One Good Day
The morning light crawled across the mats of Wolfslair. It wasn’t the blinding white of a new beginning ,more like the soft grey of something still trying to wake up. The gym smelled faintly of sweat, tape, and detergent. The sound of the air conditioner hummed somewhere overhead, and for once, Aiden didn’t feel the weight of it pressing down on him.
He’d been here since dawn. Not because he was told to. Not because Alex had ordered extra drills. He just… didn’t know where else to be.
His hands ached from the bag. His knuckles were raw. There was a line of sweat down his neck that had gone cold, sticking his shirt to his skin. He wasn’t training to prove anything. He wasn’t chasing redemption. He was just trying to exist in the space between thoughts.
He wrapped his gloves and threw another jab. The dull thud echoed through the empty gym. Each hit was rhythm, not anger. Each breath was control…….not survival.
But underneath it all, the whisper was still there.
You’re not fixed. You’re just pretending. He ignored it. Hit again. Harder. One good day. That’s what Alex had said yesterday before leaving. It wasn’t a pep talk. It was a statement. One good day didn’t mean victory. It meant choice. And maybe today was that day. He could live with that. A door creaked somewhere behind him. Aiden turned slightly, gloves still up, expecting Alex or one of the other trainees. Instead, it was Austin. Hoodie, coffee in hand, the familiar calm in his posture that felt like a counterweight to all the chaos. “You’re early,” Austin said, leaning against the ropes.
“Couldn’t sleep.”
“Nightmares?”
“Noise.” Aiden threw another punch. The sound cracked through the air. “Couldn’t shut it off.” Austin didn’t answer right away. He just watched. The older man had that quiet way of studying people, not judging, not waiting, just letting them speak themselves into understanding.
“You do realize you don’t have to fight it alone, right?”
“Yeah, I know.” He jabbed again. “But I need to.”
“That’s not what needing is, Aiden.”
He stopped mid-combo, turning slightly toward him. “You ever feel like if you stop moving, you’ll drown?”
Austin nodded slowly. “Yeah. I’ve been there.”
Aiden’s eyes flicked away, like he didn’t want to be seen too much. “It’s not about the bottle anymore,” he said. “It’s about what’s left when it’s gone.”
Austin set the coffee on the apron and leaned forward on the ropes. “And what’s left?”
Aiden thought for a long time before answering. “Noise. Regret. This constant feeling that I’m chasing a version of myself I can’t find.”
“That’s part of it,” Austin said softly. “The part where it’s quiet, but it still hurts. That’s where you figure out who you actually are.”
Aiden took a slow breath and looked down at his gloves. “Feels like punishment.”
“It’s not,” Austin said. “It’s a clean slate. You just don’t trust it yet.”
Aiden let out a bitter laugh. “You sound like Alex.”
“I doubt it,” Austin smiled faintly. “He uses fewer words and more threats.” That almost drew a grin from Aiden. Almost.
Austin stepped into the ring, slow, careful, like approaching a wounded animal that still had teeth. He picked up a set of mitts and held them out. “C’mon. Work with me for a bit.”
Aiden hesitated. “You sure?”
“Yeah. Let’s see if all that self-pity improved your footwork.”
The gloves met leather. The rhythm started again. Austin called out combinations, steady, methodical…. and Aiden followed. Jab, cross, hook. Breathe. Reset. Again. For a while, they didn’t speak. The gym was quiet except for the sound of impact, the squeak of shoes on canvas, and the rasp of Aiden’s breath. His arms burned. His shoulder throbbed from yesterday’s spar. But this time, he didn’t care. The pain felt earned. It felt alive. Austin caught a jab mid-motion and lowered his mitts. “You’ve got control again,” he said.
Aiden wiped his forehead with his wrist. “For now.”
“That’s all it ever is,” Austin said. “Control’s not permanent. It’s a choice you keep making.”
Aiden exhaled. “Yeah. Alex said something like that.”
“Alex is right more than he’s wrong,” Austin admitted. “He just forgets that people aren’t machines. You can’t train grief out of them.”
That hung between them for a second. Aiden looked down at his gloves, the red fading at the seams. “You think I’m grieving?”
“You’re grieving the version of yourself you lost,” Austin said. “The one that didn’t flinch, didn’t question, didn’t need help. That’s the hardest kind of grief. Because that person’s not dead. He’s just different now.” Aiden went quiet. The words landed deep. He wanted to argue, but he couldn’t. It was true. Every time he saw himself in the mirror lately, he didn’t recognize the man staring back. And for the first time, he wasn’t sure if that was a bad thing.
He stripped off his gloves and sat on the edge of the ring. Austin joined him. Outside, the city was starting to stir, car horns, sirens, the faint pulse of life coming back to the streets. Inside, it was just them, the faint hum of the AC, and that same strange peace that Aiden was still learning to trust. He rubbed his hands together. “Do you ever stop hearing it?”
“Hearing what?”
“The whisper. The one that says you’re not enough.”
Austin looked down, then shook his head. “No. It just changes its tone. Sometimes it’s quiet. Sometimes it’s loud. But the trick is, you stop believing it.”
Aiden leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “How long did that take you?”
“Still working on it.” That earned a short laugh from Aiden. He didn’t smile often these days, but this one felt real, small, quiet, genuine. For the first time in a long while, the silence didn’t feel hostile. It just was. The rest of the morning passed without words. Austin left first, muttering something about paperwork and too much caffeine. Aiden stayed. He cleaned the ring, wiped down the mats, folded towels, simple things that didn’t require thought. When he finally sat down on the bench in the locker room, he realized how still everything was. The same place where he’d almost broken again. The same bench. The same bag.
Only this time, the bottle wasn’t there. He’d thrown it out last night. No ceremony. No big gesture. Just tossed it in a bin outside the gym and walked away. He’d half expected to regret it, to feel panic crawl under his skin. But instead, there was only a strange, almost uncomfortable quiet. He picked up his phone. There were no missed calls. No messages. Just the faint reflection of himself in the black screen. He looked tired, older maybe, but clearer somehow. “Maybe that’s what progress looks like,” he muttered. “Just less noise.”
He set the phone down and leaned back against the locker. Time passed. He didn’t track it. He didn’t need to. For once, the silence didn’t demand anything. It didn’t accuse him. It didn’t remind him of what he’d lost. It just was. Eventually, the door opened again. This time it was Alex. He didn’t say a word when he walked in. He just gave Aiden a look, quick, assessing, and nodded once. Approval without praise.
Aiden nodded back. “Morning,” he said quietly.
Alex stopped halfway to the opposite locker. “You trained early?”
“Yeah. With Austin.”
“How’d that go?”
Aiden paused, thinking. “Not bad. Still standing.”
Alex grunted. “Good start.”
The two men didn’t exchange much else. But they didn’t need to. Alex changed silently, grabbed his towel, and headed toward the gym. Before he left, he stopped at the door. “One good day,” he said over his shoulder.
Aiden looked up. “Yeah.”
“Make it two.” Then he was gone. Aiden sat there for a long while, staring at the door. The words replayed in his head.
Make it two.
He smiled faintly, stood, and started wrapping his hands again. His shoulder hurt. His head was tired. His chest still ached with everything unsaid. But he was here. And that was enough. The world outside would still be loud. The fights, the noise, the pressure…all of it would come back. But not yet. For now, there was only the sound of tape against skin. The steady rhythm of breath. The hum of the lights above. And for the first time, he didn’t need the quiet to hide. He just needed it to start again.
One good day.
Mine
”I did it…”
A deep breath, a heavy exhale. Aiden Reynolds sat forward, clasping his hands together as he balanced his elbows on his knees.
”Despite everything, despite the bullshit that I’ve had to hear and put up with from everyone involved, despite the stupid stipulations and gimmick matches that come with Halloween, I now get my opportunity at becoming the SCW World Champion. And I did it in one of the most satisfying ways. Alexander Raven is someone who many earmarked as a World Champion. He spent years trying to become an SCW World Champion. He went after everyone who held that championship and has never been able to break through the ceiling above him to claim it. Because, quite simply, he’s not good enough.”
“And it isn’t that he never will be. The truth is that if Alexander really wanted to become the World Champion, he could. But deep down, in his heart of hearts, he doesn’t. Because it’s more satisfying to him to be able to whine and bitch and cry and wax lyrical about the state of the company and the championship instead of being part of the change that he so desperately wants to see. You see, if Alexander Raven actually won the SCW World Championship, then he would have to defend it. He would have to be the champion. He would have to lead this company — and he doesn’t really want that.”
“That is too much responsibility…”
“And as far as responsibility goes, it’s a large one. Leading a company is no small feat. When you’re holding the World Championship, everyone looks to you for guidance. And they’re all looking at you like a target. The fans, the back office, all the boys and girls in the back — they’re all looking squarely at you, judging and watching. Waiting for you to do something. Something they can either emulate or something they disagree with so they can jump all over you and try and throw you under the bus. But either way, when you are the World Champion, everything runs through you.”
Aiden closed his eyes and took another deep breath. He calmed himself down as he let go of his hands and pushed off his knees to get to his feet.
”It’s something that very few people are ready for. To my surprise, it seems like Carter has started to learn what it is to be a World Champion. I still don’t think you should be the World Champion, Carter. I don’t think you should’ve beaten Alex, and the fact that we’ve gone from Finn to Alex to you is a huge downgrade. Because you can’t really take anything seriously. You like to pretend that you can, you like to pretend that you are a World Champion, and you like to pretend that you are a professional wrestler — but that’s all you ever do. You pretend. And the masquerade that you’ve been living needs to stop.”
“You have been able to reach heights that so many other people will never even get a sniff at. And you should be applauded for that. But this whole dog and pony show needs to end. You are embarrassing this company. And that might sound harsh, but it’s the truth. When people look at SCW, they laugh seeing you as the World Champion. They laugh looking at you as our World Champion. That whimsical charm that you’ve always had, that most people seem to be drawn to, is excellent for an Internet Champion or a Roulette Champion. It’s excellent to see you in this company, and you are a talented and entertaining wrestler.”
“But a World Champion? No.”
“A World Champion needs to be intimidating. A World Champion needs to be a leader. And you can’t even lead yourself out of the funk that you constantly find yourself in. You and Miles are a toxic relationship built on fake positivity. You lead Miles astray and call it love. He should’ve been a World Champion at least once in this company, but he followed you around and was more concerned with playing dress-up with you and posting pretty little pictures for whatever man-crush bullshit you guys keep getting involved in. He’s more concerned with putting up pictures of you for himself to drool over in the future than he is about training and becoming a World Champion. That’s what you’ve done, Carter. That’s what you’ve done to him, and that’s what you’ve done to his career. All so you can hold that championship like it’s a fucking trinket.”
Aiden started to get more animated now, throwing his hands in the air and pacing back and forth. The anger seemed to be rising inside him — anger that he used to push down and deflect with a joke or something similar. Anger that he never wanted to feel, but now flowed freely through his veins as easily as his blood and oxygen.
”Seeing you hold that championship makes me sick. But I’ve come to a realisation. Last time you and I faced each other, I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t ready for the burden of being the World Champion. I wasn’t ready for the responsibility of leading this company. But unlike Alexander Raven, I do want that pressure. I do want that opportunity, and I do want to be the one that everybody targets or looks at for guidance. I want to join everyone who I train with in being a World Champion. I want to join Alex and Austin and Alicia — people who are my mentors, who are my friends. They have their fingerprints all over this company, and they made damn sure that SCW kept its fucking lights on after everyone else left.”
“And they’re still doing it. Austin works behind the scenes. Alicia has had to come back and save the Bombshell mid-card, and Alex came back to stop Finn from holding that championship forever. They’re still trying to keep this company alive, and they’re still trying to keep this company afloat. Meanwhile, you and Miles are playing touchy-feely out the back and posting stupid pictures all over Twitter and making dumb shit jokes. Instead of promoting the company that you’re the champion of, you’re just promoting your own relationship.”
“We get it — you and Miles love each other, and there’s nothing going wrong between you two at all. You never have arguments, and you have the most perfect relationship ever. Because that’s realistic and not toxic and isn’t going to blow up in your face whatsoever. And trust me on this — I don’t care what Miles says. He’s jealous. He’s angry. And he’s hurt. Because you’re standing there as the World Champion, and you took all of those opportunities away from him because you stole all of his focus. When he should’ve been training at the same gym as me and focusing on becoming a World Champion, you swooped in, you took him away, and you’ve now made it so that every single one of his friends and people who could’ve helped him become a World Champion don’t even want to talk to him or look at him.”
“But nah, Carter… you’re a fucking peach…”
“A sweetheart…”
“A champion…”
“Only, you’re not. Not by a long shot. For the last few months, I’ve had a change of attitude. I’ll be the first one to tell you that I never wanted this. I was the guy that everyone looked to for entertainment. I made people laugh with the different comments that I made and my outlandish stupidity — like bringing my pet wombat backstage, so Christian could freak out over the fact my wombat shat in his office. I would make stupid jokes and wrap myself in the Australian flag or start humming ‘Land Down Under’ under my breath.”
He rolled his eyes and chuckled to himself.
”Not now. Not anymore.”
He took another deep, shaky breath before continuing.
”I needed to grow up. I needed to start taking my career seriously — something that you should’ve done when you became the World Champion. And I know, I know, some people — including yourself — will sit there and say that you shouldn’t have to change when you become a World Champion. A lot will sing your praises and talk about how you’re such a nice person. Carter wouldn’t hurt a fly. He just goes and does his job and wrestles and becomes a champion and does so well and has so many fans. It’s just too bad it’s all complete bullshit. And you are the biggest snake that I’ve ever seen in this company.”
“You’re more of a snake than anyone with the last name Harris. You’re a bigger snake than J2H — because yeah, he had a huge ego, but at least he was honest about the kind of prick he was. You’re a bigger piece of shit than Mac Bane…”
“But you try to hide it.”
“The thing is, I see right through you. I see the kind of person you are. You’ve taken away opportunities from those you say you love, you’ve distracted them, held them down, and pushed them aside all for your own gain. You’re holding a World Championship hostage when other people should be the ones leading this company. And you disregard other people’s accomplishments — like going all over X or Twitter or whatever you want to call it and shitting on Alexander Raven’s accomplishments in other companies, all because it doesn’t fit your stupid little narrative that SCW is the only company that matters. And that’s the problem. The fact that you think SCW is the only company that matters means that you don’t have to put any effort into being the World Champion and keeping this company relevant.”
“You believe that all the hard work has been done.”
“If you openly admitted that there are other companies out there, then you’d also have to admit that as a champion, you’re a joke. An unfunny joke. And the feel-good moment you had where you were able to beat Alex and become the World Champion has now overstayed its welcome. Eventually, all those fans cheering your name and talking about how you’re an inspiration and how you’re a good person are slowly going to see you for the real little snake that you are. And Carter, trust me on this — you are going to end up feeling that weight and that pressure, and you are going to start looking for an exit because you won’t be able to do anything about it. So I’m going to go into High Stakes and I’m going to take that championship from you. But not to save you — no, I don’t give a fuck about you. I’m going to take that World Championship because I deserve it.”
The Fracture in the Peace
Wolfslair Gym, New York – Early Morning
The first light of morning stretched across the mats, thin and grey, like a cautious visitor. The gym was still, save for the low hum of the air conditioner overhead and the faint scrape of a weight cart somewhere down the hall. Aiden sat on the edge of the ring, gloves in his lap, staring at the cracked mat beneath him. The routine was the same as yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that: hands wrapped, gloves laced, a bottle of water untouched at his side.
But the quiet had changed. Yesterday, it had been comforting. Today, it felt like something pressing against him, the weight of silence heavier than any punch. His fingers flexed in the gloves, knuckles raw, sweat from yesterday still clinging to his skin. He jabbed once, the dull crack bouncing through the empty space, and it felt… wrong. Not wrong in the sense of failure, but wrong in the way a door left ajar in a house you thought was safe feels wrong.
“It’s just a morning,” he muttered, voice low. The words barely disturbed the stillness. He threw another jab. The rhythm felt hollow.
The whisper returned, softer than the memories he’d carried before: You’ve built all this quiet, but what’s left to fight for?
He threw another jab. Harder. Faster. The sound cracked, but it didn’t fill the space the way it used to. Nothing filled the space anymore. He could feel the edges of himself fraying, the way a rope left in the sun unravels. He was clean. He was disciplined. He was present. And yet the absence of chaos left him unsteady.
The door opened quietly, and Austin stepped in, coffee in hand, hood down, the early light catching the faint lines in his face. He didn’t speak at first, just watched Aiden move, silent as a shadow. Aiden noticed him and stiffened, the gloves pausing mid-motion.
“You’re early again.”
“Couldn’t sleep,” Aiden said, trying to keep the sound even, grounded.
“Peace’ll do that. You spend long enough in chaos, stillness feels like a trap.”
Aiden jabbed again, letting the gloves hit the bag with the hollow rhythm of habit rather than purpose. “Feels like I’m waiting for something to go wrong.”
Austin took a slow sip of coffee, the sound almost exaggerated in the quiet. “That’s not fear. That’s memory.”
Aiden stopped mid-punch, gloves raised, shoulders tense. “Memory doesn’t explain this.”
“It explains half of it. The other half… is you learning that quiet isn’t permanent. It’s fragile. It won’t stay still unless you keep it in motion.”
The words settled, weighty. Aiden exhaled sharply, letting his gloves drop to his lap. He looked around the gym, at the dust motes suspended in the grey morning light, at the mats he had cleaned yesterday, at the ring ropes stretched taut like invisible boundaries. “I thought I wanted quiet,” he said softly. “I didn’t know it would feel like nothing.”
Austin stepped closer, placing the coffee on the apron of the ring. He leaned against the ropes, hands in his hoodie pocket. “Nothing is different from noise. You just recognize it now.”
“I don’t recognize me anymore,” Aiden admitted, voice barely above a whisper. His gaze dropped to his gloved hands, flexing and relaxing them. “I used to know exactly who I was. The man in the mirror—he didn’t question, he didn’t need anyone… he didn’t feel this empty.”
“And that man’s not dead. Just… not needed right now,” Austin said, careful, measured. “You’re learning that the fight isn’t about survival anymore. It’s about keeping the quiet alive while everything outside the ropes keeps moving.”
Aiden’s chest tightened. The whisper returned, almost playful this time: You don’t need to fight. You just exist.
“But existing feels… hollow,” he said, tone edged with something fragile, almost desperate. “If I’m not fighting, then what am I supposed to be?”
Austin leaned forward, his gaze steady and calm. “Then fight for the quiet. It’ll never stop testing you. That’s the point. The struggle isn’t gone—it’s just… smaller. You just notice it more now.”
Aiden swallowed, the taste of saliva dry on his tongue. His eyes flicked to the bag, to the faint smear of yesterday’s sweat, to the faint lines of dawn stretching across the gym. He raised a glove, let it fall. Raised the other. Let it fall. He could feel the rhythm of his heartbeat in his hands, slow but steady. The whisper softened again: Still here.
“So am I,” he said, almost inaudibly.
Austin gave him a small nod and stepped back. “I’ll leave you to it,” he said, voice quiet. “See if you can sit in it without pretending. That’s all any of us can do.”
Aiden sat there, letting the gloves rest on his knees. The gym slowly brightened as the sun climbed higher, catching the dust, the ropes, the faint marks of old fights. For a long time, there was only him, and the quiet, and the hum of the AC. He didn’t reach for his phone. He didn’t look around for distractions. He just breathed, steady, and let the morning settle across his shoulders.
The hollow feeling remained, but it no longer felt like an accusation. It was simply… existence. He could live with that. He could sit in it, even if it hurt in the absence of noise. He flexed his hands, feeling the rawness beneath the tape, and realized that even pain could be neutral, could be grounding.
“One good day,” he whispered to himself, not because anyone was listening, not because it mattered, but because it was true. One good day wasn’t perfection. It wasn’t triumph. It was simply the choice to keep going, to keep existing, to stay in the quiet without running from it.
He exhaled slowly and started to wrap his hands again, the tape clicking softly in the still air. Every layer was a small, deliberate act of control. Every wrap was a reminder: he could endure. He could be present. He could exist without chaos.
Outside, the city stirred with sirens, car horns, and the faint pulse of life he had once felt alien to. Inside, the gym remained suspended, a little world of concrete, canvas, and light. Aiden leaned back against the edge of the ring, gloved hands resting across his knees. The hollow ache had not disappeared, but he had learned something essential: the quiet wasn’t an enemy. It wasn’t threatening. It was fragile, yes—but it was real. And fragile could be enough.
He closed his eyes briefly, feeling the subtle pulse in his chest, the rhythm of the gloves in his hands, the faint hum of the AC in his ears. He had feared the emptiness, but he realized now it wasn’t emptiness at all. It was space. Space to breathe, space to think, space to choose.
A soft breeze drifted through the slightly open window, brushing across his face. He smiled faintly, the kind of small, careful smile that didn’t erase the struggle, but acknowledged it. He was still learning. He always would be.
“Make it two,” he whispered to himself this time, recalling Alex’s words from yesterday. He didn’t need an audience. He didn’t need applause. He only needed to continue. One good day. Another good day. He could do that. He would.
The hum of the gym, the rising light, the faint scent of sweat and tape and the city beyond—it was all there. And for the first time in a long while, the stillness wasn’t hostile. It was fragile, yes, but it was enough.
Aiden lifted his hands once more, gloves tightening, tape secure. The bag waited, still. His breath settled into rhythm. And he began to move again, not running from the past, not chasing noise, but existing within the quiet. One good day. Then another.
End it
”You ever notice that things happen in cycles — the people who are the most disrespectful are the ones who make the most sense, while the people who talk about respect have no idea what that word means?”
Aiden pauses and takes a long, deep breath. His leather jacket hangs off him, a tight black-and-red shirt underneath. His wavy brown hair falls over his forehead, almost into his eyes.
”I spent a large part of my first promo for our match talking about how you’re a snake. And you decided to prove me right. You are a snake, Carter. All of your talk about respect and all of the praise that you throw at people is always, always underhanded. You sit there and throw the word ‘respect’ around while not having any clue what it means. You think you should be respected because you’re holding the world championship. You think you should be respected for everything that you’ve been able to do, for all the boundaries you’ve pushed and the walls you’ve broken down. And why? You think you should be praised because of your sexuality? You think you should be respected because of it? Respect is earned through people’s accomplishments, not through who they are.”
“The respect that you want and the respect that you show are two completely different things. And the fact is that you will sit there on the one hand and think that you should be respected as the champion while simultaneously running down others’ accomplishments because they don’t fit your fucking narrative of what should be viewed as an accomplishment. Alexander Raven is a world champion in another company, and instead of acknowledging that, and that company, you stood there and pissed on it. All because it didn’t fit your ideal of what we should celebrate. I’m a former WrestleVerse world champion. Does that fit your narrative? Does that fit your criteria for something that should be celebrated, or does it just not matter because it didn’t happen inside the hallowed halls of SCW and within your tiny, narrow view of this business?”
“A business you haven’t seen much of. And I finally get it, Carter — I understand why you have these views. I understand why a hell of a lot of the people in this company share that view. A large chunk of the roster here has only known success within this company. If it wasn’t for SCW they wouldn’t have any success to speak of. And that is you. You don’t know what it’s like outside of this company; you don’t know what it’s like inside other companies or the wrestling world at large, because you’re a fucking coward.”
“You would rather curl up in this nice little comfortable corner of the wrestling world that you call home and completely disregard anything else that happens outside these walls because you are too much of a coward to see if you could survive. Let me be very clear on this, Carter: you couldn’t. You’ve become the SCW world champion. You’ve held other titles here, but you’ve also been in this company for basically your entire career. You’ve been hiding from everyone. Hiding from everything. And when someone comes in who’s had experience and success in another company, you disregard it because you don’t want to admit that if you did take a step outside of your precious company, you would be exposed as the fragile little bitch that you are.”
He shakes his head and grits his teeth.
”Even your talk of my evolution has come with backhanded bullshit compliments. You sit there and give me praise for what I’ve been able to do and what I’ve been able to accomplish while also throwing it in my face that you’ve beaten me. But here’s the problem, Carter: what happens when you don’t beat me? What happens when I take that championship from you? Your talk of evolution is to cover your own arse because you know if I beat you you’ll be able to go out there and tell everyone that you were the smartest guy in the room, that you saw how good I was getting and that you gave me all the respect in the world, all of the praise and all of the expectation. You’re setting yourself up to fail, and you’re setting yourself up to fail in a way that allows you to keep your dignity.”
“While taking mine away.”
“But hey, I’m sure you don’t mean to do that, right? I’m sure you don’t mean to have that kind of narrative going into this match. After all, you’re a good guy, you are innocent, you are just a smiling, happy champion who is fair to everyone and you are a respectful, incredible human being, right? Bullshit. You are just as big of an egomaniac as the rest of us. It’s just people like me — people like Alexander Raven — who will admit it. We will tell the truth, something that you are incapable of doing.”
”But you will sit there and make it all about you and who you are.”
”Talking about your legacy, talking about your story. But what about my story? What about my legacy? I’m not just going to be a chapter in your little storybook, Carter. Not just a part of your grand legacy as you get to go and become the legend that you believe yourself to be in your own mind. I’m no one’s stepping stone, I’m no one’s chapter. I have my own book, I have my own life, I have my own fucking story. I have my family sitting at home willing me to be a world champion. I have the shadow and expectation of all of those who have come before, who I have learned from and who care about me. I have all of that pressure on my shoulders.”
His voice rises; he paces back and forth, clearly feeling aggressive.
”And pressure either destroys you or crystallises you. It either makes you or breaks you, and I am not going to be broken. The pressure has clearly started breaking you. Sitting there talking about the champion’s burden — are you kidding me? Every single champion, everyone who holds a world title, has that exact same bullshit. Every single time you step up in this business you have pressure put on you: pressure from fans, pressure from family, pressure from mentors and from people you trained with, people who believe in you. That’s pressure. That’s a burden. When you become a champion, you have all of that pressure added on top of being the champion — having to be the leader of the locker room. But you?”
”You haven’t been a leader or done shit. You haven’t been the leader that we’ve all looked for. You haven’t felt that pressure, because you don’t give a shit. You pass through life. You have Miles next to you, pretending to smile and pretending to be happy about the fact that you’re the champion, despite the fact that you can see in his eyes he believes he should be in that position, and you took it away from him. Because you’re selfish. You are selfish, you are hypocritical, you are disrespectful, but you get away with it because you smile and act like a happy-go-lucky good human being the people should love.”
”But… you’re not…”
”You’re not the champion that you pretend to be. You’re not the human being you pretend to be. You’re not the partner to Miles that you pretend to be. You are a snake. You are a champion who does not deserve the throne. And all of your talk of evolutions and stories and narratives and legacy is going to come to an end. At High Stakes, Carter, I’m going to wrap my hands around your neck and I’m gonna choke every single last breath out of your body, every sign of life. And when it’s all said and done and you are the one staring up at those lights while I’m holding the championship, then you will know that everything we have ever said about you is true. You have been nothing but a fluke.”