currently.”

“I know a bit about delusion, Mark, but you have this delusion. This idea that you were the one they wanted to come in and take out Michael Harris. In a world of Jack Washingtons, J2Hs, Goth and Finn Whelan. Retirees like Kris Ryans and Alex Jones, and hell. Even the boy I taught a bloody lesson to in Ben Jordan. You deluded yourself into thinking that you were the one slated to change it all. In no world but that which exists in your own fucking head, were you ever going to be even an after thought in the conversation of Michael Harris. Forgettable and forgotten in the same breath. You, Mark. You’re a contender, but you’re never the guy. You’re not the one that gets sought out, but you are always seeking.”

“Seeking another step up, another way to glory. Seeking another joke to make because in joking you can hide from the truth. The truth that no matter how good you are, no matter what you do. No matter how many times you come back and try, try and try again. It always comes to the same thing. You can’t hang with the crowd of today, you get embarrassed and you walk. You walk away and you go into hiding. Then in six, twelve, eighteen months. You stick your head out again, and squawk to the heavens. Yell to the skies about how good ‘The Dragon’ Mark Cross is. You tell everyone that you are the man to watch, the future king of the mountaintop. The guy who brings the crowds and money. Reality dawns on you this week, Mark.”

“This week, you’ve got the true face of Sin City Wrestling standing across the ring from you. My career 50th match here in Sin City Wrestling. You’ve got the real person that brings the crowds. The man people pay money to see. Be it in victory or defeat, it doesn’t matter. What does matter, is that Alexander Raven is fucking indispensable in this company. You up and leave, and nobody bats a fucking eye. I ask out of my contract and I get threatened with legal action. Demands to keep me here. Refusal to simply let me walk, because the truth of it all? They don’t need you, but they do need me.”

“You know what else you need to think about, Mark? What fucking chance have you got against Finn Whelan? It’s been three years since you last even came close to being worth a damn here. Jack Washington isn’t fit to wipe the boots clean of Finn Whelan. A guy who could actually go toe to toe with the men you couldn’t even wipe the nose of. You aren’t getting any younger, you aren’t even getting any better. You just jump from week to week, hoping that something sticks. Well, let this stick, Mark. Let this stick and try not to be bogged down by the weight of it.”

“You couldn’t step to me last time we banged our heads. You can’t step to Finn Whelan. Hell, I don’t even think you could lock horns with Sean Parker or Peter Vaughn and come out looking anything less than shitheel you are. Sean’s got your number, I’ve got your number. Finn definitely has your number. So I have to ask, Mark. When you thought this was a good idea, what was running through your mind? What was digging at your heels? Truth of it? I think you’re just not sure anymore, Mark. I think you’re starting to realise that all of this is just beyond you. You want one more run of it. One more go to prove that you're worth a lick of salt in this business. Except… you get closer to the truth with each encounter. You aren’t even close to being good enough. You’re a man, who in this company? The highlight of your career is going to be being champion for a couple of months, and being one of the most forgettable members of its roster.”

“I don’t like you, Mark. I’ve made that crystal clear. I don’t think you’re half the talent you think you are, and I don’t believe you’re half the man you once were. So when that bell rings, I want you to know. That match number fifty, is going in the W column for Alexander Raven. When the crowd roars when you land a punch, or a kick. Know that they aren’t roaring because of you. They’re roaring because of me. Without me, you’re just a forgettable stand in. I’m hardest trial you face in this tournament, and the final one. Because you don’t get to beat me, Mark. You don’t even get to lace my fucking boots.”

“It isn’t all about you though, is it, Mark? No, the pretty little thing that is your partner for this tournament, Eiley. She’s the one to really watch. Young, effortless, and wildly more talented than yourself. Eiley is the one to watch here. As much confidence as I have in Calaway being able to hold her off, I’ve experienced the wiles of the Jet City youth before. Unfortunate that we never offered an opportunity to take the belts off them. A common repeated practice of malice and misdirected disdain. An attempt at punishing those who won’t submit to the wiles and corruption of Mark Ward and Christian, I am sure. Regardless, it doesn’t matter in the long term.”

“What does matter is you, Eiley. The woman so desperate to separate herself from the shadow of Mikah. Something you expound upon, over and over, yet you can’t even get through a few breaths before you feel the inevitable need to bring her up. Over and over you do it. Bring her up, talk her up and then leave yourself as a scrambling little gnat needing the admiration and acceptance of her better. Third match back for you, Miss Eiley. Isn’t that right? And every week you’ve been booked, you’ve come out and said the same thing. Over and over, you keep saying it. Mikah this, and Mikah that. This is what she did, this is what I have to distance myself from. Blah, blah fucking blah. Who are you, Eiley?”

“I need to know, because right now? I don’t have any fucking idea who you are. A scared little girl living in the shadows of those who she believes to be the world. Oliver Zahn, Kris Ryans and this Mikah. Eiley, the girl who is too afraid to be her own fucking person. The girl who cannot step to the plate because lord forbid that she has to do something without the guiding hand of someone better. Nobody cares for a reflection of someone else. Nobody cares for a woman who cannot stand on her own two feet. Nobody cares for a rambling little bitch who has no identity. You want to win this tournament? You want to redeem yourself Eiley? Step out of the fucking shadows. Step into the light. Be someone or get the fuck out of the way.”

“I have no tolerance for those who simply crumble. Another flighty little mouse who falters and falls at any level of failure. You lost the Mixed Tag Team belts, so what? Pick yourself back up and do something about it. Fight for what you deserve if you actually give a damn. Maybe that’s it? Maybe you’re so stuck in these ideas of who you could be, who you should be. You can’t even comprehend the idea of a setback. So what are you going to do, when Alexandra Calaway beats you down? What are you going to do, when you’re standing on the apron watching as I beat every shade of the fucking rainbow out of Mark Cross? What are you going to do when his lips start to go blue when I choke his bitch ass out?”

“Nothing. You insignificant little gnat.”

“Mark, Eiley. I need you to do something worth a damn. Or I’m going to go all the way to the finals, and there ain’t a damn thing anyone can fucking do about it. Maybe that’s what is needed? I am one of the only people who holds victories over our current World Champion. That’s the money match, isn’t it? Alexander Raven and Finn Whelan for the World Heavyweight Championship. Nobody wants to see Mark Cross fail again. Nobody wants to see Eiley, the woman without a personality, step in the ring to get murdered by Kayla Richards. Unfortunate for you both, really.”




Alex had had every intention of organising a proper sit down with Calaway. They’d had their chats, the messages back and forth. For all intents and purposes they were in sync. Their matches were going well, and there was a real chance they were going to end up in the finals. Despite the fuckery with Vita Mors, despite the risk of a situation where Luna and himself were on opposite sides of the ring at the end of it all. It all came down to an unenviable situation. Despite best intentions however, the proper sit down just never came about.

First it was the internal conflict between himself and his ghostly inhabitor. Then it was him needing a week to himself. To cleanse his brain. France had been nice, but Turkey had been nice. He’d spent a week off enjoying the cats of Istanbul and pretending that his life was normal for once. No manner of apology was ever going to truly convey what he needed to get across. Yet he had to try.

Sitting in front of James’ grave, on a grassy hill, he held his phone out in front of him. He filmed the lush surroundings, the surroundings that would soon die off and wilt away. Giving way to the harsh winter that killed off the greenery that he came to hide away at. His little space away from the world. After a little stint of filming, he pressed the button to flip to the front facing camera. He was a little bit dishevelled. A little bit rundown. His beard had grown out pretty thick again, his head recently shaved at the very least.

“Sorry. I know I keep being flighty on everything. I’m existing in a difficult world. I’ve been playing with the devil, so to speak. One day, I’m sure, we’ll actually sit down. Have a drink, knock back a few shots. Not get into a bar brawl this time, maybe. I can’t guarantee anything. I thought I’d shoot this off. Pre-match pep talk.”

He rubbed his face a little bit, looking up into the sky a little.

“I think we’ve got a good shot on it. Congratulations on the title win. Sore it wasn’t me, but glad it was one of us. I need you to know that I’m all the way in. Both Luna and I are. We get through this week, Sean and Luna get through theirs. The reality is the final puts Luna and I on opposite sides. I want you to know, we’ll both do anything to win. Outside the ring, that’s life. We’ll get drunk, we’ll smoke and dance and sing. We’ll party and we’ll get over it. We’ll congratulate the other and we’ll get on with it. So don’t worry. In the end, I’ll have your back.”

Alex nodded a little more to himself, looking at the phone again. A slight smile crossed his face. He was tired, tortured and struggling. He was doing his best to hide it however.

“We’ll get together soon. Pre-match hype up or something. I’ll talk to you soon. Thanks Ally.”

With that he pressed the button to stop recording. Opened up his messages and shot the video off to Calaway. Hopefully she’d see it before they got to the arena in a few days. He turned to look out into the hills once more, taking a long deep breath.

A rush of wind, and there was a figure standing beside him. So many years of seeing ghosts he wasn’t taken aback by the sudden appearance of people. The hand on his shoulder did however unnerve him. The steel grip of one Vita Mors.

“How very quiet it is here. It is one thing to see these places from my office. To see a world through the eyes of everyone else. It’s another to be here physically. To be quieted to everything and just be able to experience it. I would like to be this free one day Alex. Together, we will be. I’m certain of it.”

He just couldn’t ever be free of the mistakes of his past.

And then…

Alex wasn’t entirely sure what was compelling him to meet with Vita Mors. He wasn’t particularly thrilled by the Wit Trial draft party that had been held at the towers. There were too many moments that it reminded him of the months he had lost his mind. Kaleidoscope dreams, visions of a reality with a loving father. Ghosts that felt more real than all the others that plagued him. There was something about this Vita Mors that really put him off. So why was he sitting there in the lobby of the bizarre towers? He wasn’t quite sure.

His mind needed to be focused on the Blast From The Past. There was a certain sweet irony in the world. A repeat of last year. Deja vu some might call it. The only difference this time? Alex had nothing to lose. There was no dominant Internet Championship reign at risk. There was no Jack Washington to act as his foil. In fact there were a few people that were owed a receipt for prior embarrassments.

Mark Cross had fallen at his hand in recent times, but there was unfinished business to be concluded there still. Peter Vaughn, so confident in himself, had said words that remained under his skin. That it was never going to be him. That whilst Vaughn was around, Alex wasn’t ever going to be the man over him. And that didn’t sit right. Yet, despite all that. Despite the fact that he should be across the ocean catching up with Luna after her showing in the opening round. Despite all that, Alex was here. Sitting in the lobby of Vita Towers, waiting for a sit down with the illusive owner himself.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. ‘Alexander Calaway’ was the name that came up. It made sense. Despite it all, if they wanted any chance at it, they needed to at least be able to be around each other. But he didn’t answer for now. He let it go through to voicemail. He’d listen to it later. The tap of leather shoes on the pristine floors. He’d say they were polished marble if he didn’t know any better. But the trick of the con-man was to make all appear more than it actually is.

“Thank you for waiting, Mr Rabenschwarz. Mr Mors will see you now.” Ashton Mire said. Alex still didn’t like looking at the man. No level of tailor made suits, slicked back hair and attempts at mopping away the greasiness was ever going to make him think positively of the guy. Or this situation in general, for that matter. He reminded him far too much of Sullivan Pleasant, and that was not a good thing for anyone trying to get his business.

“This better be good. I really don’t want to be here.” Alex said as he got to his feet slowly. His body was still somewhat feeling the effects of the street fight. Not that he would ever admit it, but truthfully, he was held together by glue and tape at the best of times.

“I assure you, I am certain you will find some benefit in this meeting. Almost everyone does.” Ashton said, attempting to reassure. Something was off about him today, more so than in their previous meetings. He seemed paler, and sweating a little under the collar. Like he was suffering from a migraine, but was doing his best to push through it.

Alex simply let out a long sigh and waved his hand, indicating for Mire to lead the way. Ashton smiled and stood to the side, showing the way toward the nearest elevator. The two of them fall into step beside each other, but moving in mostly silence. He felt his phone buzz again. A message this time.

"Raven, I left you a voicemail. Listen to it. Let's meet up and discuss our strategy for the Blast from the Past Tournament. This is our chance to shine. - Alexandra"

Alex sighed and shook his head. He intended to touch base when he got to France. He’d been thinking about making that call, but it just hadn’t panned out. There was a resentment in his heart that stopped him from reaching out. He’d get back to her eventually. Probably when he did land in Normandy. Things were just a little bit busy right now.

“Can you give me a moment? I need to listen to this.”

Before stepping onto the elevator he placed the phone up to his ear, playing the left voicemail.

“Hey, Alexander. It's Alexandra Calaway. I know, I’m the last person you want to hear from, but..”

She took a deep breath.

“Look, I know we haven't always seen eye to eye, but I wanted to talk to you about the Blast from the Past Tournament. This could be our chance to break out of the rut we've been in, to show everyone what we're truly capable of if we team together one more time. I know we can do this. Do you really want your legacy to have that red stain of our loss?”

She pauses, gathering her thoughts before continuing.

“You and I both know that we're forces to be reckoned with in that ring. Together, we can create something incredible, something that'll shake up the entire wrestling world. But we can't do that if we're stuck in our own heads, doubting ourselves. I’ve moved on from all that bullshit, have you?”

Her tone becomes more urgent, a hint of frustration seeping in.

“So, I'm asking you to get off your ass, Alexander. Stop dwelling on the past and start focusing on the future. We have a chance to make history, and I refuse to let that opportunity slip through our fingers because of pride or ego. Be it yours or mine.”

She takes a deep breath, her voice softening.

“Think about it, okay? Give me a call back when you get this. Let's do this, Raven. Let's show them all that last year was a fluke. That we are the best.”

Closing it out on his phone he shook his head again a little. Mire simply stood there smiling at him, waiting for the go ahead to step into the elevator. Alex looked down at his phone, and sent a simple message in response.

“Got your message. Will talk to you after the match. Kick Shay Owens head in, and I’ll choke out that nothing bitch Jamie Dean.”

They stepped into the elevator. The sheer copper bronze colouring of everything was beginning to hurt his head. The longer he was in this place, the more his eyes hurt. The more his head hurt. The more everything seemed to be pushing down on him and trying to crush him. He pitched the bridge of his nose as the elevator rocketed upwards. Despite the size of the building, he felt like he was riding the damn thing forever.

“If I can make a suggestion, Mr Rabenschwarz. Have you ever heard the Nietzsche quote? ‘If you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you.’ In this place, in this world. That has a far more literal meaning.” Ashton said, turning to look at Alex.

He’d never realised how bizarre it was for someone to face the wrong way in an elevator. To face inwards, or away from a door. The things he was saying didn't really make sense at that moment. They didn’t really make sense to him at all.

“You guys are a few acorns short of a forest, aren’t you?” Alex said, holding the bridge of his nose still. The elevator finally came to a stop, and it felt like a cloud lifting from his head. Like the popping of ears, the pain washed away.

“Please, be careful Mr Rabenschwarz.” Ashton warned, as the doors opened.

Alex stepped out into a far more muted office. Dark corporate greys and blacks. Unnecessary indoor chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. A large desk, and standing beyond it was the mysterious enigma known as Vita Mors. Like the cult-icon he was meant to be. A heavy robe hanging loose on his shoulders, his grey ashy skin. He was facing away from Alex, looking out a window that seemed to look out onto… nothing.

Absolutely nothingness.

Looking at it made that pain rush to his head again. His eyes demanded to stare at it, but his brain screamed at him to stop. Mors held up a hand, and waved him forward. Waved him toward the window. Towards himself.

“Alright, what the fuck do you want?” Alex said, walking forward. Forcing his eyes down. Forcing them away from the expanse of nothing.

“Mr Rabenschwarz. Please, do watch your language. Words have power, and I do not wish to see you misuse them.” Mors said. His voice was lighter than he expected. More gentle than the imposing otherworldly figure would seem.

“Do you believe in the impossible, Mr Rabenschwarz? Infinite universes, infinite possibilities. Times and universes where James did not pass in that hospital. Universes where you got to hold his hand as he faded into nothingness. Do you believe in these things, Mr Rabenschwarz?”

Alex stood there, dumbfounded. Everything in his body screamed at him to leave. To ignore the prattling of this creature. Yet, he found himself seemingly rooted to the spot. Unable to think about actually moving, let alone leaving. Fucking space wizards.

“What I offer, Mr Rabenschwarz, is insight. The chance at being something more. The chance at reaching into times and places you never even thought possible. Benevolence is not my aim, but in some ways it seems to be that. Please, do me the service of hearing me out.”

Mors turned around, turning to face Alex. His mask obscured all but his mouth. It was odd…

There was something strangely familiar about his jaw. His teeth. The shape of his face. The more he looked, the more it seemed that Vita Mors was someone he knew. His shoulders, his chest, his height. Even his voice was somewhat familiar.

“It can’t be…”



“Conspiracy. That’s the tale of the tape for Alexander Raven. Conspiracy is what guides me, because there is without a doubt, a fucking conspiracy against me. See, Ben Jordan was made to see the truth of it. Though I would have loved to have put him out to pasture, leaving little Samantha Marlowe without a known return. Possibly ending her career, well. That puts things in a little bit of perspective. It reminds people that just because you want to see The Conspiracy torn down. It doesn’t mean you get to come anywhere fucking close to doing it.”

“Reminders. That’s what it was all about. Reminding people that The Conspiracy means fucking business. That when we threaten to tear someone down, we do it. That when we threaten to rip someone apart, we fucking do it. That when we put down threats, they are paid in blood. Ben Jordan was made to realise that just being good at the ol’ graps, wasn’t going to be enough. That the message was as important as the journey. That the decisions were just as important. And the conspiracies come full circle as a result.”

“See there are two instances of convenient fate that have occurred this year. A repeat of what had happened, just one year earlier. Once again, Alexander Raven and Alexandra Calaway are teamed up for the Blast From The Past tournament. A year on, and I’m not any better off for it. Failed challenges for the World Championship. Failed attempt at reclaiming my Internet Championship. A slew of failures and roadblocks, and yet. Here a year later, I’d hazard that there are few people that think anyone but Alexander Raven is going to be the man who steps into the ring with Finn Whelan for the World Heavyweight Championship. In fact, I doubt there is a single person who thinks that any other person deserves to be standing across the ring from Finn Whelan. That is the money match. That is the marquee match. That is the only match that fucking matters in Sin City Wrestling. So let’s look at what is before us as mere formality, shall we?”

“See, I think there is something to be said about the way that those who are in power want to keep me oppressed. It becomes harder and harder to deny the fact they are attempting to fuck with me when we are presented with a situation like we have here. Alexander and Alexandra teamed up and in the opening round we have Shay Owens… and Jamie fucking Dean.”

“Oh, how poetic it is that we are face to face once more Mr Dean. You were part of my crusade. Part of my journey. Part of my message to Ben Jordan. Some may call what I did cowardice, I’m not of that camp. No, you made the mistake of thinking you were safe walking into my fucking ring. You made the mistake of being friends with a target of my ire, and you got lucky that all I did was choke you out. Ask Samantha how it feels to be on the opposite end of The Conspiracy. Ask her what the outcome is for those who continue to ally with those I disdain. No, Mr Dean, what I did to you was little more than a necessary action. A necessary behaviour. A necessity in life. I made you relevant.”

“Relevancy is all that matters, isn’t that right? That’s what everyone always tries to tell me. That I’m suddenly irrelevant, and that being irrelevant, they can overlook me. That my failures are just par for the course, because that’s all that matters. Relevancy is all that fucking matters in this little industry of ours, which makes me wonder about you, Mr Dean. It makes me wonder, why are you here? Are you just another obstacle placed in my path? Another thing put in my way to stop me from achieving what I need to achieve. Another part of the manipulation and control of the invisible hands to manipulate and put me down. You are just part of that, aren’t you Jamie?”

“But that’s okay. I understand this incessant need to infringe upon me. To pretend like it’s the whims of fate that put you before me, that put Alexandra Calaway at my side. It would have been far less interesting for all involved if they had simply put Luna and I together. No, that would have been far too convenient of an outcome. The opportunity was there for the most prolific match of all time. When Luna and Alexander Raven won the Blast From The Past tournament, they challenged Finn Whelan and Kayla Richards to a Winner Takes All match-up. The Blast From the Past winners, also the The Conspiracy. Taking the Worlds Championships in both divisions, and the Mixed Tag Team Titles all in one fell swoop. That would have been too convenient.”

“No, instead, we have this. We have you and me, Mr Dean. We have Calaway and Owens. We have nothing and everything. You being nothing, in case you were wondering. But that’s okay. I don’t resent you for simply being. I don’t resent you for being part of their game. I don’t even resent you for not realising your part in this play. What I do resent you for, Jamie. Is that you have the audacity to prance your way into my world once more, and try and ruin my world once more. Prance your way into my world once more and act like it is your god-given fucking right. There is nothing given, Jamie. Nothing given, and nothing taken.”

“But, but, but, but. It’s okay. I am happy to show you the truth once more. I am happy to make another example of you. I am happy to show you what you clearly haven’t understood. A conversation with Ben would've shown you the truth of your failings, and yet. Yet you continue to walk into the flames and act as if it is your right to do so. And so, I will show you the truth of your failings. I will show you the actions that lead to your nothingness. I will show you that being a king in name does not make you a king in my world. Call me delusional if you must, Jamie. But I will break you.”

“But I haven’t forgotten about you sweet little Shay Owens. No, I know of you. Interesting isn’t it? You were a Triad hopeful too. A failure of a hopeful, but a hopeful nonetheless. I know of you Shay, and that’s not a good thing for anyone. Because those who come across my purview? They are broken for it. They are hurt by it. They are put in their place for it. Though it may be Alexandra Calaway that need put your in your fucking place, it is Alexander Raven that will break you if need be. Manipulation of the rules. Manipulation of the ring. Manipulation, that is my role.”

“So, Shay, let me ask you something. Are you truly prepared to step between those ropes with a killer? Are you truly prepared to step into the ring with people who do not care for your well-being? I wonder, Shay. I truly wonder. But it does not matter.”

“All I need to know.”

“Have you been listening?”

tw; suicidal thoughts, depression, self-harm


Maybe life would have been easier if I’d loaded that gun.

The girls had gone out for the night. It seemed like for the most part, Luna wasn’t as full of disdain as he was expecting. Maybe she was just holding onto it until Adrienne had left. If she was, then their moments of time alone spent with each other… on each other were a strange way of showing it. Maybe he thought too much.

The issue with thinking too much however, was that when he was truly alone. The thoughts were deafening. Fears about what Sullivan could do, what he could reveal to the police. Would he tell them about Alex holding him at gunpoint? It wouldn’t matter if the gun was loaded or not, Sullivan could play ignorance on it. Pulling a gun on someone was bad enough. Nobody was going to care, or believe, that he didn’t load it.

The rational part of his mind had been silenced for the moment. In almost every part of his life, things were falling apart. He was at this point, a habitual loser. A loser in life, a loser in his career. A fucking loser who did nothing but find fault in the world around him and create excuses. Excuses for why he couldn’t kill Sullivan. Excuses for why he wasn’t going to do it. Excuses for why he couldn’t win a fucking match. Excuses on excuses. Everything he had was just full of them.

He could blame the death of James, but his life was falling apart long before that. He could blame being screwed by referees, by his wife, and by the re-emergence of old friends. He could blame all that, but still, his life was falling apart long before that. From day one, he was a fucking loser. Nobody cared who someone once was, they only cared for what he was now. And what he was now? The same thing he had been when he debuted all those years ago. A loser trapped in the shadow of his betters.

First it was James, then  it was Alexander Remington. Add Griffin Hawkins, Corey Bull and the eventual AmI Syco. Then it was Remington again. Years later, in a world of new faces, it was just more shadows to stand in. More shadows and more people he wasn’t ever going to be better than. Finn Whelan, Goth, J2H, hell throw Jack Washington and HB Carter into that as well. The thoughts were so loud. The thoughts just never stopped. Never got quieter, never gave him a moment. The more he thought the more he was reminded why he hated himself.

The only light had been Luna. A woman he was now bringing down his perpetual path of losing. His perpetual journey into being nothing but a talking piece. The butt of all jokes. The man they all claimed he was. A flash in the fucking pan that talked the world up, but couldn’t do it. Couldn’t make it over the mark. Begging for someone to recognise him. Begging for people to acknowledge him. To understand that he wasn’t just some boy struggling to make it. That he was a human being who just wanted to be someone.

To matter.


Midnight rolled around. If experience taught him anything, it meant that he'd be alone for at least the next four or five hours. Alex sat on the balcony once more. Always on that quaint little balcony that overlooked a city that beckoned him to continue down this path. This path of self-loathing. This path of disdain and hatred. This path continued to put him in the shadows and refused to allow him to escape into the sunlight. To be the man who could, but never did.

But he sat there anyway. Sat there, cigarette hanging from his lip. His throat is sore from having spent the last few hours chain smoking them. Six, maybe seven empty cans sat next to him. Four or five more inside, he wasn’t sure at this point. A bottle of Jack Rye Whiskey in hand, because he wanted to taste something different, just for a minute. That minute turned into ten, turning into thirty, turning into sixty. That hour turned into two. Seven, five and an empty bottle of rye. The city was beautiful when the lights were smeared behind those drunk goggles.

Nights like these, he wished he could just call James. Call him and talk. He’d always listen. James gave all he had, and that was that. He was a man who didn’t take, but was always giving. Nowadays he probably should call Luna. Call his wife, and let her know that he wasn’t okay. But that was the point wasn’t it? He’s never okay anymore. Her brother died, and she was having to fucking baby him. Because he couldn’t pull himself out of this rut of self-loathing.

Blaming the world, the invisible and the real. Blaming everyone except the man who deserved all the blame in the world. Except for blaming the man who was so fucking delusional he was too slow to get his best friend the help he needed. The man who was so stuck in the prank calls that he didn’t hear his staggering friend come back into the bar that night. Sullivan may have pulled that trigger, but it was Alex who killed James. He was to blame for everything.

The blurred vision only got worse, the tears welling in his eyes. But he did not dare cry them. Not anymore. He didn’t deserve to cry anymore. No, he deserved the pain he was suffering. He deserved the karma he was receiving for the actions that led him here. For jumping the queue. For nearly retiring the man who only wanted to give him a pathway to greatness. A pathway to the World Championship under his tutelage. He’d wanted to be the leader of his betters and forced them into a stable where he stood as the false leader. Playing the field to try and ensure he was protected as the king. Forgetting that the betters under him would simply behead the king for their own glory.

No, he could not cry the tears for every choice he made led to the karmic retribution that punished him. The karma that ensured he sat there on the balcony that night, filled with beer, gin and rye. Putting out another cigarette, but not in the ashtray this time. No, pressing it into the middle of his palm. Burning and singing the flesh, a hiss of pain. Failures deserved what they got. He was no king, he was no kingslayer. He was just a loud-mouthed, angry little boy. A little boy who was no longer getting his way.

In a fair world, he would’ve been the one laying on the floor that night. Not James. In a fair world, Luna would’ve been holding that gun to his head, not Alex holding it to Sullivan’s. In a fair world, she would’ve married a man who loved her the way she deserved to be loved. In a fair world she would be showered with the praise, friends and life that she deserved. Not being dragged down his pitiful path of vitriol and hatred. Free of the threat of him ruining her. In a fair world, James never would’ve died.

But this world wasn’t fair.

He got to his feet, and stepped toward the balcony railing. Standing right next to it. Leaning down, and resting his arms on the railing. Resting his elbows on the soothingly cold metal. His skin felt blisteringly hot, alcohol blanket more than anything else. He rubbed his wet cheeks on his shoulders, and stared out into the night sky, and then he looked down. Down at the ground below. He wasn’t that high off the ground. Fallen off ladders and scaffolding higher than his balcony. But the idea of teetering on the edge didn’t bring the usual dread that heights did. There was a soothing thought in the back of his mind. Permanent injury, injury to free him from obligation. From the hole he found himself.

Freedom in being able to choose.

His phone buzzed. How long had he been standing there? He wasn’t sure. Pulling it out from his pocket, it was somewhere in the vicinity of thirty minutes. Time was slipping away from him again. That wasn’t a good sign. Blanks in his memory were bad, bad things happened during the blanks. Maybe the alcohol and thoughts could be blamed for once. But he wasn’t so certain anymore. He wasn’t so sure that there was freedom in those thoughts anymore.

Luna’s name, his phone continuing to buzz. She was calling him. He answered by placing the phone to his ear. He could hear the chatter of the bar behind her, the thud of music. He couldn’t place the song, but it sounded far more Adrienne’s vibe than Luna’s.

“Hey, Lexi baby. Adrienne’s going to go home with a… friend.” Luna managed to get the words out, slurring somewhat. She sounded almost as drunk as his eyes told him he was. He could hear them giggling. Happiness.

“So, I’ll be home soonish. Maybe an hour? Just you and me for the rest of the night. Okay, lover?” Luna said a little louder than probably was necessary. But that was okay. Maybe the peace he needed tonight was a little bit of a taste of the comforts. Of her comfort.

“I love you, Lu. I’ll leave the door unlocked. I’ll still be up.” He said slowly, trying to keep the hollowness out of his own voice. The taint of alcohol heavy on his voice. Luna laughed a little, obviously picking up on it.

“Sounds like you had a party on your own. You okay, baby-boy?” Luna asked.

“I’m okay, Lu. I’m okay hearing your voice.” Alex said.

“Well, let me say goodbye to the wee Marigold, and I’ll talk to you all the way home. Okay?” Luna said softly. Warmly.

“I’d like that.” Alex said, sniffling a little. Who knew the once ice-hearted, cold shouldering and closed off Alexander Raven would be a blubbering drunk mess when someone finally warmed their way to his heart.

“I love you.” Luna said, as she hung up. Going to say her goodbyes to Adrienne. He lowered his phone from his ear, and smiled a bit. Deciding it would be a good idea to tidy up just a couple of the cans. A message came through. A photo of Luna and Adrienne. Smiling, heads resting on each other, arms wrapped around each other’s waists. Even if he wasn’t okay right now. Luna deserved to be.

Even in a world where he was a loser. An undeserving accident of a human being. Even in a world where he did nothing but loathe himself and wish he could give ever more to those he loved. Maybe it could be okay, if he could at least do right by her. A fantastical vision. But the only one that was going to get him through the immediate future.

The phone rang. He answered.

“Okay, so. Let me tell you everything.” Luna started straight away. He smiled as he leaned up against the kitchen island. At that moment, the pain slipped away.

“You have my full attention.”


Alexander Raven is sitting on a steel chair. The middle of a ring, in an empty arena. The lights are mostly off, bar a few emergency fittings and worklights for ring set-up. Metal spike in hand still, he is leaning forward in the chair, facing the mat.

“November Twelfth, Twenty-Twenty Three. That was the last time Alexander Raven beat anymore. Not just here in Sin City. But anywhere. In every foray, in every excursion. Failure. November Twelfth, Twenty-Twenty Three. You know who the last person I beat before the flash in the pan, Dubois? Gabriel fucking Wank. Before that? Bill Barnhart. I went from a career higher, dispatching the likes of Fenris, Ken Davison, Austin James Mercer, O’Malley and even the man who is holding tight onto a championship that I rightfully never should have lost, Miles Kasey.”

“A man who beat me for the Roulette Championship, and squandered it. A man, who like me, is a middling nobody at the best of times. But he stands here as the Internet Champion. Having beaten Calvin Harris, a man I couldn’t. Having gone to war with Austin James Mercer and surviving. Standing here now as the Internet Champion, and me? I can’t even get a fucking win.”

“It’s poetic in a way. I spent so long being the arrogant little bastard, and then my world started to crumble when Alexandra Callaway came into my life. The Blast from the Past tournament, we should’ve been a shoe-in. We should have been the ones to go all the way. To be the man and woman standing tall at the end, and then I could have gone on and at least given it a sniff at being the World Champion when the dishonoured Michael Harris reigned supreme. Instead, I became another historical statistic. The first person to ever lose their championship in the Blast from the Past tournament. To another fucking thorn in my side, Jack Washington. The man I’m coming very close to understanding the mental state of. Knowing that I am better than I am being presented, but never being able to capitalise on it.”

He taps the metal spike against the back of his neck, breathing heavily as he slowly sits upright in the chair, staring up into the rafters. His face is strangely serene for the intensity of his words.

“November Twelfth, Twenty-Twenty Three should have meant something. Coming within a hair of beating J2H, twice, should have meant something. I shouldn’t be stumbling against the likes of Gerrit. I shouldn’t be stumbling against the fucking likes of Jack Washington and Ben Jordan. And I definitely should not be stumbling against the likes of Miles Kasey. But if I’m learning fucking anything right now? It doesn’t matter how much I try, it doesn’t matter how much pain I inflict. It doesn’t matter how much I work to try and reveal the horseshit that is going on behind the scenes here, I’m going to be screwed.”

“Over and over again, I’m going to be screwed. The false end to the match at My Bloody Valentine. The slower pin counts every time I tried to pin Gerrit. Not to mention the sudden inability to put the turnbuckle cover back on when it would definitely punish me. I’m beginning to wonder, how long ago did they decide they wanted to ruin my life? Was it before Gabriel Wank? Was it when I embarrassed their confidence when I stumbled against the consistent thorn in my side, Jack Washington? Or was it the day I walked in here, and told the world. I would rattle the foundations and expose the lies for what they are.”

“Some would say there has been an over-abundance of clamour for Alexander Raven. It was a constant back and forth of that bullshit, wasn’t it Miles? That I wasn’t anything more than talk, and then I was the man offered too many opportunities. I was a pompous, pretentious prick. I believe the phrase that you used, gifted to you by the seemingly non-existent Lukas sister, went something like this. I’m the personification of a prickle prick, who likes to pontificate my prolific principles or pomposity.”

“Alliteration was a fun little thing, but that was the last time you ever got under my skin Miles. That was the last time you ever got a chance to bring me down. You won that Roulette Championship, and then? Nothing. It is without question that my reign as Internet Champion was without a doubt the hardest run of opponents in years. That in the list of people I took down, you were but a footnote in that list. And the differences between our first encounter, that second one and that fateful third. I was on a whole different fucking level to you, Miles. I was on a whole different stage to you. And now, now that you’re keeping warm, that championship. Keeping warm my Internet Championship. You’re in the crosshairs once more.”

He smiles a little as he stands up, pressing the tip of the metal spike up against his temples. Pressing it a little too tightly against the skin. A small stream of blood began to trickle down the side of his head. Despite this, Raven seems unphased.

“But what can I say? I’m on a bit of a downward trajectory, and you. You are only on the up and up. A dominant Internet Champion who claws towards a day that his reign actually means anything. The day when he steps into the ring with Peter Vaughn and is inevitably stripped of that championship. Stripped of the confidence, and stripped of any level of acknowledgment. Stripped of your dignity, stripped of your confidence and stripped of everything you hold dear. And why do I think that, Miles? Because it fucking happened to me.”

“Everything began to fall the fuck apart for me, when I lost that championship. And the sheer fucking irony of it all? Your partner, Alexander Callaway. She was part of my fucking demise. She was part of that which sent me down a pathway of failure, collapse and decay. She was punished for her transgressions, when Luna made her the canonical fifth victim. When Luna busted open Alexandra’s pretty little face and left her blubbering in a pool of her own filth. Concussion was the excuse she used. Concussion was the reason that she couldn’t beat my dear, sweet Luna.”

“I watch and I wait, Miles. I watch and I wait because the collapse of society begins with those who are beneficiaries of the bullshit that keeps those of us who truly want to see peace. To see freedom, and to raise up those who would be oppressed by the dictatorship of the superiors that exist here. The invisible fucking hands become physical and manifest in their direct abuse of our lives. You, Miles. You are a beneficiary of the horseshit that aims to keep me pushed down. That keeps The Conspiracy kept down. You’ll have to forgive me, if I do not mourn for you.”

“Because we’ve upset them now. And in their upset, they will aim to drag us back down. They will aim to ensure that I am punished until the final day, and they can no longer hold me here with threats. So, I don’t expect things to go down fairly in our little match here Miles. I don’t expect things to go my way. I expect their little rat, Jasmine St. John to be the bitch in control of our match. I expect that mousey little cunt will be the one who screws me again. And when I inevitably fucking snap, and choke her out, they’ll find some more ammo to try and punish me further.”

He pulls the spike away and drops it heavily to the canvas. Stepping backward a few times until the back of his knees touch the steel chair. Sitting himself down once more, his eyes fixated on something far off into the distance, out of frame.

“Problem here, for you, for Jasmine. For Christian and Mark. For anyone who is now trying to punish us. A problem that extends into the likes of Ben Jordan as well. There’s nothing that they can do, to hurt us anymore. They fire us? We win. They suspend us? We win. They fine us? Oh no, money, the evil of the world and one thing that is going to break us. They extend our contracts? They know the legalities of that won’t play out for them. The problem, Miles. The problem is if I put the boots to your face. And I do it, over and over. And I get disqualified, and they scream at me to get off you. But I continue to put the boots to you, over and over. What are they going to do to stop us?”

“I guess they could have me arrested, except. Even then, I win. I get the freedom that I want. Not in the way I want, but a freedom nevertheless. Any mental examination would find that I was driven to a point of insanity. No matter how clear of mind I may protest otherwise, everyone seems to think I’ve spat the fucking dummy, Miles. And maybe I have. Maybe I have spat the fucking dummy, and I’m just waltzing on the line between reality and total and utter delusion. But if I’m insane, and I’m crazy. Then why do they not just let me be? I’ll tell you Miles.”

“They won’t ever let us be free, because they fucking need us. They need beneficiaries like you and Alexandra. And they need whipping dogs like Luna and I. People to be punished for simply demanding that they let us be us. That they stop sticking their hands in the affairs of others. That they let fate be determined by fate itself. So if I have to force the hands of fate, when I wipe your blood from the heels of my boot, then so be it. I’ll wipe my boots and smile as I paint my face with your life essence.”

He raises a hand to the side of his head that is leaking blood. Smearing the blood across his face. Smearing it over his eyes and down towards his neck on the opposite side. Rubbing his hands together, he stares at them. Stares at his bloodied hands.

“But don’t think I’ve forgotten about you, sweet Alexandra. Oh no, I’ve got plenty for you. See, I kept very quiet about the unfortunate outcome of our match. I kept very quiet about my upset, about my frustrations. I kept quiet because I blamed myself. It had to be my fault, for I was pinned. Bobbie Dahl, a woman who seems to be your unending fucking thorn. She was meant to be an easy step-over for you. Instead, I lost. And so I kept quiet, as Luna decided to go to bat for me. In which you deemed it appropriate to include me. Why would you do something so stupid?”

“I left well enough alone, and fought my own battles. I left well enough alone, because I didn’t want to be involved. But there seems to be an idea. This idea that people who love and live with each other. That they are intrinsically linked. That the actions of one must dictate the thoughts of another. And you put my name in your mouth. Like a good little birdie, I never forget. They may call it elephantine memory, but reality is far less straightforward. Crows, Ravens, and all arrays of Corvids. Memories and stories to be given eternally. Never forget the eye of the Raven that stares into the soul of the broken and damned. I remember, Alexandra.”

“I remember your failings. Just like mine. I remember you being so confident in your veteran status. I remember you being so sure that you would walk over Luna. I remember you being so sure that we would be successful in the Blast from the Past, and you decided to walk back your words. You decided to blame me. Funny how things change so quickly, when you need the convenience of it. Funny, and sad.”

“Unfortunately for yourself, Alexandra. This match historically now goes in our favour. Luna holds a victory over you. I hold a straight victory over Miles. Technicalities and all that, I can hear the blustering now. But the truth? Miles is dead to rights. It doesn’t matter if it's me, or Peter. He’s going to experience the same embarrassment that I did, as a result of our mutual failings, Alexandra. Miles will suffer for your petulance. Miles will suffer, because I fucking said so.”

His hands smeared with his own blood, he leans forward and falls out of the chair. Landing on his hands and knees. Leaving light bloody handprints on the canvas. Slowly crawling on hands and knees towards the metal spike again.

“Things have to change eventually. Things will change eventually. Bad luck can only be bad for so long. And I feel… confident that you, Miles. That you, Alexandra. You’ll be the turning point. That when I dust my hands of you both, and look to the horizon. To the next steps, I’ll be thankful for this match. Thankful that we, The Conspiracy, changed our trajectories. Changed our fate and our destinies. With the blood and suffering of Miles Kasey and Alexandra Callaway. The failed queen, and the arrogant cocky bastard, Miles Kasey. And once I’m done with one English prick, I’ll take aim at the one Cockney King who needs to be brought back down to reality.”

“Oh, Ben. I know you’re listening. And I know you’ll be hurting after Aiden Reynolds works you over, stretches you out, and beats you down. But I know you’ll be watching now. And I know you’re listening right now. So listen closely Ben. You’re their golden child, you’re the man given what should be mine. And I promise you. I’m going to take great joy in tearing it all down. Tearing it all away from you. Ruining your life, Ben. That’s my job right now. Ruining your life, for having the audacity to think you could ever step into my world and just leave when you fucking feel like it.”

Coming to a stop over the spike, he slowly picks it up. Rolling it in his right hand, before raising it high above his head and slamming it straight down. Slamming it straight into the canvas, right through the lightest smear of a bloody handprint. A smile spreading across his lips.

“Miles, Alexandra, Ben. Are you listening now?”

And then…

Darkness.

Silence.

Nothing.

Back to the Beginning
Scene One | Off-Camera | 20th November 2023
 
Organ failure. Despite their best efforts, James’ organs were shutting down. His liver, his kidneys. His heart was slowing, and his lungs were threatening to give in. His best friend was dying. The doctors had lied. The doctors were wrong. The doctors couldn’t save him.
 
James was going to die.
 
James was going to die, and there was nothing he could do. All he could think about was that gunshot. The single bullet that had become two. How did it become two? How did he miss the second shot? Or maybe. Maybe he missed the first? It didn’t matter really. All Alex knew was that James going to die, and there was nothing he could do.
 
Comfortable.
 
They offered to make it as comfortable as possible for him. For the final few weeks, days, hours. However long his body kept fighting, for however long they could keep him alive. They offered to make him comfortable. So, whilst they were keeping him comfortable, and Luna was there to hold his hand, Alex had taken a trip.
 
A trip back to Australia, back to Melbourne. A trip back home. Back to where they’d spent six nights a week, slinging beers, singing loudly out of key and causing a general raucous. With their friends, their regulars and the walk-ins off the streets. Back to their bar. Back to a place that was filled with memories of happiness, peace and love. Where Lauren had spent her evenings writing at the end of the bar. Where James had thrown many a fuckwit down the stairs and out into, he cold. Their place.
 
Home.
 
The beginning.
 
Alex sat at the further end of the bar. Near the pool table, next to the window. The window that looked out into the dull afternoon city streets. Typical Melbourne weather. Drizzling, when only fifteen minutes earlier the sun had been making it unbelievably uncomfortable to sit in the sun. He held a glass of some local pale ale. Probably Colonial or something along those lines. Tipped forward a little, he swirled the half-drunk pint, watching as it sloshed. They were surprisingly busy for a Monday afternoon. Things were doing well ever since they’d sold it. Kept afloat. Good team, most of the stalwarts still here. Owner and bar manager between them. Engaged, and wildly excited to catch Alex up on everything that had been going on in their world.
 
Eager to distract him from death.
 
“What brought you back down this way, big fella?” Richard asked.
 
Richard had always been a good guy. A mane of hair, a big thick beard, and a jovial smile. A voice that carried over the thick sound of a busy night no matter how quiet he was trying to be. They’d fallen out of touch since Alex moved back to America. Nothing negative or problematic, just not as close. Sometimes work friends stay that way, but no matter the time or the distance. The man lit up with a big smile and yelled ‘Dad!’ every time Alex walked in. An inside joke, back from the days where he’d sported this horrendous looking pornstache every festival. Also helped that he was pretty much like everyone’s dad when he was here. Alex their dad, and James the alcoholic uncle who was everyone’s friend.
 
“I needed to come back for a bit. See how things were going. Been a while since I visited Lauren, you know?” Alex replied.
 
Richard nodded smiling, as his attention was pulled away by another patron. Always something to be doing, never enough time to finish a full conversation. He downed the rest of his drink, slapping the bar top and hopping to his feet. He pulled his jeans up a little, covering his ass and reducing the sag in them. The stairs up to the rooftop beer garden were next, stomping his way up them rapidly. The Rum Bar was currently un-manned, George in the kitchen. A nod and a wave, he swung around the dividing wall and stepped up onto the rooftop beer garden. Settling onto a chair, pulling a cigarette from his shirt’s chest pocket. To the lips, a cigarette following. Flicking it on, igniting.
 
Sometimes it felt like his world existed in slideshow. Never one moment lasting longer than the next. His mind never holding more detail than necessary. Cigarette, lighter, igniting. Beer, mouth, empty. Love, death, hollow. It all seemed to move in one frame at a time. How long had his life been this way? He couldn’t even remember a time when he had full memories. Just snapshots. Just flashes of light.
 
Gunshot.
 
No matter how much he tried otherwise, he couldn’t drown the sound from his mind. He couldn’t drown it in liquor. He couldn’t hide it behind delusion. He couldn’t pretend that something else was going to make it all suddenly better. There was a chance James would recover. The doctors kept saying it like that. Not to get hopes up, but there was a chance. A chance that he would survive. That he would come back, and he would live. For how long, they couldn’t say. But there was a chance.
 
Chance.
 
Chance was what had started it all. The chance signing. The chance acknowledgement by Alexander Remington. The chance to be the youngest ever UECW World Champion. The chance to become a one and doner. Chance had brought him to Sin City Wrestling. A chance conversation between himself and Christian. Chance had led him to beating his biggest naysayer in his return to the ring in Brandon Hendrix. Chance had brought him to the hospital, and in turn met his future late wife. It was appropriate that the first championship he had held in Sin City was the Roulette Championship. Chance and fate. Two sides of the same coin. Chance had led him here, and now fate dictated that he faces it all. That when he reaches for the apex, the world threatens to crash down around him.
 
“So, what match type are you going to go for?” George asked, slapping him on the back.
 
George had come to spend some time with him. An avid watcher it seemed. A few of the boys had said they’d been keeping track of everything going on for him. The Bravery Trials, Sin City. Hell some of them had even caught the few weeks of warm-up he spent in Steel Cage. It was nice, to know that they cared. That people he knew cared to know him. Followed what he was doing. Followed his career. It meant that what he was doing, was right. That the path he was on was the correct one. That there was a reason he was going to be World Champion again. Even if he had to walk through hell to get there.
 
“Not sure. Poetically, something to do with fire and flames would be the go. Appropriately, I’d stick our hands into super glue, stick it with glass and barbwire, and we could tear chunks out of each other. Whatever I pick, there’s going to be a lot of fucking blood. Enough to make what happened in Puerto Rico look like an afternoon stroll.” Alex replied, going to that place in his head where everything was just a little darker.
 
For whatever reason, his head had gone back to his father. He could hear his voice in his head. ‘Doesn’t matter what the gimmick is, what matters is the outcome.’ Boxer’s mentality. Didn’t matter how he got there, if he got there. Knock-out, a sneaky forced DQ, or a points victory. The outcome is what mattered. If that meant stacking the deck, then so be it. There was one thing he’d always been sure of. When it came to bleeding, brawling and fighting, there was few that could go toe to toe with Alexander Raven. He might not be the strongest, smartest, most technically gifted or the best wrestler. But when it came to beating ten shades of blue out of someone, that was something he knew how to do.
 
“You’re one sick cat. Personally, I think you should beat him clean. But there is something cool about a potential dismemberment at a show with dismember in its name.” George responded, lighting his own cigarette.
 
He’d brought a couple of shots over with him. Jameson, and pickle juice. A staple really. Couldn’t go to Ravens without having a pickleback. Shots lifted, and clinked. They knocked them back, a slight hiss from the burn. Followed by the shot of pickle juice. Momentary happiness. It all felt like it was right again.
 
“In the few times James has been lucid, he told me he wanted me safe. That the worst thing that could happen, is if I end up in the bed next to him. I told him that was a risk every time I got in the ring. All these people are so good, so dangerous. Peter Vaughn, eyes deceive with that one. Goth has my number. Austin nearly snaps me in half every time. Jack Washington can break me every which way to Sunday and not break a sweat. I think the least of my troubles would come from having some crimson loosed from my veins.” Alex quipped, nodding to himself. His mind going elsewhere.
 
“I like the fire idea, but man. No matches with fire ever come out any good. You’d really have to put your thinking cap on for that one.” George remarked, nodding to himself as well.
 
Good guy George, but also someone he likely could do without. He appreciated the support. But Alex had a bad way with dealers. He’d passed a blind eye to it back then. He was popular with the ladies, and… he had good drugs. That was the truth of it. A voice like gravel and oil made a baby. Yet he somehow kept business flowing and didn’t let his illicit activities affect his day to day. He just couldn’t really forgive him for fuelling Luna’s addictions as long as he did. Even when she was starting to get clean. He kept her on a line, and he hated it. George was okay, but he wasn’t a good person.
 
Seemed like he surrounded himself with not good people, really.
 
Someone called out, orders coming in. George smiled at him, putting his cigarette out and rushing off to the kitchen again. Leaving Alex to stew as he slowly smoked away at his own cigarette. His mind no quieter, except now there was many trains of thought. What would James want? What would his father do? What would Luna say? How was he going to put the world on notice? How was he going to break J2H?
 
He’d gone back to where it all began, and now he had no answers.
 
“Fancy seeing you here, Alex.” A voice came.
 
He sucked in a deep breath and raised his eyes. It was funny, how the past kept coming back to greet him. On the other side of the world, and he still couldn’t escape Sullivan fucking Pleasant. He still had that gross scruffy goatee. His skin looked even looser on his skeleton than usual, but somehow even more gaunt in the face. This was the second time they’d run into each other in a bar. Both times in James’ creations. It was somewhat uncanny. Alex took a long and deep drag on the cigarette and shook his head.
 
“Fuck me.” Alex muttered.
 
Blue Collar Beat Down
Scene Two | On-Camera | 24th November 2023
 
“This year started as the year of culling wolves, and then became a journey of Saviors. I started with Austin James Mercer. Then it was Ken Davison. Peter Vaughn crossed my path, but it was a blur in my mind. That mid-year slumps. The cruise ship where I stumbled for the last fucking time. The cruise ship that almost marked the end of my journey here in Sin City. The arrogance of us both to walk in thinking we’d easily walk away the victors. Yet, the truth? Neither of us were even remotely good enough to be toe to toe with those young kids. So here we are, months later. No matter how much I try and escape it, I’m constantly bombarded with the same ideas of the past. Wolves and Saviors. All year I’ve run into the same roadblocks. Arrogant kings, former and present. Cocky beasts who have continued to come up a step short against me and all others they’ve challenged. Two different journeys have taken us, however. Vaughn has been a dominant champion, and I’ve struggled my way through this year. Coming off a powerful reign as Internet Champion, I’ve only just found my footing once more. That footing leading me to being the clear second-best wrestler in this whole damn company. Or at least, that is what it would appear on the surface. That finally, they can’t just ignore me. That finally people are acknowledging Alexander Raven. The forgotten are having their voices heard, and now. Now there is a silver lining on the horizon.”
 
Alexander Raven can be seen sitting inside a rock formation, looking out over Papago Park. Looking onto the water. The low afternoon sun casting a yellow glow over the water’s surface. The dusty and sandy earth illuminated in the same warm glow. A small glimpse of warmth in an increasingly colder time.
 
“It’s an interesting place we find ourselves in this week. Both of us have our end of year opponents lined up. Eddie Lyons and J2H, respectively. Peter Vaughn is on track to be the man of this year. Regardless of the awards handed out. The respect given to our forcefully evicted former World Champion Michael Harris would deem him the man of the year. I’d normally be inclined to say so as well. However, I know Peter Vaughn is a man with lofty intentions. Focused, unassuming and dominant. A man who belies his own appearance with an acumen that few could ever hope to have. An acumen that few ever even come close to. No, Peter Vaughn is without a doubt the man of the year. The eleven-time World Champion himself looks to close this year out with one more showing. To prove that he is the man of the Roulette division. Smart money is that despite Eddie’s best efforts, Peter will once again walk out champion. I respect you, Peter. Of all the Saviors, you probably rank a close second. Just below the man who set my course, who made me see beyond the mirrored world I’d created for myself, that being Ken Davison. This week is interesting for us because it determines two things. If you beat me here, and I go on to dethrone James at December 2 Dismember, then it would only be assumed that the real man on top of the mountain is none other than yourself. Despite out shortcomings in the Mixed Tag Team Championship match.”
 
“See my confidence comes from my other half, Luna. Kim Pain was put in her place and made to see and understand how much this all means to us. I may not fully agree with the pathway that Luna is on currently but rest assured. She did exactly what she needed to. Proved that despite their two former encounters, at the end of the day she was the one who’d finish on top. It fills me with confidence that now, with us having this important match-up that the hand of fate changes just a little bit. No wheel of random chance to affect us. No random ruleset to put us at an equal disadvantage. No, just a straight up contest. You versus me, to see who the big dog heading into our respective encounters is at December 2 Dismember. Unfortunately for you Vaughn, I have little care for my own health and well-being. No, right now, I have a focus. A goal. Regardless of how much I am hurt, I’m going to make it to December 2 Dismember, to once and all put an end to my journey. One more time. Yet I wonder, how much are you willing to risk in this exhibition. Do you put it all out there and risk injury just weeks out from what could be seen as your biggest match of the year? Are you willing to go down in blood, bruises and broken bones at Climax Control? Will you let J2H simply exist at ringside? I don’t think so. No, I think you’ll hedge your gamble and take the safe bet. The safe bet to phone it in against Alexander Raven. The safe bet to let yourself a warm-up week, that is without risk. No injury, no damage. Just to keep yourself afloat and above board. I think, I’m not going to get the dominant janitor  this week. I don’t think I get the man who won eleven world championships this week. I think I’m going to get a man at half mast, who is holding on to all he has for the big match.”
 
Alex crosses his legs, feeling around on the ground near him. Picking up an assortment of stones and rocks, placing them in the gap created by his crossed legs. The crow and screech of birds indicating life beyond the window of tranquillity he finds himself in.
 
“Why do I think this? Arrogance, really. I want to think that the man I’m getting this week isn’t going to be the absolute best he can be. I want to think that he is aware of the man who will be sitting at ringside. Banking on that man to interfere in some way, to affect the outcome of the match in his favour. J2H gets involved, gets me disqualified by laying hands on you. Easy win, easy march towards December 2 Dismember. Alternatively, you could be pretty confident in James doing his best to distract me and leading to your own success. Waiting for a moment to take the cerebral action and take advantage of a distraction. I think, Peter Vaughn is a smart man who knows that he can easily allow fate to affect things. But maybe, just maybe. I ask Eddie Lyons to join us at ringside too. Maybe I should reach out to Eddie and get him to be there. To ensure you don’t take the easy path, and to add just a little bit of equality to the situation. Arrogance comes from thinking, and boy oh boy, am I a thinker Peter. See what people may have forgotten whilst I was stumbling. What people may have forgotten is that Alexander Raven is the goddamn workhouse of Sin City in Twenty-Twenty Three. James can flaunt his ability to turn up to speak, and prance about. He can send in recordings, bait me into responding. Hell he can even mock my lack of attendance whilst my best friend is laying in a hospital bed if it makes him feel better. A showtime figure is appropriate. I’ll give him credit where its due too. We’re here every other week putting in the hard yards, tuning ourselves up and getting in those reps. You and I, Peter, you and I are the ones who really bring in the viewers. The viewers to see what sick match-up you’ll end up in, in your next defence. They turn up to see Alexander Raven put in another round in the ring. Knowing they’ll get exactly what they’ve paid for. A man who will fight tooth and nail to get it done in the ring or die trying.”
 
“You are the last hurdle on my journey towards being the workhouse World Champion of Sin City. The last bump in the road before the two biggest draws in this company go head-to-head, one more time. You are the last blip on my radar, and I just know your head is going to be in the same place as mine. So let’s not bang about, Peter. Let’s not let skip stones on this one, and dive in headfirst instead.”
 
Almost a proclamation in action, Raven throws a few of the stones that he had collected out into the water. Small splashes and sploshes from where the rocks and stones dropped into the water. Uncurling his legs as he dusts himself off to stand.
 
“You’ve got your focus, and I’ve got mine. Let’s not fuck about and act like this is anything more than it is. A distraction from our true goals. So I posit this, Peter. I have no problem in being the Napalm Kingslayer at Climax Control. If you want to bang heads and go the full hog, then I’ll saddle up and ride for the dawn. But if we’re going to do this, when the final bell rings know this. Whoever wins, is without a doubt the second-best guy that Sin City has. And that in the new year, one of us is going to be the World Champion. Either a third time for myself, or a twelfth time for you. Doesn’t matter, don’t care. I just want to see change. I want to see someone show up. I want to see a champion who doesn’t run their mouth, and act like their appearance fee is what makes them a worthwhile investment. Give me something to hope for Peter. Give me something to fuckin’ hope for. Or this janitor is going to have a hard time cleaning up his own spills.”
 
“Talking about talking, I’m glad you’re going to be ringside J2H. I’m glad you’re going to be there so you can hear in person what I have in mind. You offered me the golden platter to stack the match up however I felt, and boy. I’m nothing if not a sucker for stacking the odds. But I will give you a little something. A taste of what this means to me. A taste of how much winning our upcoming encounter means. One more time means one last time. If I can’t beat you at December 2 Dismember, then that’s it. Stipulation one, to give you something extra to bring it all. You beat me at December 2 Dismember. I’ll leave my boots in the middle of that ring. No more Alexander Raven in Sin City. This is it for me. So when I announce the match type at Climax Control, I want you to know. That ever drop of blood, every bead of sweat and every ache will be worth it. You beat me, you put me to sleep. So keep your eyes open and your ears ready. Cause win, lose or draw with Peter. I’ve got my eyes on you.”

Alex smiles to himself, closing his eyes and tilting his head back. He walks forward, one step at a time. One foot in front of the other.

“The Napalm Kingslayer is here. And I’m ready to burn down every single person who stands in my way. Bring it all or bring nothing Peter. You’re just a bump in the road at Climax Control. With no one to save us.”

He steps off the edge of the rock formation, and plunges down. Disappearing completely, a whirl of birds flying through the opening. Obscuring the world in a flurry of black feathers and beating wings.

“Happy Holidays. The Conspiracy is here.”

And then…

Darkness.

Silence.

Nothing.