“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?”

“Jesus fucking christ. It’s funny how quickly the most chatty go silent when things do not go their way. It is funny how the most positive become so inherently aggressive when things do not go their way. It is funny how quickly the delusional pretend that they have done anything to earn what they have been given, and in turn push their false ideals upon those who are burning, bleeding and working to prove themselves. See, I let things simmer. I allowed for the mouthy child who I told what to expect to put his acknowledgements where they needed to be. I left the silence golden for the nothing man who was put before me, to thank me for giving him the lesson that I did. I let him live, and he spurned me for it. Silence from little Lyle. No thanks, no praise, no acknowledgement. Just silence met with silence.”


“Then the little upstart thinks that in his stupidity, that he is succeeding. It may sound hypocritical, but just stick with me here. Just for a moment. You’ll see what I’m talking about. See Jayden, Jayden just needed to stay down. Jayden just needed to take a breath, look at what is before him and realise. That sometimes the smartest way to victory is not to fight every battle like it is the final one in the war. Stamina, endurance and persistence. Three key traits that he embodies, but intelligence and understanding? Something he severely lacks. See, Jayden couldn’t get the job done in his own realm of expertise in thirty minutes. When it came to stepping in the ring against a man like Kevin, he continued to bounce back over and over. The stupidity of letting himself slowly be ground to dirt, in the hopes that people will love him for it.”


“But we once again put the boots to the uppity little brat, and he continues to fight back. To be a thorn in my fucking side. You know what pisses me off? This week we see the capstone on the proving ground series. We see people getting the opportunity to prove that they deserve to be going for championship gold, based on their merits. Instead of being in that series myself, we’re stuck dealing with the petulant child. Even worse, the week that the undeserving Eddie Lyons faces off with Kris Ryans, a man who seems intent on tarnishing what little respect he has left. In that same week, we have two egregious things happening.”

“My dear sweet wife, Luna Pasilno, after dismantling the veteran Song, coming off being the strongest contender to Kayla Richards. Being full of anger, and desire. She is conveniently excluded from the Proving Grounds series. Despite being the only woman actually fucking attempting to create anything of worth in that division. The only one constantly battling, constantly remaining in the purview of all the relevant contenders. She’s overlooked for fucking who? Raine and Prudence?”


“But even worse than that. In a week where I should be in the position of the undeserving Eddie Lyons. In a week where Kevin Carter should be celebrating the effective destruction of Jayden Harris. In a week where J2H should be fighting any damn person he wishes. We are instead handed what can only be seen as a fucking joke. The past, present and future of Sin City Wrestling, and we get… The Stupid, The Useless and the fucking Joke. The Stupid Bulldog, the Useless Hardcore Veteran, and the Joke that is the Wank.”


“I’ve had the misfortune of sharing the ring with two of these three men in the past, and for the love of god. I cannot believe that the only other person who has put in half as much work as I have this year, is the third man who I refuse to believe is actually even trying at this point. So let’s start with The Useless, Justin Smith. The only man I haven’t faced before in this match. The other workhorse of the Men’s division, if you will. Except, I don’t think that is quite appropriate to describe you, do you? No, see, whilst you may have been in as many matches as I have this year, Justin. It’s night and fucking day between us and the relevancy of that. You’re the epitome of what we refer to as a ‘jobber’. The guy who is there to tune-up when someone needs to bounce back. The guy that is there to ensure that new talent isn’t simply turning up for a payday. The guy who helps show the absolute fucking dregs of this business and pretends like it means fucking anything.”

“I do not like you, Justin. I have been vocal about my displeasure of your existence. I hated the fact that somebody was deemed adequate to compete against me at Summer XXXTreme, because they happened to beat you. It is a mockery of the talent that I am, not only for you to be seen as an adequate challenge, but for you to be placed in a match across the ring from me. In the opening fucking match of the show, when people like Eddie Lyons and Kris Ryans are getting to main event for the opportunity that should be mine. I’m stuck wallowing around at the dregs and the cesspool puddles with the bottom feeders like you, Justin. I’m stuck opening the show against filth like you, and I have to pretend to be fucking happy about it.”

“Do I seem fucking happy, Justin? Do I seem content with the idea that I am being reduced to this stupidity? For better or worse, it is unfortunate that Bulldog has been stuck with you, because in any other circumstance at least he wouldn’t have to be carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Somehow, in the infinite wisdom, they stick him with not only the most useless man of the current day, but also with another partner who may be the most useless person in the history of this company. See you are The Useless in my eyes, Justin. You are nothing but a speed bump that irritates with its obnoxious placement. You face off against three main eventers, and I just know. That when it comes to show time, you’ll simply roll over and let your leg be cocked.”

“You’ll lay there and put us over, because that is all you can do. Whether or not it is on purpose, or otherwise. You are a fucking ant to me, and I will crush you. Crush you so that I never have to see your stupid fucking name anywhere near me ever again. You can stay slumming it, and I’ll go back to the main event where I belong. I’ll go back to competing for the World Championship, like I should be. I’ll go back to being the man with all the eyes on him, and you? You’ll simply be…”


“The most insulting thing however, isn’t your simple existence in this match Justin. No, the insulting thing comes with you being paired up with The Joke. Gabriel fucking Wank. The man who I had hoped had fallen so far into obscurity that we would be safe from having to hear from the man ever again. Instead, he decided to come back and immediately shoot himself in the fucking foot. See I can forgive most things. I can understand the desire to want to be back in this ring. Hell, I think you even tried to give me a run for my money last time we met in the six sides. Compared to Justin Smith, at least you aren’t phoning it in, Gabriel. That is, however, unfortunate for you. Unfortunate because you aren’t skilled enough to even be considered phoning it in. You talk too much for a man who has never been able to match what he says with any level of success.”

“But you went and did something that I would not forgive anyone for. See, you want to get personal with me? Go for it. There’s not a single person in this company that can go word for word with me, and come out the better. There’s not a single person in this business that can match me word for word, and not come out the otherside angry and frustrated and knowing that I am deep under their skin. What you did however? You went and insulted my wife. Now, Luna can easily stand on her own two feet. She’s a big girl, with tough skin and simply laughed it off, but I’m not so forgiving. See, I’m an advocate for watching what the fuck you say, and who the fuck you say it to, because when you poke the bear you get your fucking head ripped off. You poked the bear, Gabriel. You poked it, and now? Now you get to suffer for it.”

“See I don’t care for Justin. I’ve had my fun with Bill, and despite what he may want to believe, we all know that there is no comparison between myself and him. That I am Roulette Champion, despite his attempts to interfere. I outlasted him earlier this year. I have repeatedly beaten him from pillar to post in every match since my unfortunate first few months in this company.  But what do I really want out of this now? You and me, centre of that ring. My hands wrapped around your piggy little throat, and hearing the bell ring as the referees try and pull me off your deadening body.”

“See, I’m going to squeeze the fucking life out of you, Gabriel, and you’re going to tap, and tap, and tap. You’re going to reach and plead, and beg. You’re going to watch as they are unable to pry my hands away from your fathead, and know that as the blackness of unconsciousness steals your vision, you have nobody else to blame by yourself. You can only blame yourself, because you decided to try and insult my wife. You decided that your mouth was going to run and insult the person who you decided to interact with. That you decided was going to have to have their time ruined by you. You are just sickening, and guess what else?”


“I have very few people I care for in this world. There are few people that I would go to war for, and you? You Gabriel decided to insult the one person in this world that I would fucking die for. So when you’re laying there, coming back to consciousness and wondering why you’re laid up in a hospital bed. When you are trying to put the pieces together, barely even able to remember coming down to the ring, let alone getting the life squeezed out of you. When you feel around and feel like you’ve been beaten worse than you’ve ever been in your fucking life, I want you to remember this. I want you to remember that you made a decision to insult the most beautiful person in my world. You made a decision to insult my wife, and because of that? You are going to feel a world of fucking hurt. A world of fucking pain. A world of agony and fear. And no one is going to feel bad for you. No one is going to care. Not even your dear, sweet mother, will feel an ounce of fucking sympathy for you.”

“You made this choice, and now you will wear it. You will wear the pain, you will wear the bruises, and then? You’re going to pack your bags, go home and never, and I mean it. Never step back in this ring again. Never show your face, and never, ever, say anything to me or my wife ever again. Drill these fucking words into your tiny little head, and remember. You are The Joke, and that is all you will ever be. No matter the denial, no matter the arrogance. You are a fucking worm in this world, and the sooner you realise it and stop pretending otherwise? The better off we will all be. You are absolutely fucking…”


“But then, we have The Stupid. Bill Barnhart himself. I have a soft spot for Bill. I don’t pretend otherwise. I know that in reality, the space between now and then, and here and where. Bill and I were once almost equals when I had been out of this ring for close on a fucking decade. Then I found my groove again. Then I found a way to get better, to remember how to do this. To find the footing, and ever since? Bill hasn’t got a sniff in. We’ve said it before, and god knows, we’ll probably say it again. Part of me is sick of it, really. The back and forth, the repeated claims of grandeur. Yet it doesn’t matter if it’s a Championship defense, or a dog collar match. It doesn’t matter if it’s a mixed tag encounter, or a one on one affair with us. Every time the outcome stays the same, and I don’t see that changing. I don’t see it altering, Bill.”

“You’re a man who had his time. You’re a man who is a good hand, and unfortunately in this case? You’re the one man with any level of merit on your team. You can see it, can’t you? You’re in an unwinnable situation. You’re facing three of the best that this company has ever seen, and you have to try and carry deadweight over the finish line. You’re just not that good, Bill. You’ve never been that good, and you probably never will be. That’s not a problem if you understand your place in the world. For guys like Justin and Gabriel? That’s simply rolling around in the filth and excrement that settles at the bottom of this cesspool. Being nothing more than warm-ups for anything worthwhile. You Bill?”

“You’re what they want to accuse me of being. Simply a good hand to have. A man who does his job, but isn’t good enough to be a champion. Now, you’ve had your successes, I won’t deny it. But you and I both know, as long as I’m Roulette Champion? You’re stuck at the bottom with the other feeders. You’re stuck without an end goal, because even through it all you have to understand that you do not belong in my stratosphere. You and I? We’re not on the same level. We never will be. So I want you to stop being The Stupid. I want you to stop pretending like you can change anything, and simply watch as I do what I need to do. You stay on that apron, you stay out of my way. You watch as I break your disgusting little flakes that you’ve been saddled with and know.”

“This wasn’t your fault. This isn’t your fight. You are simply a sacrifice being made to insult the three of us. You are simply a bump on the road, and I need you to stop. I need you to step down, because I’m tired of it Bill. I’m tired of walking the dog, and leaving it in the shed begging for a bullet to the fucking head. So I simply ask that you do one thing for me Bill. Don’t be…”


“Come Climax Control, I need the three of you. The Stupid, The Useless and The Joke. I need you to understand your role in this play. A trio of hacks, designed simply to piss us off, and to be sacrificed in place of the man we actually want to tear apart. I need to know something though.”

“Double duty. It’s not unheard of. It’s pretty common in this industry actually. Defending champions who also find themselves in the crosshairs of a far more important personal issue. So when I agreed to the match with Jayden? I wasn’t worried. I wasn’t afraid of having to wrestle twice. I wasn’t afraid of the idea of needing to prove myself twice in one night. For better or worse, people have come to understand this one key thing. I’m going to fight when I want to fight. I’m going to do what I want to do. I am going to hurt whoever the fuck I want, and right now? I want to hurt Jayden Harris and the fucking nobody no face no name wannabe scary and spooky halloween prospect that is Entity.”

“Bravo, Jayden. You found the one person who is simple enough, dumb enough and idiotic enough to step into the ring at your side. You found the one moron who thought that they could make a difference if they stood at the side of the mouthy little brat. I have made it abundantly clear that I don’t like you Jayden. In the weeks leading up to this you have solidified that for me. Not only are you an arrogant and vainglorious little shit, you are a terrible fucking human being. Anti-woke is probably how you see it. Thinking that your little ignorant homophobic remarks are just words.”

“See, I grew up fighting to protect people from cunts like you. From mongrels who think mocking feminine traits, or playing on tropes of homosexuality for kicks is justifiable. It’s funny to me, that you mouth off and think that it doesn’t matter. Well boy, I’m here to tell you. I will kick your fucking teeth in if you don’t wise the fuck up. See as much as people don’t like me. As much as I want out of here, if I need to, I will hang around as long as it takes to teach you a fucking lesson. To make you understand that the things you say are more than just words. The things you say are more than just jokes.”

“See, I have been surrounded by young people for years. It comes part and parcel with running a fun little dive bar that makes them feel like adults. I’ve been surrounded by impetuous fucking children for years. I’ve heard the foulest things, I’ve seen people do things that deserve to put them in the fucking ground, and there was one thing people quickly came to understand when you went to my place. That if I don’t like you? If I don’t like the way you talk? If I don’t think you show the required level of tolerance and understanding? Then you were fair game to have your fucking head kicked in.”

“My issue with you is you think you're indestructible. My issue with you is that you think you deserve acknowledgement and respect for simply existing, and let me tell you, boy. The only thing this world owes you, is that which you already have. Life. You were given it, given consciousness and now you are to live in it. Not to tear others' lives down, not to ruin others because you feel entitled to more. But I can hear it now? I’m thinking too much into things. I’m taking your words in ways they aren’t meant to be taken. Why am I so angry when all you're doing is proving how good you are?”

“I’ve been an impetuous young kid. I’ve said the dumb things, insulted the wrong people and thought myself better than everyone. When I broke into the business, I was a young kid who thought everything was owed to me. Within six months I was World Champion. I had bashed in the skull of my mentor and left him a convulsing mess of blood and brain matter in the middle of the ring. I was the youngest UECW World Champion ever. I was the youngest UECW Tag Team champion ever. I was the first and last person to successfully defend those championships solo. I was nineteen and on top of the fucking world, and I didn’t think anyone could tell me otherwise.”

“Then my mentor set my father on fire and hung him above the ring. Crucified and martyred a man I had only just come to terms with. That man had listened to me for months. Had let me run wild and then grew sick of it. But that wasn’t it. No, that wasn’t even close to enough. He tore me to ribbons in a steel cage. He ripped me apart piece by fucking piece, and then to finish it all off. In that ultimate rubber match? He caved my fucking skull in and set me on fire in the middle of the ring and let the world watch. He made me pay for my hubris, and I learnt a lesson.”

“A lesson I would learn again, time and time again. See I went on to become World Champion again. The first ever uXw World Champion. This is a story I’ve told before, and if you were worth the salt you spit, you’d know this. You’d know my history. You’d know why I am seen as the workhorse. You’d know why I was in back to back main event World Title matches last year. You’d know why every week Finn Whelan speaks my name because he doesn’t see equity in anyone else. You’d understand why the likes of Aiden Reynolds, Kayla Richards, Miles Kasey, Sean Parker and now Mark Cross and Peter Vaughn see me as the most deserving person to have never been SCW World Champion. You’d understand why the shit you spew is nothing but words, hate and insensitivity.”

“You’d have already understood why this alliance of convenience came about. You’d understand why James and I hate you. You’d understand why we want to see you pay for your attitude. For your arrogance. For your bravado. You would understand because we would make you see. But the arrogance of your youth, your breed and your name makes you think you’re worth anything. Unproven and untested, you spout about being the future, when you can’t even prove that you belong in the present. One of us made it to the finals of the Blast from the Past. One of us has been here working our ass off. One of us isn’t living on the successes of their father, and if you can’t tell Jayden? That ain’t you, boy.”

“You want people to respect you? To acknowledge you? To stop hating on you? Then you gotta buck the fuck up and change that tone. Change the mindset and change what you think works. It's one thing to be surrounded by people your whole life who let you be who you are. It is another thing when you are challenged on your beliefs. It is another thing when you are made to think about what is before you. It is another thing when you poke the bear and the bear bites your fucking hand off. Whether you want to admit it or not, you are poking the fucking bear and the bear is ready to eat.”

“Part of you won’t admit that you weren’t good enough to do what you said. An angry, angry person, who said they were going to hurt me. You promised to make me suffer, and you couldn’t even get the job done. The record books will put a W in your column, but if you take that as a win, I have some serious doubts about the success that lies ahead for you. I’m not delusional enough to deny that you have serious fucking talent kid. I won’t pretend you didn’t take it to me. I won’t pretend that it wasn’t a hard fought match. But you gotta wonder. I’ve got a decade and change on you. I’m old, I’m hurt and I’m breaking down. I am in pain every day, and every day pushes me closer to being unable to walk, unable to talk and realistically? Puts me one foot into the grave.”

“Despite that? For thirty minutes I kept pace with the future. For thirty minutes I took everything you had and kept coming back. For thirty fucking minutes you had your opportunity to prove that you are all that you say you are, and you failed. You failed and now you're angry about it. You’re angry that you don’t get another opportunity like that again. So you come out screaming and demanding a match. A handicap match because you are so certain of yourself. So certain that you are better than us, and you need to prove it. Because your ego won’t allow you to accept that right now you are not good enough. That you couldn’t beat James. You couldn’t get the job done against me, and as a result you are looked upon unfavourably. But what do I know right? I’ve only been doing this for over half your life.”

“I’ve only been bleeding, fighting and dying for over a decade. I’ve only had the most dominant reign as Internet Champion in Sin City history. I’m the only person that can get away with dubbing themselves the Kingslayer, and nobody questions it. Nobody tears it apart, because the reality is I am the fucking killer. I am good, and that burns you up inside. I’m going to be World Champion, and that eats you up inside. I’m going to be on the winning side on that ship, and it fucking kills you to know that truth.”

“You’re not alone though, are you? You’re not alone in this little escapade. No, in some infinite universal joke, you found someone who’d tag with you. Someone who has a bone to pick with J2H as well. Remind me how that went? They went to war, they fought, and then your partner has done… what exactly? A ball of fire fighting for the top spot in Sin City Wrestling, and then mere weeks ago he was contending for a shot at… my Roulette Championship. Funny how everything seems to fall into place when we look at it through a wider lens. But the issue is, nobody really cares about your partner. The man who hasn’t done anything, who hasn’t actually beaten anyone, and who continues to just… exist.”

“Isn’t that right? The spooky and scary man who can turn up after the lights get turned off. The man is hiding his identity because that suits him better. You speak of a past and yet your fucking present it useless. Irrelevant. Nothing. That’s meant to instil some level… fear? Some level of what… concern? The only thing that concerns me about you, is how you manage to still keep popping up. The only thing you manage to do, Entity, is exist. A hollow body filled with anger and emotion of a past you cannot accept, and in turn? You act like it matters. You put your eggs in the Harris basket, and pretend like that means something.”

“You don’t mean anything, Entity. You’re a scared man, hiding because you cannot accept that the world has moved past you. You’re a scared man hiding from the fact that you just aren’t fucking good enough to be what you think you should have been. You’ve done nothing since you came back. You’ve done nothing but talk and fail. Fail and talk. The things that people accuse me of doing, of being, you are living them. You are the reality that they try to paint me with. You are the reality that your partner tries to make people believe about me. You are what Jayden wants to paint James and myself as, and that? That’s a sweet fucking irony.”

“I’ve known people like you. People hiding from a past, pretending that they aren’t. Acknowledging what should have been, but not what was. See the worst part of it all? I at least know how the fuck Jayden Harris is. Everyone knows who Alexander Raven and J2H are. You though? I see you booked, I see you talk. I see you act like you mean something, but… I don’t know anything about you. You haven’t done anything. You’ve talked, and you’ve middled and you’ve just existed. A good hand to have on the roster, but nothing. The same things that people try and accuse me of, despite the fact that I am getting their money, their time and their focus. What do you get, Entity?”

“See the thing is, I’m pulling double duty, and it doesn’t worry me. It doesn’t worry me, because you’ve proven that you are nothing. A shadow of the shadow that you claim to have been. You partnered up with Jayden, in some hope that it’ll make you matter? In some hope that you can finish these stories that you’ve started? I don’t quite get it. I don’t get what this does for you. I don’t get what you think this will amount to. You lose and it’s just another day in the office for us. You lose and you become even more irrelevant than you have already been. You just become the failure in the thorn of the side of the boy who didn’t even fucking want you. But what do I know, right?”

“I’m just holding onto J2H’s pocket, right? I’m just the tagalong, because that’s what people say, and what people say? That’s the god-given fucking truth, right? It's true when other people talk, but when I suggest otherwise, I’m wrong. I’m full of conspiracy. I’m full of shit, because I dare not to acquiesce to what they demand. But I guess we’ll see, right? We’ll see in the end what happens when someone dares to reach further than they should. We’ll see what happens when the truth comes out. We’ll see what happens when Jayden Harris has to suffer another set back, and in front of dear father of all people. Oh poor boy.”

“Have you been listening? I need you to listen.”

Journaling had become a way for Alex to deal with his own mind. Detailing his life, the events that led to where he was now. The death of his mother, his father, his best friend, and even the disappearance of Leon. It also meant that he finally had a way of actually dealing with his sadness. The depression.

The early entries were where the most pain existed. The entries about his youth. About his mother, about Luna and James. Reality was, his entire identity was wrapped up in these people.

“I remember the day I properly saw her for the first time, Luna. A free spirited, hot-headed, hit first ask questions later kind of girl. She was a little younger than me, a couple of years. But I can still picture seeing her like it happened yesterday. Beautiful, long cascading brown hair, double dutch braids. We’d actually known each other for a while. See her brother, James. He’s the one who gave me the name D. But it wasn’t now, no. No that came much later. That doesn’t matter right now anyway. No, what matters is where things started. Things started with the day I finally noticed Luna. That was the thing about puberty. Suddenly girls and boys were far more fascinating. See for me, Luna was the way that I was pulled. For James? Puberty wasn’t good for James. Not in the town we grew up in, not at all. Old mentality, stuck in the mud and conservative.

The three of us, we weren’t the most well liked, even before life began to try and mould us. I don’t look favourably on it now, but James and I? We were kind of bullies. Not because we wanted to hurt people, but because it was the only way to protect ourselves. The child of German immigrants, and the brother and sister who were the kids of the town’s shame. My parents, sweet as they were? Things weren’t easy. We were poor, my father? I thought he was the best at the time, but I understand why we were poor now that I look back on it. Terrible boxer, like. Just god awful, but boy did he try. Mum was good with a thread and needle. Nobody would ever admit it, but the only reason we ever had food on the table was because mum was good with fabric, needle and thread. It was like watching a ballerina spin and spin, when I watched her. Tough and tested hands, moving with speed and care. Perfect lines, perfect folds. She was a master at it. She deserved more recognition than the country bumpkin town ever gave us.

Doesn’t matter really. That’s not the point. That comes into it later, I promise. Mum and dad, they are a big part of the story, but they aren’t the point right now. No, the point was that I was suddenly infatuated with Luna, and James, though I didn’t know it yet. Jimmy was falling for me. Better at hiding his emotions than I ever was, I didn’t know then. I didn’t find out until the end. When he gave me the name. Gave me that nickname, D. As kids, the name didn’t make sense. In any case, I remember the day that I saw Luna. It wasn’t the first time I ever saw her, but it was definitely the first time I ever saw her that way. Love at first sight makes sense if you don’t assume first sight to be the first sighting. The first time I really saw her.

When I think back on it, I don’t even know if it was girls that I was interested in. I think it was just her. Closeness, proximity, familiarity. I think that’s what made me fall in love. I’ve been with other women, and don’t think I'm a bad person. We all have needs to be fulfilled, I’m sure you understand. Just, I didn’t ever really love anyone else. Maybe it was because of what would come, the heartbreak and the destruction. I’m not sure. I guess that’s not entirely true. There was one other, in that way. Different heartbreak, but heartbreak the same. I just don’t know if I ever loved her, the way that I loved Luna. That comes later though, I promise. I’ll get to the point eventually. Thank you for the patience, I know it’s not the easiest. To hear about the trivialities of someone's life, when all you want to know is where the dumb name comes from. It’ll make sense when we get there, and I don’t see a need to rush. It’s a long drive after all.

She was beautiful even back then. Sharp features, long gorgeous hair. The double dutch became synonymous with her in my mind. Even now, I can’t imagine her any other way. Even if we did spend so many years together, and I saw her in every way, that was the image in my mind. Older, life having taken its toll on her. Stress and sadness are plaguing her face, but beneath it all. That beautiful woman with the piercing blue eyes. They both had those eyes, piercing blue. Almost grey when I think about it. Cutting through to the soul itself. There was nothing she couldn’t see with those eyes. I loved her from that moment onwards. Not without its struggles, but there was always that affection. James had those same eyes, and at times it was hard to differentiate them in my mind. They weren’t twins, but they might as well have been. Identical to each other in every way that mattered. Sharp eyes, long hair and a smooth tongue. Lexi baby, they called me back then. I think it was to see me squirm. Even now it makes me shudder. Maybe more than it once did. I’m not one for the soft affections. Pet names and the like were never my thing. The most they ever got out of me was Jimmy and Lu. They didn’t stop them though. I miss the simpler times.

Did she love me? At the time, I didn’t know. I wasn’t even sure how to broach the subject with her. I think she did, I hope she did. The hard thing for them, as it would turn out, was that they were both in love with the same boy. Sometimes I wonder how much it hurt James to make the choices he did. Not to tell me how he felt until the end. Telling Luna to follow through with her dreams. To follow her own heart. I sometimes wonder how different things might have been if I’d had the same infatuation with Jimmy that I did with Luna. No, with sorrow I have to admit. I never fell for James, but I still loved him all the same. As a brother, as my friend. As the man who brought the light into my life and never let me wallow. Who held my hand through the hard times. I don’t know how he could be so strong, you know? As things would end up, I sometimes wish I had been able to give him what he deserved.

Sorry, you’ll have to excuse me if I get a bit emotional. Although it’s a story I’ve told time and time again, it still gets to me. See, it’s not a happy story. Nobody really has that happy of a life story, I don’t think. Bright smiles hiding traumas and lies. Happy families the cover story for the most prolonged of abuse. How many bruises can be hidden if they are inflicted on the heart and brain? People are tortured and unhappy. You don’t think so? I wish I could have that positivity. The blind faith in the goodness and purity of people. The blind faith to climb into the car with a stranger, in the middle of the night, in a storm. To listen to them tell a story about love and loss, and how that gives them their nonsensical nickname. Going to the same place as this person who has such distrust. You are a better person than me. I don’t have such blind faith in the good intentions of people. Although, I guess if there are people like us in the world, maybe there isn’t so much bad.

To swing back on it all, James and I? We were notorious for solving things with our fists. We mostly kept to ourselves, but if someone looked at us wrong? A fat lip, black eye and another suspension. I don’t know why I kept doing it, to be honest with you. The only thing worse than everyone thinking poorly of me, was what would happen at home. See, my dad might not have been very good at boxing, but when he was three whiskeys deep and found out I’d been suspended again for fighting? You’d be amazed at how heavy the alcohol loaded hands of an angry man could be. My father loved me, I’m sure. Once upon a time anyway. As I got older though, and he got drunker? There wasn’t so much love as there was resentment. Resentment for being inadequate, resentment for being a failure in both my eyes and his own. My dad, he wasn’t a well educated man. Taking falls for cash was the safer bet, because he wasn’t good enough to even go toe to toe at the local. He never went to points when it came to me though.

I don’t blame him, I understand it. I don’t forgive him for it, but I know why he was the way that he was. Generational trauma would be the easy explanation, but it's not one that I accept. No, I’m more inclined to believe he was just mean. A mean drunk, a mean man. A mean man who the only person that he could exert any level of power over was his wife and his son. His wife had no problem hitting him back. Despite her chosen profession, she wasn’t a slight woman, my mother. Thin as a slip, sure, and sinewy. Yet there was no stronger wall in this world but her. I adored my mother. Yet, as is the case in a lot of my life. The most beautiful and pure people often do not get to see the brightness of tomorrow. What happened? I don’t think it’s time for that just yet. I know I’ve promised a lot, but I do promise. I will explain everything in time.

Everything has its place. What matters here is the key points that started it all. A love triangle, an abusive father, and a distrust for the world. Everything started the last time I ever went to school. Sixteen going on seventeen, I believe. My birthday was soon, which in my mind meant that I was one step closer to being free. Free to leave home, free to run off with James. Free to be our own people. As it would happen, everything changed that day. That was the day I fell in love with her. Teenage girls can be some of the cruellest people in the world. Luna and James were prime targets. An unapologetic flamboyant boy and a flirtatious and friendly girl. Luna was more at home with the boys than the girls, and that led to rumours. Hushed whispers and nasty words. It was on that day, a domino effect started. A series of unrelated events that resulted in everything that would happen”

He placed his pen down, and reached up to his face. Touching his nose gingerly. The doctor had recommended a face guard to protect his nose. Jayden had dislocated it in their match, and whilst the swelling and bruising had mostly gone down. He was in significant pain. Not that he would tell anyone that. Not even Luna really knew how bad it was.

He felt her arms wrap around his shoulders and a light kiss placed to the top of his head.

“Whatcha writing, big boy?” Luna asked sleepily. She seemed to have had a rough night’s sleep.

“Reminiscing on the most beautiful people in my life.” Alex replied.


“Thirty minutes of torture. That was what Jayden Harris promised me. He played the field, used Guy to get the match he wanted and what happened? He couldn’t get the job done. For thirty minutes I did exactly what I said I would, and he couldn’t put me down. Now, J2H may have jumped the gun just slightly, but I don’t hold that against him. The record books might put it as a win for little Jayden, but every person who watched that match? They’ll know the truth. Hell, even you have to know Jayden. You couldn’t get it done, and that was exactly what I said would happen. Funny, I always seem to be right in the end.”

“But that doesn’t matter right now, does it? No, for the third week in a row the people get blessed with the presence of Alexander Raven. For the third week in a row I get to wrestle what is the main event of the show. Questionably the ladder match for the Golden Briefcase was in the main event ‘slot’, but I don’t think a single person really thought of it that way. No, I think, most people would agree. Alexander Raven versus Jayden Harris? That was the main event. Alexander Raven versus Aiden Reynolds? Main event. This week, we finally get the opportunity that we have been demanding for the last year. The opportunity that has been denied from us for the last twelve months.”

“The Conspiracy is finally given our chance to become the Mixed Tag Team Champions. Every other team, every other rag tag thrown together nobody group. Every single person who has even looked the way of those championships? They’ve been given the world. Ben Jordan and Samatha Marlowe, Miles Kasey and Alexandra Callaway, fucking Carter and Angelos. In what fucking world do any of those teams deserve a shot over us? In what world do those nobodies get a chance at the championship that was made for The Conspiracy before us? No, that in of itself is part of the thing we have been attempting to expose. Part of what we have been attempting to put the spotlight on. Part of what we have needed to break free of. This inadequacy, this unfairness. This favouritism that continually elevates those who are undeserving.”

“But let’s not talk about that. No, let’s talk about what is before us. Let us talk about you and I, Finn. It’s almost funny how things come full circle. Two years ago, you were Roulette Champion. Two years ago, I beat you for the Roulette Championship. Two years ago, on that cruise, I beat you again. I beat you, I beat Miles and I beat Bill. Two years ago, there was this… chasm. Two years ago, when it came down to you or me? It was always me. I went on to do some great things, but you know what? You did greater. I failed to upend Ken Davison’s world title reign. You took it from him, if only for a little bit. You proved you were ready to sit atop that mountain, and I went on to have a defining Internet Championship reign. Two years on, here we are. You as World Champion, as Mixed Tag Team champion, and me… I’m middling.”

“That’s the truth of it. No amount of anger, no amount of venomous words. No amount of denial and bark. None of it matters. The truth is, I’m exactly where I was two years ago. I asked… no, I told Aiden, that the Finn I beat? Not fit to hold the bags of the Finn of today. That is the truth of it. I might not have always had this same level of respect, but I could easily see the success of a man. I’m as Aiden put it. I’m a ring general. I’m a tape watcher, I’m a man who spends his time getting under people’s skin. I am… unique. I’m unique because there is nobody else that does what I do. I’m unique because I’m the only fucking man in Sin City that can say that I have not just a victory over our reigning and defending world champion. No, I have two.”

“I have two victories over you. I have a victory over Peter Vaughn, over Mark Cross. I even hold a win over Ken Davison himself. Ben Jordan, Fenris and Austin James Mercer. Hell, I even beat Matt Knox in a freaky little pyramid in Nepal not long ago. There’s not a single person in this company that has taken down more world champions than me. The Napalm Kingslayer of Sin City Wrestling. It’s not just a boast either. It’s a fact. It’s a fact that despite my ‘choke artistry’ as every single person likes to put it. From Dickie to Jayden, to half the people in the back without the balls to step to me. They’ve been saying it since day dot. They’ve been saying the same thing over and over and wondering why it doesn’t affect me.”

“The thing is, I’m used to being insulted. I’m used to being put down. I’m used to being underestimated. That’s the whole fucking thing about this industry. That’s the whole thing about wrestling as a whole. If you’re not respected, you’re always going to be underestimated. They’re always going to think themselves a step above you, because respecting that idea that someone else could be your equal, or your superior. That doesn’t sit right for them. It doesn’t sit right for people to be the lesser man. It doesn’t sit right for people to think of themselves as the underdog. The underdog always wants to be the man, and the man never wants to be the underdog. I’ve been the man, I’ve been the underdog. I’ve been the lesser, the equal and the better. I have been it all, and it does not worry me. It does not scare me. It does not stop me.”

“You, Finn. You of all people know.  You know what to expect. You know what is to come. You know, because you don’t pretend. You don’t pretend to see others as lesser. That’s not to say you’re wrong though. You don’t pretend, because you always believe it. You believe in superiority. You believe in success being measured by the visual, and not by the stance that one takes. Not by the successes of what was, but the success of what is and will be. You are a man who stands at the top and said that this was going to be Finn City Wrestling. You were going to show the world who you are, and what you are capable of. To be a fighting fucking champion, and not to laze about on the sidelines. That's what I expected of you. That was what I asked of you.”

“And you’re close. You’re ever so close to being that man. Except, when I look across the board. When I look at who stands to be the man. Who stands to be the woman. There are two names that stand above them all. Two names that constantly get talked about, that everyone murmurs. That every person tunes in to see. It isn’t Kayla Richards and Finn Whelan. It isn’t Juliana, or Jamie Dean. Hell, right now, I wouldn’t even say it’s for Peter Vaughn who is a ready threat on your little radar Finn. Vaughn’s shown some damage in his armour. Vaughn has shown some chinks in the chainmail, and is looking a little wobbly. No, the only people that are on everybody’s lips are the two that stand across the ring from you this Sunday. Alexander Raven and Luna Pasilno.”

“Truthfully, nobody expects us to win. Not here, and not at Summer Xtreme. Nobody expects Luna to upset Kayla Ricahrds. Nobody expects Alexander Raven to notch a third victory against Finn Whelan. Nobody expects it, and they paint us the underdogs. The only people deserving of a fucking chance at those Mixed Tag Team Championships that we have continuously been denied. For a year we have been overlooked for every other possible team, and I wonder. I wonder why that is. I wonder if they are trying to keep us down, or if there is the idea of danger. The danger that those titles in the hands of The Conspiracy give them even more time in the spotlight. That giving them those titles means that it becomes even harder to deny the truth of what they say. When Alexander Raven and Luna Pasilno are on that card, no other matches matter. Nobody cares about Tempest and her forgettable Internet Championship reign. Nobody cares about Peter Vaughn and his ineptitude at defending his championship.”

“Nobody cares about Finn Whelan and Kayla Richards fighting another nobody tag team, or another faceless nobody. Jamie fucking Dean? I already beat him. The man couldn’t step to me, but somehow. Someway, he gets a shot at the World Title. It reminds me of when Miles and King James got my spot against Michael Harris. You know they never even considered me, and then I showed them. I made them see, that I was fucking good enough. I made the world see, and in turn. I made J2H see. I’ve had my qualms with him, and still. Even shaking hands with the man, there are things that I would wish to have seen differently, but. I understand it. I understand why he does what he does, why he says what he says. I understand it Finn. I understand people. That’s my strength.”

“I understand people. I understand why they do what they do. I understand why they fight the way they fight. I understand what they are focused on, and in turn? I know how to break them. I understand because I put in the work. I do the hard yards. I am what I demand of others. I am the fucking workhorse of Sin City Wrestling. I am the goddamn Napalm Kingslayer, because I am the one who works to tear them down. I have no problem throwing myself at an issue, over and over. Driving to insanity, because I expect a different outcome. The thing is, the more times I bash my head over and over into that mat. The more times I drop people on their fucking necks, and choke them out. The more I take, the more I get it. The more I understand. The more I know.”


“That’s not a threat, it’s a guarantee. I know that is a cliche, but sometimes. The cliche has it right. See you are holding something of a bargaining chip for me, Finn. I’ve been vocal about my disdain with this company. I’ve been vocal about my actions, my choices, my decisions. I’ve been vocal about it, because someone has to be listening. Someone has to see what I’m talking about. Someone needs to know, and finally. Finally the little bitch that is Christian Underwood, he’s taking notice. Piling on his ignorance and pretence, and in turn? Suddenly becoming very aware of the threat of what is before him. October is three months ago, October is when my contract comes up. I now have the Roulette Championship thanks to Victoria. After Climax Control? I’ll be holding that Mixed Tag Team Championship as well, and then, what do they do? Do they make me the only man they book week after week?”

“Do they hope that my body gives in and my heart gives out? Do they hope that I stoop and fall, and I have to vacate the championships that I am gathering? Or do they finally open the door, and ask me what I want. Do they finally put the contract in front of me, with blank clauses ready to be filled by the one man in all of Sin City Wrestling who matters. I suspect they hope to silence me before then. That we’ll lose to you and Kayla. The toughest, the most deadly, the most frustrating that they have. The two champions they feel so confident in because they are undefeatable. Eight and zero, that’s the tale of the tape for you two this year. Eight and zero, undefeated. It’s impressive, and I won’t pretend otherwise.”

“I won’t pretend that we’re on even footing, because we’re not. You’re on a roll, and I’ve been ‘choking’. You’re champions to be proud of, and I have a consolation prize. I wonder though. What happens when the momentum stops? What happens when the great Finn Whelan and Kayla Richards, choke? It took me a long time to recover. Hell, some might say I never did. Truthfully, in my fifty three matches here? I’d say my victories are often forgotten in place of the defeats. Forgetting the acumen of the people I throw myself at, week after fucking week. Forgetting that I have been victorious over everyone from Bill Barnhart to you, Finn. Forgetting that I am a three time fucking champion in this company, and I will make sure that the next three months of my title reign are the most memorable in the history of this championship. I know this, because I am the workhorse of Sin City Wrestling. I am the man around here.”

“But it’s not all about you, is it Finn? No, in fact, I’d say Kayla is the more important part of this team. The undefeated one herself. Never having lost on Climax Control, she is a force to be reckoned with. Some would say an even more impressive run than you, Finn. The woman has elevated the Bombshell division to being the continual main event this year, and I suspect. Come Summer Xtreme, Luna and yourself, Kayla. You’ll be the main attraction once again. Regardless of how it came to be, regardless of this match’s outcome. Regardless of every word left unsaid because Luna doesn’t want to hurt you, just yet. I think you're the killer here, Kayla. Any other situation I think you’ve got this in the bag. The confidence, the skill and the record. You are the killer who is overlooked because of the man at your side. Similarly to how Luna is overlooked because of me. Luna is the killer, I’m just the talker. She’s the fighter, and I’m the strategist. That’s how it has always been, and people are suddenly becoming acutely aware of that. They’re becoming acutely aware of the fact that Luna is the top bitch around here.”

“I wonder, Kayla. Do you put your faith in Finn to get the job done this time, knowing that he hasn’t beaten me before. Knowing that reality says I am the foil to him. I am the barb in his side, and the pea in his mattress. I get asked a lot about trust, I get questioned about trust. Constantly do people tear down relationships because they do not understand what it means to have unending faith in your partner, but in this situation? I need to know. Do you trust him to beat me? I would like to think you do. But what do you risk in the outcome that Finn cannot get the job done? You lose your undefeated streak for the year. You lose your undefeated streak on Climax Control. You lose the Mixed Tag Team Championships, and you walk into Summer Xtreme without the momentum, knowing that you are about to lose everything. Do you think you can trust Finn not to cost you everything you hold dear?”

“I wonder, Kayla. Have you been listening?”

(tw; visions of gore, celestial horror)

“Failures, both of you. Sean and yourself.” The voice of Vita Mors bounced around in Alex’s skull. Sitting once more in the office that belonged to the illusive figure. Alex had the mask on his face, having become more acclimated to it. Having come to accept it. A useless endeavour.

“Take the mask off. I no longer have need of you.” Mors demanded, his voice rolling around inside his head. Despite the resistance his arms moved up and gripped the edges of the mask. A battle within himself against his very body. Holding the edges of it.

“I can fix this. I’ll do anything to fix this.” Alex muttered to himself, holding still at the edges of the mask. His arms stiffening as he sat locked in battle with himself. Then his arms lowered, back to his side. A long exhale of relief. Of calm.

“Let me show you something, Alexander.” Mors said, his mind telling him to move towards the giant window behind the desk. The window that looked out into nothingness. The window that looked into the heart of The Void itself.

“Trust me, for a moment.” Mors said. Alex stood slowly, walking around the large ornate desk and toward the window. Suddenly it felt like he was sitting as a passenger in his own body. His psyche pulled into a holding cell in his own mind. He could see the world beyond, but he could do nothing to affect it. Mors had taken hold of him.

“Failure leads to decay. Decay leads to nothingness. In nothingness, I reign supreme.” Mors said firmly. Alex’s arms stretched out, his fingers flexing and stiffening. The markings upon the mask begin to glow, bursts of colour and light exploding in the space beyond the window. Then the world went dark. Moments passed, he wasn’t sure how long. It felt like mere seconds, but hours, weeks and years all at the same time. Existing in not just a world of darkness, but a world of nothing.

Then there was light.

He was standing in the same office, but it was… different. Beyond the window didn’t exist a The Void but what could only be described as a Flesh Pit. It was alive, almost like it was watching him. They gorey, pink and red flesh, oozing with a plethora of fluids. It was like it was breathing, the ‘flesh’ expanding and contracting at different intervals. No matter where he looked, there was just more and more of the flesh creature, and there right in the centre? A giant eye. Bloodshot, and without the ability to blink. A familiar eye.

His own eye?

Nausea washed over Alex as he stumbled back a little. His feet felt stuck to the floor. Looking down he noticed that the floor was covered with a similar fleshy substance. Gooey tendrils of what he could only assume was blood sticking to his shoes refusing to give away. His stomach wanted to come up, but his body wouldn’t actually give up. Managing to move backwards he placed his hands on the desk. It seemed normal. His eyes cast upwards towards the ceiling.

It was like a scene from a meat freezer. Countless bodies hanging from the ceiling, eyes removed, hearts torn from their chests. All of their faces cut and stretched into smiles. Then a hand fell upon Alex’s shoulder. Vita Mors hand.

“This? This is where I exist. This is the world as I see it, Alexander. This is the place at which I can pull anything. In this place? I am God.” Mors said softly. He stepped up toward the window, the flesh beyond seemingly quivering in… fear? The eye rapidly flitted about seeking an escape. Wanting to stop looking at the ‘creature’ that stood at the glass.

“I am not benevolent. I am not forgiving. I am a being of restricted power. I needed the Triad to be free of the chains that bind me here. I needed your body to be free of the captivity of this tower. I need people to be my eyes, my hands, my feet. I am infinitely powerful, but I am infinitely controlled. Trapped by the invisible elite that exists beyond the veil.” Mors sounded visibly frustrated. His voice wasn’t just coming from him anymore. It was from everywhere, all at once.

It was then Alex noticed it. Chains that stretched from the ceiling and somehow through the floor. Chains that ended in shackles wrapped around Mors hands and feet. A thread connected a shackle from his throat to the centre of the eye in the flesh pit. It was as he said, he did seem to be a prisoner here.

“Why are you showing me this?” Mors turned to look over his shoulder, and waved his hand forward. Waved Alex towards him. Alex’s body obliged, forcing him to walk forward. To step through the muck that was trying to hold him in place.

“If you show me the world, Alexander. I can be free of this, for only a moment. I need you… to find me a permanent host. Someone who is happy to be sealed away. To be trapped in this place in my stead. To allow me to be… free. You said you would do anything. This is what I need from you.” Mors spoke slowly, commandingly.

“I think I know someone.” Alex said. His mind instantly went to Sullivan. There was the problem of him being currently locked up, but that was… something he could fix. If this was the place that Sullivan would be forced to live. To be stuck in forever. Then that was almost as good as having James back. To know that Sullivan Pleasant would be stuck in this hell, forever. That was the least he could do.

“Oh, Alexander? If you fail me. I will leave you here to watch as I take everything you’ve ever loved, and destroy it. In this world, and every other one that exists beyond it. You are mine until I say otherwise.” Mors said, the threat of violence in his voice was very real. Then with a click of his fingers, Alex snapped his head back waking up. He was no longer in either version of the office. He was sitting on a bench, on a road he didn’t recognise, in a city he wasn’t sure of. All he could see was those bodies, hanging from the ceiling. Eyeless, heartless and eternally smiling. Alex swallowed down the fear, kicking himself. What the fuck had he got himself into?


“A step before the end, and it all comes falling down again. Some might think I’d be upset about it. That I was going to throw a tantrum and threaten to ruin Sean’s life. In any other circumstance, that might be the case. The truth right now? I couldn’t care less. I didn’t want to be part of the Blast from the Past. That’s the truth of it. I didn’t even want to be an active competitor right now. A broken record, sure, but I need to reiterate it. I need to reiterate it because I don’t think people understand it.”

“This was never meant to be my year. This was Luna’s year. This was the year for her to ascend, sit at the top and spit on the mewling vermin below. So the outcome? That’s the dream I always wanted. I wanted to be in her corner watching as she succeeded. As she climbed and clawed her way to the top. We don’t seem to get what we want though. I wasn’t simply just allowed to be her manager. I wasn’t simply allowed to just walk away. No, I was made to keep on competing. At threat of costing Luna her year.”

“At the threat of costing us everything, so I bit the bullet. I stayed here. I entered the Blast from the Past, in hopes that somebody would at least see some sense in putting Luna and I together. So that I could be the one at her side to take her to the peak. Things never go the right way. Across the ring from each other, everyone would think it was inevitable destruction. Mark Cross had to question our marriage. Bobbie Dahl tried to assume that Luna was simply a chess piece for me. Exceptional doubt from a crowd of people who clearly haven’t been listening. Anyone who had actually listened, they would’ve known my intentions.”

“If they had been, they’d know what I wanted all along. I wanted Luna to be the one to win. I wanted Luna to have that chance to bang heads with Kayla Richards. So am I upset about the outcome? Not in the fucking slightest. This is exactly how things were meant to be. This is exactly how I wanted things to go. Finn gets to wipe the fucking floor with Sean Parker, and Luna gets to silence all the cunts who’ve doubted her from day one. That’s picture perfect.”

“At some point, Luna and I? We’re coming for those Mixed Tag Titles. At some point, we take everything. We hold championship upon championship, and when our contracts run out in October? We hold Sin City Wrestling fucking ransom, and walk out the door holding everything. The Mixed Tag Belts, the Bombshell World Championship, and with the opportunity now laid before me? I guess we’re taking the Roulette Title too. See this is a game of fucking chess. The long play to ensure that maximum damage is done to this place when we leave.”

“Which brings me to you, Aiden. Not the first time we’ve come across each other. Not the first time something kooky is being thrown our way. No, this for us? This is an inevitability. See this goes further than just you. A while back, when I was throwing caution to the wind to destroy Ben Jordan and Samantha Marlowe, I told a little lion something. He’s just keeping warm, what belongs to me. That Roulette Championship that Peter Vaughn thought he brought prestige to? Eddie Lyon was just holding it until I wanted it back.”

“And he couldn’t even do that. The long and the short of it? Eddie had one job, and he failed to do that. He failed to keep appearances, and in turn? He lost it to you. To the one guy around here more Australian than me. Dirty poser, some might call me. See I spent a long time in Australia. I spent a long time schmoozing and talking shit with the guys there, and I feel like that is my real home. Where I first got married, where I opened a bar. Where I found my feet in life and found something outside this ring to live for. I might be Texan born, but I am motherfucking Melbourne made.”

“Aiden Reynolds? Now that’s a bloke I can look at and go ‘yeah, he’s true blue’. Adelaide posers like Krystal Wolfe? Not my cup of tea. I know a sweet little redhead who comes from country nowhere, and she’s all the Adelaide I can handle. You though, Aiden? You I can appreciate. I can appreciate a man who knows himself. I can appreciate a man who can see himself as the guy. I can appreciate you, Aiden, because I don’t have to like you. I don’t even have to respect you, and for that? That I can appreciate you. Unfortunately, Aiden. I also have this tremendously elephantine memory, and things you’ve said in the past? They’re unfortunately going to come back to fucking bite you.”

“Failure.”

“That is what you once called me. A failure, Aiden. The man who fell from grace. Relevant and popular, to a failure. To the man who should have been in the main event, and instead, I got stuck pimping out your poor ass for a bit of mindless bloody violence. I wonder, does the tune change now that you get to sit on that mountain? To be the man who held the belt for a whole fourteen days? I wonder if things change just a little bit for you, Aiden. I wonder if things are a little bit clearer now. Now that there is nothing but you and I. Now that there is nothing but you, me and that pretty championship. That championship I am all too familiar with. That championship, that I beat Finn Whelan for.”

“Oh, but that is easily forgotten, right? I’d forget it too, really. Truth is, the man I beat then? A shadow of the man that now stands at the top. The Finn Whelan that lost the Roulette Championship to Alexander Raven? I wouldn’t pay that boy to fill the current Finn’s glass with water. I wonder though, could Aiden Reynolds have beaten that Finn? Could Aiden Reynolds even lace the boots of the Finn Whelan that once held that championship that you do now?”

“See, colour me surprised that the man who couldn’t even make it past Bill fucking Barnhart has the audacity to have ever called me a failure. The truth? I have been down on my luck. I’ve never denied it. I’ve never pretended otherwise. All in all, I think I’m back on track. It took some doing, and I definitely had a fugue to pull myself out of, but. I’m doing it. I made it all the way to the end of the Blast from the Past, and you? Don’t think you even got a sniff of it. Forgive me, I’m a failure though.”

“Ignore the fact that I am easily the only person in all of Sin City Wrestling to hold two victories over Finn Whelan. Ignore the fact that in the last month I beat both Peter Vaughn and Mark Cross. Ignore the fact that I have consistently beaten juggernauts of this company, and in the wrestling world as a whole. Ignore the fact that I spent the last twelve months fighting a murderer’s fucking row of talent to prove myself one of the best in the world, and I only came up short to the biggest fucking draws in the entirety of wrestling. Ignore all of that, Aiden. Ignore it, because I’m a failure.”

“Simply put, if I’m a failure, what does that make you? Someone I can appreciate, sure. Someone I can show utter resentment for, and care not a single bit when I throw you back to your den and let them lick at your wounds for you will not be coming home in one piece. No, Aiden. You got a taste at My Bloody Valentine. Ben Jordan got a fucking glimpse when we tore him and Sam apart at Blaze of Glory. The world got to fucking understand the limits I will go to, if I get the opportunity. The Roulette Championship? It was made for people like me. It was made for the ‘failures’ who’ve got everything to fucking lose. It was made for the ‘failures’ who’ve got everything to prove. It was made so that when I stomp your fucking ass, nobody will even bat an eye.”

“I can hear them now, can’t you, Aiden? They’re saying ‘yeah, that Aiden guy is good, but I feel sorry for him. Not even making it past the first defence? That’s rough.’ They’re doubting you, Aiden. They’re doubting you, because as much as I ‘choke’ at the big time, there’s another truth in it. There was only one man who was deemed good enough to stand against J2H. There was only one man who made a blood feud so fucking important it came only second to the world title matches. There is only one man that they refuse to let walk, because of how much they need him. They need me, Aiden. Sin City doesn’t need you. It doesn’t need the retiring Goth. It doesn’t need the walk-in wannabes like Mark Cross, and soon, the man of glass, Peter Vaughn? He’ll learn it doesn’t need him either.”

“They only need me, and that is why they can’t let me go. That is why they have to continue to create these vortexes of deceit. As much as I shake and rattle the foundations, as much as I spit in the face of those who would decide to manipulate. They won’t do anything about it. I nearly ran Jayden Harris over at Into the Void, and what happened as a result? They let Victoria book me against you. They handed the Roulette Championship to me on a silver fucking platter. That’s what those in control did. I nearly kill a man, and I am rewarded for it. Rewarded because there is nobody who is a bigger draw than Alexander Raven. I may not be the World Champion, but everybody knows who I am. Everybody is watching Alexander Raven. Every fucking person wants to see me succeed because that is what matters most.”

“Not even those who live in your own home believe in you. Kayla doesn’t believe in you. Finn’ll try to tear me down, but he’ll never tell you you can beat me. I doubt even Kallie herself would back your ass in this race. Any other person standing across from you in that ring, any other night. I’d put my money on you Aiden. I think you do have something, even if it goes against my better judgement to admit so. Any other time, any other place and any other person. You’d walk in and walk out with at least one win as Roulette Champion. Unfortunately, you have me.”

“I wouldn’t have called for the match, Aiden. It is unfortunate that Victoria chose this, but that is the way fate goes. I appreciate the way that she thinks. Pitting the perpetual PDA couple against each other? I like it. Throwing the new guys, Jack and Felix at each other? I like it. Making the mouthy little brat Harper put up or shut up? I fucking love it. The only thing I don’t love? It is our match. The main event of Climax Control, the maiden defence of the Roulette Championship by The Aussie Wolf Aiden Reynolds, and he’s got no chance in fucking hell.”

“I have plans, I have things I need to be doing. I have people I need to talk to, and I have things in place. I don’t need this match, and I don’t fucking need you. But on principle, Aiden. On principle alone. I have to take what you worked so hard to win. To earn. I’m going to leave you destitute. No championship for you. I’m going to tell the world about what my plans are, and then I’m going to leave you lying in a puddle of your own fluids, and this is all because of one thing.”

“I can appreciate you Aiden, but I cannot forgive you. So when this failure leaves you lying on your back staring at the lights. Or I have to choke you out, or even better. Make you bleed all over that fucking ring. I want you to remember. You made this personal, when you called me a failure all those months ago. Just like the corvid of my namesake, I don’t fucking forget a sleight. So for you, I hope you’re ready to lose it all. To have to go home to the wayward apartment for lost wrestlers, and tell them, you’re just not good enough to stop the failure. To look at Kayla, and tell her. ‘You were right, he beat the stupid out of me.’”

“I can’t wait to extinguish your fucking light.”

“Have you been listening? I need you to listen.”

“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?”

Smack. Slap. Bang. The sound of taped hands hitting a punching bag. Alex is punching away, sweating up a storm on the punching bag. His hands look a bit raw, the tape doing little to protect him from the continuous force and blows. His beard is dripping with sweat, and the small fuzz on top of his head shimmering with the beads of sweat and cold.

Early morning hours, the only light coming from the multitude of ceiling lights in the small gym he finds himself in. No one else was around at the time, which is somewhat strange. Normally there is one or two other gym junkies getting their early morning pump in. Today however, he was alone. Good Friday. It’d been a long time since the Easter weekend had really meant anything to him. Even as a kid, it wasn’t a major aspect or part of his life.

He was kind of glad for the silence today. It gave him time to just be alone with his thoughts. To be alone with the only person that was really sabotaging him these days. He continued pounding away on the bag, his knuckles threatening to give up beneath each of the blows. He breathed deeply, exhaling with each punch throw. Breathing in between each focused strike.

Easter Weekend and he was going to be getting beaten and bruised for Easter Sunday. It was therapeutic in a way. He could punish others for their insolence. Punish others in the way that he couldn’t punish himself. Be punished for simply existing. For wanting something more from life. For wanting to be part of something. To be fucking acknowledged. For people to stop staring down their nose at him.

A split knuckle, a splatter of blood landing where his fist did. Then another, and another. He didn’t pay attention to it. Continuing to hit away. Continuing to land blow after bloody blow.

“You’re going to kill yourself, rockstar.” A voice in his head said.

James’ voice. His body stiffened, and he stopped. Stopped before the next hit. Stopped before he busted his hand up anymore. Leaving himself a broken mess. He looked down at his hands. At the bleeding knuckles. At the tape that was soaked with blood and sweat. Hissing as the rush of pain finally came to him. He turned, looking around. He was alone. Of course he was alone. James was dead.

James was just another ghost of his mind. A kinder ghost, trying to soothe him. He breathed deeply, and grabbed his towel that was hanging over the top bar holding the bag. Dabbing his forehead, and then wiping his hands. The wounds were small. Just grazes, but enough to be speckling with those crimson beads. He breathed in deeply and picked up his water bottle. Taking a long drink.

“Who are you trying to hurt, daddy?” The voice again. A whisper into his very mind.

He closed his eyes tightly, shaking his head a little. Attempting to shake the ghosts from his very mind. Drinking deeply from his bottle, face towards the floor. Swallowing heavily, he slowly opens his eyes. His mind refused to stop playing tricks on him. There James stood, shimmering and spectral. A ghost of his own creation. A hallucination. The image of a sick man.

“Please, Jimmy. Not now.” Alex managed to squeak out.

James’ ghost smiled and shook his head. Stepping forward and through Alex. Stepping past him.

“Sorry Rockstar. This is all you.” James said.

Alex turned and watched as the hallucination began to pace the nearby area. Pacing the floor of the gym. He wouldn’t look at Alex. Looking around, at the empty gym.

“Do you think what you’re doing is the right thing? Are you happy, baby?” James asked, instinctively cocking an eyebrow from beneath his sunglasses. Half turning back to Alex.

“I don’t know James. I really don’t. I keep trying to find ways to be the person I envision. To be the person I want to be. I’m out there, always trying to be better. I'm here trying to get stronger, quicker and better. We’re always in the fucking ring trying to be better. No matter how much I seem to try, I just can’t seem to get over that hurdle.” Alex said. No longer attempting to clear the hallucinations from his mind.

“Always living in other’s shadows. You’re a disgrace, Alexander.” Another voice this time.

His father. He could feel the cold and sharp hands on his shoulders. Threatening to squeeze around his throat. He didn’t need to see him to know the sneering look on his face. The look of disgust. Alex shrugged the hands off his shoulder and walked forward. Walked through James.

“I’m not living in anybody’s fucking shadow. I’m not you, Vater. I’m not someone who pretends that this is anything but my own fault.” Alex grumbled out.

“That’s not what it seems like, rockstar. You’ve always been self-hating, but you blame the world for it. You blame him.” James said coolly, turning to look at Alex. Looking past him, looking at the father Raven.

“Even your own friend doesn’t believe in you Alexander. How unfortunate. Maybe this is just a bit of schadenfreude for him, hm?” His father said, laughter following it.

Alex shook his head, screwing his eyes up again. Kneeling down on the floor, and pressing his bleeding fists against his temples. Pushing down. Attempting to push them from his mind. Pushing the ghosts out of his mind.

“Maybe it’s time to walk away from it all, sweetheart. Live your life with Luna. Live happily. Be happy.” Another voice.

Lauren. His dead wife. Apparently Easter brought all the dead back to life. He could feel the tears welling. His mind was attempting to tear him apart. The silence he was so desperate for was torn away by his very own brain. He knew they weren’t real. He knew that they weren’t, but no matter how much he tried. They just never left him alone.

“Please.” Alex croaked out, pounding his fists into the side of his head, over and over.

“Please leave me alone. Please, please.” He said, the tears beginning to fall now. His breathing is heavier now, on the edge of a panic attack. It had been so long since he had had a panic attack.

“You’re nothing but a mistake, Alexander.” His father said.

“You’ve got the power, daddy. You can fix this, I promise you.” James said.

“We love you, Alex. We just want what is best for you.” Lauren said.

He banged his hands on the ground, and yelled out. A visceral cry for help. A scream of pain, sadness and sorrow. He just sat there, screaming. Yelling, a mess of sadness and anger. Trapped in a hell of his own making. A suffering of his own.

“Leave me the fuck alone!” He yelled out between the cries of pain and agony.

And then silence. Sweet, beautiful silence. Moments passed by. His eyes slowly opening, his hands loosening. He was alone. He was alone again. Or so he thought.

“They’re back, aren’t they?” Luna asked as she stepped past him. Kneeling down in front of him. Hands on his cheeks. Holding his face, looking into his eyes.

“Why are they doing this to me?” Alex asked, his eyes filled with tears. A broken man, trying to find peace.



“Hello Benjamin, I see you got my message. Are you finally paying attention? Are you finally ready to face that of which you have started? I’m looking forward to this Benjamin. I’m looking forward to you showing me how to wrestle. That’s what you said, isn’t it? That you were going to show me how it was done? That it was going to ‘mess me up proper.’”

The scene opens to a small gym, akin to that of a BJJ studio. Rolling mats laid out, small bits of tape laid down to indicate different starting spots. Alexander Raven is kneeling on the mats, sitting on his legs. Bare foot, a pair of plain black tracksuits, and a loose tank top. A crudely drawn picture of a dick stapled to the front of it.

“You might be right, Benjamin. If there is anything I’ve ever been honest about, it's that when it comes to this. To this business, to this sport. To wrestling as a whole, I’m not god’s gift. I don’t pretend to be the most technical athlete. I don’t pretend to be the best of the best. I’m no amateur turned professional. I don’t have the background, I don’t have the skill, I don’t have the acumen. These are things that I admit, because I am not afraid of the truth of who I am, Benjamin. I don’t care if people see me one way or another. I’m not a wrestler, I’m a fucking fighter. I’m a brawler, a battler and bare-knuckled boxer. I may not be a better wrestler than you, Benjamin. But I am a much better fucking fighter.”

Alex slowly pushes up, rising to his feet, linking his hands together and rolling his wrists. Loosening himself up.

“I want you to think about this clearly, Benjamin. Who do you think people are more invested in right now? I’m offering you a renaissance of your career. I’ve been doing everything to get you fired up, to get you ready to fight. I’ve been going over and over it. I’ve attacked you, Luna has attacked you. I’ve threatened to turn you into a literal dickhead. Luna has done her very best to mash the brains and skull of Samantha Marlowe. We’ve even got ourselves a pretty little street fight lined up. I’ve done everything for you, Benjamin. And you haven’t even fucking thanked me for it. You’ve just talked down on me. You’ve just gone out of your way to belittle me.”

Alex shakes his head, frustration etching its way across his features. He releases his hands from each other, balling his hands up into tight fists. Pressing them tightly against his temples.

“You haven’t even thanked me, Benjamin. I’ve done all of this for you, and you somehow think I’m the villain. No, no. Benjamin, I’m not the villain in this story. I am just a puppet of greater forces. Forces who won’t let me be free. I’m just a puppet of the people who pamper and give to people like you. Who placate fighters like me, but give us unenviable tasks so as to keep me blinded. But they’ve learnt now, Benjamin. They’ve learnt that I am no Michael Harris that they can simply cast aside when it so benefits them. That they can simply throw to the wind because they no longer enjoy playing with this toy. No, I’ve got them trapped now, Ben. Because I want to be free. I want to be let loose, I want my contract ended. I made the call and I was fucking denied it.”

He begins to grind his fists against his temples, shaking his head back and forth vigorously. His eyes closed tight, the anger heavy on his features.

“So now, I’m trying to give back. To build layabouts like yourself into something worthwhile. To teach ‘wrestlers’ and ‘kings’ how to be the fucking fighters they need to be. To be the fighters needed to fight off the machinations and manipulations of these puppeteers that deem themselves fucking gods of us. But I’m the villain for wanting to behead these bastards that think themselves above us. And you’re taking their side Benjamin. Everyone takes their side. But that’s okay. Truly, I understand, Benjamin. We’ll walk into Climax Control. You’ll swing your gusto and bravado around. You’ll flex and you’ll mess me up proper. You’ll put on a masterclass in wrestling and make me look the fool. Punish me for punishing you. Placate your masters and beg for their acknowledgement. So the two of you, you and Samantha, can go and get your wind back and take those Mixed Tag Team championships.”

He begins to pound the sides of his head with his fists now. Eyes still screwed tightly shut, his mouth pulled into a sharp sneer. Flecks of spittle flying from his mouth.

“Yet, maybe, I’ve finally gotten under your skin this time, Ben. See what I did to Jamie Dean, well. That was a message. A message that I don’t care if you can wrestle. I don’t care if you think I’m talking shit, making ‘bad jokes’ and pretending to be something I’m not. I do not live in delusion, I do not live in lies. I am who I am and I do not pretend to be anything else. I want you fired up, I want you to be ready to go to fucking war. If it takes hurting those around you to get you there, then I will hurt every single person between us. I will break every person you love, if that is what it takes to get you to stop being this prim and proper, cockney fucking asshole. Anyone can swing a chair, but only those who want to hurt someone can swing it properly. Anyone can brawl, but only those with the passion and hatred can do it well. Anyone can be you, Benjamin; but nobody can be Alexander Raven.”

His pounding stops, and a wash of calm comes over his face. A deep breath in, and a smile crossing his face. He slowly reaches into his pocket, and removes a heavy duty staple gun. Reaching into another pocket he slowly removes a folded up piece of paper.

“You haven’t even said thank you, Benjamin. That’s the worst part of all of this. I’ve done everything for you. I’ve done everything to help you. To make you a better wrestler, a better fighter. A smarter man, a more observant man. I’ve done everything I can do to light the fire under your ass, and you haven’t even thanked me. Why do you hate me, Benjamin? Why do you pretend to be a paragon of virtue, a man who lives with his life on display, yet you spew such hate for me. Hate for someone who has done nothing but try to make you better? That’s where we are different, Benjamin. I do this for everyone. I do what I do because I need them to be better. I need people to be true. And I know I’m repeating myself here, I’m well aware of it. See, I go in circles. Over and over.”

Alex begins to walk, walking in a small figure eight. Three or four steps each way. Lifting the piece of paper that had been folded up in his pocket and fiddling with it. Slowly unfolding it.

“But that’s because I feel like a trapped animal, Ben. I feel like I am stuck here, perpetually stuck. That no matter what I do, I’m banging against the steel bars of my cage. So when I see an opportunity to lure in one of the jailors. Then I have to do what I have to do. If that means, shoving a spike through your fucking eye, then so be it. If that means stapling things to your head, then so be it. If that means, I have to hurt those that matter to you to make you pay attention, then so fucking be it Benjamin. I’m so tired of pretending to be a good person. I’m so tired of pretending to be something I’m not. I’m so tired of being here.”

He places the now unfolded sheet against his forehead, and then presses the staple gun up against it. The snap sound of the staple embedding into his flesh. Sticking the paper to his forehead. Conveniently short enough to keep his mouth clear, but his eyes now hidden. A small stream of blood began to flow down his face. Like tears of blood. On the paper it simply read: ‘ETERNAL PRISONER’.

“Are you willing to face that which lies before us? This is not the end, Benjamin. This is a taste. This is a warning. This is the beginning. We walk into Climax Control, a bull ready to kill and the bird that has been mocking it for weeks. This is just a warm-up, Ben. Because a smart manipulator knows. The bull can be put to the sword early, if need be. That the charging animal, as deadly as it is, is the easiest to catch with a hidden blade beneath the waving flag. So I have to question you Ben. Can you keep your focus for just another few weeks? Or do you get put to the sword and laid to rest. You demanded this, because I put the fear of God into you. Will you regret it, when you’re too broken, battered and bruised to protect those that matter the most to you? I’m looking forward to being free, for just a minute Benjamin. To have those shackles released, to have the freedom to be who I am. To be who everyone seems to think I am, because I choose to be that person. The tireless beast. The man who can swing a jar, jab a spike and choke with a pole.”

He slowly begins to sit once more. Placing the stapler beside him, sitting cross-legged on the map. He turns his face down a little, the blood dripping from his chin onto the mat beneath him.

“I’m tormented by the ghosts of my past, Benjamin. Pulling and tearing me every which way. I can hear my father mocking me. Laughing that I can’t get to the heights I did at the start of my career. I can hear my dead ex-wife, begging me to stop. Begging me to forgive myself. To forgive others for their actions. I can hear my dead former friend and destroyer of my life. I can hear him telling me how I’m just not quite as good as him. How I will always be less than the man who took everything I ever loved. I can hear my dead best friend. My brother-in-law. The only man in my life that ever showed me absolutely unconditional love. I can hear him, telling me to stop hurting myself. To stop hurting those around me. To stop the pain. To stop destroying myself. I’m plagued by the ghosts of my past, Benjamin. I need to drown their voices out, and do you know how I drown them out? How do I stop them from tormenting me?”

He raises his hand smearing the drops of blood across his face. Then picks up the staple gun once more. Pressing it against his cheek, and stapling. And then to the other cheek and stapling again. All three sticking deep into the flesh beneath the paper.

“I bleed, Ben. I bleed and I bleed. I fight and I fight. I look at the next thing in front of me, and charge headlong into it. That’s how I stop it. You’re a means to and end for me, Benjamin. This was never personal, no matter what you may see it as. These actions weren’t for you. They were for me. It’s hypocritical, I know. I demand thanks from you, but that exists in its own reality. I demand thanks because I’ve given you a fire that you needed. I’m using you to drown out my demons. To drown the ghosts of my past. This is a two way relationship, and I just need you to see it. Can you see it, Benjamin?”

He leans forward, reaching up and ripping the paper from his face. The staple pin pricks dribbling down blood. His mouth smeared from earlier.

“Are you listening to me now, Benjamin? Are you paying attention?”

“The Conspiracy is here.”

And then.

Nothing.

Darkness.

Silence.

Maybe not the face people were expecting, but a battered, starting to bruise and covered in wraps and bandages, Alexander Raven walks through the door.

Slight chatter, slight murmuring from the attending journalists.

Raven: No, no. Nobody help me. I'll be fine.

Raven sighs heavily as he finds himself a seat next to Mark Ward on at the table. Taking one of the bottles in front of him, as he motions to the reporters to sort themselves out.

Reporter 1: Mr Raven, great showing out there tonight. How are you feeling after that brutal match?

Raven: Hope you're not getting paid for these hard hitting questions. How am I feeling? How do you think I'm feeling? If you listened to the man holding me hostage, Mark Ward, you'd be led to believe that people are happy. That everything is just hunky dory and we're all singing kumbaya. But, let me answer your question. How am I feeling? Cheated. Cheated again. In any other circumstance they would have raised and dropped my hand, three times, to call the finish. Any other time. Today? Today, Jasmine, decides to invoke referee's discretion to make that call. Now I'm not one for conspiracies, clearly. But I think it's funny that they she can make a call like that, in a match of that magnitude, especially when Ben Jordan is pretty much out on his feet. That goes five more seconds, and I bet he can't keep hold of that chain.

Raven snorts in disgust at the reporter who quietly retakes their seat. Jotting away some notes on their pad still. He points at another reporter, a portly man sweating somewhat profusely around his neck.

Reporter 2: Speaking of Ben Jordan, what are you intentions moving forward from the Supercard? You said some pretty intense things in the lead-up, and taking a metal spike to someone seems very personal.

Raven smiles a little, taking a long slow drink of water.

Raven: I actually like that question, you can sweat a little bit less piggy.

The man dips his head a little. Some mutters of annoyance at the bullying and attitude coming out of Alexander Raven.

Raven: Suck it up. Now, Ben Jordan? I'm not done with that prick. For me, until October 26th, the day my contract finally runs out. Three years to the day of my signing, in fact. I'm going to make life hell for anyone that I see needing a kick up the ass. If it takes a few metal spikes to the head, a few pipes to the ribs and a few fingers to the eyes, then so be it. I'm not done with Ben Jordan, not yet. Not even close. I'm going to make Ben Jordan's life a, and excuse my French here, fucking hell. And if you need someone to blame for what I'm going to do over the next eight or so months, you need only look at the man sitting here, and the other cretin who prances about acting like the world is owed to him.

Reporter 3: We saw the crowning of two new male champions here in SCW tonight, in Eddie Lyons and Finn Whelan. Do you have your eyes on either men as a future opponent?

Raven laughs a little, leaning forward to rest both elbows on the table.

Raven: I'd have to be a fucking moron to step between the ropes with Finn as he is right now. That's the truth of it. I've beat the man before, twice. The Finn Whelan I beat? A shadow compared to our current World Champion. These final few months? If I have to take out Eddie Lyons and remind him of his place, beneath his betters? Then I will. If I have to look across the ring at Miles Kasey again, and remind him that he is keeping warm the championship that I made relevant again, then I fucking will. But Finn? The only way you'd get me in the ring with Finn for that World Championship? Is if, and it is a might big fucking if in this place. No, The Conspiracy, that is Luna and I. We've got our eyes on those pretty and shiny Mixed Tag Team championships, and that is where I'll take my shot at Finn Whelan. It's one thing to be on that apex as a single's wrestler. It's another to dethrone both of them. No, ideally. I'll finish up my grievances with Ben Jordan and Samantha Marlowe. Then, The Conspiracy will take aim at Finn and Kayla. And considering Juliana's demands? We might just take the entire company by the throat.

Big claims from Alexander Raven. Nodding a little he holds his hand up and points at one more person.

Raven: Last question, I can feel people's eyes burning a hole in my back.

Reporter 4: Thank you for your time Mr Raven. We're seeing a major attitude change from you, coming from off back to back losses to J2H last year, and in general a pretty harsh losing streak. You've come up short again here tonight. Do you think that maybe your eyes are just a bit bigger than your stomach, in this incident?

Raven's face screws up in disgust. Standing up and pushing his chair somewhat aggressively.

Raven: Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realise I was talking to a fucking expert. I'm well aware of my past, you moron. I'm well aware of my streak of unluckiness. Tonight, I was screwed, no two ways about it. Both times, I took J2H to the limit, and a single moment either which way and I'd have been the man standing in the main event tonight, probably against the same two men who decided the new World Champion. Attitude change? I'm just sick of attempting to play and placate to the masses. I am who I am, and if people have an issue with that? That's on their head, not mine. So my eyes? They work perfectly fine. Maybe the deadbeat dad cosplayer should remember why he is on that side of the microphone, and I'm the one up here ripped to ribbons and still taking time for your dumb ass.

Raven spits at the reporter, turning away as a nearby member of security steps up. Raven shakes his hands off him as he walks towards the door. A limp to his step, obviously feeling the evening's events.

He is escorted through the door, and away from the Press Conference as the attendees await the next SCW star.