Nightmares
Scene One | Off-Camera | 12th April 2023

“Inescapable, even across the world. You truly do enjoy haunting me.”

It was a dream he was quite used to. The forgiveness of an ex-lover. The touch of kindness, ripped away in a instant by the return of the domineering aggression of his mind. Dreams filled with self-deprecation and abuse. Always in the form of his father. Always there to remind him of his own self-doubt.

“I’m in your fucking head boy. You can’t run away from me. There is nowhere in this world, that you can escape your own mind. I’ll always be with you Alex. You cannot escape me. I’m just another thing you fail to understand.”

The off-white, cigarette stained world of his childhood kitchen was his prison this time. Sitting across from the sharp, stern man. His hard features were as crisp in his mind today, as they had been twenty years ago. For everything he’d done to suppress the memories of the abuser, he also could never forget the man he had once adored.

“So, how do I hate myself today?”

“Why ask me? You know what I would say. You failed, again. Ever the failure, and yet you will rise above it. You always need to rise above your failures, or you’ll be washed in your inadequacy once again. Run, run away little bird. Run far away, and let them be true. Everything they say about you, it will all be true. And you can go back to pouring amber piss for all the drunkards who pretend that you are their friend.”

Echoing laughter, the clink of bottles. Memories of the past flooding his mind. The drunken slurring of his father. ‘Failure! Pathetic! Worthless!’ The descriptors of his past. Anger misdirected and taken out on the innocent. He’d always thought he’d come to terms with it. That in forgiving and working with his father all those years ago, he’d overcome his demons. But his dreams always taught him otherwise. His dreams always showed him the real truth.

“Why are you never able to be proud of me?”

The figure of his father faded for a moment, feeling a heavy hand fall upon his shoulder. The coffee stained grin, the hard and empty eyes. Devoid of life.

“Failure makes you me, boy. The more you fail, the more you become me. Addicted to your vices, losing your faith in the world. Heartless, disconnected. She melts your icy heart, but what happens when the truth of their deceptions comes to light? Do you reserve yourself? Become my mirror? That is your fate, little bird. To become what you resent, if you fail to climb your mountain. To become, me.”

Never.

He reached up to grab the hand on his shoulder, but found himself alone. Sitting in the kitchen. Alone. The world around him seemed to warp and distort, the echoes in his head. Voices of his friends, of James, of Luna. Accusations of failure. Calaway’s blaming of him, Luna’s manipulations of his mind. The radio silence of all those who had spent the last year mocking him. Jack’s laughter.

“Get out of my head. Get out, get out, get out, get out, get out!

His hands go up to his own ears, pressing his palms tightly against the sides of his head. The sounds didn’t mute, they just got louder. Bouncing around inside his own head, pushing on the backs of his eyes. The pressure threatening to push his mind out through his eyes.

“It’s okay, bird boy.”

Arms wrapping around his head, covering his ears, arms covering his eyes. The gentle touch, the softness of lips to the top of his head. His peace. Lauren.

“Be kind to yourself. You have so much good in your life, Alex. So much. Don’t let the small things get you down, my king. Don’t let the bad parts, obfuscate the good. She loves you, like I loved you. James loves you. The world, loves you, Alex. You’re doing so much good. Let them see that. Let them see, your good.”

And then he woke up. His arms wrapped tightly around Luna, her face serene. Softness, and gentle. The world beyond his own mind so much more gentle. Even in the depths of his own despair, he had someone to save him. Luna in reality, Lauren in his dreams. His mind was always in constant turmoil, and it was ever harder to stop it. He put on a face for the world. A face of confidence, a face of vanity.

Yet here, in the dark of night. In his own bed, he was weak. He had no confidence. He had no strength. His self-love dependent on others acknowledgment of him. And they could never know. They were broken too, all of them. James, Luna, Sullivan, Harrison and even Leon. Broken children, born of trauma and abuse. And they all expected him to keep it together, because they needed him to.

And maybe he couldn’t do it anymore. Maybe he was lacking the strength that he once had. His body ached constantly. He was sore, he was hurt. He hadn’t fully recovered from the pace of his Internet title reign, and the brutality of the encounters. His nose hadn’t ever fully set correctly, his breathing laboured. The beers flowed more freely, and he was smoking more than he had. He was dangling by a thread, and he was putting so much emphasis on being able to succeed in his next venture.

But maybe it wasn’t about him now. Luna was now a champion. And she wore her emotions on her sleeve. In a world where he was so unsure of himself, he knew he had to be sure of her. Regardless of the deceit. Regardless of the secrets. They all had secrets, and she was entitled to keeping hers. So he would be there for her, and hold her high whilst she was soaring. He would forge his own path, but it was about her success. For in his own journey, hers could emerge.

“Lexi, you think too loud.”

Luna grumbled at him, turning to press her face into his chest. He smiled, truly smiled, as he pulled her head into his chest tightly. Even in his silence, she could hear it all.

The Napalm Kingslayer
Scene Two | On-Camera | 13th April 2023

“Failure demands payment. The payment of The Conspiracy is blood. Be it your own, or anothers. It does not matter. Blood must be paid, and payment will be taken.”

A man stands with his back towards the world, a large wooden table in front of him. Black and white, everything devoid of colour. A wooden cabin, with mounted deer heads line the walls, pelts and furs. Hanging grouse and pigeon. A hunter’s cabin.

The man at the table has both hands on the table, leaning down. Spatters of a darker grey spot the edges of the table, and a steady stream of similarly coloured liquid pool at the end of the slight tilt, dribbling down into a bucket at the end of it.

“There is a mistake that people make when it comes to Alexander Raven. This idea that Alexander Raven is a man of cowardice, and words. Someone who can fight, but is never the strong man in the contest. Dirty tactics, poor behaviours. A king of chance for nearly half a year. What they don’t understand, is there is a lot more beneath the surface of the words and behaviours. There is a lot more that happens beneath the bravado of the One True King. True and False at the same time, there is a world of happenings beneath the generally maintained demeanour. Blood, sweat and tears, these are just a few of the things that take daily penance. Blood, sweat and tears are the payment that is made to keep control of the masses that expect nothing but regal perfection from the Broken Messiah. Guidance is given to the broken masses, but only in success do they listen. So blood is paid, and in failure, blood is taken. But what is truly disappointing, is that not a single person was willing to step to the king to silence him. Everyone has an opinion on the King, yet when offered the opportunity to insult, to demean and to reduce him. They all fall silent. Keyboard warriors of the Internet, and silent bastards without the balls to step to the plate. No one answered the challenge, and in it, a validation.”

“A validation, that I am the hunter. The one who seeks, the one who reaches. I am the one who must take the brass ring in hand and pull it down. I am the one who must reach into the depths, pull the blade free and plunge it into the necrotic flesh of incestuous decay. A failure of the Sin City, is a failure on all who would pretend to abide by its lies. The Stained Glass Lies now sit above us, fractured and shattered. The glass ready to collapse and the freedom of truth standing beyond. Truth for the broken and the disconnected. I offer only guidance to a better light, and yet. For all those who deny my truth, they also stand in the depths afraid of stepping forward. So, I will be what I claim.”

His right hand moves forward, fingers wrapping around the handle of a large butcher’s cleaver. He lifts it up high, and slams it down onto something on the table. An arterial spray spurts into the air, a cacophony of screams filling the air. Men, women, animals. A deafening mixture of cries in pain. The cleaver raised up again, the screams slowly fading away.

“So I will take my payment. I will be the hunter, and this time. Steel will beget flesh, and a man who I owe a final reckoning to, stands in my path. A year ago, Bulldog Bill Barnhart, denied me the beginning that is now offered to my sweet queen, Luna. In what would have been my mirrored third match, I had a chance to dethrone the Guardian of Fate, Bill Barnhart. I failed. Not once, but twice. I failed to dethrone the Bulldog, twice. A flash in the pan, a man full of potential but failing to live up to it. That was what was thought of me. Every person had something to say about it. Finn Whelan, Fenris, Austin James Mercer, hell even Bulldog and Ken Davison had doubts. Who can blame them? I failed, time and time again, because that is who I am at heart in the eyes of the many. A failure. Someone who has all the potential but continues to fall short. A man who cannot meet the expectations of all those who place them upon him. A Broken Messiah, whose own flock demand truth that I cannot give them. A False Prophet, who speaks more truth than the lies he tries to push as prophecy. The One True King, who has never been more than the False One. I am aware of who the fuck I am, and yet. Everyone wants to tell me who I am. Fenris, King James, Jack fucking Washington. Arrogant and over indulgent bullies who think that anything they say holds more sway than anything I do. Yet I will step into the circle of combat over and over, between the ropes time and time again. I will climb into the cage, and I wear the collars of steel and blood. I will do it over and over, because at the end of the day, nobody has the fucking passion that I do. Nobody has the desire that I do. Nobody is as inventive, nobody is as hungry. I do not look at this as a point of proving anything. I have nothing to prove, for I am exactly what I am. I am Alexander Raven, the man who will take payment in blood.”

The cleaver slams down once more, another spurt of fluid, everything swathed in the black and grey cover. Cleaver up, and then down. Up, then down. Up, and then it is held there. The man turns, his face awash with the grey, spotting all over his face. Dripping down into his mouth, onto his beard, down onto his clothes. Heavily and thick, it continues to drip. Similarly to the blood pooling into the bucket.

“I have one goal, and that is to bring the truth to all. With their eyes open, and their minds closed. I do not care. For every single person will be forced to understand the bloody truth. That Alexander Raven is not just a man of bluster, shadows and mirrors. That the arrogance that builds into every single one of them is not validated in my mind. That by the end of this year, I can guarantee. I will either be the Worlds Champion, or I will have taken down every single person who stands in the way of truth. And the journey, starts with you, Bulldog. The man who started it all, for Alexander Raven.”

The smile crosses his face, as the black and white begins to fade away. Colour returning to the word. The grey turning to red, the cabin bathed in a low sickening yellow glow. His face, covered in thick slashes of red, blood. His body obscuring whatever was being hacked in to on the table. Another person steps in, holding a white sheet, handing it to Alexander Raven. A nod in acknowledgement as the second disappears, Alex spinning on his heel to throw the white sheet wide over the table. Splotches of red instantly soaking through the white sheet. He steps to the side, and moves towards the bucket that is now full, his hands wrapping around the sides of the steel bucket.

“Bulldog, we’ve gone to war before. Thumbtacks, submissions, an embarrassing dive into a pool. Speedo Barnhart, as you were dubbed. A man who mocks everything that I stand for. A man who belittles everything I do. Someone who continues to benefit from the falsification of reality that ebbs and flows through the effluvial grime of Sin City. What has Bulldog done to deserve to challenge Mac Bane? I busted my back for months. Taking challengers that everyone fears. Fenris, Mercer, Davison. Former World Champions, Kings of the delusional. I took them, over and over. There has not been an Internet Champion in recent times that has been as dominant, and as consistent as Alexander Raven. A pace that none other has even come close to matching, and a reign that dwarfs the flippant World Title Scene. Davison, Finn, Davison, Bane, Harris. Five changes in the time that I have stood as the One True King of this Sin City. And you, Bulldog. You were given the opportunity to dethrone Mac Bane, before me? Placating me. That was what the Internet Championship was. A peace offer, to keep me occupied. To keep me silent. To keep me from reaching the heights that every single person is afraid of Alexander Raven reaching. The offer of the hunt wasn’t in respect for me, Bill. No they did it keep me occupied. To focus my obsession elsewhere, so that I didn’t expose the filth that controls us.”

“But no more. I told them, I would be here. If nobody was willing to step to the plate, they needed to find someone. And so here we go. Match five, two wins a piece. Everything comes full circle, for the mouthy mutts are what started my journey towards this point. And the mouthy mutts, started with you, Bulldog. I have blooded every dog that I’ve come across. So it is fortunate that the world takes us back to here. That my next journey, begins where my first started. Redemption for my the failures of a younger man. Redemption for failures. And Blood in payment. Twenty feet of steel, six metres of agony for the home grown audience. Collar to collar. A dog collar match is generally reserved for the bloodiest of feuds. The deepest of anger. For battles that require an outcome that is as bloody as the participants within it. And so some may think it unnecessary. Some may think it too much for something borne from my own aggression. But that is where they are wrong, Bulldog. There is nothing better than a Dog Collar match to mark the fifth encounter. There is nothing more poetic, than putting to heel the Bulldog himself, with the dog collar that should be restraining his arrogant, bastard ass. I am not afraid of Bulldog, despite the fact that everyone will always say to expect the unexpected from the veteran. No, I fear no man, for at the end of the day. There will always be a winner and a loser. I know this very fucking well. So Bulldog, I do have to apologise. For this match, it isn’t for you. It’s isn’t for us. It is to show that I am completely dedicated to the path before me.”

He throws the contents of the bucket over the table. Instead of the red however, it is far more yellow in colour. Almost opaque, somewhat amber. Dropping the bucket, his smile is etched deep on his face. A hand going up to his face, and wiping it, smearing the blood more over his features. All of his skin hidden behind the mask of red. He reaches into his pocket, and pulls out a silver flip lighter, igniting the flame. His eyes locked on the flicker of fire.

“So let me tell you, Bulldog. Blood is the price we pay this week. Blood is the price that everyone will pay. But I need you understand something as well. Baptism in fire is the expectation of my emergence into the world. Though it is the messenger of death that stands as my spirit creature, the phoenix is more emblematic of the journey I take. Each failure is not a death knell for me. Each collapse is not a fault. It is another chance to succeed. For each time I fall, I will rise again. I will pay the boatsman fee, and in that. My own true freedom. Yet I refuse to allow my blood to be the only currency, and in that, Bulldog. My redemption requires yours. For I will be the one stand tall after our fifth encounter. I will be the one who demands the attention of the World Deceiver at the end of Into the Void. King James can have his moment of arrogance, but I will be the one who stands tall at the end. For I will do anything necessary to prove the truth. The Dog collar is symbolic for the joint passage of my journey to this point, and in suffocating you with it, freedom from it. Yet this is more than just us Bulldog. I want you to listen well. I want Jack Washington to listen well. I want Mac Bane and Kenneth to listen well. I want Michael Harris and King James to listen well. Every single one of them, needs to listen. For there is a target on the back of every single one of them. Former kings, people deserving of holy retribution in the light of truth that I offer. The Conspiracy is coming, and in it, the Napalm death will be their freedom. For cleansed in the flames of my coming, they will realise the folly of their paths. The folly of their existence. The folly of everything they have worked for. Jack Washington’s arrogance will be washed from him, and in the end he will have to answer to the flames themselves. Kenneth wanted my head, and in turn he will lose his own. Mac Bane is the shadow that looms over the World championship, and only in his failure, can someone truly call themselves the Kingslayer. Michael Harris. The man who is everything that accuse me of. Who hides behind his false queens. Dangerous game you play, old man. For if it necessary, I will break everything you love. If I cannot cut the flesh from you…”

Holding the lighter in his left, still burning the flame, he once again grips the bloodied cleaver in his right, and holds it up high. Lowering the light, it touches to the white sheet, flames beginning to lap at the edges. And then.

White hot flames, an explosion. The sounds of screeching, crying men and women. The croak and cry of panicked birds. The flutter of wings. Everything obscured by the burning flames.

“Then I will burn everything you love. I am, the Kingslayer Alexander Raven. And I will slay the mouthy mutt known as Bulldog Bill Barnhart. I will blood him for the last time, and then I turn the light of absolution upon all Kings who stand in the way of the truth. Broken and collapsed, they will burn in the truth that I bring forward. For like Napalm, everything will be devoured in me.”

The cabin is gone, as is the table. The flicked up snow of the rough winds of the Scottish mountain tops. Flame dances in the snow, burning away. Alexander Raven is kneeling in the snow, his eyes cast to the heavens. On the other side of the flames, a taller, more distorted version of him. Thick hair, an almost grey tinge to him. The real Alexander Raven wraps his arms around himself, his face dangerously close to the violently flickering fire. The grey Raven stepping into the flames, seemingly untouched.

“Bill. I want to thank you. You may not have taken the challenge earnestly, but you will be the one who acts it appropriately. So when I wrap that chain around your throat. When I pound my fist into your skull, over and over and cause the crimson flow to ebb from the wounds. When I break you, and everyone is baying for the violence. I want to thank you, for being the next victim in the list of Kings. For I am, the Kingslayer. And in napalm, all will be cleansed.”

Alex stands slowly, still with arms wrapped around himself. The grey figure standing in the flames still, stretching a hand out to him. Alex leans down slowly, and picks up some snow, throwing some into the flames. Before kicking, over and over, kicking whirls of the snow into the flames. Snuffing it out slowly. In a wash of white and smoke, the grey figure disappears, and Alex is left alone on the mountain with the smoldering ground.

“Things will change.”

“The Conspiracy is here.”

And then.

Darkness.

Silence.

Nothing.

She Hates Flowers
Scene One | Off-Camera | 1st March 2023

“Lu, it’s been weeks. You’ve got to let me in eventually.

The sound of the door latch clicking, the slide bolt being slid open. The twist of the door handle and the slight movement inwards to show it was open. Alex breathed deeply, and pushed the door open. Luna had quickly retreated from the door and slumped herself back down into a pile on the couch. The room had a slightly stale smell to it, clearly not having been opened or aired out in a few days. Alex stepped into the apartment, a crystal rose encased in a nice glass jar in hand. He placed it upon the kitchen counter near the entry, and stepped in.

“Ignoring me is one thing, but ignoring James? That’s not like you.”

“I just want to wallow.”

Alex shook his head slightly, and slowly moved over to her, leaning down on the back of the couch. One of his hands going to her head, his fingers lightly touching her hair. Softly stroking her hair.

“Sometimes. I like to wallow too. I want to hide from world. I want to pretend that everything means nothing, and that. That nobody cares, you know? I spent a long time, wallowing Lu. I spent a long, long time wallowing. Even now, there is days where I don’t want to get out of bed. I don’t, want to be here anymore, you know?”

One of her hands reached up, linking her fingers with his, stopping him stroking her hair. Holding their hands together, fingers interwoven. Her grip was steely, her hands warm. A grip that she wasn’t going to let go. Squeezing with affection.

“You were right. I’m not ready. I wasn’t even close to being ready. I should’ve listened to you. I failed, lover.”

Alex squeezed her hand in response, maneuvering his way around the couch, and lifting her up. She stayed mostly limp in his arms, as he slowly placed himself down on the couch. It felt like he’d sat in a wet patch. Tears, he assumed. She did cry a lot. She nestled down, resting her head on his lap, still with linked hands.

“No, Lu. Do you remember, when James and I started? God. I was fucking awful. Six, maybe seven months until Remi took me under his wing. I couldn’t lace my own boots, let alone even think about getting a win. But it’s not failure. There’s a difference, you know? There’s a difference between failure, and losing. Losing, it happens. Even the best in the world, can lose. Even the best of the best, will have days where they just don’t succeed. But it’s not failure.”

“What’d you bring?”

“A crystal rose.”

“I fucking hate flowers. Real or fake.”

“Failing, is giving up. Failing, is getting knocked down and staying there. Failing is telling me I was right. Because I’m not. I’m not right about a lot of things, Lu. You know, when you’re ready. Not me. I’m just a spiteful old prick, you know? And I don’t want to see you hurt. I don’t want to see you cry. I don’t want to see you wallow. I don’t want to see you like this, because of me.”

She turned over, looking up at him. Bleary and red eyed, snotty and dried out. And he couldn’t stop himself from smiling. Because just seeing her, made all his own worries go away. Just for a little while.

“Don’t ever buy me fucking flowers again.”

She raised her free hand, and cupped his face. She truly was, melting his heart of ice.

Freedom to Hunt
Scene Two | On-Camera | 2nd March 2023

Freedom to hunt.

An old two person bench painted with a faded red. Red paint is peeling from age, showing the lightened wood beneath. Alexander Raven is sitting on the bench wrapped up in a thick coat, a scarf wrapped tightly around neck, sitting just below his mouth. His eyes off in the distance, the cold wind whipping rapidly through the air, flicking his hair around his head. The bench is sitting on the porch of an old looking cabin, long without care. The wood still strong, but aged in the elements.

“We’ve come full circle, Ken. After I lost the Roulette championship, there was an opportunity presented to me. Redemption for failure, with an ascension to the top. I took the loss as an opportunity. Freedom to hunt. Freedom to take what I wanted, aim my gaze where I felt to aim it. No restrictions, nobody telling me what I needed to do. It resonated with you. Mutual respect borne of an idea of freedom. Everything to prove, and nothing to lose. That was my mind. That was the way I saw things. The way that I envisioned things. Yet the truth was far deeper than that. The truth extended far more than just the simplicity of freedom. I called out to the baying wolves, and the biggest one answered. Tried to put me out, broke my nose, and took me to a new limit. Yet, bonding maintained for us because of it Ken. One of only a few that even believed I had a chance at putting down the big bad wolf. One of fewer again that believed I had a chance when I called out Fenris. Yet that is where the tale of the hunt changes. For I realised something. I realised that in having the power to decide my fate, I had the freedom. The freedom to hunt.”

He lifts his hands up to his head, running his fingers through his hair. Pulling his hair up tightly, slipping a hair tie from his wrist and tying his hair up into a high bun. Pulling it loose and fanning it out a little. His eyes distant, his mind elsewhere.

“I became the hunter. I became the one with the choice to make. The one with the decisions to guide. It was in this, a reality was born. A fundamental truth. I could right the wrongs of my past, I could be free to hunt those I wished, and in turn slash the throat of dying kings and bleed them into the flames that would mould the steel that will build my legacy. For a king that fights, is far more than the monarch that sits idly behind the protection of swords and shields of knights and militia. Do you understand this ideology, Ken? I didn’t pick King James personally, but I picked the fight with the wolves. I poked the proverbial bear. And one bit back. I was unhappy with the silence that came. The mocking that followed, and bullying. The bullies who throw their weight around like it means something. Throw their weight around like it gives them some authority on the power of their existence here. So I took aim at the biggest bully of them all. The one who sits there and pretends to be holier than thou. That pretends to be a bigger man than all the others. Who uses the threat of his anger as validation for his misbehaviour. I took aim at Fenris, and I made him the prey. Hunting the hunter, because I have the freedom to do it. The freedom to hunt. Miles Kasey, O’Malley, two mistakes, two missteps in my past. Rectified because I chose to. I chose the kings who needed to be beheaded. I chose the wolves that needed to be culled. I am the hunter. For I have the freedom to hunt.  Alexander Raven is the hunter of Sin City. I am on track to be one of the longest reigning Internet Champions in history. Lofty ambition does not distract, for it is the ambition itself that will guide the path of truth. But does it matter? I talk a lot. People complain that I talk too much. That I pretend to be more than I am. Do you know the truth, Ken? I talk, because everybody else does. I talk, but I listen. I listen to what they have to say. I listen to things said. I learn, I understand. I grow. Growth is what defines the difference between the hunter and the hunted. The hunter and the prey. The difference between being a predator and food for the hungry.”

“So I talk. Perhaps this time, you will listen. You will understand. You will follow. I need you to understand, Ken. I need you to follow. I need you to do this, because this is more than just a reversal of roles. This is a reversal of fate. This is a proving ground, for Alexander Raven. This is the ultimate test. Can the hunter kill the hunter? Can the hunter stop the predator in their tracks? Can Alexander Raven stop Ken Davison? Can the Messiah change the word of the Gods themselves? The False Prophet, will he deliver a prophecy of truth? Godly. I would not pretend to be more than I am. I am naught but a man. I naughty but another person who eat, sleeps, bleeds and dies. Yet, I will not fall quietly. I will not step aside for the sanity of another. I will not step aside for the sanity of those who do not want to listen. I am but a man, and in my humanity, in my mortality. I prove the ultimate truth. That those who would walk among us, believing themselves deities, rulers or magnates beyond their station. Humbled they will be. Humbled because I will humble them. Humbled because they will feel the truth of their own mortality. Humbled because they will be made to understand that they are not special. We are not special, Ken. We are but mortal men, ready to bleed for the truths we delude our minds with. Ready to fight and bruise for the delusions that we create to manipulate the eyes of those on us. I talk, for the people will listen. I talk because I do not believe myself to be silenced. I talk, because I will stand with them. I am the King who will raise all others to their opus. To the peak. For I am more than that. I am the beginning and the end. I am the Alpha and the Omega, for in me, the truth begins. And in me, the stained glass lies end.”

Alex stands up slowly from the bench. The wood creaking and groaning as he stands up. Hands sliding into his pockets, his eyes falling to the ground in front of him. The snow dusted world beyond the porch, a barrier between the two worlds. The croak of birds, as a set of ravens fly in, landing just in front of Alexander. A small smile spreading across his face, his mind still far away.

“I am a spiteful man, Ken. You of all people should know that. I am a man who holds grudges, and refuses to relinquish them. Whether that will be my downfall or not is neither here nor there. But what it does mean, is this. You took a win over me. You put me down for the three, and in that you dashed my immediate chances of becoming the unexpected SCW Worlds Champion. I cannot forgive these transgressions. Vindication for my failures is a requirement of my path to the top. To the sky above. And yes, it is easy to cast blame back at me for my own shortcomings. I’ve never been one to shy away from my failures. I am not delusional enough to believe that I above the real truth. What is the case however, is that the sleight against me remains the same. You hold a victory over me, and for that, I must make things right. And so, I offer to you, a choice. Do you stand against me, Ken and prepare yourself to ascend the throne once more? Do you end my pilgrimage here before I can avenge all my failings. Show the truth that Alexander Raven is smoke and mirrors? I wonder Ken. Are you focused enough to succeed, or are your shortcomings going to distract your mind? Push you to a place where the focus becomes less so. Push you to a place where the lack of focus becomes the issue. I want you at your best, Ken. For I want there to be no doubts. That the hunter that is Alexander Raven, is ready to ascend to the upper echelon. To fight the kings that stand above. To humble those who think themselves, Saviors. For there will be no saviours in the world that is coming. Biblical is the path of the kings who would rule the world.”

“But I will not be the tyrant who holds dictatorship above all. No, for I am the leader that shall raise the broken masses to the mountaintop. For where we will touch the Stained Glass Lies themselves, and push through the cracking visage of failings. A change is needed, and I will be that change. I am that change. I am the hunter who hunts. I am the king, who leads. I am the one who will show that Wolf, Hero or Savior, it matters not. For the ways of the past will be changed in the form of the future. The Conspiracy is here, and despite the irony of it, we are not a tin-foil hat wearing, raving lunatics. No, The Conspiracy is all who would stand for truth. And so, even if I do respect you, Ken. I will not stand for distortions of that. No, I will bleed you as a martyr for my cause. For all good must come from sacrifice. For all good, requires the spilling of life. For in the flames of retribution, the blood of Wolf, Deity and Hero-Kings will mix. When it all comes together, they will all bleed for Alexander Raven.”

He kneels down slowly, removing a small lighter from his pocket. The birds continue to potter around, pecking at the snowy ground, flicking snow into the air and at each other. Croaking and cawing at each other as the two birds play.

“Fret not, Ken. It is a honour that you have before you. It is an honour that you have this opportunity before you. For this honour is one that is reserved for those whose bodies, bones and blood will pave the path to the truth. My truth. The fundamental truth. The truth, that at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter the affiliation. It doesn’t matter the belief. It doesn’t matter the bluster, the lies, and the confidence. At the end of the day, the only thing that separates us, Ken. The only thing that separates any of us, is our fucking arrogance. Arrogant, mindless creatures. Fearing nothing but own death. For death is what truly makes our contributions final. In death, there is no more. The faces will be carved into the mountain, and if we do not stake our claim in life. Then our spirits shall never rest in peace. For some it is the arrogance of self. For others it is the arrogance of disbelief. The origin of the arrogance doesn’t matter. I don’t care. I don’t care what leads anyone to thinking themselves better than they are. I don’t care what leads anyone to thinking they are worth more than the muck that they shift through. The fucking arrogance of it all, is what bothers me. And I do not appreciate the arrogance, Ken.”

His eyes narrow, picking up a handful of snow and throwing it towards the birds. Both of them flying off, screeching as they flap their wings rapidly. He swipes his hands back and forth, brushing the snow to the side. Pushing it further and further away. A piece of wood, spindly, ancient and iced beneath the surface. Alex lifts the piece of wood from the ground, and sparks the lighter, holding it to the piece. Allowing the flames to lap and lick at the wood.

“The arrogance to call me out. To have faltered in your conquests, and to direct your ire at me. To spit upon the good will I have shown in allowing you to continue on with the mark against my name. The unholy, ungodly mark against my name. Alexander Raven was beaten clean by Ken Davison and then put out of action by Austin James Mercer. I did not demand retribution. I let sleeping dogs lie, for I had other desires. I had other focuses. I had other desires. Yet, here you stand before me. Arrogant. Demanding my attention. Demanding the attention, like I demanded the attention of the bully Fenris. Like I forced the attention of Miles Kasey and O’Malley. What right do you have to be the hunter, Ken? No. There is no right. It’s arrogance, through and through, and I do not appreciate it. And so…”

A small flicker, an ember. Part of the wood beginning to catch.

“I must now forsake the respect, for one night. For I must be the teacher, the hunter and the predator. The messenger of death, like the namesake I hold. I am more than just a bird of opportunity. The Magpie is a docile bird, but for one part of the year they are bloodthirsty. Swooping, attacking and violent. Without provocation, they attack. Go for the eyes, carve flesh with their beak. The Raven, though noble and approachable. It will pick flesh from bone. Strip a carcass, strip it down to its very core and leave it to bleach in the sun. The raven can see through time, through the veil that separates our world from the next. And in the understanding of death, a freedom. No arrogance. No ire. No disrespect. Just truth. Fundamental truth. Are you listening still, Ken? I need you to listen to this, very carefully.”

The wood now flaming on the side where the lighter was being held. He pockets the lighter quickly and steps forward, holding the small ebbing flame in front of him, at arms length. Three, four, five steps. Leaning down, he slowly places the piece on the floor. The flaming tendrils snapping at something beneath the snow, trailing rapidly along a shape in the snow.

“Understand this, Ken. I will not stand for fucking arrogance. I will not stand for bullies. I will not stand for those who think themselves better than me. I will not stand for those who think themselves better than anyone. Godly. I refuse to get biblical on you, Ken, for it is not the truth of your name. Less a man of revelations, and more a believer in the power of oneself. I do not believe in you, Ken. I believe in the broken. I believe in the false. And I believe in the one truth. I am the Broken Messiah, the voice of the broken. I am the False Prophet, the man who will speak the fallacies of the Stained Glass Lies into the world to be absolved in my truth. I am the One True King, for I do not belittle. I am king, because I was chosen to be. I am King, for all people can be king. I am the One Truth, the Broken and the False. I am, Alexander Raven. And at Blaze of Glory. I will beat the arrogance out of you. I will make a point of it. I will not live in the shadow of saviours. I will not live in the shadow of my past. I will be the forward light that cleanses the failures of my past. I will be, King. One and only. And once I purge the arrogance from you. Once I purge the filth from your mind, you will know. That this Alexander Raven. We will do anything to fix the errors of this Sin City. The ways of the past, will be burned away for the ways of the future. For my future. I will be Internet Champion, and then, I will be World Champion. I will stand atop that mountain, and I will change my past. You, Ken. You will be the blood that I spill in that cause. Do you understand?”

Alex slowly steps away, a low fire burning a shape into the ground. A bird, a raven. A visage of a raven in flames. And on the raven’s head, a crown. Alex makes his way back to the cabin, and sits on the bench once more.

“The Conspiracy will reveal all.”

And then…

Darkness.

Silence.

Nothing.

Momento Mori
Scene One | Off-Camera | 7th February 2023

“Death terrifies me, you know? I don’t even know if it’s death. It’s the not knowing that truly terrifies me. That at the end of it all, everything will be nothing. Nothing will be everything, and I will be forgotten. That terrifies me, you know? That nobody will remember, Alexander Raven.”

Therapy was something that he had been avoiding for a while. He hadn’t been since he moved back to America. He’d gone almost weekly when he lived in Melbourne. After the death of Lauren, he’d needed the help. He needed help for a little of things. The childhood trauma, the abusive father, the passing of his mother. The death of Lauren. He was, as broken then as he was today. He just had improved at dealing with the pain and sorrow. But, with Luna coming back into his life. And a myriad of injuries that had built up over the years. Some thoughts had come crawling back. Fears that he had long buried, now clawing their way to the surface. Death, and a lost name, terrified him.

Children were never a legacy idea for Alex. He’d managed to get the snip rather young, a doctor who understood his lack of desire to have children. Lauren hadn’t wanted them either, so it was the easier decision. But legacy, legacy meant a lot to Alex. He didn’t wish to be forgotten. He didn’t wish to lose himself to the myriad abyss and darkness. He didn’t want his name to be cobbled together with his father. He’d knocked on death’s door a few times before. But mortality had recently become a fear for him again.

“It’s not like. I think there is something afterwards, you know? There has to be. When I die, my energy has to go somewhere, you know? Never created, never destroyed. Just transformed, changed. I have to create these ideas of something, because if there is nothing. Then what was the point?”

The scratch of pen on paper was infuriating. He’d always hated the note taking. The scratching never ceased. Probably because he never shut up. Talk, talk, talk. Ruminating on his thoughts, he never ceased talking. If there was one thing that the years of therapy had done for him. It was that they’d taught him to be okay with talking to strangers. In front of cameras, crowds, a new psychologist seating across from him, wondering how he got this absolute nutter in his chair babbling for hours on end. Self-doubt creeped at every corner of his soul, and yet he was more confident than half the world around him. Delusion, most likely.

“Now that Lu and James are back in my life. I feel… I feel the fear of my own mortality more, you know? They bring out the life and light in me, but the fear is that they’ll also lead me to the end. And that terrifies me more than anything. That in the end we’ll ruin each other. I’ve spent my life fearing for the danger of myself on others. Dead father, dead mother, dead wife. Nearly dead career, resurrected by sheer insufferable arrogance.”

“You blame yourself.”

His nose twitched. He looked up from the fiddling hands in his lap, to the psych sitting across from him. His eyes narrowing. Of course he blamed himself. Death followed him at every turn, of course he blamed himself for it all. How could he not blame himself?

“No. I don’t. I know it’s stupid. The brain runs away from you sometimes, you know?”

“Tell me more about Luna and James. They seem to be the focus of your discontent.”

“Lot of history there. We’ve been friends my whole life. Parents were friends with theirs. James and I, we trained together. Luna was a little younger. But a few years before I met Lauren, we gave it a go. It didn’t work out. She was… young. She didn’t know what she wanted. James and I stayed friends, always have been. Always will be. I love Jimmy, but Luna. Luna scares me. Luna scares me because I don’t know if I can lose her again. I loved that girl, deeply. And she broke me. I loved Lauren, deeply. And she died. I don’t blame her for that, I don’t blame anyone. Not anymore. But. I don’t want to lose anymore people. And death. Death is permanent. For me, and for them. I’m scared to love Luna again, because if she goes. I don’t know what I’ll do.”

The scratching again. Scratch, scratch, scratch. One of his hands gripped his own knee, the other up to his face. Scratching at this beard in time with the scratching of the pen. The sound of a book closing, the slap of hands on the arms of the chair.

“I’d like to see you again, Alex. We’re out of time for this week, but I think we’ve got a foundation to work from. I think it would benefit for you to talk about some of these fears, with Luna herself. I believe it could go a long way at helping you sort out these ideas. Who knows, you might even find yourselves with the same fears. From what I’ve heard, it seems the Luna of today is far different to the Luna of your past.”

Alex nodded, and threw a weak smile at the psychologist. He tapped his knees and stood up slowly, his body groaning under the strain. James had sent him the address for his new bar, and he’d head over there. He just knew Luna would be there still stuck in the depths of her own doubts and depression. She was a woman who often lost herself to the doubts she spent her days battling away.

“Thanks.”

Forgettable
Scene Two | On-Camera | 9th February 2023

A wrestling ring sits in a dingy low light warehouse. A series of weights machines and a few treadmills and bikes nearby. The ring seems to have seen its fair share of practice, looking far worse for wear than it should. Alexander Raven is sitting on the top rope in the far left turnbuckle. Bare chested, bruises dotting his chest, large spots of discolouration. His breathing slow and controlled.

“Battle scars line the warriors who do battle. Champions spend their days in varying levels of pain, trying to get by, weak to weak. Limbs hanging on by threads, bodies threatening to give. And yet, every time the bell rings, the champion, the king, rises once more. He steps to any opponent and does battle. He puts it all on the line to silence the naysayers and prove the disbelievers wrong. This is the way of the world. There will always be people that deny the truth that sits in front of them. And this week, I get to right a further wrong. I get to show the truth to a liar. I get to show the truth to the world. You see this place right here? This was my home. This was where I grew up, where I learnt to fight, to wrestle, to claw and bleed. This is where we spent our youth building ourselves to become the people we are today. There was no Wolfslair, or GO Gym for me. There was no specialised training or people that were willing to take a geeky nobody kid under their wing. Except for one. Alexander Remington took the geeky little Alexander Raven and made the decision to shape him. Made the decision to guide a lost lamb into the future. What he started here, took me to a place that I never would have thought possible. For me, this was the birth place of The One True King. This was the birth place of The Broken Messiah. And this is the birthplace of The Conspiracy. Raven, Vanity and Phenomenal. This was the beginning. The place where the broken found their way to a connected existence. So you’ll have to forgive me, when I say.”

“I don’t give a fuck about the Go Gym, I don’t give a fuck about Wolfslair. I don’t give a fuck about any of that. Because the truth is, no matter the framework. No matter the choices made. It doesn’t matter in the end. The only thing that matters, is if the bruising becomes a badge of honour. The only thing that matters is if you care enough to get up out of bed that day. The only thing that matters is if you step into the ring, and prove to the world that you are worth the blood that you have spilled to get to there. The only thing that matters is if you are willing to step to the plate and prove it all. So you’ll have to forgive me, if this week. I’m a little bit fucking miffed at that which has been placed before me. I’ve beaten Austin James Mercer. I’ve beaten Fenris. I’ve beaten the thorn in my side in Miles Kasey. I’ve got Ken Davison, the man who, and I mean no slight to Mac Bane, but the man who should still be our Worlds Champion right now. I’ve got Ken Davison with his eyes locked on what is becoming the most meaningful crown in this here city of sin. That being my Internet Championship. I’ve got the eyes of the world on me, and every fucking naysayer waiting for me to slip up. Waiting for me to stumble and fall, so they can say ‘I told you so’. Miles Kasey has claimed over and over, that Alexander Raven is nothing but smoke and mirrors. But Miles Kasey couldn’t put me down again. Fenris is out of action for the foreseeable future. And I want him to know. That when he is ready to go again. When he pulls himself out of his slump, gets good and healthy. I’ll be here, ready to go one more time. Ready to tie it off at head. But before all that. Before I get to focus on Ken, before I get to make sure Miles knows his fucking place, and before I offer Fenris an opportunity for redemption. I’ve got two little doves in front of me. I’ve got Team Go in front of me. Carter and Angelos.”

Alex slapped a quick rhythm out on the turnbuckle and jumped down. His hair was tied back in an extremely tight ponytail, pulling his forehead back a little. There was the same stiffness in his legs and hip that there had been the previous week. His face was set, his features filled a deeper frustration than normal. His brow furrowed. Bouncing light on his feet, he starts to throw punches. Shadow boxing the air in front of him.

“There seems to be this idea. That everything Alexander Raven does is foreign territory to him. This ideology of that past is irrelevant. So let me let you in on something Team Go. Let me tell you a truth. My first ever championship victory was Tag Team gold. The very first time that Alexander Remington and Alexander Raven, the AA meeting if you will. The very first time we tagged together, we took the Tag Team gold. First time, inexperienced and the two best in the company took the gold with ease. We went on to defend the gold, and I never lost those belts. I ended up defending the belts, solo, when I took Remington out. I started my career as a Tag Team Wrestler. I started my career as someone who could team with anyone and take the championship gold. I was the KING of Tag Team wrestling. So you’ll forgive me, if I don’t take kindly to the idea that Alexander Raven and Luna Vanity are the ones that are the underdogs here. You’ll forgive me if I don’t take kindly to the idea that The Conspiracy are the ones at risk here. Why, because Luna is inexperienced herself? There is no one I would trust more at my side, than Luna fucking Vanity. You can take that, seal it in gold and ship it to the bank, because it’s a certainty. It’s a certainty that when The Conspiracy walks into Climax Control, we will walk out having hushed the doubters. That Alexander Raven is not smoke and mirrors. That the words that fall from my mouth are more than just empty and idle words. I need you to understand this, Carter and Angelos. I need you to listen. Do me a favour, and actually listen to me for once, okay? Because I’m pretty fed up this week.”

“In what will be my One Hundred and Twenty Sixth day as Internet Champion, I’ve had my nose broken. I’ve had body beaten black and blue. I’ve taken big bumps and risks than I have in years. I’ve been thrown about like a ragdoll, and had people fly out of the damn sky to crush my body. And yet, despite that all. Despite the wounds that cover me, despite the stiffness in my hips and the bruises that dot my chest. Despite being less than 100%, I need you to understand this. Even on your best day, Carter. You are nothing but a fragment of me at my worst. Yet you have the audacity to comment on the state of my victory over Miles Kasey? I choked your little boy out. Got that? I wrapped my arm so tight around his tiny little neck and choked out the deluded little prick. That is him losing. That’s him losing to the nth degree. That’s me winning, and him failing to even remain conscious. Denial runs rampant through the wolves and those who echo their lies. You are nothing but a bitch to those wolves. A play-toy to keep them occupied and reinforce their filth filled lies. A perpetuator of the incest filled filth that permeates Sin City. You are the very thing I’ve spent the last year fighting against. The very thing I’ve spent my whole time here fighting against. I want you to listen to me very closely Carter. Because I chose to fight Fenris. I chose to silence the attitude and bravado of Miles Kasey. He didn’t deserve the opportunity I offered him last week, but I made the choice. Because I can’t have dissenters in my Kingdom. I can’t have those who think their special raising their voices to me. I can’t have people like yourself supporting the lies and misinformation and in turn spreading their own false allegations. The worst part, Carter? I know you’ve been watching. Of every single person, you seem to be the only one paying attention. Along came a queen, and with her ascent came the power of the people. The Kingdom flourished under her and everyone rejoiced. For the King had his peace, and with her hand in his, they lead the way forward. They shattered the Stained Glass Lies, and the rays of the golden truth finally pierced the world below. Though his kingdom sat high, all were welcome. For the only requirement in the Kingdom of The Conspiracy was the acknowledgement of the truth. That nobody is special. Nobody is above the other, but there is definitely those who live in a lower filth.”

With one last, more invested punch he came to a stop, his feet landing flat and hard on the canvas. His teeth grinding behind closed lips, his jaw rolling slightly beneath the skin. A few rapid sniffs and then a deep breath. His eyes closing, his left hand going up to his hair, pulling the ponytail free, allowing it to cascade around his shoulders and neck. He raises the other hand, waving his finger in the air slightly. Looking for a word, or an idea.

“You’ll forgive me, Carter. If I don’t appreciate the situation this week. Luna doesn’t need me invading her opportunities. Ariana Angelos should have gone one on one with Luna this week. That’s what should have happened. Instead, the powers that be, decided that Alexander Raven and Luna Vanity had to prove themselves against the team of friends. The power of Friendship will overcome and the truth will be revealed. Alexander Raven is nothing but a fraud, and Luna Vanity is the weakness that is plaguing him. But I want you to understand this, Carter. I want you to understand this Angelos. I intend to let everyone see the power of truth. The power of Vanity, the power of Self-Love. Luna will get her win. Luna will further taint the murky reality of the Bombshell Roulette Championship scene, and I will allow the hands of fate to guide her as she so sees fit to be. But I do not intend to sit back. I do not intend to allow people to continue to make fun of the hard work I’ve put in. I refuse to accept that people can continue to live in the denial of the reality that truly exists beyond the Stained Glass Lies. So listen to me, and listen well. Carter, an opportunity is given to me here. And I am a man to take my opportunities. Because you are intrinsically linked to all the Wolves that continue to be thorns in my side. Romantically with Miles. Friendship with Fenris. You are the link that I can use. Because in hurting you, I hurt them. And in hurting you, I can make a point. That Alexander Raven has no forgiveness for those who would question him. That Alexander Raven has no forgiveness for the disrespectful. And that Alexander Raven will hurt those that people love, if they refuse to acquiesce to the changes that are coming.”

“The changes, Carter, that will reveal the depravity of the core ideas of Sin City. That there will no longer be a power hold by the factions. The Saviours, the Wolves and their Echo Chamber, or the fucking Go Gym Graduates. There is no power in the history. There is no power in the protection of those who have only your back when it so suits. No, Carter. This week gives me the opportunity to focus you down. And make an example of you. I choked Miles out. I’ll choke you out too. I bled with King James. I’ll bleed with you too. I out smarted Fenris, and I’ll fucking outsmart you too. And in that, an example. I will hurt anyone who gets in the way of my designs for greatness. And I will be the The One True King, who uses the bones and flesh of all those who attempt to dethrone him.”

He steps forward slowly, leaning his arms on the top rope, crossing them over at the wrist. He leans his head forward slightly, looking down at the canvas beneath him. He stretches himself out, tapping the toes of of his left foot into the mat over and over. Slowly he looks up, eyes narrowed, full of the frustration.

“I haven’t forgotten about you, Ariana. The family of Angels. Messengers, the daughter of Hera and Zeus. The irony of my problems with the incestuous mixings of this business. And then to have the very example of Greek incest before me. I mean that metaphorically, of course. I wouldn’t infer that you parents were related. Though, from what I know, many people of that region have related parents. So maybe not far off the mark. But I digress. You, the plucky little upstart. The one who has stagnated at the Roulette division. Some would say that’s acceptable. I am not those people. Because there is a need in doing something with the lesser, to make it greater. I failed in that mission when I was Roulette Champion myself. I can acknowledge my failures. I can acknowledge my shortcomings. And in that, I can see those of others. You see, you failed to elevate the Roulette Championship. You failed to do anything with the opportunity given to you, and that, that leaves a bad taste in my mouth. You see, I’ve taken the Internet Championship and made it truly desirable again. And you’ll hear that from every person. King James talked about it. Talked about how I don’t know the significance. Miles tried to make a point about my failures, and belittle the work I’ve done. But the truth lies in the reality, doesn’t it Angelos? Former World Champions fall at my feet, failing to dethrone Alexander Raven. Ken Davison, has shifted his gaze back to the Internet Championship. He’s shifted it back, because I’ve made it mean something. I’ve made it worthwhile. I’ve elevated the Internet Championship to a level that makes it the ire of the lesser, and the goal of Kings. Former Kings will continue to collapse, and I will continue to melt down their broken crowns to build my throne. So I want to thank you, Angelos. Because the truth is this. You too, are a former monarch. A queen in her own right, with a kingdom half built. A faltering following, and a crowd of people that would love to see you fail. Just as I wish to see you fail.”

“But let, let you, in on a secret. As much as I hate the failings of the pathetic. The failings of those tasked with the goal of elevation. The failings of lessers. Luna hates it far more. And Luna is not someone to sit on her hands. Luna is not someone who will just allow the world to pass her by. No, when Luna wants something. She gets it. She’s dedicated. And you offer her the golden opportunity to redeem her failings. You offer her the silver lining that she needs. Because it becomes far more difficult to hold The Conspiracy back, if she can dethrone a former a monarch herself. If she can dethrone the number one contender for the crown. If she can get the visual victory over the faltering monarch of forgettable fate. So, whilst I have my own disdain for you. Whilst I have my disdain for Team Go. Luna. Luna will break you. And I will revel in watching her do it. And if she falters. I will be there to guide her. Because The Conspiracy allows none to fall behind. The Conspiracy has one goal. Success.”

A smile spreads across his face. His eyes softening. He holds his left hand up, and clicks his fingers. The lights begin to click off one by one. Leaving just one light casting a very vague dim glow over the ring. The night sky failing to pierce the dusty and dirty skylights. Alex’s face is mostly obscured by shadow now, his smile the only truly visible thing.

“Team Go. You’ve been put in an unfortunate position. The Conspiracy is here to prove ourselves. And in proving that, we find a semblance of happiness. In proving ourselves we find a path towards the greater truth. The Golden Rays of honesty and truth will begin to pierce the cracking Stained Glass Lies. Believe me when I say this. A change is on the horizon, and you Carter. You Angelos. You’ll be the witnesses to this. Because I am the King. The One True King, and Luna is the Queen. The Queen of The Conspiracy. And when the bell rings, and the final one tolls. I’ll send you back to your pretty little toys, in pieces. And you’ll understand what it means, to face up against ‘smoke and mirrors’.”

Laughter echoes around the room. A multitude of different voices and tenors. His smile fading, as he steps backwards into the darkness, leaving just a small dim spot of light. Another snap of fingers, and then.

Darkness.

Silence.

Nothing.

Resolution
Scene One | Off-Camera | 1st January 2023

Somehow, James was always the first to rise and the last to go to bed. His New Year’s hadn’t ended until the sun was already coming up. Yet there he was, 10AM, cooking eggs and bacon, the sizzle filling the air with the light hum of the rangehood doing its job. Luna had only just made it to Midnight this year, sloppily planted kisses on Alex and then proceeded to pass out at approximately a minute past midnight. Alex had attempted to keep pace with James but found himself retching and gurgling over a bucket a few hours into the new year and had resigned himself to bed in the wee hours of the morning. Ever since they’d been friends this was the way. Luna would pass out early, Alex would go sick trying to keep pace with James, and James would go until the sunlight made his sunglasses relevant again. For a few years, they’d been separate. Marriage, new friends, friendship breakdowns and fights. Everything had conspired to turn their little troupe against each other and yet here they were. Twenty Twenty-Three and back in each other’s good graces. Alex would have preferred Luna not push herself onto him, but he knew that she was very set on her end goal of having him back. Even if he wasn’t ever going to be the emotionally available partner she was seeking.

“You wan’ go wake her majesty, rockstar? She’s liable to bite my head off, daddio.”

Alex shook his head a little, and on cue, Luna grumbled loudly as she stumbled into the small living area of the apartment. Her head held loosely up by her right hand she plopped down onto the couch besides Alex and groaned loudly.

“Turn the fucking sun off, please.”

Even in her most disgruntled she’d taken the effort to pull her hair back into a tight bun. A few loose strands trailed down her face, creating a frame on either side. James being who he is proceeded to loudly bang the ban on the stove top, clatter every plate as he moved to lay three of them out and then clink a set of knife and fork and on everyone. Both Luna and Alex groaned in pain.

“You’re a fucking cunt.”

“Hey, you can’t call me that anymore, daddy. You ain’t no native of the land no more. You’ve lost your cunt privilege, rockstar.”

“You’re both cunts.”

Luna was not having it this morning. Alex laughed a little, James broke out into a raucous guffaw, laughing deep from the belly. As long as he was enjoying himself, it mattered little the pain that was being inflicted. James was always a fan of schadenfreude. Luna grabbed her pre-laid out bottle of water and paracetamol off the table and took two, groaning as she laid herself down into Alex’s lap. Almost 20 years on, and nothing had changed. They were still absolute delinquents with each other. His stone-cold heart had been warmed by having them return so actively into his life. Alex thought Loz would be happy for him. Happy to see him beginning to live life again. Beginning to be happy again. She’d probably have thrown Luna out the window and ensured she never came back. But there were sacrifices in everything.

“So, any fun little resolutions out of you two for this year?”

James began plating up the bacon and eggs, placing a couple of sausages alongside them. A decent breakfast to try mop up the amount of alcohol currently pulsing through their liver. James placed them on the counter, as Alex slowly began to stand. Luna continuing to groan as she once again had to support the weight of her own head.

“Wanted to talk to you about that rockstar. Been running the ropes with Lu, got some speed upon the gears again. Thinking I might make a go of it, you feel me? I ain’t never had my time in spotlight, but sometimes. Sometimes I wonder how far I could of gone, daddio. Sometimes I wonder, how Phenomenal would the Barracuda have been? I want to get into the ring again, rockstar.”

James was serious. His voice low, he’d even taken off the sunglasses. His eyes locked on Alex, and he realised what that meant. Not only did he want to get back in the ring, he wanted to get some solid training in. And if he wanted to get back into the ring, that could only mean one thing.

“You too, Lulu?”

“I wouldn’t phrase it that way, lover. I had my aspirations well before Baby New Year kicked the old bucket. Part of the reason I came back, besides trying to schmooze on you too, baby.”

He knew if they wanted back it was serious. Luna was flippant at the best of times, but she’d been as serious as a whip about this for the last few months. James being on the ball about it all too meant it was a given. The Conspiracy, all in one room, and potentially, all back in the ring. Six months ago, Alex would’ve told them to get lost and never put poisonous words like that in his mind again. Six months on, after battling with the likes of Austin James, Ken Davison, and even the back and forth with Fenris, having friends at his whim didn’t seem so bad.

“Don’t get me wrong, brother. We ain’t about to be your lapdogs. We ain’t broken anymore, daddy. Fractured sure, but we always been one piece loose of a full kit. We got your back, all day every day, rockstar. But this is for us. This is for me. Not your war on everything, got me?”

The tone was serious, but Alex knew there was no malcontent feeling behind it. Like himself, James had taken a few hits more than the average person. A shoulder reconstruction had put him out longer than he would’ve ever appreciated and by the time came that he was cleared to get back into the ring. The world had changed. Alex had left the ring, Luna was no longer doting on Alex, and they’d all shifted to the other side of the world. For James, this was about getting one more go at it. To prove he still had. He was young, and he’d been given a bad hand. Alex couldn’t tell him no.

“You gunning for me and mine? ‘Cause I gotta say. Once I put the pagan dog out to pasture, I’ve got no problem whipping you back and forth across that ring.”

Alex smiled widely as James roared with laughter again. The painkillers seemed to be doing their job as Luna seemed vaguely more alive and was no longer holding her head up with her hand. They dug into the food. The food was full of flavour and spice. He missed James’ cooking something fierce. Always full of love and life, his food captured that too. They chatted mindlessly whilst they ate, leaving the topic of getting into the ring again for now. Breakfast passed and the day began to grow. James was off to shower and getting ready to spend the first day of the year, as he spent most days. Finding someone to annoy and potentially putting and offer down on a bar. Alex however, decided it was time to grill Luna. See if she’d improved, see if she’d learnt anything from all the years of listening to him talk.

“Give me a cold open. Give me some thoughts. I’ve got Fenris as my first of the year. Tell me, what I should do. Tell me how I get into the mind of a man who thinks me nothing but a pretentious hack. How do I get under the skin of a man who has fists tempered like my own father’s?

Like a switch had been flicked, Luna leaped onto her feet. She pulled her hair free and threw it wildly around her face. She took a grimace to her face, clearly mocking him. He simply shook his head, as she giggled a little.

“Well Lexi. I know you, and I know how you work. Research and obsession take you to the depths of thought, lover. Fenris strikes me as a person who is always ready to leap to fire. Common response, from both him and… pretty much everyone you’ve wrestled? Common response is to deny you getting to them. So, play into it, baby.”

Alex nods a little putting a hand to his nose, pinching the bridge of it. Feigned deep thought.

“Just like that! Faked deep thought, mock the headache they give you. Oh, and maybe play into the raven thing. He seemed somewhat upset that you tried to ‘mansplain’ it to him. Seemed a bit of a stretch, but clearly burnt under the flesh of the manthing, Lexi.”

“And you, Luna. Never be me. You and James, you aren’t me. I fight my wars attempting to burn anger out of everyone. I’m not as gifted as James, and I’m not as slick as you. I have to work with my fists, and the only way to work with my fists, is to upset them. To bring them in and let them work their own anger against me. To use what I once lost myself to. But one thing, Luna. Never talk through them. Never talk around them. Talk to them. Make sure everyone feels uncomfortable for listening in to a conversation that is meant for you and your opponent. Nothing else matters. Nobody in the world matters more than the situation you find yourself in. Never talk through them. Never talk about them. Talk to them. And you’ll own everyone’s thoughts. Living rent free in the heads of every person that comes to detest what you stand for. Because The Conspiracy, is about showing the truth. It’s about teaching them that they are not above us. They are not special. That at the end of the day, we are the ultimate.”

Luna smiled, and wrapped her arms around Alex, pulling him in for a tight hug. His arms slipped around her in response, and they held. It was the first time he’d returned any of the affection. Returned any of the warmth. Her grip on him tightened and she clambered to sit on his lap, and just bury her face in the nook of his neck. His arms remained around her, hands linked in the small her back. Peaceful. Even now, the light scent of cigarettes, coffee and… her, filled his nose. And for the first time in years, he felt… content. Happy. At home.

“Get a fucking room.”

James smacked Alex in the back of the head, smiled at the two of them and put his sunglasses back on. The man could get dressed quicker than anyone Alex had ever met. He ruffled Alex’s hair a bit, and then left. Leaving the two of them to their moment.

Let Me Talk
Scene Two | On-Camera | 2nd January 2023

“A new year, full of possibilities. This time last year, I was preparing to face Bill Barnhart. Someone who, like myself, seems to be at the ass end of everyone’s opinions. A man who I’ve gone to war with time and time again. I spent the first 6 months of my career finding the Bulldog at the end of my path. And at the end of that path, I found myself conquering Finn Whelan for the Roulette Championship. At the end of that path, I found myself exposing the legendary Speedo, and in turn, exposing Bill Barnhart to the world. To solidify myself, I stood over and conquered the Bulldog once more. To prove that it was no mere fluke of fate that Alexander Raven had become the champion. That it was no mere fluke that Alexander Raven was the Roulette Champion. In less than a year, I had won, lost and won again, championship gold. In less than a year, I had fought for every major singles title in the men’s division, and I’d made my mark. In less than a year, I’d managed to piss off every damn mutt with a moniker linking them to a dog. In less than year, I had managed to prove that Alexander Raven was not the flash in the pan, the stain on the hotel sheet or another middling face on the roster. No, in a year, I proved not only could I hang with the champions of today, but I could also earn the respect of those above it. In the first six months, nobody would have believed Alexander Raven could beat Austin James Mercer in a steel cage. In the first six months, nobody would think Alexander Raven could wrestle to a draw with that ma. In the first six months, nobody would have thought Alexander Raven would have taken war to calling out all the big bad bogeymen of Sin City and demand that they pay attention to what I say. In the first six months of my career here, nobody would believe that 2023 would start with Alexander Raven demanding the big bad wolf, Fenris, be his first opponent. To risk my championship, of my own volition, against Fenris. In my first six months, nobody would have believed it. But now…”

“Now there is no choice but belief. The blustering and the noise, the pretentious claims and arrogance. It becomes harder to treat as nonsense when the truth of what I say becomes more and more prevalent. It becomes harder to deny The One True King’s claims of change. Of a fixing of the broken. Of the shattering of the stained glass lies that soar above us. The truth is this. The truth is whatever the fuck I want it to be, because the truth is what I need it to be, for me to be correct. I do not distort or manipulate the truth; I don’t manipulate reality. What I do is make the truth of the world obvious for those who have their eyes shielded from it. Freedom to hunt is my one goal in life, and right now. Right now, I’m hunting the biggest dog of them all. Right now, I’m hunting Fenris. Twenty Twenty-Three began with my friends. Twenty Twenty-Three began with everything I had been trying to ignore being present in my face. That yes, I understand the power in friendship. I understand the strength in numbers. But there is also a truth that I am showing. That no matter the friendship, no matter the words. No matter how much you defend or back someone up, the truth becomes impossible to ignore. The truth is what it is, and you know this Fenris. That every time you opened your fucking mouth about me, you were pushing that shovel into the ground one more time. That every time you stuck your fucking nose into my business, you were making it harder for me to just let you be. I want this match for one reason Fenris. To make you shut your fucking mouth, close your blind eyes, and walk away. Walk away knowing this fundamental truth. You think I’m second best? Second best to who, bitch? Not you. You don’t want to know my history, yet you think yours matters at all? Not on my watch mutt.”

A man is sitting on a simple wooden dining chair. His hands are tied behind his back and hooked over the back of the chair. His eyes cast downwards; eyes hidden behind deep shadows. His hair is wet, clumped together. Big strands across and stuck to his face. Bare feet and maroon skinny jeans, rips at the knees and along the thighs. He shakes his head back and forth but can’t exert much more energy. Another person walks forward, placing their hands on the shoulders of the man in the chair. Their face hidden by shadows; hands heavily tattooed. A flash of white as the person smiles, gripping the man’s shoulders ever more tightly.

“The mind, Fenris. The mind is a funny thing. It can paint and change the world as we see it. It can change the reality of how we see everything, even ourselves. It makes our choices, our actions, our decisions… justified. Justification is the only way that one can continue to make poor decisions and feel that owe no repercussion. Justification, like the acceptance of friends. The egging on of other like-minded juveniles. Peer pressure, if you will. I am often accused of always needing the last word, but it is by the one who seeks to tell me so. The one who actively hunts to achieve the finality in any situation. When the truth of their choices is brought to bare before them and the justification slips away. Without it they fear that they are the villain the are being painted as. You are the villain I paint you as, Fenris. You are a man-child who fights the battles of lesser because you need to feel like you are superior. No faith left in those who you call your friends, you justify it through them. You convince your own friends that they are incapable of fighting their own wars and in turn you will fight it for them. Rather than just let sleeping dogs lie, you must interject. You want to be the best, but you feel the need to prove it to every person that may question it. Dogged actions over and over. Dogged behaviour leads you to an ultimate end, but it is not the end you seek. It is the pathway there to keep yourself feeling valid in your choices and behaviours. The truth is, Fenris. The more you look at me, the more it boils your blood. I do not prescribe to the attitudes of your ilk. I spent the last few months of the year proving what I’m saying is true. That the incestuous depths of this Sin City are going to be pulled apart at the seams. And when I’m done pulling every inch of it apart, there will be nothing but a crater of what was once this mockery. The blue sky will flitter above us, and through it. Through the clean, truthful sky will fly my Conspiracy. The Conspiracy of the Sin City. The Kingdom of Alexander Raven will fly its flag of freedom and truth and at its depth the bones of every mangy mutt, bird and creature that dared continue the fallacy that permeates every inch of this decaying place.”

“But I know. I know, I know. Everyone is sick of hearing me talk. Everyone is sick of the bluster, the pretentious attitude and the arrogance. They are sick of hearing Alexander Raven bluster and blather, when he can’t back it up. Oh, but he lost to O’Malley. Oh, but he lost to Miles. Oh, but he lost, he lost, he lost. Every person falls, and every person rises. The truth I paint is not one of supremacy. The one I paint is one of reality. That no person is special for just thinking they are special. No man is better because they are big and scary. No person is special because they think they are. No person is special, and no one is owed anything more than what they fucking earn. And I’m going to show the world your truth, Fenris. That beyond the bluster, beyond the words behind the keyboard. Beyond everything you use to paint yourself as a scary bastard with a mean streak and weaponised fists. Beyond all of that is the truth I have been telling everyone all along. You’re nothing but an insecure little bitch, who lives in their own hypocrisy. Ignorant to the pasts of others but thinking your own matters. Refusing to listen to others but demanding that they listen to your juvenile mocking behaviour. For once, just once. I don’t want the bullshit. I don’t want to have to listen to the blathering of Miles, the she-bitch, Finn, some nobody fuckwit called Dickie. Even the over-confident plucky prick Lachlan wanted to get a word in. I don’t want to have to listen to every single fucking person talk about Alexander Raven. I don’t want to have to pick through the nonsensical, and irrelevant bullshit. I want the truth; I want the reality. I want the best. You demand that you only face the best. That you don’t care for second  best. Well, Fenris. If I’m second best, then you had best be THE BEST. If you aren’t, if you’ve been lying to me. If you’ve been lying to everyone the truth comes out. The false prophecy of the Broken Messiah becomes the truth. That Fenris isn’t the bogeyman of danger. That Fenris isn’t the danger that he wants everyone to think he is. Because if you lose to me. If you lose to Alexander Raven, what does that make you? Second best? Second best to fucking who?”

The person in the chair looks up. Alexander Raven, his eyes lost and distant. As he lifts his head and looks around, his shoulders tensing under the grip of the hidden figure. The flap of bird wings fill the air. The croak and screech of Ravens. Another person steps in from the left, and then one from the right. The place their hands under the armpits of Alex and lift him up and off the chair, holding him in the air. The figure behind moves their hands off his shoulders and wraps them around Alex’s legs. Twisting him, the place Alex over the shoulder of the man holding his legs. The two other persons disappearing into the darkness once more. A raven flies narrowly past the man holding Alex, then another. Then more and more, until there is a constant streaking line of black birds. They begin to chase each other, flying in circles around the figure.

“But let’s take a moment. Let us take a moment to calm ourselves. Let us take a moment to think. I need you to understand something Fenris. Even if the way you behave infuriates me. Even if the way you hold yourself and talk about others pisses me off. Even though you make me feel sick in my stomach, I need you to understand this. It’s not just because of who you are. It’s not just because of you. In fact, you are almost irrelevant to the real cause. The real cause, Fenris, is that nobody has pulled you up on your bullshit before. You’ve been allowed to run rampant across this Sin City. You’ve been allowed to behave in this way and act as if you are at all the mythos, you’ve built yourself to be. Like the Pagan gods that people seem so obsessed with in the modern day, disregard for those around you is emulative of them. It’s easy to hide behind ideas of a cooler history, a more impressive one. It’s easy to hide behind the ideas of greater powers and then mock others for making comment on it. It’s easy to pretend that you are holier than thou, when the holiest thing you could do is ignore the moralistic behaviours of human society. It’s easy to pretend to be who you are Fenris when nobody has the balls to call you out on the lies you live in every aspect of your life. I enjoy the stories; I enjoy the mythos. I enjoy history because history teaches us many things and in those many things it has also taught us this. Those who live in a doomed past will fall as the same. That those who refuse to learn from the past are doomed to repeat it. I mock with monikers, with my names, with my titles. I mock because I feel no need to hide in ideas of the old. I have no need to hide in the ideas of gods and greater powers. There is no greater power, there is nothing unique or special. Some would call it nihilistic, but I resent that. There is nothing nihilistic about believing in one’s own ability to make the right choices. To make the correct understands. To guide one’s own morals with the shepherd of human decency and not the warped ones of a manipulated system. Tell me, Fenris. Did you become obsessed with stories before you became a liar? Or did it suit the rhetoric of lies to become a fan of the stories? Did it accentuate the image you try and paint of yourself as a foreign warrior come to take, plunder and pillage. To be the best warrior you can. Perhaps you are seeking that final battle in which you can be taken to the lands of eternal drink and revelry. Where the alcohol flows unabated, and battles are waged every night to keep fresh.”

“And I know what you’ll say. You’ll tell me I have no idea. That I’m attempting to ‘mansplain’ something to someone who already knows everything there is to know. Because learning is sin. Because teaching is wrong. Because anyone who would mock cannot be taught the truth, can they? It’s easier to belittle, to berate, to tear down. I don’t believe in breaking people down. I don’t believe it berating them. I don’t believe in breaking them. What I do believe in, is showing the broken the truth. In guiding those who need the guidance to a better place. To help those who are lost, broken and defeated. Those who need guidance but are defeated by the world that teaches them that to be taught is sinful. That to learn they must do so themselves. It’s easier to tell people they are wrong, then it is to guide them to the correct answer, isn’t it Fenris? Believe it or not, I don’t like the way that you behave. Is that clear at this point? I don’t like any of your god damn mongrels, because allegiances or otherwise, you behave the same way. Pack animals who are only each other’s comrade when it suits you. False beasts because a true one wouldn’t abandon or attack its own kin for the point of proving yourself superior. And oh, how we laughed, didn’t we? The Alpha theory, we mock the one who doesn’t believe in it because it’s fundamentally flawed. No, it’s easier to insult people as a ‘beta’ that isn’t to their level of ‘alpha’. Because superiority guides us all doesn’t it, Fenris? It’s nice to feel like you are the leader and the head of the pack. And yes, I understand the hypocrisy of the one who speaks as the One True King talking about others pretending to be superior. Yet anyone who has ever fucking listened would understand. That I do not take mantles to sit above people. I take a mantle to show people where the base line exists. That any person who wishes to see the truth and act upon it. That any person that throws aside the false behaviours of a forgotten world and throws the stones to shatter the stained glass lies, is capable. That every person in The Conspiracy is not just another mindless member. But all equal in the family. That every member of The Conspiracy is a King above all others that refuse to accept the one truth. Speciality does not exist. It’s a lie purported to make us believe that they are something more than we are. And you, Fenris. You are the biggest victim of this ideology. This belief that anyone is better, that anyone is special. You’re just another kid who thought Mjolnir was cool and decided to craft an identity to reflect your teenage angst.”

“Am I wrong?”

The whirlwind of birds dissipates. A four walled room replacing it. Brightly lit, the walls reflecting a never-ending space. The person carrying Alexander Raven fading with the birds, leaving the bound Alexander Raven in the middle of the floor. He rocks up, getting onto his knees. His face towards the ground. The ceiling and floor mirrored too. A never-ending world of the same repeated room, and only Alexander Raven occupying it.

“Yes. Maybe I am. Maybe the trappings of my mind continue to compound upon the thoughts that I concoct in my own mind and validate my opinions. Because the one thing that people feel the constant need to remind me of, is that I talk shit. That I talk too much. That I create these fantasies, these lies. The reality I paint in my own head is but a distortion of the truth of what really exists beyond the world outside of my view. I know what people will say. I know that once everyone hears what Alexander Raven has to say, they will quietly post a remark about Alexander Raven. They’ll quietly post a comment about me being pretentious, or a prick, or being pompous. They’ll post something because they have to. Because nobody can escape their own narcissistic vain views of themselves. Everyone thinks they are the most interesting person in the world, and that their words will make a difference. But you know like I do, Fenris. That at the end of the day every single word is for naught. My opinion of you changes nothing and your opinion of me controls the mindless mob who throw themselves behind you. In your words you alter the view of anyone who decides that Fenris is the one who speaks the truth, and push them against any who would go against that rhetoric. The most sickening part of it all however is the blinders that every fucking one of you wears in pretending that it’s not true. That you are all independent thinking, self-sufficient and mainting persons. That each of you doesn’t need the other, and that it’s a simple fact that I am so detestable that you all seem to repeat the exact same bullshit as each other.”

“Yet I know. I know because I am not blind to the absolutely pretentious arrogance of it all. I called out all of you mongrels and the only one that truly had the balls to do anything was Austin James Mercer. And you all smiled, and rubbed your palms together. Because King James was going to hurt me, was going to end me. You were all happy to throw your lot behind him because it becomes so much easier for someone else to do the dirty work that you do not want to do. So when it went to a draw I’m sure there was a moment of panic. Not only had Alexander Raven dethroned the plucky little runt in Lachlan Kane, but he’d managed to weather the storm. You kept your eyes on it all though. Money on Mercer. Attack the old man, and put your money on Mercer, because there is no way Alexander Raven goes the distance with King James in a Steel fucking Cage, is there, Fenris? No; two birds with one stone. Alexander Raven loses his mind and his life. In a chamber of steel, Alexander Raven has no chance. But it didn’t work out that way. The only person with the balls to actually step to the plate was also the only person who acknowledged what I have said for over a year now. I am not just words, I am not a liar. I can take a beating, I can take a thrashing. I will take blow after blow. I will bleed, my flesh will tear and bruise and I will even take broken bones. There is nothing that any single person can do to Alexander Raven that will slow me down. That will stop me from reaching my ultimate goal. But this right here Fenris. This all boils down to one thing. You are a snivelling little bitch. You hide behind your keyboard, purport lies against me. You charge into any interaction regardless of your relevance in it and attempt to put me down. So when I call you out, I expect a fucking response. Not this pathetic reaction of “I only want the best”. You’ve got the best staring you in the face.”

Alex slowly pushes himself up on to his feet, and turns his head upwards, staring at the roof. Countless Alexand Raven’s standing facing upwards, hands bound behind his back. Anger lacing his features, a vein beginning to visibly pulse on his neck. He closes his eyes as he begins to struggle against the bindings on his wrists. The rope digging into the flesh refusing to come loose.

“No more restraint. No more holding back. I have my eyes set on you Fenris, and for one very good reason. Once I put you down, the lies stop. No more can people pretend that they know Alexander Raven. No more can people run around and pretend that anything beyond the truth is right. You will acknowledge that Alexander Raven, is no liar. No False King. No imaginary prophet or messiah. No, you will acknowledge that Alexander Raven is everything he says. That at the end of the day, if I’m second best then that means you’re nothing but a bottom bitch. You don’t want to acknowledge my past, but demand that I acknowledge yours? Fuck you. I am not afraid of you Fenris. I’ve been beaten by fists as educated as yours. I’ve bled for better men, and I’ve been broken by far less. The one constant remains. That I do my best to be as restrained as I can for as long as I can. But when you insult me, when you stick your nose in my business and then you walk away and pretend I’m beneath you? The gloves are off Fenris. I’m going to start the year by making you understand something crucially important. That being blinded was the lightest you’ll get off. I went to war with Mercer and walked out the victor. I put Lachlan in so much pain the runt doesn’t even remember losing. I beat the colourblind moron in Finn Whelan, twice. But like the petulant child he is, and all those that spend time around you. He pretends that it’s a matter of effort. He didn’t try, he didn’t care, imagine if I tried. Imagine if anyone gave a flying fuck.”

“Do you understand Fenris? Can you for once, open your mind and listen. Listen to what is being said and instead of falling into this idea of superiority and holier than thou self righteousness. Make no excuses, and just face the music. Face up to what you instigated because you decided that you had any right to put your nose in my business. None of you had the right to put your nose in my business. None of you had the right to say anything, but you did. So now I have an issue with everyone. Because every single person follows like the sheep that they are. Nobody wishes to spread their wings. Sheep pretending to be wolves and every single one of you kisses each other’s asses to make yourselves feel valid. I don’t care for it. I don’t care for the lies. I don’t care for the excuses and the reasons. I care for none of it. For me there is one ultimate truth. There is one reality, and there is on thing to understand. If you stick your nose into my business, you will be called out. You will be made to confront me, and I will dog you until I am adequately pleased with the outcome. Obsession, focus, arrogance. Whatever you want to call it, the end result is the same. I will follow you until you stand and face me. Because I believe in solving things. I believe of being free of my binds.”

Light gone. Sudden darkness.

Then the click of lights, and the sound of flickering flames. Alexander Raven now stands, hands free and gripping a marble sculpture of a wolf head. Just south of him emblazoned in flames are the twin Ravens. The symbol of Huginn and Muninn. He slowly leans down and places the head of the wolf into heads of the ravens, into the flames.

“Duality. Thought and memory. Death and transformation. People often accuse me of waning poetic. Of being an angsty teen trapped in a adult’s body. Obsessed with birds, and being edgy as a result. The truth, however; as it has always been. A namesake. Be it one my father’s ancestors took mockingly, or be it one of signficance, I do not know. But the truth is that I am Duality. Anger and flames, but peace and truth. Thoughts of forgiveness but memories of anger. Death and Life come together, I walk that line. I intend to walk that line Fenris, and I do not know which side I will end up on. But I want you to know. I want you to remember.”

“I do not fear you. If my arm must break, then it will break. If my spine must bend, then it will bend. If my knees will give, then I will give them. But I will not be afraid. I will not let any story alter my view. I will not walk away. One mind, one path. I picked you, because you would not pick me. And that infuriates me beyond anything else. You may not be of the same ilk, but that ilk associates with you. I respect most people I step into the ring with. I leave with more. There is no respect here Fenris, because you stopped showing me any. Blinded you are still, even if you pretend otherwise. Though your physical sight returns, your mental sight is dimmed. For any man who behaves the way you have, should have seen the retribution coming. I intend to do what I need. Win, lose or draw, it matters not. The end result will be the same. I will take your throat, run it dry and put your head on a fucking spike for all others to see. That when you mess with Alexander Raven, there is but one final outcome.”

“Ruination.”

Alex smiles as he holds his hands up. Thousands of repeated reflections, a world of flame and laughter. His eyes fixated upon the flames, upon the marble sculpture that is cracking under the heat of the flames. A red liquid seeping from inside.

“A funeral for the White Wolf.”

The smile creeps across his face. Hands outstretched, before thrusting them downwards to his sides. The flames extinguishing, darkness taking everything. The flutter of birds wings, the cry of birds. Yellow and blue eyes filling the darkness. Hundreds of them. A spotlight illuminating a lectern with a red velvet pillow upon it. Sitting on it the Internet championship. Three sets of hands reach from the darkness, and rest upon it. The tattoos of one matching Alexander Raven. One set belonging to a woman, and the others to an unknown third.

“The Conspiracy has finally arrived. And you will build our throne.”

Darkness.

Silence.

Nothing.
 

Broken
Scene One | Off-Camera | 31st October 2022

It’d been a long time since Alex had been beaten up that badly. Not the worst beating, and not the last. But it’d been a while. His nose broken, swollen and far too tender to touch. Both eyes had pretty good shiners. His back ached, his body burned, but he was still champion. Whatever people wanted to say, whatever people thought. Mercer hadn’t managed to get the win, and that went a lot further in his mind than it probably should have.

What he hadn’t expected was Luna to muscle her way into taking him home after the show, and playing nurse. Four A.M. He couldn’t really sleep, it was incredibly difficult to breathe. As someone who had a habit of touching their face, he was finding it incredibly bothersome to not rub his irritated nose. They’d filled his nose with packing and the dressing on the outside, a splint to make sure it healed right.

Luna had fallen asleep herself, her head now resting in his lap as he sat on the couch, his eyes fixated on the black screen of the TV. Silence filled the air, his mind filling with ghosts of his thoughts. Negative thoughts, negative ideas. And then he heard it again. For the first time in nearly a year. The voice of the man who even in death haunted him.

“Boy, you look like you went ten rounds and you lost every damn one of them.”

He had to be asleep, because the man who sat down in the chair to his left, had long left this mortal plane. No smile to remember, gaunt and grim. The staunch German father, far more alive than he remembered him actually being in his final years. His eyes bore a hole into Alex’s soul.

“You’d know. Story of your career.”

Laughter, not warm but hollow and cold, and then the slightest tug at the edge of his lips. A half attempt at a grin, more grimace than anything. His eyes never moving, never blinking. His father raised his hand and placed it over his nose, twisting it slightly in his fingers. The sound of cartilage grinding was as nasty now as it had been in life. Even if it was one of the kinder memories. His dad trying to make him laugh with the gross sounds. The few moments of a genuine caring father. Before the demons took him.

“Might be, just might be. But I always went out on my feet, boy. Always stood tall. Here you are, sulking in the dark. Girl practically throws herself at you, and you sit here in the dark feeling sorry for yourself.”

The hand had fallen to rest on the armrest of the chair, leaning forward. Why wouldn’t he blink? They just kept boring into him. Staring into his depths.

“Even in my dreams, you have nothing but empty taunts. Nothing worthwhile to say, but always attempting to put down others to make yourself bigger. Big man you are, dad.”

Feigned tears, boohooing and the twisting of hands under the eyes. Mocking him. Always mocking.

“I don’t have anything to prove, child. I did my yards. I made my mistakes. I don’t pretend to be better than I am. Unlike some, boy. I call it as I see it. But you said it. I’m just a part of the dream. Your own mind. What does that say about you?”

Alex frowned, and thought about it. Really, dreams shouldn’t be taken as much more than their face value. But maybe there was something more to this one. He went to reach up to pinch the bridge of his nose, but found his arms trapped at his side. Chains locked him into a seat. No longer his own apartment around him, just a wooden chair that he was stuck to. His father now standing over him, his hands come to rest on the arms of the chair.

“Do you think things would be different if you were still alone? If they had all cast your aside when Lauren passed? Blamed you for her death like you blame yourself? Like you blame yourself for everything negative to happen in your life? Do you think you’d be trapped here if they had let you wallow?”

Alex struggled in the chair against the chains, trying to free himself. His father allowed a cold, empty smile to creep across his face as he stood up slowly, beginning to pace back and forth in front of Alex, three steps one way, three steps the other. Slow and steady.

“You have to be tougher, Alex. You’ve got all the members of your Conspiracy at your feet. They might be different in mind, but there is something that hasn’t changed. You, Alex. You haven’t changed. And they are gravitating to the man who fixed them once. They are going to try to fix you, Alex. Do you want to be fixed? Do you think you are needing to be fixed? Or do you want to stay as broken as your nose? What do you want, Alex?”

“I just… I want to be the man I claim to be. The true king. I want to be the man who guides those who are lost. The change. The difference. I want to be… Alexander Raven.”

“You’re full of it, Alex. You’re attached to an idea that has always, and will always, elude you. You are nothing but a broken and fragmented shell of who you once were. Every beating just brings you closer to the grave you so desperately want. Austin James Mercer showed just how weak you truly are. You’ll always need me. You’ll always need James and Luna. You will always need Lauren. Weak, pathetic and useless on your own. You’re nothing but a pack mutt yourself.”

And then. the chains came loose. He burst out of the chair and launched at his father. Yet there was nothing firm, and he launched through him. With that, he jolted awake. Luna groaned slightly as she turned over, gently punching him in the leg.

“Nightmare Alex. Go to sleep.”

He’d rather not. Even in his dreams, his father managed to rouse that deep hatred. The deep anger.

Didn’t help his nose was fucked.

A Caged Bird
Scene Two | On-Camera | 17th November 2022

An empty brass birdcage, sitting upon a wooden table. A spotlighted feature amongst a world of darkness. It stands alone, the flutter of birds taking off filling the space beyond. The croaks and cries of birds following. The echo of steps, a steady pace. Coming from the darkness behind the bird cage.

“At High Stakes, I learnt something very important about the dangerous, aggressive and violent wolf that is Austin James Mercer. That despite the strength, the aggression and the confidence in success. One thing was seen to everyone. That even with all the advantages in the world, King James could not beat Alexander Raven. He couldn’t make him tap. He couldn’t pin him to the mat. He couldn’t even keep him out for the whole ten count. We learnt that despite Austin James Mercer’s claims that he would walk away the new Internet Champion, he couldn’t beat him. We learnt that despite all the bickering, one man spoke the truth and one make lied. Alexander Raven never claimed to be stronger, fiercer or better. He claimed to be equal. He claimed to be smarter. To be far more logical. We learnt that Alexander Raven told the truth, and Austin James Mercer… lied.”

“King James, you asked for something different yet you complain that I change my philosophies constantly. You complained that I came at you with the same thing, taking issue with me being constant. The only person who is unable to remain consistent, it seems, is you. It seems that the symbolism presented to you was only half interpreted. You bang on and on about others stupidity, yet are completely unable to understand the most face value comparisons I could have found. Biblical, yes. There is some biblical sense to it. But it’s always been about understanding, respect and acceptance. Everything is about understanding and respect. But it’s about image. It’s about painting comparison and difference. A simple minded man could understand the ideas. Alexander Raven, the One True King. King James. It’s a belittling of person, King James. Who is false, if I am the One Truth?”

“Austin James Mercer is nothing but empty promises, lies and falsehoods. A false king.”

Alexander Raven steps into the light, standing directly behind the bird cage. A black sheet in hand, shimmering slightly in the spotlight. His nose was mostly back to normal now, still somewhat swollen. His eyes far less blackened, the end of the bruising still a little visible. Around his waist strapped tightly was the SCW Internet Championship. He smiles slowly draping the sheet over the cage, obscuring it from view. A Cheshire grin stretching across Raven’s face, his eyes wild. His hair and beard somewhat unkempt; reminiscent of bed hair. A long sleeve black shirt buttoned all the way up. Tight fitting black pants, and black boots, black laces on the left, blue on the right.

“At High Stakes, I came to understand something critically important. That when it comes to you and I, despite all the words. The truth is plain to see. Your strength, cannot beat my mind. Your brutality cannot stem my strategy. Your arrogance however, will be your undoing. The announcement of a cage match, you are rubbing your palms together. A caged beast is a dangerous one, but only if it can get out of the cage. A caged bird, whilst trapped will continue to live its life fully. Chirping, singing and living. A caged bird is not dangerous, but is living a life far beyond the dangers of the world. I am not afraid of you Mercer. I’ve seen what you can do, and I have become acutely aware of the truth. I’ve had worse beatings, and beaten far better than you. I’ve had my nose busted before. I’ve had my skull fractured and my brain swell. I’ve had beatings that really should have put me out permanently. I learnt that you aren’t that beast, Mercer. Given the right tools, sure. You could be. But you aren’t currently, and you won’t be. Fixated upon the necessity of anger. The taunted bull sees not the dagger that slits its throat. Blinded by anger, frustration and aggression. A powerful motivator, but one that lacks the steam and endurance needed.”

“I hope our encounter has made you aware of something King James. That your desire to hurt, to maim and to silence. The desire to end me, is what cost you the match. That in attempting to put me out, you ensured that neither of us would get our arm raised. I need not beat you, if you beat yourself. And so, we come to our next encounter. A Steel Cage match. And everyone is rubbing their palms together, waiting to see Alexander Raven get put down and out. To validate the colour-blind prick that is Finn Whelan. The man who claims no need for the Wolves at his back, just like I said he would. Awareness and vision of a world without the baggage that comes with the incestuous inner circle of manipulation and control that permeates not just this Sin City, but the business as a whole. Everywhere we look there is manipulations, alterations and control to ensure the chosen few succeed, whilst the truly worthy and tossed aside. Alexander Raven is nothing special, but Austin James Mercer couldn’t beat him. So they put us in a cage.”

Alex slowly moves his hands away from the cage and takes a few steps backwards, disappearing into the darkness beyond the spotlight once again. Two hooded figures, one tall and one short step in from either side. They grip the black sheet on either side, staring at each other.

“What happens when you put a bird in the same cage as a wolf? Dead bird, of course. I’m not going to pretend otherwise. The bird will be mauled, killed and eaten. Logic is as it is, logical. But something must be said for this situation and its something I am now acutely aware of Mercer. You’re no wolf. You’re no beast. You’re nothing but a attitude filled Pomeranian. All bark and no bite. I’m still champion, I’m still standing. I will walk into Climax Control champion, enter the steel cage, let you destroy yourself, and win. I will walk out as I walked in. Champion and the One True King. I will shut up the naysayers. I will silence the mongrels who continue to snap their jowls with no teeth in their bite. Finn Whelan, the plucky mutt Miles and even the blind bitch Fenris. People so confident in their arrogance that they ignore the reality that is forever being painted in front of them. One year, two championships and a change in fate. I beat Lachlan, when no one thought I would. I took the powerful and scary, Austin James Mercer to a double count out, and weathered the storm. I have the backing of our former SCW Worlds Champion, and the man I can confidently say will be our Worlds Champion again.”

“Let us bring it back to the reality that lays before us. Austin James Mercer and Alexander Raven in a Steel Cage match for the SCW Internet Championship. A championship, a title, a crown that means so much to our hurting mutt. The man running off at the mouth, despite losing to the man I beat back to back to obtain and then defend my first championship of my maiden year. The man running off at the mouth despite being unable to act upon any of his promises. The man who is so certain of his big scary aura, he cannot see past his own ego. This is not a cage for me, False King. A bird who will soar. No, this is a cage for you. A beast with eyes painted red. What happens when you go for that spear again, and your head cracks against the steel again? We know you’ve got a chin of glass, because you went down just as long as I did. The man with the broken nose, busted face and half the oxygen, held you out. What happens this time when you go for the spear, and you miss, False King? You lose. I put my foot to your throat, and pin you for the three. I put my foot to your throat, and show you the truth. That the stained glass sky is shattered, and the reality of a changed world stares down at you. A world where the wolves are no longer the apex. A world where you cannot throw your weight and name around. A world where Alexander Raven is known across the industry as the one who beat Austin James Mercer. I speak a lot of fractured thoughts, disjointed thinking and reality. This is the truth as it is being painted into the world. Alexander Raven is the man who is going to systematically neuter every fucking one of you mouthy mongrels, and show the world the simple truth. You’re all nothing but bitches in heat.”

The two figures pull the sheet forward and slide it off the front of the cage, allowing it to crumple up in front of it. Inside the cage, a Raven now sits croaking. It ruffles its feathers slightly and flexes its wings as much as it can. The shorter figure reaches forward and pulls the door of the cage open. The other placing a piece of meat on the table. The bird creeps forward and picks it up, before flying off rapidly. The light disappearing. The flap of wings echoes in the darkness. More cries and croaks from unseen birds. The sound bouncing off the others, slowly building. Soon a cacophony of screeching, flapping and cries filling the darkness.

“Silence!

And then, silence. The click of light and the spotlight back on. Alexander Raven now standing inside a shark cage. His fingers wrapped around one of the bars. His face pressed up into the bars as well, creating slots across his face and wild smile.

“Listen to me, False King. Listen well. I am Alexander Raven. I am the One True King of this Sin City. No matter how strong. No matter how fierce. No matter what you do, this is the reality. I refuse to lose to another one of you filthy fucking wolves. I will never allow myself to fail again, like I did with Miles. I will beat you, I’ll beat Lachlan and Finn again if I need to. If the blind bitch wants to try his luck for a second time, I’ll beat him too. Any and every person that wants to try their damn luck against Alexander Raven, I welcome them to try. I’ll turn up every single week and put people down if I need to. Listen to me Austin, and understand this. I am angry, I am frustrated and I am full of rage too. Stepping into the cage, I once again have everything to prove. Nobody believes Alexander Raven can do it. Alexander Raven talks, and people mock. Alexander Raven succeeds and they put an asterisk. Alexander Raven beats Finn Whelan twice, the colour-blind prick has the audacity to run his mouth about me, every opportunity he gets. Fenris feels the need to shove his nose into everything to do with me, and complain when I snap back. Mercer is so deluded that he thinks it is at all intimidating stepping into a steel cage with his wet paper offense. Step up! Step up, King James. Listen to what I’m saying for once, and maybe you’ll understand. Maybe you’ll understand the worlds of difference between you and I. You’re unhinged, wild and without ambition. Wanting to loose the anger and soothe the fire. I don’t want to soothe the anger. I don’t want to soothe the fire. I want to fight. I want to keep fighting. I will fight every one of you. I respect Ken, but I’ll fight him if I need to. Mac Bane, I saw him stick his nose in too. If he wants to fight, I’ll fight. Understand this, King James. Understand this very well.”

“I am Alexander Raven. I am the change in the foundation, and the shatterer of stained glass lies. I am the Broken Messiah and the Prophet of Fallacies. I will climb into the cage with ‘beast’[/b] and I will climb out, bloodied, bruised and victorious. I fear no man, for no man is greater than I. So understand, and understand well. I will be the thorn in everyone’s side so long as I need to be. And when every single person has been shut up, when every single naysayer has been silenced. When every single person who mocks and belittles has been shown the truth. I’ll ask them three simple questions.”

Alex smacks his forehead against the bars. A red mark showing almost instantly. And then again, and again, and again. The skin splitting and a small amount of blood beginning to flow from the wound.

“Are you listening to me? Are you following me?”

One last crack, and then the light goes out. The cries and screech of birds filling the air once more, the flutter of wings flying into the distance.

“Do you understand me yet?

And then…

Darkness.

Silence.

Nothing.
 

To Mama Raven
Scene One | Off-Camera | October 17th, 2022

“Lexi baby, all drenched in gold.”

“Look at you shuttin’ us up, rockstar.”

Raven had been enjoying his night alone. James and Luna’s voices coming through the intercom said that was about to change.

“Buzz us up, killjoy. We brought beer.”

Raven sighed and hit the button to unlock the complex door, and then the other to give them elevator access. He was in the midst of moving himself more permanently to Nevada, so in the mean time he was hunkered down in a rather nice long-stay apartment. He turned and moved towards the kitchenette area, opening the cupboard and pulling three champagne glasses out. He knew them too well, there would be more than just beers. Lu was an absolute fiend when it came to the bubbles. He also took out two short glasses, and placed them upon the countertop.

There was a loud rap of knuckles at the door, and before he could let them know it was open, the door swung open. Luna stormed in, spotted Raven and wrapped her arms tightly around him. He was immediately hit with her scent of the week. Fruity, somewhat understated by her standards. It was nice, it was gentle. It wasn’t offensive. She did always smell nice. James kicked the door closed behind him.

“No, no, don’t get up. I’ll just fucking break my back.”

James grunted, Luna placed a quick kiss on Alex’s cheek, and then turned to help James. They’d definitely brought more than just beers. James had a slab of Colonial Draught under his arm. Alex was wildly impressed he’d managed to import a whole box of them. In the other arm was a bag filled with at least two bottles of Moet and the trusted classic of Jack Daniel’s Old no 7. Alex nodded his head at the edge of the bench. Luna took the bag of bottles and placed them on the counter, pulling one of the bottles of Moet out and moving straight to the fridge. James pops open the slab and pulls three cans free, throwing one to each of them.

“Thought you two flew back home. Wasn’t expecting company… how’d you find me?”

James smiled and pulled his face back into the biggest Cheshire grin he could. Sullivan, of course. Who else would give away Alex’s privacy so willingly?

“Cheer up sourpuss, we’re gonna celebrate like the old days. It’s celebration time, sugar.”

Luna pulled the ring on her can, followed by both James and Alex. The cracking sound filled the air, the slight hiss of a fresh beer being opened, and the three banged the cans together roughly, before taking big sips. It felt like home again. It’d been a long time since he’d felt like he was at home.

“Big Bad Wolf definitely got his eyes on you now, rockstar. You two could’ve been mourning buds. How sad that you’ll be too busy swinging your dicks. Ain’t that right, Lulu?”

Luna smiled and shrugged, winking at Alex. Both James and Raven made the same sound of disgust and took another sip. A look of content crossed his face soon after, and a smile.

“Take a picture Jimmy. Lexi is actually smiling. The porcelain is about to crack.”

Luna rubbed her shoulder up against him, he sighed heavily and slipped passed the both of them, and step up and then over the back of the low couch in the small living area, dropping onto his butt heavily. Luna took another bottle of Moet out, and began hunting through the drawers for a way to open it. James squeezed Alex’s shoulder, before leaning down, resting his crossed forearms on the back of the lounge and Alex’s shoulder.

“You seem grounded lately, daddy cool. Keep that cool head, and you’ll roll over this hot-headed dingbat. You got that gold again, rockstar. Crowned is the king.”

“Me, lose my cool? Never. I’m the epitome of cool, calm and collected.”

As if on cue, flash the laughter sign, the three of them broke into a raucous guffaw, the air filled with their jovial laughter. It was the little dumb things that brought them their deepest joy. Alex missed his friends. Alex missed his… happiness.

“It’s good to see you, Lexi. Everyone misses you. You don’t visit enough, baby.”

Alex smiled and raised his drink up lazily towards Luna, who had managed to open the bottle, and was now pouring three glasses. James stood up, and grabbed one of the glasses, rounding around the lounge to sit next to Alex.

“You saw me the other week. I’m not hard to find, apparently.”

That look. The classic Pasilno cutting stare. Colder than ice, and hotter than lava. Cutting straight through the heart. He’d never get used to it. It was bad enough James could look at him like that, let alone Luna. The slight twitch of irritation at the edge of the mouth, and then back into her warm smile. The Pasilno siblings were always so quick at moving back to their warmth.

“Talking about missing you. You been back out there lately? It looked barely lived in when you were there, I can’t imagine it’s doing well.”

James was talking about his childhood home. Alex had been living there for a while. It was the place he was in the process of moving out of. ‘Moving out’ of was a bit of a stretch, really. He’d barely been living there, just floating back and forth between different stays in Vegas and the surrounds. The place was filled with ghosts he no longer wanted to face. Memories of his dad, memories of his mum. Memories of meeting James and Luna. Lots of memories of Luna.

God he hated her.

“I think I’m going to do one last sweep. Go and see it one last time. Say my goodbyes to mum. Say my goodbyes to dad. See the ghosts off, you know? Might be a good place for some tranquility. Fire pit under the stars for old times sake.”

“We’re probably gonna hang around for a bit longer this time. Jimmy and I want to do the rounds, say our his and byes, you know. Maybe we could come with you?”

He knew the question was coming, and his heart pang with pain regardless. He could avoid a lot of things, but taking Luna there felt like a betrayal. Or rather, taking her back there. Lauren never got to visit, she never got to experience that night sky. The little wooden house in the field. But, he also knew they’d come regardless.

“She was like a mama to us too, Ravey-baby. We wanna say our goodbyes, just like you. Let us come with you, please, rockstar.”

Alex nodded, placing his beer down on the coffee table, taking the two outstretched glasses from Luna. She then lifted herself up and over the back of the lounge, and plopped herself down in the corner section of the L. Alex handed her back one of the champagne glasses, before the three of them clinked them together.

“To family.”

“To Mama Raven.”

“To the King Rockstar.”

Smiles, and laughter. He was glad they’d interrupted his isolation. He missed them. And the more obsessed he became with his war on the wolves, the more he realised. He needed his friends. He needed his ‘Conspiracy’, and they needed him too.

They were all so broken.

King James
Scene Two | On-Camera | October 18th, 2022

Six cloaked figures, stand in columns of three. Shoulder to shoulder, faces obscured. A desolate wooden room, loose bulbs hanging from the ceiling, swinging in the tiny space. At the far end of the room, Alexander Raven sits in a wooden chair, a high back, and solid sides. A pseudo throne. Bare-chested and in ripped black jeans, crimson red boots, black laces. Draped over his shoulder was the Internet championship.

“King James.”

Alex raises his left arm, flicking his hand slightly. Dismissively. The figures in unison stomp once. Raven looks up towards the ceiling, at one of the bulbs, lowering his arm slowly. His elbow resting on the armrest, his palm facing upwards.

“Austin James Mercer. King James. Whatever takes your fancy, for it matters not. The respect in the name remains the same. Despite everything, despite the nastiness. Despite the disparaging, despite the disdain. Respect laces the names I give to those who I understand the pain of. Grudge match or no, the truth is this, King James. We first crossed paths in the land of mythology. To be crowned King for a Day. What happened, King James? We both failed. To be crowned the King for only a day, we both fell down. I went on, to capture my first championship. I went on to become the Roulette Champion. I went on to defeat my first wolf in Finn Whelan, the would-be King of the Sin City. I took my wheel of fate and wore it proudly. I fought off the wolves once again, and on the ocean blue stood tall and proud. I made sure I stood tall so that Griffin Hawkins could see that all these years later, I was better. I was stronger. That I wasn’t the upstart child that he once took down at the headline show of the year in UECW. That I wasn’t the upstart child who took the shortcut to the apex by nearly ending the career of our mutual friend and my mentor, Alexander Remington. I stood as champion, because I needed to prove something to not only Griffin, but to myself. I needed to prove that I wasn’t just an upstart child. That I wasn’t just a transitional champion. That I could be more than the False King.”

“So on that Ocean Blue, I cut the throats of two yappy pups, and the brutish bulldog. I solidified myself as the true champion of fate when I got my vengeance on ‘Speedo’ Bill Barnhart. And then it fell down. The wolves, they circle when they smell blood. Hungry and ever present, you and your kin. Miles had something to prove. Everything to gain, and nothing to lose. The support of every other snarling dog at his back. He took me to a place that I hadn’t been in a long time. He took me to a place of anger. He took me back to the beginning. To the upstart child who took the shortcuts. He took me back to the man I was when I feel at the boot of Griffin Hawkins. I’ve talked about this before, but I need you to understand this. I don’t prattle, for the sake of prattling. I don’t bark for the sake of barking. I paint the truth with the words I speak. That’s not an arrogance. It’s a truth. It’s a reality. It’s the reality I intend to make constant.”

One of the cloaked figures steps out of line and removes a book from their cloak. A brown leather bound tome. The figure slowly steps back into line. Raven now holds up his right arm. Once again flicking his wrist dismissively. His gaze shifts now, lowering to the book balancing upon his upturned left palm. Slowly he lowers his right arm, resting it upon the right arm rest, palm turned downwards.

“I acknowledged Miles’ victory. Lachlan made note of the ‘lip service’ I paid. Call me old school, call me a schmuck. Call me whatever makes you feel better, the truth is this. In victory I paint the world red with my arrogance. In defeat, humbled in my humility. On any night, the other man can be the better. On any night, the man can be the person who has something more to prove. Just like I had something to prove when I stepped onto the cruise. Miles had something to prove in India. To silence my badgering. However, despite my respect for Miles in that moment, the anger remained. Distraction by the baying wolves. Every one had something to say. Finn, Miles, Zoey, Lachlan. Some dick called Dickie? I don’t know. I don’t think anyone actually knows who they are. Hell, even fucking Fenris had something to say. Wolves everywhere and full of nothing but vitriol. So many of you claim to stand alone, yet in the end you all hold each other’s backsides. Distraction leads to anger. Anger leads to shortcuts. Shortcuts take me back, and in that I become the upstart child once more. The False King. No longer the Broken Messiah. No longer the leader of The Conspiracy. I become the words that paint the truth. The drooling words of the wolves become the reality.”

“Yet the one who took the most issue with me was you, King James. You took issue because I dared mention your name. I mentioned you because you were a man I had experience with already. I mentioned you because you are someone that I can see a lot of myself in, and I know, as much as you may hate it. You can see a lot of yourself in me. Different pathways to pain, yet pain all the same. I do not pretend to know the extent of your sorrow. I do not pretend to understand what happened, and I never will. I never will because I know my own pain. And only yourself can know the pain of losing someone. Only yourself can know the pain of losing the one holds the fragile glass that is our heart. I mentioned you, because it baffles me that you, of all people put your name to a group of people unable to support their own wars. Both yourself and Finn scream independence of it, but yet collapse into the same failings. The only difference with you, King James. Is you keep your silence. And that I can respect. The silent wolf who sits at the fringe is far more respected than the boy who keeps crying the name. I mentioned your name, because you are the one who in your desecration, the biggest truth can emerge. I paved a path forward for Finn Whelan. As much as he will want to deny it, in my victory over him, freedom. I changed his trajectory by giving him the power to be free of the Wheel of Fate. Now he stands ready to claim the biggest crown in this here City of Sin. He stands ready to take it all by the horns. Anyone can deny it, but the truth is. Finn owes not only his option to be the next king, to me. But also owes me the fact that he has the opportunity. Because I took yours.”

A figure from the right hand side slowly moves towards Raven. They pull what appears to be a sheet of red silk from their cloak and drape it over the right hand and arm of Alexander Raven. A stomp from all six once more before the one near Raven slowly moves back into his group. Raven slowly turns his gaze towards his right arm, gazing down at the silk as he turns his left hand, and brings it down onto his waist. He then deposits the brown book on his lap, his eyes fixated still upon the red silk.

“Two birds, one stone. I showed Finn a path that didn’t involve the wolves. I took the one that is acclaimed as the vicious beast and fixated his gaze upon the bird pecking at the corpses. For the second time, in my maiden year here, I took a wolf by the throat and cut his crown free. High Stakes is the anniversary of my signing with this company. High Stakes marks one year of Alexander Raven. A man who six months ago people said was a flash in the pan. Full of empty words and no action. A man, who in twelve months is a two time champion. A man who twice has taken a member of Wolfslair on their rise and cut them down to size. First Finn, now Lachlan. However, this time a change in destiny. Austin, I am not going to be lulled into a state of anger and frustration. The truth is, in a contest of pure strength, I will lose nine times out of ten. The truth is, you are bigger, stronger and meaner than I am. I have no qualms acknowledging that. In the same way that I was the Goliath to Lachlan, the Little Scrapper, you are mine. The difference, King James. The difference is Lachlan was not my David. I am yours. I said these words to Ken, and fate would behold that not the truth. Ken and I went the distance, and I came up short. I respect the man who understands the desperation of the broken. A man who, even with his brothers at his back, stands alone. A group of men, who do not interfere in the wars of the others. Saviours in both behaviour and name. I respect Ken, and I told him, what I will tell you. I will tell you, what I told Lachlan.”

“I am, Alexander Raven. The man who everyone wishes to see fail. The man who everyone cheers the defeat of. Happiness in my failures, because it validates their disapproval. Happiness in my failures, because nobody wants to listen to the man that spits the truths they don’t want to acknowledge. Happiness in my failures because they hate seeing someone not part of their distorted control group of power have any level of success. I said it to Lachlan, and I’ll continue saying it. I have done nothing but earn every god damn fucking opportunity laid before me in the twelve months I’ve been here. I have emerged the victor in multi man matches. I have emerged the victor in singles matches. I have emerged the victor to earn every one of my opportunities. I solidified their faith when I defended the Roulette title in successful back to back defenses. When I beat Finn, Miles and Speedo Barnhart. When I beat Barnhart once more. I validated their beliefs when I went toe to toe with Ken Davison. I validated their beliefs when I stepped to the challenge of Austin James Mercer, the big scary fucking brute of a man. Who throws his weight around like it means a god damn thing beyond the idea that he purports as an absolute truth. I’m not afraid of you King James. I’m not afraid of anyone. You may be stronger and you may be bigger, but I’m a whole lot tougher than anyone gives me credit for. Every time I fall down, I get the fuck back up and climb even higher. Scrapped knees and elbows, bruises and contusions, blood and guts. It doesn’t matter. I am the god damn One True King. And if I have to rip through every single one of you mutts, I will. If I have to break you, I will. If I have to blood you, I will. I have no issue being the judge, jury and executioner of you King James.”

Slowly he bends his right arm and holds it horizontally across his chest. He lowers the red silk sheet onto the book slowly, covering it in the fabric. After dropping it entirely onto the book, Raven grabs hold of the Internet Championship and holds it in both hands, turning it to face him. Holding it in front of him, he stares straight into the face plate.

“King James, I hope you are listening. The truth however is it doesn’t really matter if you do. Lachlan didn’t listen, and I took the Internet Championship away from him. In doing so, I added some High Stakes to our encounter. I know something more now, than I did twelve months ago. I know something better now than I did before India. I now know that I cannot go back to the upstart child that I once was. I cannot hide in the wallowing pitying of my woe is me attitude. I cannot become complacent and I cannot assume my guided hand in fate. No, King James. I must take the reins of the bull and push forward. I must swim against the current. I want you to listen, because I want you to truly understand what I’m saying. I’m not afraid of you. You will not threaten me into silence or panic. You will not threaten me into making a mistake. You will not goad me into aggression or anger. Brutish behaviour from you, was met with the feather touch of misdirection. I took your opportunity because I wanted your attention. I have it now. Now I have the red flag to taunt the bull. I now hold the Internet Championship. I’ve taken another crown away from the wolves, and I get to dictate my terms. I promised that I would walk into Climax Control the challenger, and leave the champion. I promised that I would show everyone that I am more than just talk. That the respect that Ken Davison has for me, is not unfounded. That the opportunities given to me, aren’t for naught. That the change I intend to illicit in this here Sin City. The shattering of the stained glass sky of lies that I promise is coming. I proved on that promise. I beat Lachlan clean as a whistle. Made him pass out in the middle of that ring. I have no problem putting people out. I have no problem breaking people if that is what I need to do, to ensure that they understand the words I speak as truth.”

“The mercers of an era long past, would once weave textiles to show the victors of battles past. Bolts of silk and velvet. Fabrics as intricate as the stained glass windows of the English churches. King James, you are the third, but you won’t be the last. Like the Sixth and First, your time will pass. A crown passed on to the next, and the hands of fate will force that change. I am your fate, King James. I am the passing of time, and the inevitable death. Not just of you, but of all of the Wolfslair. I am the judge, jury and executioner.”

Alex grips the championship in his left hand more tightly as he releases his right hand. He once again places the belt over his shoulder and grips the red silk on his lap. Throwing it forward it slowly swirls to the floor. Where the book once had been, now sits a tarnished crown. Cracks mar its surface, colour dulled and empty slots where gems may have once sat. Raven lifts it from his lap and gently places it upon his head, the figures stamping once more, as they all pull glass lanterns slowly from the folds of their cloaks. One by one they ignite, all six now swathed in the lantern light.

“High Stakes is an apropos place for this battle. The stakes are high, for both of us. Failure to beat me ensures that another wolf falls victim to their chirpy little raven bird. Failure to beat me damages this haunting, scary aura you attempt to exude. I stand to become a shadow of my past once more. A transitional champion, an upstart child who fails when the time calls for it. I don’t intend to fail, King James. I do not intend to forsake the truths. I do not intend to fall at your feet and make true your asinine ramblings. No truth will given to the claims of the bloodthirsty mutts. I intend to continue my warpath, and I will cut down any who would stand in my way. This championship is my path forward. The meat to bait the wasps. Angry and nasty little pests who do nothing but irritate. You are a gnat who will be crushed, King James. I know what it takes to beat men like you. I know what it takes to beat better men than you, and I promise you this. No matter the respect I hold when I speak your name. And I will speak it without fear. No matter the respect, understand this. Listen to me, and understand.”

“I am Alexander Raven, the One True King. The Broken Messiah and the False Prophet. I am the Internet Champion, and the thorn in the side of all baying wolves. And I will mount your fucking head on the wall as a warning to all.”

The six figures stomp once more, before in unison throwing their lanterns at the silk on the floor. The glasses shatters, flames flickering as the silk goes up in flame. A leap of flames in the middle of the room, rapidly tracing an unseen line through the wood. A figure ignites above Alexander Raven, a raven with its beak in the eye of a wolf’s head.

“Quoth the Raven, ‘nevermore.’”

Darkness begins to creep in.

Stomping sounds, over and over. The crows of birds, the howl of a wolf and the crackle of flames.

And then…

Darkness.

Silence.

Nothing.

“Dear, sweet Miles. How unfortunate for you to cross paths with Alexander Raven, once more. Dear, sweet Miles. How unfortunate for you to be so tied up in personal affairs, that the words of wisdom failed to pierce your mind. Dear, sweet Miles. Why do you still lack focus?

”Dear, sweet Miles.”

A small, desolate room. Wooden walls, floors and ceilings. Sparse of life bar the single person sitting cross legged in the centre of the room. A dull halogen globe swings above head, hanging loosely by a strand of cable. It sways in an invisible, non-existent breeze. Placed neatly in front of the person’s legs, the Roulette Championship; the faceplate reflecting what little light illuminates the space.

“A few weeks ago, I lost my focus. I became enamoured with the past and lost in memories of the past. Instead of directing my eyes forward, to create the future in which forgiveness would be given. I gazed upon the past, and lost myself to the sorrow that it brings. I faltered and lost focus. In that loss of focus, I failed to silence Jack Washington. Not a mistake I’ll make again, I assure you. Yet, it’s a clear indicator of the words I passed on to you on that ship Miles. Lost focus is what cost you on that ship. Too fixated on assisting your friend, too fixated on a family member across the sea. Focus eludes you, because the world around you becomes far more important than that which lies before you Miles. What lies before you now is a chance at redemption. A chance at ‘rediscovery’ as you’ve coined it recently. Something of worth must have existed in the first place, for a ‘rediscovery’ to happen. I’ve yet to see anything but expletive riddled bluster. Not something worth discovery in the first place, I assure you.”

“It’s amusing, Miles. Everyone is so quick to go on at lengths about Alexander Raven. A constant thought in the minds of those who constantly deny the existence of the thought. Nobody is listening if words are to be believed, yet we all know. We all know that words are full of nothing but the lies I seek to extinguish. Distortions of reality to fit the narratives that allow for acceptance of their own deceptions. You are no better, Miles. Just like Finn, just like Bulldog, just like Jack. You are full of lies and distortions of truth to fit the narrative you paint in your mind. Others purport purity in the actions of foul misdeeds and unforgivable perversions of love. You, prance for the world to see, and wonder why your happiness is elusive. The grass is always greener, until the rains cease to come and the land turns desolate. You, Miles. You may be one of the few who speaks truth in not listening to me. It’s unfortunate that you do not listen. I always ask that people listen, understand and follow. You do not listen, so you will not understand. You do not focus, so you cannot follow. It’s an unfortunate reality, and whilst you live in the perverted and twisted delusion you create for yourself, perhaps your stained glass sky is the easiest to shatter.”

The person sitting on the floor grips the championship either side of the face plate and unfurls their legs, slowly moving to stand. They turn their face upwards, the hood that covers their head slowly falling back. To no one's surprise, Alexander Raven stands beneath the slowly swinging globe, allowing the championship belt to hang at his left side, holding the strap only.

“I once spoke at length, about love being a powerful motivator. Perhaps the strongest motivator that exists. It is love that allowed me to refocus. To change how I viewed myself and in turn how I would push through this cesspool of derision and manipulation, of lies and deceptions. Love is what pushes me to find forgiveness from her in the actions I make. It is love that encourages my desire to throw the stones that will shatter the stained glass sky of deception that plagues this Sin City. Love is my greatest motivator, Miles. Yet once again love leads back to focus. Love gives me focus. Love gives the focus to find her forgiveness for the actions I make. Love gives the focus I need to find the strength to shatter the foundations of this incestuous and perverted company we find ourselves in. Chance has become my playground, and in doing so, I have become the master of games. The game of love fixes the odds, and the house will always win. Do you understand Miles? How could you understand; you don’t listen.”

“Everyone can see the perversions of your choices. Too weak a child to make the decision to end a situation that makes you unhappy. Instead teasing and tempting the immoral chances of infidelity. Pathetic are the actions of the immature children. Love is causing you to lose focus, and in doing so it becomes your greatest vulnerability. So quick to rush to the defense of the one who owns your heart, but not your mind. So quick to run across the globe and leave behind your supposed lover, for the temptations of the leather clad succubus. Ignorant to the time old traditions. Behaviour and actions dictate future behaviour and action. What happens when the new toy becomes as infuriating as the old one? Do you go on a new tour of rediscovery? Do you blame the leather clad succubus for your short-comings, rather than understanding that your failure to act upon your own volition is your problem. The petulant child can be as young as a seven year old, or just like yourself at twenty eight. Child of mind and thought, and without the focus to allow yourself the success to break the trend. I ask of you Miles, why do you not listen?”

A guttural roar of frustration comes from Alex as he swings the championship up above his head and smashes the light. An explosion of light, before the world is cast into darkness. Murmurs and whispers fill the space, undistinguishable conversation. ‘Failure’, ‘immoral’, ‘pathetic’, ‘weak’ echo throughout the boundless emptiness in a variety of voices and accents.

“Violent Conduct, Miles. It is something that I am quite acquainted with. Violence has always been an acceptable course of action for me. Love and violence are intrinsically linked, yet it is the hand that plays them that differentiates. She who I seek the forgiveness of, the guiding hand. The cycle of violence was broken when she passed. No more would she suffer at the hands of the violence inflicted on others. Clarification, if you will. I was the incarnate of violence, and in doing so I suffered the violence. Violence inflicted upon me, hurt her soul. This world would continue to break her down and push her further into a cycle of pain and hurt. I seek forgiveness for leaving her with my wounds to tend. With the blood to clean, and the bones to mend. She took the pain in my life, and cleansed it. She wore that pain, and I will never forget that. Do you believe that those you love will cleanse your soul of the violence you must be willing to expend? I’ve shown the world that it matters not the nature of the pain that must be inflicted. A gimmick match champion is what I’ve become and I relish in it. Born in flame was the Broken Messiah. Baptised in blood was the One True King. Skull fractured, body set aflame. It matters not the hand that dealt it, for the violence was the payment of the infractions I had made.”

“I ignored the voices that spoke the truth. I refused to listen, I refused to follow. Understanding the guidance being offered and focusing. I refused it, because I thought I was beyond it. It was in violent conduct that I had my eyes opened. The reality was shaped and the delusions were wiped clean. Truth became the world that I was enveloped in. I could see the lies that people told themselves. I could see the falsehoods that led to more delusions. Truth became my reality Miles, and I understood why. In the infliction of violence, I was cleansed. I did not heed that in my cleansing, I was destroying the one I loved. Promises made, and broken. Forgiveness forever sought from that point onwards. I will endeavor for forgiveness forever more. I will destroy anything that attempts to taint my mind again. I will speak the truth and I will throw the stones that bring the realisation with them. I will hurt whoever needs to be hurt, because the violence I inflict will clear the eyes of those who need to focus. I offer you words, but I will act with violence. Focus, Miles. You will need all of your focus, for a split second can change everything. Fears and worries for others, thoughts of others. It will be your undoing. Focus, Miles. Are you listening now? I need you to finally listen to me.”

A single candle flame ignites in the darkness. It sits on a wooden chair, a simple dining chair. The voices, whispers and murmurs begin to slowly fade away, silence filling the space. Fingers wrap over the back of the chair, gripping it tightly. The dirtied and bloodied knuckles illuminated by the single flame. Nails painted in alternating blue and black.

“Beaten black and blue, I laid in that bed. Wounds dotted my body, burns threatened to blister and burst. I know violence well, Miles. There is no match that can surprise the martyr of The Conspiracy. The carrion that I leave in my wake will be understood, and you will listen. You will finally listen and the mockery will end. No more will you, or any of the bickering lyrebirds and stunted wolves lie through your teeth. I will turn you into the martyr I need, Miles. I will hurt you, I will blood you, I will end you. And then, I will cleanse you. Baptised and returned to the world, now with clarity. An understanding of the truth and in that. Love will guide you. Confidence and understanding of the truth. No more will you hide behind the immorality of your behaviours and actions. No more will you pretend to be on some journey of rediscovery. All that will be left is the husk and the soul. Truth and reality. Focused, Miles. I am more focused than I have ever been. I have had my sorrow. I have had my joy. Now I shall have my forgiveness. For in your destruction the beginnings of the change. The change that brings truth to all of Sin City. No more games, no more gambles. We play a game of Russian Roulette, yet I know which gun holds the bullet of truth. Are you ready to follow me, Miles?”

The chair is tipped and the candle clatters to the floor. The flame ignites a liquid and quite quickly a trail of flame snakes away into the distance. A trough of flames ignites and casts an illuminating light across the room. A painting of Alexander Raven in the image of Kali is illuminated. Miles’ head hanging from one of the two hands on the right hand size. Bulldog Bill Barnhart’s body under foot on the same side, a snake with the head of Finn Whelan wrapped around Bulldog’s arm, with what appears to be a version of Miles’ body off to the far left.

“An image of violence, Miles. Kali, the Goddess of Ultimate Power. Symbolism, Miles. Do you understand? I hope you’ve been listening. Love, focus, violence. Violence, focus, love. What is your motivator, and why do you not listen?”

Alexander Raven steps into frame, just in front of the flickering flames. The Roulette Championship folded neatly and held across his forearms against his chest. A smile stretching ear to ear, the trail of fire on the ground illuminating his eyes.

“Here, in the land where the cycle of pain and violence is escapable. In the land of many gods, who dwarf the image of peace. Here, where the world dictates change forevermore, I offer you an opportunity, Miles. Submit, and be freed. Fight, and be cleansed. Do you like the smell of blood, Miles? Do you like the taste of copper and iron in your mouth as your body rejects the beatings? Do you enjoy it? For this is the truth. This is the reality as it stands. Violent Conduct in New Delhi. Your tour of rediscovery ends before it even has a chance to begin. I will put you down like the stunted wolves and the neutered pups I had to hurt to get here. An iron grasp on this championship is the reality that I know. The truth is this, that as long as I stand as the Roulette Champion, there will never be an accolade next to your name. Speak, Miles. And this time, listen. Think and understand. Calm your mind, calm your soul. Your screaming and shouting taints the future. Come, Miles. And be baptised in violence.”

Raven allows the smile to slip from his face, his eyes focused off into the distance. Hair pulled back in a tight bun, tired lines dotting his face. Anger ever present in his eyes, refusing to be doused. A click of fingers from elsewhere, and everything is plunged into the dark once more.

Darkness.

Silence.

Nothing.

“It’s an interesting turn of events, that bring us here. After being away from the ring for as many years as I was, I faced a man. A man, who thought himself the modern day incarnation of Lord Shiva. One of the most important gods of the Hindu pantheon. This man so sure of himself, believed himself equal to that of the pinnacle of godliness within his own culture. Like all False Gods who have walked and will walk before me, I lifted him high, and brought him down on his neck. Broken was the man who felt the crushing power of the Raven’s Spine. Broken was the False God who stepped to the False Prophet. Broken was the man who thought himself the equal of the Broken Messiah. Broken was the man who stepped to the One True King and was forced to face the reality, that he was not an equal to my kingdom. It’s only fair, that standing in this land he held so dear. It’s only fair, that I come to pay my respects. Yet here in the Kanheri Caves there is only reminders of the past. Unfinished paintings of the Buddha himself on the ceilings. Complex monuments, thousands of years old. The only thing older than these beautiful and powerful images of worship, is the damn repeating words of that faithful, Bulldog.”

Alexander Raven finds himself sitting upon the mossy stone steps of one of the entrances to the Kanheri Caves. Large stone pillars extend far behind him, the low light of the setting afternoon sun casting a vague amber glow over the area. Intricate carvings of stone figures dot the nearby wall separating the steps from the flat to one of the cave entrances.

“Truth, is what I have been speaking. Truth, is what I have been showing. I showed Finn that the truth of my word was stronger than the false nature of his sainthood. Not only did I put him down for the win, to win my crown. I then solidified myself as the king. Silencing the howling wolves and taking the yapping, slobbery dog to the pits. Speedo Barnhart, if you will, is nothing more than a bag full of hot air. Blustering, windy and lacking substance. A smart man without brain is nothing but an idiot with a plan. Bulldog reminds me of men who think themselves far smarter than any other. I’ve spoken of psychopaths before, compared idiocy to idiocy. Psychopaths think themselves so much smarter than others, yet are only escaping their justice by sheer ineptitude of those tracking them. It isn’t that the psychopath is intelligent, it is that the path laid before the investigators is one that makes little sense. Broken and jagged, like the mind of one lacking in the intelligence to understand their own bluster.”

“Old man Speedo, is a psychopath. A man full of ideas and false ideologies. Overly confident, yet with no substance. He has learnt now, that the game is now set in my favour. Success is in the hands of the king, and the king has deigned to execute this sinner. Barnhart, Bill, Speedo or Bulldog, it matters not what moniker you use to distract from the fact of the matter. The fact that you and I, both know the absolute truth of the situation. The absolute truth, that here in the land of multiple deities, prophets and guiding figures, that I am under your skin Bulldog. That this time, there is no balance in play. That this time, the odds have been fixed and this table spins at my whim. I am the dealer, and this time my foot is upon the pedal. No matter the bet, no matter the game. This world of chance and mystique now lays in the hands of the One True King. He who will throw the stones that will shatter this house of stained glass lies.”

“Alexander Raven.”

A few voices carry over the air, muted conversations lacking substance. Raven raises a hand to the sky above him, tilting his head back to stare off into the sky beyond. Raven is in nothing but a muscle tee, covered in upside down crosses and black birds on a grey canvas. Maroon shorts, tattoos exposed to the world. Slowly Raven lowers his hand as he stands, turning to walk towards the cave entrance slowly. Taking each step with purpose, the slightest of limps indicating some mild discomfort still lingering.

“A wounded bird will seek to protect itself. Ensuring that it is safe to recover. Often the bird will seek refuge in the safety of the hands of a caring human. A more powerful figure, willing to nurse and care until the bird can once again fly. Though it may never repay the favour, it will forever remember the lesson of its injury. Take the offer of help when it is given, but stay no longer than is safe. Speedo Barnhart, you once offered me a chance to prove myself. Failure followed me twice, and like the wounded bird, I fell. Unable to beat my wings, I continued to fail. Hurt, and collapse. It seems to elude everyone that my shaky beginnings do not speak for the success that follows me. Everyone is focused on the bad, yet refuse to acknowledge the truth. The truth, that in less than a year in this company, I have taken the crown. In less than a year in this company, I have beaten former world champions. I have challenged and taken to the limit those who are respected and held aloft by all others. In less than a year, I have ensured that every person in this incestuous mixing pit of inescapable intermingling, knows who I am. Every single member of this Sin City knows the man who is throwing the stones. Who is setting the explosives, and who is shaking the foundations of this stained glass temple. The greatest stories are those that find a resolution and success following a time of difficulty and struggle. They mock and they belittle, but the truth is, everyone is watching.”

“All eyes are on the man who can speak his way into the pantheon of success. All eyes are on the man who proclaims himself the False, Broken and Truth. Reality is that no matter the falters of the broken wings, the snapping of the hungry beak, and the tearing of the flesh that comes with it. Understand this, I am nothing but the truth I proclaim to be. Truth that you know to be the reality of this world, Speedo. You know better than anyone, at this point momentum carries the bold to victory, and in the victory of the bold success begets success. Momentum, Bulldog. You had it, now you’ve lost it. Finn had it, and he lost it. Miles… Miles has never had it. Truth hurts I suppose. Your focus is everywhere and nowhere at once, Bulldog. A psychopath gets lost in the details, and the excitement of their own world. You, Bulldog, get lost in the fact that you can’t see two feet in front of your eyes, before you need to proclaim yourself a genius once more. You get lost in your focus on the past, because your present is lacking. You get lost in the ideology of your former, because you cannot comprehend a future without it. The structure of this city of sin sustains you, and yet you see it. You see it crumbling, and you know. You know that I speak the truth. The truth is this, Barnhart. You will fall beneath my boot, you will fail to regain what little relevance you’ve had, and with that. With your failure comes the defining moment of truth for you. You aren’t as good as me, you aren’t as good as your adversaries of ages past. And you definitely will never be as good as the men you have surrounded yourself with.”

Raven slowly walks into the cave entrance. A small cave chamber lays beyond, the walls filled with basalt monuments of figures of worship. Tilting his head upwards, Raven points to the ceiling. Paintings of the Buddha cover it, but remain seemingly unfinished. A piece of art, never to be completed. Raven closes his eyes as he stretches his arms upwards, gesturing to the unfinished artworks.

“Our business is unfinished, yet in this coming clash, it will be done. No more will people question, no more will they doubt. In putting you down Bulldog, I rectify the falters of the past seven months. This year started will my fall at your hands, Barnhart. Half way through it, I will ensure that my crown is firmly affixed my head. Your blood will pave the pathway, and the truth I have spoken will become your reality. Your reality will no longer deny the aspects that I have been putting to you. Your reality becomes my reality. The Conspiracy will fall upon you, and this time, you will be the carrion that feeds them. Instead of stones, I will throw bone. I will throw your failing body into the stained glass, and I will shatter the foundations once more. Truth, Bill, and the reality that comes of it. I will finish the artwork of our story. I will finish that which remains unfinished. Success will paint my reality and in my reality you do not stand to me. No more will you bluster and boast. The wind deflated from the windbag, and in turn, success for the once injured bird.”

“I hope, that you can put your ignorance aside for a little while Bulldog. I hope that whilst here in this land of spiritualism, deities and deep culture you can learn to accept that of which you do not understand. For the truth is far beyond your reckoning, Bulldog. I hope you get to see the River Pyres in Varanasi. You’ll understand the power that rebirth brings to a phoenix who falls to its own flames. You’ll understand the truth that I have been putting to you, for months. You will understand, my truth. Look to the river, bloated with bodies, and you’ll see the forgiveness I offer. For in forsaking it, I will feed you to my Conspiracy. Pick up and cast the stones Bulldog. Shatter the stained glass lies of this city of Sin. Shake the foundations and see a future not tainted by those who strangle the life from this, this Sin City. Here in the land of gods, be a man.”

Raven smiles widely as he allows his arms to fall back to his side. He turns on his heel and begins to walk deeper into the cave, slowly disappearing into the basalt and stone beyond, before vanishing from sight. Blackness fills the scene, the sound of crackling flame filling the darkness. A funeral pyre slowly comes into view in the blackness, the only source of light in the dark. Burning up on the pyre, are many different pairs of speedos.

Symbolism.

And then...

Silence.

Darkness.

Nothing.

Saints and Sinners
On-Camera | 30/06/2022

“It perplexes me, Finn. You seem so close to understanding yourself. You seem so close to understanding how the world works. Yet in moments of faltering, in moments of failure. You slip away, you slip into your own mind. You slip into your own failures. Excuses, Finn. I hate the excuses. A loss is a loss, regardless of how much you wish it wasn’t. A streak of failures stain my record recently, and I hate it. I hate it with every fibre of my being, but in failure, revelations. Revelations about where I should be and where I will be. Focus comes with an understanding of the failure. That is why you lost Finn. Not because you didn’t try, as you so often claim. Half effort is still your full. I hate it Finn. I hate that you think anyone cares. Yet the thing I hate the most, is your dishonesty. I thought we were more alike than the surface would tell. Men driven by anger, and frustration. Yet it seems that is the entirety of your similarities. A truly false idol. A Saint of Lies. A true saint of this city of sin. Sin City’s true Saint if you will. Any which way works, and the truth remains the truth. You are nothing but a liar, hiding behind insecurity and excuses.”

“It wasn’t half effort that caused you to lose. It wasn’t half effort that threatened to end your reign on your first defense. It wasn’t half effort, it’s excuse. You are full of them, Finn. I see the things you post. Talking about wanting the best, yet refusing to put in the effort? You don’t deserve the best, Finn. You a petulant child stomping their feet and banging their hands. Screaming for change yet refusing to be the change you seek. Excuses Finn, they boil my blood, and you, boy. You are full of them.”

A group of robed figures are seated at a round table. Wooden dining chairs for each, and then at the opposing top end, an armed wooden chair, a far reaching back. An intricate carving of birds and vines wrapped up in a war with each other. Sitting in the chair, Alexander Raven. The roulette championship belt laid out in front of him. His eyes are locked with it, his head tilted down, body leaning forward. His hands grip either side of the face plate, focused.

“Climax Control was meant to be my crowning moment, Finn. My chance to shine. My assent to the top of my mountain top. Adulation, surprise and a becoming of truth. My reality as I’ve painted it, becoming such. Yet you scorn the acts, and in doing so rain upon my coronation. I am the king of chance, the gambler with all the odds. I am the King, Finn. I am the false prophet and the broken messiah. And now, I have the crown to prove myself the One True King. Reality as it is, will be the reality that comes. I refuse to let you take my crown back. The War of the Roses, if you will. The Saint weeps, and the king turns his back. Assume this, the reformation of this Sin City. Purged of the virus that is your lackadaisical attitude. Weep, Finn. Weep and cleanse the feet of your saviour. Are listening to me, Finn?”

Raven releases his grip upon the belt slightly and raises his hands. The figures around the table all in unison raise red candles, flickering flames illuminating the immediate air in a fiery yellow glow. Raven himself reaches for a glass to his left, and lifts it to his lips, drinking deeply of the dark brown liquid within. His gaze still firmly focused upon the face plate of the belt.

“Yet as much as you boil my blood, Finn. As much as you sicken me to my core with your dis-enthused lamentation and falsified words there is a solace gifted to me. A gift to the False Prophet, and the One True King over the Saint of this city of sin. I need not worry myself with you. I need not concern myself with your past. For your future is now mine to fix. Your future is now my prerogative. For come our clash upon the high seas, truth reigns supreme. Elimination at my hands, at the hands of your own wolf or by the feisty bulldog who aims to seek your head. The truth of the matter is thus Finn. Bulldog doesn’t see me as a threat, due to our past. Miles is cocky, but he knows you well. Friendship would dictate that Mr Miles would aim to bring it down to you two. However, intelligent play would be to hedge his bets. Knowing himself lesser than the Saint, he would be best to risk it against unknown adversary. Particularly, the mouthy Broken Messiah who belittles him. Anger at the mouth patriarchy, and the champion himself. What greater symbol of growth and success, but to dethrone the King himself.”

“Finn, I am to be your target, this is clear. Yet Miles would want my throat too. Do you cross each other to push for your own gains? Friendship ends when battle starts, and the battle has already begun to rage. War takes no prisoners and neither will I. I know I can beat you Finn. I have reason to take down both Miles and Bulldog. I fear not leaving you to your own devices because I know you won’t be able to do it. The excuses are far too powerful, aren’t they? Why put in full effort, when you can half it and let others do the work? Your past dictates your future, and whilst I am the guiding light of yours now. Whilst I am the one that will ordain your failures and cast you down to feed the ravenous plebeians of my kingdom, I know you, Finn. You will fail, because your past, present and future is painted with the failures of your lack of effort. Nobody to blame but the anger that bubbles within you. Nobody to blame, but the angry virulent Saint of Sin City. Do you understand me Finn?”

The cries of a baby shatter the scene. The figures placing their candles upon the table as they raise to their feet and turn away. Alexander Raven drags his hand across the face plate a little bit before grabbing the edges of it again, and lifting it up to his forehead. The cries continuing to ring out, twitches of frustration pulling at his lips.

“New life is an interesting thing, Miles. Your mind is elsewhere, family controls the thoughts and now. Now you have something to prove. A need to have a success to point to, to say ‘I did that. Aren’t you proud? I did that.’ Less than a year is what it has taken me to ascend the top of one of the mountains in this Sin City. Roulette Champion, and venerated for the musings of those who think me a wobbly starter. Success dictates reality, and the reality is this. Despite my ‘wobbly’ start, despite my shortcomings, acknowledgement has always been my reality. Understanding of changes needed, ways to affect where I stand and what I needed to do in order to succeed. Success has been granted to me, for I deserve the success I’ve taken. Less than a year, Miles, and I’ve managed to ascent to the top. Failure of length speaks more than my failures of short. How long have you dwindled and scrambled to become better? Seeing those you surround yourself with succeed where you have not. Depending upon others for strength that you lack, for the lacking is not something you can fix.”

“No amount of training with those better than you. Working out in the gym. Trading verbal barbs with those who have made a career of crawling into the skin of their opponents. None of it matters, for you cannot build that strength. You’re less than the best, and it takes the best to stand at the summit. Untoward focus will change where you stand in life, Miles. Family is as important as you assign it to be. Your focus is elsewhere and it will be your undoing. Untouchable is the focus of the Prophet and Messiah who must bring the truth to his Conspiracy. Unbreakable is the focus of the One True King who throws the stones of truth to shatter the stained glass lies that shroud this city of sin. Focus is our differential, Miles. And focus will remain our differential, because you are lacking in the strength requires to have clear focus. Two things in this world matter most to me. My success in spite of the broken promises I’ve made to get to it. And the forgiveness I shall receive on the other end by the only one that it matters from. My focus is on the here and now and this crown. This is the most important thing in my life. For with it, I am granted the forgiveness of the broken reality I’ve left behind.”

Once more Raven places the championship down on the table before pushing his ornate chair back slightly, rising to his feet. The cries of the baby being to dim, before silence fills the now seemingly empty scene. Alexander Raven alone, surrounded by candle flame and an empty glass. Reaching into the right side pocket of his coat he removes a cigarette and a lighter. He puts the cigarette to his lips and ignites it, taking a deep drag. Turning on his heel he aggressively throws the lighter into the darkness beyond the reach of the candle flame and the single handing lantern. The sound of glass shattering, followed by the sound of waves. The lap of water and the rush of the wind.

“The Ultimate X match, is my focus, Miles. Reality continues to be as I state it to be, because that equates to my focus. Are you listening Miles? Are you following? I need you to listen to me. I need you to understand what I’m telling you. You, Miles, are the weakest member of this match, and in that you have the least to lose. The most to gain, but the least to lose. Which means, just like your fellow wolf Finn Whelan, you too can fall on your excuses. A field too strong, your mind elsewhere. Cheats and disreputable opponents. People who would forsake their own mothers to win, and that’s just not your style. A world of excuses to hide the fact that your focus was elsewhere. Your focus was unfocused on the only thing that matters when we ride the high waves of the ocean blue. Both on land and sea, I am the king. I am the truth, I am the reality bringer. The breaker of stained glass lies and disconnected truths.”

“Miles, I pity you. So confident in yourself over me, yet with nothing to back it up. Nothing to accentuate any level of future in yourself. Take yourself home, Miles. Take yourself back to your sister, and your nephew. Take yourself away from the cruel seas, and the unforgiving brutality that awaits you on that ship. For I make no qualms about it. I lie no longer, and the truth is this. I care not for sending you home in a state good enough to hold your newborn Nephew. I care not for ensuring your safe escape from the seas that would drown you beneath the tireless waves. Go home, Miles. Go home and stay there. Otherwise, I will send you home. The only transition, is your transition away from my kingdom.”

Raven allows the cigarette to hang loosely from his lips, about half burnt through. A deep breath, a long exhale and smoke wisping loosely around his head. A stomp followed by another and then more from the darkness. The sound of flames igniting and braziers light up the space. A shattered window sits in a stone wall, and a burning effigy in the shape of a Bulldog head burns in the space between. Raven picks the championship belt up off the table, and holds it aloft in his left hand, facing the effigy.

“The man who eludes me. Who rattled my confidence and put me down in my pursuit of this very crown, twice. The man who I fear beyond the wolves in this match. The mutt in need of being neutered. I think it almost symbolic that the two matches that put me here, in this position. As not only a member of this Ultimate X match, but also as the defending champion walking in. I think it’s symbolic that the success of these two matches comes from rending low the jewels of two men. And not but a week earlier, in the decree of the Greek King, the man who resembled the Men, Women and Non-Binary friends of my world rent me to the grave with the same. Everything has a meaning, and nothing is left to total fate. Symbolic of your neutering, Bulldog. For the truth is in the circumstance. A man of symbolism, metaphor and analogy yourself, you would understand. Just like I secured my crown by ruining the jewels of would-be rulers. Just like the neutered Saint that walks in, lacking enthusiasm. Just like the man focused on anything but the crown we fight for. You, Bulldog. Will be brought low, and eliminated. My redemption achieved in blood and violence. And truth that maintains. The truth, that this doggy has been fixed.”

“But there is many things to look at. A man who holds the wins and none of the failure. A man who holds our host, the double bird man Griffin Hawkins in such esteem. A man I would rather spit upon. One who dances and avoids, betrayed by the man I once betrayed. One who shares my namesake, Alexander Remington. You see, Bulldog. Those you respect are those I despise. Hawkins, Fenrir, Finn and yourself. Momentary allegiance and alliance. Sticking your nose in my business. Your incestuous mixings in this city of sin, like the Wolves that demand to enter every aspect. Everything about this Sin City that you hold so aloft, is filled with it. It seeps into me as well. My obsessions trickling into a world I don’t wish to be in. I don’t care for your connections with Senor Vinnie. I don’t care for your connections with Goth. I don’t care for your connections with my past, and I don’t want you to be part of my future.”

The stomps continue to echo through the room. The burning effigy beginning to burn out. The flames slowly dying out and flickering their last parts of life before a burnt wire frame remains. Raven continues holding the championship up high. He then spits the cigarette from his mouth towards the effigy.

“This is a tale of us, Bulldog. A bulldog and a raven. The wolves will bark and fight, yet starving, they’ll kill each other. This is on us. The bulldog seeking his favourite toy once more, yet the toy now sits in the home of most proud of black raven birds. The messenger of the dead, ready to bring the end to you. I will send a message to the double bird man. I will make him acknowledge me, and I will throw that gauntlet down once more. You, will be my banner of challenge Bulldog. The man who thinks himself anything but an arrogant, oversized and bullheaded old man. You will be the way I announce my way into the world. You will be the next step on my path to forgiveness. Though the crown of her king now rests upon his temples once more, blood to be spilled remains. Those who forced the breaking of his promises to her, need to be put down. You, Bulldog, are the start of my path. You are the beginning of my journey to total forgiveness. She will forgive me. Do you understand me, Bulldog? She will forgive me. I just need you all to listen. I need you all to understand. I need you, Bulldog to know.”

"I will neuter you, bitch.”

Stomp, stomp, stomp. The sounds reverberate through the space. Alexander Raven slowly lowers the championship, and turns it over, holding the face plate towards himself once more. Staring down at it. The braziers and candles slowly extinguishing one by one. The lantern too. Slowly everything being cast into darkness.

“The Conspiracy descends upon us. The truth of my word becomes the reality of this Sin City. I will purge the incestuous nature of this place. I will purge all those who have wronged me. I will show the broken truth, and the return of the False Prophet shall be. False is this stained glass house of lies. I will cast the first stone, and I will rattle the foundations. Listen, follow and understand and you will know. You will know the truth I speak. The One True King of this Sin City is here. The Roulette Champion, the King of Chance and the Master of Games. Whelan, Kasey and Barnhart. Listen to me.”

“This is my path to the summit. You will be the flesh, blood and bone that builds the pathway to forgiveness. You will be my salvation, and in that I thank you all. But I remind you of this. I will be king, now and forever. Finn, I expect your best. Miles, focus up, or stay home. Bulldog, I will avenge myself, and your blood will pay for the damage to my reputation. That is the final truth of it.”

Darkness.

Silence.

Nothingness.