Today wasn’t one of the good days. Today was a prison. A prison of familiarity, but a prison, nonetheless. Today was the endless beach, the cascading taste of sound echoing through his fingertips. The impossibility of sensation a constant reminder of the inadequacy of the world. The room was still the worst of the days. The endless room, now with its empty hole in the roof that leads to the memory of the creation of it all. The schism.

The bar on the night that everything changed.

No, today was a beach, a beautiful beach. A home that lacked warmth, unless they were wrapped up in front of the flames. Wrapped up in the false sensation of comfort. The woman who wore Luna’s face but was not her. The woman who had her touch, but not her sensation. The woman who claimed to be Luna, to entice him to stay subdued in this place his mind constructed for him.

In the world of The Lost.

Hand in hand they walked down the length of the beach. The silk soft white sand like static beneath his bare feet. The absence of life, the colour of existence was as drab as the world he was trapped in. A hellscape of never-ending white sand and the dull blue of the false ocean. The complete lack of temperature was chilling. It was space inside space, and if he ever thought it was anything other than, he’d never escape. A heaven created by his mind to free him from the purgatory of the room. A world in which only they existed, and if only he’d accept…

He'd never accept.

There was never going to be life for him on this beach. There was never going to be peace. There was just a constant lack of everything. The taste of sounds. The sensation of colour. The exploding stars that exist only behind his eyes. His mind screaming at him that this was oh so very wrong. He knew that already; he didn’t need his head trying to pour out of his orifices and ducts to tell him that.

“You’re also so distant these days. Where’d you go, Alex? Come back to me.” Luna’s impersonator said softly, his head turning slowly toward her. Every action was such an effort here. It was like moving underwater. Everything took so long. Everything was always so slow. So painful. No, not painful. Painful meant he could feel something. Other than his mind collapsing in on itself. Maybe this was worse than the room.

“You’re not real. None of this is real. None of it means anything. None of it is life.” Alex said softly, his words felt heavy on his tongue. Sluggish, heavy. The worst part of it all, was that he didn’t even feel like it was that far off the mark for his day to day. He always felt heavy, sluggish. The body ached, his bones groaned. He’d been distant for a while, that was true. Even if she wasn’t, her words were the truth.

Everything hurt, his body, his mind, his heart. Constantly attempting to fill a void but never truly finding the ground to do so. He was going to kill himself doing all that he did, he knew that. His body would give up long before his life was meant to, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. He’d watched James die for the very same things, and James had known better than to continue to torture himself. Luna was going to watch another man die. Three men she’d loved, her brother, her husband, and Leon. Regardless of how he felt about her.

She’d watch them all day, and she’d be left alone. That killed more than anything else in this world. That ruined him on a level beyond any other. The fear of leaving her beyond was almost enough to stop him. To make him become better. But it wasn’t enough. His ego wouldn’t allow it. His need to be seen, to be known. To leave a legacy, a mark. It was something. He couldn’t have kids, that was truth of it. The vasectomy was an easy cover-up, but the truth had been there for a long time. He’d never have kids, so the only legacy he had. Was the one he made himself.

“I’m tired of walking. I want to go home.” Luna’s impersonator said, tugging at his hand. Alex frowned a little, closing his eyes for a moment. He rubbed his eyes through his eyelids; the wash of tiredness was almost nauseating. He felt the world spinning around him. Felt the world falling out from under his feet. Everything tilting, everything collapsing. Falling into an endless abyss.

Then suddenly he was flat.

The world stopped. For a moment, he was alive.

Laying in the bed with his wife, the stolen championship belt wrapped around her body. Her sensitive features covered by the material. The benefits of being a smaller body. He groaned a little as he sat up, the hangover rushing to his eyes. His body groaned with the ache of being awake. He rolled over and turned away from her. He wasn’t sure if he was actually out yet. His mind was a powerful thing. It often tried to trick him into blurring the lines between reality and his mental world.

He sat up slowly, squeezing the bridge of his nose, blinking his eyes rapidly. The world tilted again, a good sign that he was actually just hungover. He groaned as he slowly stood up, staggering with the pain in his mind. Staggering with the pain in his body. Self-destruction took many forms. Self-destruction was a surefire way to ensure that this would be the end of it all. Self-destruction was in of itself, the only thing that really mattered in moments like these. When he was so sore, so broken. So defeated.

The brave face he put on for the world was just that. A brave face. A mask that was always ready to fall away. One strong hit away from being the scared boy that he really was. Afraid of losing Luna, afraid of losing himself. Afraid of not being good enough. He screamed for someone to take his head for months, but the truth of it all. He just wanted to be stopped. Stopped from doing this, stopped from self-destructing. To be able to run away, to fade away. To settle into a world that existed beyond all this pain and suffering.

He slowly staggered his hungover ass through the bedroom and out into the lounge area. Moving to the fridge, taking a bottle of water from it. He gulped it down, fumbling through one of the cabinets near the fridge. Taking some paracetamol packet out and popping two in his mouth. Once upon a time he would’ve taken something heavier. Something stronger. He was down to just the over-the-counter stuff these days. They didn’t do much for the agony he lived in, but they at least dulled the head pain from a night of poor decisions.

The flash of a flame, the first rough inhale of a freshly lit cigarette. The burn in his lungs. He stood there, and looked around. The world that he should be living in. The world he was forsaking my allowing his mind to corrupt him. The world that he wished was his prison. He breathed deeply, and sighed, leaning on the counter. He shook his head and just stared at the wall. Letting the water and painkillers to work their magic. The waft of cigarette smoke filling the air. He felt sorry for whoever would one day have to tear the walls down to rebuild it from all the damage they were doing to it.

Oh well, wasn’t his problem. His problem was staying focused. Just a little longer.

He just needed to stay focused for a little bit more.

And then…

Nothing would be everything for him.

---

“Another week, another win. Some may say it was a victory mired in controversy. I’m not so easily swayed by the actions of others. Despite the fact that they clearly wanted to keep me down and keep me out. My choices, my actions. Inevitable outcomes. I hurt Alex Jones twice. Insulted him, bruised his ego. Made me him feel lesser than. In being lesser than a man he detests, he couldn’t see beyond the veil of the red haze. The anger that bubbles within him. He couldn’t just let himself go. He had to get some semblance of comeuppance, and it came at the cost of poor little Eddie Lyons.”

“Now despite what he’ll scream from the rooftops. Despite what he’ll tell you was meant to be his moment. His chance to take the championship belt back, and hand it to Carter on a simpering little silver platter. Eddie was never going to win. No, the truth of it was Eddie never stood a chance. Just like I told him. You see, Eddie lacks the killer instinct. We’ve done everything we can to show him what he needs to do to take it the next level, and yet.”

“He still fails to understand.”

“Maybe now you’ll have just enough of that killer bite, that drive to take him a little further. In handing him Alex Jones on my own silver platter, maybe, just maybe. He’ll finally see the light. See, two birds, one stone. I dealt with Eddie; I’ve given Alex Jones a new distraction of a chew toy to keep him busy for just a little bit longer. Long enough for me to do what I need to do. Which before I get into the meat and bones of this all. I must talk to a special someone.”

“Hello, Carter.”

“So close, yet so far, right? The vapid cunt Evelyn Hall playing the placating steadfast stalwart of bureaucratic bullshit. Daily fines? Oh, Evelyn. I’ve made a career here paying paltry little sums of money for my actions. You think that’s going to make me give back your little treasure? I’ve done this shit for nearly two decades at this point. You think dipping into my pocket is going to make me back down? Not a chance.”

“And then you Carter, you scared little bitch. Standing behind everything, letting the world run you by. But hey, I’ve got a little offer for you. I see how much this championship means to you. I see how much it matters. So, I’ll give you a chance to get it back. I’ll give you a chance to get back your precious little trinket. Your prop of grandiosity. I’ll give you a chance to hold it one more time. Smell the waft of the cigarettes that have been dropped all over it. The smell of sex and sweat that has seeped into the leather while it has been in my possession. If you try really hard you could probably scrub out the staining and discolouration from the spilt beer and bourbon.”

“Keep an ear to the ground, Carter. I’ll have plenty to say to you come Climax Control.”

“Which leaves me with the final person in the trinity of my past. Aiden Reynolds. A man who has adopted just a slightly more serious sneer. A narrowed brow and just a slight bit more confidence. The jokes and the faffing about left for a previous day and now. Now Aiden is a force to be reckoned with. Not a middling nobody in the nothingness of the Roulette Division. Not a face on the outskirts maybe considered to be a stat buffer for the dwindling Internet Championship division. No, Mr Reynolds is now a World Champion contender. A man who believes in himself.”

“A man I do not care for. A man I have never truly cared for. See, once upon a time, I put Mr Reynolds in his place. I took the Roulette Championship from that man, I took the one thing he had going for him, and I didn’t even want it. Put there to punish him by the actions of a vindictive little vixen, Victoria Lyons. I liked her, for better or worse. I did like her. Then she decided to get mouthy to the wrong person. See, I can respect a person who does the right thing. The moment however they choose to get personal with me or my loved ones? Well.”

“I digress, however. No, this is all about you and me, Aiden. Not Carter, not Eddie. Not Alex or Finn, or any of the other flunkies you’ve somehow managed to keep in your orbit. When you look across the field of this tournament I have to say. This ending? It was inevitable. Liam Davis, LJ Casey? Bill Barnhart? No, none of them were ever going to be the one standing in our spots. This was always going to come down to you and me, Aiden. Some may question the validity of that statement. I mean, Alexander Raven is the loser, right? The one cursed to constant mediocrity. That is what they all say about me. That is what they’ve always said about me. The one who fails to live up to the expectations set. The expectations set by fucking who, Aiden? Set by you? By Mark or Christian? By vapid cunts like Evelyn Hall? The middling nobodies that I have beaten time and time again, and yet they pretend that it was nothing more than a good day on the ninth hole?”

“No, Aiden. Expectations are set by the world to ensure that we are forever made to feel inadequate. Inadequate because they want us to feel that way. This isn’t some grand conspiracy, not a greater and unknowing ‘them’. No the them in this case, are tangible. Understandable. In plain sight. You are the one setting an expectation, just in the same way I set them on you. I set them for Eddie. The world sees us and expects things to go a certain way. I haven’t failed to live up to expectations, no, I’ve simply failed to live up to their view on them. But every time I get close, they like to change the rhetoric. You changed; you’ve changed our own oration. You’ve changed the jargon the way you talk. You became serious because you understood that by shifting yourself you skew them all. You make yourself unreadable.”

“Unreadable except to chaos itself. That’s what they call me. Chaos, a blithering idiot. A man who hides behind language and words that they cannot comprehend. Except for when it is convenient. Except for when it matters for them to know. Except for when they need to understand. For only then, does it matter to them. By then its too late. The truth I speak comes to pass, and they scream that it was unfair. Unfair that the loser could beat them. Unfair that the man who cannot live to their expectations has exceeded them. I’m the failure that they are terrified gets a chance to shatter their unorthodox and unequivocal expectations. The philistines just don’t let up, and yet. Here we are performing for them in the expected outcome.”

“Don’t you see a beauty in that, Aiden? The Ring General you were once so afraid of, now lessened to the bumbling idiot that they all try to convince you I am? Except, reality is. I’m built for these situations. I should have won the Blast from the Past, two years in a row. I’m going to win this tournament. Because the only thing stopping me now, is you, Aiden.”

“The man who I took the Roulette Championship from. The man that I gifted it back to. Gave you the world that you needed to feel relevant again. Not because I, did it out of the goodness of my heart though. No, I did it because I was tired. I was exhausted. I wanted out. I wanted to be free of this. Just for a little while. To let my bones rest, to let my mind clear. Then I went elsewhere, I became a World Champion. In a world of Matt Knox and Amber Ryan, I stood at the top of the pile. The final true champion of Valor. For I am Valor, that is undeniable. I’ve beaten half the world champions we’ve ever had here. I’ve made every championship I’ve held here worth more than usual prop I’ve taken. Don’t worry Aiden.”

“I’ll make sure you understand just how far you still need to go to be on my level.”

“When it all comes to an end, there will be no applause. There will be no cheers. There will just be that pregnant silence. That silence that the inevitable is coming. That Alexander Raven will be challenging Carter for the World Championship. That no level of expectation, no level of disregard or hatred. No level of ignorance of unabashed shamelessness will stop it this time. That no matter what they say, no matter how much they try and stand against it. Alexander Raven has become the inevitable future.”

“And when I’m champion, Aiden. There will be no props. There will be no false images of grandiosity. When I beat you, I will go on to face Carter. When I beat Carter, I’m going to drop that championship belt in a barrel and set the fucker on fire. I will be World Champion, and the world will know it through all of your words. You will have to acknowledge. Carter will have to acknowledge it. Evelyn Hall, Christian Underwood. Every single person will have to say the words.”

“Damn, he finally did it. Alexander Raven is the world champion, that son of a bitch.”

“I’ll see you soon Aiden. To put you down, one more time. To remind you, just how far above you I am.”

Crystals exploded behind his eyes, as he could taste the esoteric decay of chords sliding down his throat. His nose was filled with the smells of some Waltz, familiar but unknowable. The sand beneath his feet felt like shards of glass, slipping between every skin cell to frazzle every thought and feeling he had. Sound was a taste; sight was a noise. The crystals continued to explode and then the world was cold.

Everything was sucked away. No sensation except the freezing cold upon his skin, and the sand beneath his feet. No light pierced this place, but he knew he existed. He immediately wished for the sensations to come back. Taste and smelling sounds themselves, as impossibility unravelled within his mind. His nerves were static, his brain silent. He wanted to move, but his body refused.

“We’re going to have to have a talk, Alex. You can’t just get rid of me, I’m not just a figment of your imagination. I’m not another creature like Mors. I am you, you are me. We cannot be spliced, for if you remove me, I will take you with me.” The Lost’s voice echoed in his empty mind. For a long time, he was certain it was his own voice. Something that wore his face, used his voice and kept him trapped. The more time that passed however, he’d become less certain of it. It was him, but it wasn’t. Calling it The Lost gave it an identity that was separate, but truthfully. He wasn’t really sure how separate they really were. A justification of a mind that was fraying at the edges.

“Let us take a walk.” The Lost said, a snapping of reality. The two of them were standing ankle deep at the edge of the water. The feeling of wet sand between his toes. Alex looked around them, but the beach extended endlessly in every direction, the ocean they stood in filling the rest of the world. Everything felt like it had a veil over it. Devoid of colour, of life, of living.

It was strange, looking at himself standing right next to himself. The Lost, wearing him like a mirror. Completely calm, no readable emotion on the face. The Lost simply stared off into the endless horizon. Alex went to take a step backward, The Lost mirroring it in perfect timing. Completely in sync. One mind.

“I’m so fucking tired of all this. The worst decision I ever made was betraying my promise to Lauren. I never should have come back. I never should have thrown myself back into this world. I might be alone, but Sullivan. James. They’d still be here. There’d be no Vita Mors, or… there’d be no fucking this.” Alex exclaimed, venting his frustrations.

The Lost turned his head to face him. Staring into his own eyes. No, not his own. His own had life showed feelings. Happiness, sadness. They welled with tears and pain and anger. They were full and living. The Lost was a husk, empty. There was no life in the eyes. An artificial intelligence. A poor attempt at replication of the living.

“You should have, Alex. You should have stayed in that bar, complacent. Letting yourself die slowly but contentedly. Alone. You really care so little for her, you’d rather a life where she wasn’t the epicentre of it. Pitiful, Alex. It is depressing that I need you.” The Lost spoke slowly, deliberately. His voice was inside his head. It didn’t come from the mouth. It was strange, looking and seeing the lips move, but the sound was coming from inside him.

“I never asked for you. I never wanted you.” Alex spat back with venom, kicking water up into The Lost’s face. His own face suddenly soaked as he did. Another deception of the mind. He tried to think for a moment. He knew Mors had done something. He had felt his world opening up. What the fuck had Mors done?

“Yes you did. You just don’t remember it, but I only exist because you willed me into existence, Alex. Now I need you to give in, so that I can do what you refuse to. To take care of her, to take you to places you shy away from because you still mourn for a woman who betrayed you in her final moments of life. Mors will not stop me, Mors cannot stop me. Cannot stop us. I am you, Alex. You just need to accept it.” The Lost said, smiling. A terrible attempt at humanity. A robot who didn’t know the truth of a smile.

His eyes snapped open as he screamed. Mors pulled back from him, hissing. The finger he had placed to his head was blackened. Necrotic almost. Mors shook his head and took a few steps back.

“I cannot help you, Mr Rabenschwarz. For you are your own jailor. I’m afraid, you’re damaged goods.” Mors said, slipping his hands into his pant pockets. A three-piece lilac suit. It was hauntingly familiar. Mors turned on his heel and shook his head.

“I feel for you, Mr Rabenschwarz. My jailors are the originators of reality, and even they are not so as unkind to me, as you are to yourself. Vereor Nox, Mr. Rabenschwarz. For one night, you will not wake again to the world you have so painstakingly crafted for yourself.” Mors said, the heel of his shoes clicking on the floorboards as he walked away. Alex went to reach out, and went to scream out to him.

But his hand fell upon the doorknob, and he stepped into the room once more. The window was more a monitor to remind him of Luna. The bed that would never be used here, he didn’t sleep. The numbness that crept over his skin and taunted him with a memory of warmth. Of something more than perpetual nothingness. His heart hurt.

So he sat back down in that chair, and he stared at that bed. He looked at the spot where once the ceiling was beginning to crack. To leak. Water damage. A decay of his own mind. A fissure into another time and place. Where there had once been a crack, there was now a hole. A hole that extended into darkness. A hole that extended into complete and utter nothingness. Alex stared at the hole and wondered to himself if this was a new form of torture. A new form of breaking.

“Even my own prison is breaking down on me.” Alex sighed to himself, standing slowly. Climbing up onto the bed. He looked up into the endless void. Into the infinite blackness that existed beyond it. He reached up, grabbing hold of either side of the hole. He pulled himself up into it. Standing he looked around, recognising where he was slowly. It wasn’t the room, but it was a prison all the same.

Where the hole had been, there were floorboards. A pool of blood on the boards. The floor of the bar that James had owned. James’ blood all over the floorboards. There had been so much fucking blood that night. He looked down, feeling the wetness on his own hands. His hands were covered in it, his shoes were covered in it. The hole wasn’t an escape. The hole was a passage. A passage to understanding. To tell the truth.

He stood there, staring at the blood, and he knew. He knew this was the night his mind had truly broken. When James lay there, blood billowed out. The sirens of the ambulances growing closer. As James had told him how he felt. Had told him about how he had always loved Alex. How in a perfect world, it would have been them.

“This was the night, Alex. The night you lost yourself, and I was born. The night that everything changed. Sullivan, James, Luna, you. All of your lives changed forever. You don’t obsess over her, because you’re unable to be without her. You obsess, because she is all you have left of James. She is your peace, not because of who she is. She’s your peace because of what she is.” The Lost spoke softly, an almost sympathetic tone to his voice.

“They promised to give him back to me.” Alex mumbled, as he knelt into the pool of blood.

“James is dead, Alex.” The Lost said.

And for the first time, in god knows how long.

He cried.

---

“The more things change, the more they stay the same, eh? I like to think my viewpoint on the world has shifted. I don’t inherently blame the idiocy of the world on actions beyond their control. No, in fact, I blame the idiocy on the idiots themselves. The ones who shutter themselves to the world and then wonder why everyone is pointing the finger of accusation their way. Take for instance, the vapid bitch Evelyn Hall.”

“See, there is this recurring theme with those who be in this place. The voices that matter, the people who pull the strings that bring the curtains down. Ineptitude. Blindness. Senseless self-destruction. They guide the blind to a place of control and let them happily be blind as long as it suits their needs. Where was Evelyn Hall to right the wrongs when their inept referee called Kevin Carter the winner on that Cruise Ship? Where was Evelyn Hall to right the wrongs when Kevin Carter stabbed me in the back and denied me my rightfully earned spot in the main event on that cruise ship? Nowhere.”

“Just like always, they were nowhere to be seen. No Christian, No Mark, No Hall. Not when it matters. Not when it counts. So it falls to us individual pawns to break through that muck. To break, to be rebuilt. Reformed, become what they want. I’m not stupid enough to think that they want me to completely be gone. No, far from it. They just want, subservience. A beast that can be controlled. A man who will do as they deem needed, not a man who does as he deems. They don’t want The False Prophet, Alexander Raven at the helm. No, they want the man who once got the crowd cheering for him. Who turned the tide on Kevin Carter. Who was the man the crowd threw themselves behind when Harris was run out of town and we got J2H vs Alexander Raven for the World Championship. A moment that should have been my crowning glory.”

“Alas, I guess I just wasn’t quite there for them yet. Relegated back down to obscurity. Taken out of the spotlight. Forced to the sidelines. Not my idea of a good time, I’m afraid. Not my idea of a good night. Sitting by while the blind and narcissistic get their egos pampered to and the world cheers them on for simply being the favourite. See, I see Carter. I see him for who he really is. Alex Jones, for better or worse, he’s at least brave enough to wear the truth of himself on his sleeve. Unlike Carter. A vapid, narcissist with blinders to the world. A man so involved in himself he cannot see the truth of who he is meant to be.”

“But that is to come. I’ll have plenty to say on line skippers like Alex Jones and blind ingrates like Carter in due time. For another tournament lays before me first. Another opportunity to stand at the gates of success and tear them down. Another chance to waylay the man who my career has been unfortunately linked at the fucking hip with since day dot here. I’m talking of course about Bill fucking Barnhart.”

“Everything feels full circle in this moment. When I first signed in Sin City, I faced off with a man that I had been banging heads with since my return to Wrestling. Brandon Hendrix. I beat him that night. In fact, I went on to beat him twice, solidifying my claims that he was a beneficiary of lucky booking, and not of actual skill. But in beating Hendrix I put myself on the radar for early title opportunities. So, in that path, lay Bulldog Bill Barnhart. A man who time and time again seems to be the barrier to my entry no matter where I go. No matter where I stand. There he is once again trying to be something more than he deserves to be.”

“See, I’m tired of this rodeo. I’m tired of doing the same thing over and over. I’m tired of always being the one to beat the fodder and then expected to just turn it on when the time calls for it. They fuel me with the Bulldog Bill Barnharts and Justin Smiths of the world. Felix Hernandez was on track to be another fodder filler for me. The same tired shit repeatedly, but I guess. That’s just par for the course, right? Feed me easy targets so when it comes time to, I’ve hardly gotten the mileage in. Hardly had any of the ring practice. Hardly any  time to develop any level of actual conditioning or cardio, because the people they throw at me and nothing but scum. Nothing but bottom feeders. Nothing but numbers in the W column. Thirty wins, a milestone for most people. For me it was wasted on the wastrel that is Justin Smith. A walking epiphany of uselessness. Only second to fucking Bill Barnhart. A man who rides on his two early successes and wonders why nobody takes him seriously.”

“I’m the butt of the joke, that’s true. I’m the one that they all laugh at, the toddler. The man throwing tantrums. The one they can’t understand, unless I say something that they think is funny, and suddenly they’re all knowing. Hypocrisy at its finest, I must say. They can’t understand me when I point out the obvious truths, but they know exactly what I’m saying and who I am when I point out the fallacies and flaws of the system. For better or worse, maybe the scum of the system are at least the only ones truly doing what they are meant. Bill is here to make other lights shine brighter. To ground out the miscreants who do not belong. To be the wall of entry, the Gatekeeper. The man who makes the final call on whether someone can tango or not.”

“These are the things I once thought of the man. Years out and he got me good. Twice, in fact. I’ve never hid from the fact. No, the problem now, for Bill, is that every single time since. He’s failed to live up to his Gatekeeper status. A failure of a man. A failure of a beast. A simple walking contradiction. Every week it’s a new thing from the man whose brain seems to be deteriorating before our very eyes. Unable to keep the same rhetoric from day to day, let alone minute to minute. A man so obsessed with self-image he almost makes me blush. He almost makes me reconsider myself. Almost, not but quite. No you see, Bill, Bill is exactly what I say he is. Scum feeding scum. Bottom feeder feeding bottom feeders.”

“The man who once again stands in my way. Just at the start of it all. How are you Bill? Are you tired of this yet? Saying how you’re going to break and beat me. Maybe you’ll spout off some statistics, or maybe, just maybe, you’ve learnt admitting you’ve lost to me 7 straight fucking times is just not a great image for you. Will your dog be with you this time? Or has she stayed home because you can’t think of a way to involve her? Will Bea be there, to see you fail again? I know Luna is oh so looking forward to being there when you fall. To being there when you need to be brought down. I know Luna is happy that we get this little reunion. This chance to embarrass the Barnharts once more. To show that the true power couple has been, and always will be, Alexander Raven and Luna Pasilno. The Broken and the Fallen Idols. The False Prophet, and his ruling Matriarch.”

“But lets get down to brass tacks, shall we? You and I, Bill. Every time I ask the same thing. Let this be our last dance, because I grow tired of it. I grow tired of doing the same things repeatedly. I grow tired of you being my whipping boy. I grow tired of you, Bill. I grow tired of it all. This is the end for it. The end for you, the end for me. This is all to be done with. Because you don’t matter. You never have, you never will. You’re a body in the way of the end, and in the end. You will always fail. You will always end up under the boot of the betters. You will always be a nobody. That’s the simple fact of it all. You are, and will always be, nothing to me, Bill. Just the man who I once thought was worth a moment of my time.”

“Turns out you’re just one of the many. Those who need to be broken down. Torn down to base instinct, so that you can be seen as something more than you are. That’s never going to happen though, because unfortunately for me. Unfortunately for you. Unfortunately for the greater world at hand. You are stubborn beyond all reasoning. You a mongrel beyond all understanding. But like a good bad dog, I know the solution. I’m going to have to put you down, again. I’m going to have to take ol’ Billy out back to the shed. Close the door and… Bang. No more Billy, just a family of tears.”

“But you aren’t what matters here, Bill. No, this whole tournament. It’s a façade. It’s another test from those who would pull the strings. Another way to deny the inevitable. To rip themselves out of the one match that people care for. No one wants to see Alex Jones and Carter run it back again. Nobody wanted to see Carter and Aiden, a man I beat. No one wanted to see Finn and Miles, Finn and Carter, Finn and fucking Alex Jones. No, the one match people wanted was Finn Whelan and Alexander Raven for the World Championship. And we never got it. The one match people cared for, and this place refused to ever let it be. This is another denial of the one thing they know to be true.”

“Throw Bill Barnhart at Alexander Raven and hope for the best. Maybe Eddie Lyons will get it done this time. Boy howdy, it’d be good if someone else could come back and jump the line so we don’t have to risk things changing. Progression. For better or worse, they don’t want Alexander Raven. They just hope they can keep stalling me out forever. No longer, is that acceptable. No longer will I take that. This is it. The end of it all. This tournament, it ends and at the end, I’ll face the Highest of Stakes. Be it Alex Jones or the Blind Narcissist Carter McKinney. At the end, I’ll show the world. The Broken and the Lost are home. And Sin City, will be their feeding grounds.”

“Bill, I look forward to seeing you. I look forward to ending you once more. I look forward to dashing your hopes and dreams again. I want Carter to watch. I want Alex to watch. I want Evelyn Hall to watch. This is all for me. This is the end for them.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because his skin was still numb.

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I just don’t really know how to do this anymore James.” Alex spoke the words out into the world. Today was a different kind of day. Today wasn’t a room or a prison. Today wasn’t a trapping of his mind, but a different sort of torture. Today was an impossibility. An even that was never going to happen. A place that was never going to be. Sunroof down, some flashy car that tickled James’ fancy that Alex couldn’t give less of a hoot about. It was a warm, wonderful feeling. The sun bearing down on their faces. The sun warming their souls. The sun a warmth that he would never know again.

“What’s on your mind, rockstar? We got all the time in the world to work out the hard stuff, daddy. What’s got you down?” James’ gasoline tinted voice rumbled out. The roar of the road threatening to whip it away but ringing crystal clear. He missed James beyond everything else. He didn’t know if this was a dream, or a vivid hallucination. Right now, it didn’t matter. Right now the only thing that did matter was that they were here together. That they were both existing in his mind.

“I’m trapped, James. Trapped worse than normal. Trapped worse than when you guys came to see me. Trapped in this world that doesn’t exist. Trapped in a world where you can be real and alive. Somewhere I don’t really want to leave. Somewhere I don’t really want to escape, but I know I need to. I know I need to be there for her, because she is everything to me.” Alex said softly, turning to look out to the road. To the never-ending landscape. A reminder of the endless plains of nothing that had occupied them when they were road tripping around Australia after Lauren’s passing.

“I’m proud of you, rockstar. Don’t you ever forget that. Proud of you and Lulu. I wish I could be there for you both. Wish I could be the steady hand that guides boat, baby. But you don’t need me to tell you what you want. You don’t need any of this, Lexi boy. You’re just a little bit lost, but you’ll find your way. I know you will. You just gotta keep on movin’.” James’ voice rumbled, a smile pulling at the edge of his mouth.

Alex turned to look at James, his head hurting as he did. He blinked and realised the torture he was doing to himself. He blinked and he wasn’t in a car with James. He wasn’t enjoying a trip around the outback with his best friend. He blinked and he was back in that bar. Back to the night where James lay in his lap, bleeding out. Murmuring about what could have been. About how he loved him. The night everything fell apart. He might not have died that night, but it was the night that started it. Sullivan’s arrest, the meetings with Vita Mors. James’ eventual passing in the hospital as his body gave up on him.

“Just hold on Jimmy. Just hold on, it’ll be okay. You’ll be okay. God why was there so much blood?” Alex said the words, but found they came out as whispers. Muted to everyone but him. He looked down at his hands, covered in his friend’s blood. Covered in memories of a world that did not want him there anymore. Covered in the visions that had broken him. He was always teetering on the edge, but this. This was the night his mind truly snapped. There was just so much blood. On his hands, on the floor. All over his clothes, all over James. The sirens sounded like they were so far away. That they were taking so long to arrive.

He closed his eyes, trying to push it all away. Trying to break free of his mind for a minute. Trying to be free of his own pain and agony. Yet the more he pushed, the more his head hurt. The throbbing in the front of his skull, like pressure screaming to be let out. A world so noisy that it didn’t make sense. Whispers, insults and cries of pain. Voices familiar and foreign both, a spirit world of unending noise. He screwed his eyes up tighter, pressing his hands against his ears. Trying to block out all the sound. Trying to block the world out. His wet hands, slippery with James’ blood.

He pounded his closed fists against the side of his head. Punching at his own skull. Begging the world to quiet down. To take it him back to that car in the outback. Travelling across the orange landscape of the Australian nothingness. Travelling to places that were so far detached from the world, places he used to escape from the pain of his loss. He was always running from loss. Always attempting to hide it away. To hide from something that he needed to learn to accept. To hide from something he needed to do better with coping with. Death was a constant, and every time someone died, he found himself just a little more broken inside. A little more detached. A little more resentful of a world that could continually hurt people and refuse to give them anything back. To take and take and never give.

His eyes screwed so tightly shut, he was seeing bursting galaxies of pain behind the nothingness that existed in his closed eyes. The thumping on the side of his head becoming almost rhythmic with the throbbing pain in his skull. The pressure build up refusing to relent. He wanted to scream. He just wanted to be free of his own fucking head for just a day. For just a minute. He just wanted to stop hurting.

“Lexi, please.”

Luna’s voice cut through the haze, the pain, the agony. His eyes snapped open, he found himself, standing at the edge of the Seine River. One step away from throwing himself over the edge. Throwing himself in the river. Hands squeezing against his head, her hand grasping desperately at his arm. Holding him in place.

“Don’t you fucking leave me.”

---

“Once again, I find myself here. At the ending, with only one more step in front of me. Another journey into the depths, another step into the repeating story. Once again, I find myself at crossroads. I win, and I walk away one step closer to being World Heavyweight Champion. The crowning glory, they’ve all determined I’ll never succeed at getting. That was always the belief, right? The belief that Alexander Raven was just never going to be good enough. I can understand it. I can understand the doubts; I did little to ever truly undo the naysayers. I aligned myself with killers. I fought killers. I threw myself at the wall time and time again. Broke my body for the sake of the entertainment of the bloodthirsty masses, the false pretenders and the broken followers. I never gave pause to the doubt. Not truly.”

“So now, standing at the end once more, I have to question. I have to question whether there is truly a fairytale ending. Can I overcome the odds? Can I stand against adversity and walk into the Void, to walk out only one more fight away from taking exactly what I need to take. To being the man across from either the Wolfslair or the Go Gym ingrates once more. Stuck in this ever-repeating insult. Stuck in this ever-repeating situation. Forced to time and time again, tame a wolf, or put a stop to a goer. The most asinine part of it? Now, I’ve got a Lion to deal with, once more. How unfortunate that is, Eddie.”

The moon hangs high in the night sky. The light reflecting off the Seine River. Scene of the Viking siege that resulted in the sacking and plundering of Paris. Alexander Raven is seen sitting alone, legs hanging over the edge of the embankment. Staring down into the waters. A serene look on his face.

“We’ve come to this again, Edward. How lovely it is to see you again. The little Lion, constantly roaring for the attention of the masses. I must admit, ignorance, little lion man. I can’t say I’ve been particularly interested in keeping up with your blithering and blathering. I can’t say I’ve been particularly enraptured by the idea of having to listen to you speak. A problem of mine, I suppose. See, whilst I’m here, physically. Mentally, I’m still a million miles away. Fighting a battle that you couldn’t hope to understand. Attempting to find some semblance of myself once more. Trying to find a way to be who I need to be, once more. To find my own footing.”

“I need to know, Eddie. Have you learnt your own lessons yet? Are you ready to take the steps it requires to be the best, or are you still hamstrung by your own flaws? Dedicated to this path of honour? Dedicated to this feeling of a need to prove. A need to prove the negatives wrong. That the things we all say that they don’t reflect who you truly are? I wonder, little lion man, for I don’t quite think you’re ready. Take it from the man who knows exactly what coming up short feels like. This isn’t your time, Eddie. Not yet. Not now. Not at my expense. Not at the falling of my needs. Do you know the major differences this time, Eddie?”

“I don’t believe in an unseen conspiracy against me. I don’t believe in fate, or destiny. I don’t believe in luck. I don’t believe in happenstance. No, what I believe in, is talent. Skill. Dedication. And raw hunger. What I have in front of me, Eddie. That is what I need. What I have is a guaranteed path to the World Championship. No screaming for attention and demanding that they give to me. No pandering to a couple of elites in hopes that they will give me the match they failed to capitalise upon. No, whilst it may not be Finn at the finish line, the destination does not change. In fact, the purity of the synchronicity is beautiful. Everything truly started for me when I bared my teeth at the Wolfslair. Systematically tearing them down, one by one. I beat Finn, I beat Fenris, I beat Austin James Mercer. Lachlan Kane, Miles Kasey. Every member who stepped to the plate, fell at my feet, and almost in a serendipitous finale. The man at the head, stands with what I so desire.”

Alex continues to stare down into the water. The light steps of people walking in the distance. The hum of a nightlife existing beyond the quiet little sanctum he found himself in. He splays his palms out, resting the backs of his hands on his thighs. Staring down into his own hands.

“Do you know why people will always tell you to be careful, when you step in the ring with me? It’s the unsure nature of it all. As much as they’ll try and deny the work I’ve done, they’ll equally show reverence and understanding when it comes to warning others off. You need only ask Aiden, who you fail to dethrone. Or Finn. Maybe you should ask Peter Vaughn, or even your own little family. Each of them will tell you the same thing. The same thing I tell you, time and time again. It doesn’t matter how much you push back, Eddie. It doesn’t matter how much you fight against it all. You cannot, you will not, ever measure up. This is something you surely must be aware of yourself.”

“You’ve felt before, lion man. You’ve felt it and you’ve seen it. On your best days, you still can’t beat me. You don’t even come close to it. You don’t stand a chance when it is me that stands across from you. You don’t stand a chance, when it is Alexander Raven that you have to defeat, because at the end of the day? I don’t care how unbreakable you think you are. I don’t care how indestructible you feel. How confident, how far you think you’ve advanced. In a game of you and me, the winner is always Alexander Raven. That’s not a message of fate, or destiny. That isn’t a conspiracy. It’s a simple fact of life. Your honour will never measure up to my ability. Your rules and standards will continue to hold you back, and you will continue to suffer and watch as I stand head and shoulders over you.”

“I’ve offered to help you, Lion Boy. I’ve offered to guide you, to a place where you can succeed. I’ve offered time and time again, and you continue to refuse. You continue to hate me. You continue to beleaguer yourself, and wonder why it is, that you cannot stand to the plate. Why in a match of this calibre, you are an afterthought. You’re a hanger-on, who is detracting from what this match truly should have been. The third inning between Alexander Raven and James Huntingon-Hawkes. You are in the way, Eddie. A problem, a thorn in my side. A perpetual issue, and then you have the audacity to reject help. Reject a guidance to being someone. Reject it upon your own moral shortcomings. I’m disappointed in you Eddie. I’m disappointed in what you force yourself to be, when there is so much more you could be. You could have the world, if only you’d accept what it means to be Broken first. To embrace, The Lost.”

Alex curls his fingers in slowly, digging nails into his flesh, a slight hiss of pain. He turns his eyes up from the Seine, looking up towards the night sky. Looking into the night, transfixed upon the spotted carpet of stars that hung above him.

“I wonder, Eddie. I wonder what excuse you’ll use this time. What reasons you’ll drum up to excuse your ineptitude. I wonder what answers you’ll have for your shortcomings. Will it be different this time? Will it be different because you’ll finally accept that your way, is only going to hurt you long term? I want you to know, Eddie. I do what I do out of necessity. Necessity to show the world that they need to learn to stand on their own two feet. Not held back by these shackles of bullshit they put upon themselves. The excusing of failure as a result of your moral grandstanding.”

“I don’t care for it, Eddie. I don’t care for you. I don’t care for any of this. I want you to know, I want you to understand. I do not care for anyone, but Luna and I. For the World Championship that continues to elude me. For a redemption of my own shortcomings, and to put a reminder into the world. A reminder that every time you step into the ring with Alexander Raven, you run the risk of being dog walked. Of letting someone under your skin. Of being thrown off, because you just aren’t able to comprehend the acumen of the man across from you. Every time it is the same with Eddie Lyons. Every time is different with Alexander Raven. That’s the difference between the two of us. You’re always the same. Predictable.”

“You’ll never be good enough, Eddie. Constantly broken and pretending that you’re made of titanium. You’re just another scared kid, in far too deep. Pretending that you’ll ever amount to anything. Look to the sky, Eddie, and know. Know that this is the end for you. Another stop early.”

---

“It’s good to see you again, James. It’s been a while. Things got a little fiery towards the end there, didn’t they? Ego doesn’t deal well with ego, but the three of us. Probably the biggest of the lot when it came to self-aggrandisement. I don’t hold any hostility in my heart for it. You stood beside me, when I wanted nothing more than to simply go away. To be free. I didn’t want to be Roulette champion and then held it for nearly six months. I didn’t want to fight your battles, but I embarrassed Kris Ryans and nearly beat Michael Harris in turn. I did a lot to prove my worth, and in turn, I think we came to a deeper understanding.”

“See for us, it didn’t start with a desire to kill. A desire to maim. There was no grandstanding and bitter embroiled hatred like there was between yourself and Michael Harris. There was no hatred in your soul for me, and in turn my soul for you. No, what there was? A frustration with what was happening around us. A frustration that we were left to pick up the pieces after Harris was ousted. We were left to make something out of the mountainous shit that he left behind. I put my career on the line when we went head-to-head the next time, and then, they jerked me around too. They refused to let me do what I had said. They refused to let me out. They refused to let me leave my contract for another ten fucking months. So I decided to hurt them for trying to keep me in place. A pain that you were willing to help me inflict. You and Kevin. You saw the pain, and you understood. Understood the desire to get one back on this place. To get one back on these bastards that use us as nothing more than oiled up entertainers, who are only worth the money they generate.”

“Respect. That was what it was for us in the end. You won and then defended the World Title at my expense. Respect was the name of the game. A submission only match, one that demanded you learn a new way to fight. One that demanded I try and squeeze the very life out of you to get the respect I so desired. I may not have been the World Champion at the end, but I had done what I needed. I was content, I was happy. I was okay with walking away, and they wouldn’t let me. They wouldn’t let me down what I wanted to do, at threat of legal return. I was held hostage, and they didn’t care.”

No longer sitting on the edge of the Seine, Alex was in a small boat floating on the surface of the river. An electric lantern throwing out a small sphere of light. Just enough to illuminate the bottom of his face. His hands grasping oars as he slowly paddles his way down the river.

“Respect is what I hold for you and will continue to do so. But respect does not change what needs to happen here. Respect does not change the fact that once again, you stand in the path of me becoming World Champion. The scenario, the circumstances, they’ve changed, but the end goal. The end goal remains the same, and the end goal remains going through you. The end goal demands that I change the outcome that was so expected previously. That this time, James Huntington-Hawkes, falls to Alexander Raven. That this time the Broken Messiah, does indeed break the man who is for all intents and purposes, is the final boss. The man who a win over really does move mountains. A man, who if he falls to Alexander Raven, the finale will be seen as a God-given.”

“I’m not a fan of the idea of destiny. I’ve made that clear now. I don’t much care for people who put their faith in a greater power. In the idea of a force beyond our control. I don’t believe in it, James. I don’t think you do either. I don’t think you believe that we are controlled by anything but ourselves. We are ultimately responsible for our actions. For our successes and our failures. I’ve failed, at your hands before James. I’ve failed time over, and I’ve done everything to work my way to a position where I will not fail again. To become the man that mattered. To become the undeniable World Champion of Sin City. I took my leave, I got my head straight, and now. Now I’m here again. In the finals of this tournament for the second year in a row. This time, my wife stands in my corner, stands at my side. This time, there is no outsider scrapping their way to a success. This time, it truly comes down to you and me. The sun and moon of Sin City. Forget Eddie, for in this moment. It comes down to us.”

“So I’ve got a proposition for you, James. We take out the pretender. We take out the man stepping into our world, trying to take away from our moment. We take out the pretty little Lion man, and we leave him a sobbing broken mess. Leave him for the vultures, so that we can actually do what we need to do. So that we can fight the fight we are meant to. To put your tenure up against my renewed vigour. My tenacity. My anger and my hatred. To see if it is truly my time, or. Or if you were right. If they were all right. That this is not for Alexander Raven to do his best. That this was just another rush of adrenaline that piddled out into nothing. I’m tired of being overlooked, James. I know you won’t make that mistake. But at the same time, I need you to understand. I am going to fight tooth and nail.”

A flash of irritation etches its way across his features. A sudden thought rumbling in the depths of his mind. A memory, something bubbling up in his stomach. He stops his slow rowing, and leans forward a little, raw and shallow nicks and cuts all over his face. His hands raw from obsessive cleaning and rubbing. An irritation with his own flesh.

“But maybe, I give you too much. Maybe my mind deludes me into think you’ll have grown up, James. No, because the one thing I truly remember is this. I remember the bitter words. I remember the vitriol that spews from your mouth. I remember when you came to me, asking me to help you. That no one else could do what you needed them to do. You came to me, and I wonder why that is. I wonder, James. I wonder if it was a realisation. A realisation that the longer we do this. The more and more you play this game, the more undone you become. A step slower, a little weaker. Hooked in memories of the past. Hooked into ideas of a time that has passed you by. Fixated upon a time where you felt in control. Felt alive. You came to me, and the world opened up for you again.”

“See the funny thing to me is, that people seemed to think I was the weak one in that little group we had going. That I was the one who was coming up short. But… I beat Kris Ryans. I won the Roulette Championship and defended it the whole time. I didn’t lose to Jayden. You cost me the match. I didn’t fail in the end, but both you and Kevin… did. I was forced into your little bitch fest with Michael Harris. I was constantly fixing your issues and succeeding in stopping my own. But you and Kevin? You seemed to always come up just a bit short. Throwing yourselves into my spotlight and pretending like it was yourselves who were the real winners.”

“Maybe my mind is more clouded than I thought. Maybe my mind is blemished with the way it should have been, and not by the reality of what it was. Delusion is my playground and maybe. Maybe I’ve deluded myself into think you are anything but scum, James. I think, maybe. Maybe I’m wrong in thinking this should be decided by us. Maybe I’m wrong in dismissing Eddie, for the sake of our ego. I think, maybe, you might just be a touch worried James. A fear that you aren’t going to get back to the World Championship, like you expected. A fear that you will come up short. Maybe, James. Maybe this is the final time you get to try and be relevant again. To play your hand and act like it was a thought-out decision. What I came to learn, James? You’re just an insecure little child. One who could never get passed their own fears. Fears of being laughed at. Fears of not being the centre of attention. The fear that you will be forgotten, and that people will stop concerning themselves with you. I don’t need this, but hell. I do really want it, James. I think that’s the difference. You don’t want this, no. You need this at this point. You need to bring yourself back to the light, and I don’t think you truly can do it anymore.”

Alex shakes his head a little, staring up along the Seine. The sound of drums echoing in the distance. A sound reminiscent of war drums. Of the coming dangers. Of the invading. War, pain, agony. A Blast from the Past in some way shape or form. Alex leans forward more, settling in the front of the boat. Reaching a handout to lightly skim along the water.

“I think, James. That you know how much better I am now than I was. I think you know, that when it comes down to it now, you or me. It’ll be me every single time. I’ve seen how you play your games, and though my mind is warped. My memory distorted, there is one thing I’ll never forget. It is how slimy you can be. How even the people you respect should never truly trust you. That you are a failing of sincerity, for you lack the empathy to actually connect with anyone. You are a narcissist, one that relies entirely upon their feeling of superiority. A superiority that is slowly dwindling. A superiority that will be stolen away from you. I’m going to hurt you, James. I’m going to ruin you.”

“I’m going to break you, James. I’m going to break Eddie, and I’m going to break you. So that when you are wandering, one with The Lost. You’ll finally see. You and everyone will finally see what it truly means to follow. To follow the one who will show everyone the reality. That there is no superiority in these Wolves. In these Gyms. In these dens. There is simply blood, flesh and anger. I am blood, flesh and anger. I am the Vikings baring down the Seine River on their way to plunder and ravage. To steal and take everything and leave nothing but destruction. I am the Ragnar of this match, and you both will be made to see it. So prepare James. So prepare, Eddie.”

“This is the end for you both, and my path to finally becoming the One True King, once more.”

And then…

“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.”