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Supercard Roleplays / Re: MILES KASEY (c) v ALEX JONES - INTERNET TITLE
« Last post by MiloKasey on January 09, 2026, 11:28:48 PM »That First Night Home
The elevator ride felt like it was moving through molasses.
Miles kept one arm firmly around Carter’s waist, guiding him slowly, step by careful step. Carter wasn’t collapsing, but he wasn’t steady either. His legs trembled, not from weakness alone, but from the shock that still clung to him like static.
The doors slid open onto their floor.
Two things hit them immediately: A uniformed Turnberry Towers security officer posted directly outside their condo, posture alert but respectful, a quiet presence meant to reassure. Silence from inside the condo, too still for a place usually echoing with teenager energy.
The officer gave a small nod. “Mr. Kasey. Mr. Kasey-McKinney. I’m posted here all night per the building manager’s request. If you need anything, you call the desk.”
Miles nodded, his voice strained. “Thank you.”
The lock beeped, the heavy condo door swung open, and Kevin was standing in the entryway.
He must’ve heard them in the hall. He must’ve been waiting.
The hoodie he wore looked too big on him tonight. His hands clutched the bottom hem, twisting it, and his eyes, they were big and wet.
Quietly spiraling.
The moment Carter crossed the threshold, Kevin froze like he was trying not to startle a wounded animal.
Miles closed the door behind them, engaging the lock, the deadbolt, the chain. Then exhaled once. Then turned.
Kevin looked from Miles to Carter to the faint red marks on his Carter’s face and the way he was holding himself together with stubbornness and pride.
“Carter...?” Kevin’s voice broke.
Carter lifted his head, tired, hurting, but trying to keep it gentle. “Hey, kid.”
The word kid made Kevin swallow so hard his throat clicked. He approached slowly, almost cautiously, like he was afraid touching Carter would make it worse. Carter lifted a hand anyway, inviting him closer.
Kevin stepped into him and wrapped both arms around Carter’s middle, careful, light, like he thought he might break him. Carter stiffened for half a heartbeat from pain, but then melted into it, resting his chin lightly against Kevin’s hair.
“I’m okay,” he whispered, though it still rasped. “I promise.”
Kevin didn’t let go.
Miles stood there, watching the two people he loved most in the world cling to each other and he had to swallow down the burn behind his eyes.
After a moment, Kevin pulled back, wiping his face on his sleeve like he could hide the fact he’d been crying. “I, I made the couch up for you guys before LJ and Ally took down stairs for his ride Connor and Ash home. I didn’t know if...”
Miles placed a hand on the back of Kevin’s neck, gentle. “Thank you, mate. But we’re sleeping in our room.”
Kevin nodded. Of course he understood.
He followed them into the living room anyway, hovering near the arm of the couch as Carter was lowered into the cushions.
“Do you need anything?” Kevin asked immediately. “Water? Blanket? Ice? I can....”
Carter shook his head softly. “Just you being here is enough.”
The kid blinked like he didn’t quite believe that, but he sat down on the ottoman facing the couch anyway, hands knotted in his lap.
Miles went to get water, and Kevin used the seconds he was gone to whisper, barely a breath, “I thought I was gonna lose you.”
Carter’s expression hurt in a different way than any bruising or chemical burn. “You didn’t.”
“But I could’ve.”
Carter reached out, placed a trembling hand over Kevin’s. “You’re stuck with me. You hear?”
Kevin nodded, but his eyes stayed glassy.
Miles returned, setting a bottle down and helping Carter take a few careful sips through a straw. Kevin watched everything like he was trying to memorize how to keep Carter alive by observation alone.
The three of them stayed in that quiet for a while. There was no TV. No ambient noise. Just the hum of the refrigerator and the faint rumble of Vegas outside the windows.
Eventually, Miles said gently, “Kev, you should get some sleep too.”
Kevin shook his head instantly. “I’m not leaving him.”
Carter managed a small, exhausted smile. “You’re safe here. I’m safe here. Miles has me.”
Kevin’s breath stuttered. “But what if they comes back?”
Miles came around and crouched in front of him, leveling their eyes. “He’s not getting near any of us. Security is watching the floor. Cameras are everywhere. And tomorrow I’m installing additional locks. Cameras inside too. Whatever it takes.”
He squeezed Kevin’s shoulder.
“You’re safe. I promise you.”
Kevin hesitated then whispered something almost too soft to hear:
“I thought... after everything that happened with my mom... and then this... that maybe I shouldn’t be here. That maybe it was my fault because...”
Carter didn’t let him finish.
“Kevin,” he rasped, cutting through the thought like a blade. “Stop. Right now.”
Miles echoed it, firmer, “None of this is your fault.”
Kevin blinked rapidly. “But if they hurt Carter because...”
“No,” Miles said, sharper now. “You being here has nothing to do with some sick bastard targeting us. You’re ours. You’re family and that means you stay. End of discussion.”
The word family always hit Kevin like sunlight. Even now, even tonight, it steadied him.
Finally, finally, Kevin nodded. “Okay.”
Carter held out his hand, and Kevin took it, squeezing lightly, as if grounding both of them.
Miles draped a blanket over Carter’s lap and another over Kevin’s shoulders and then settled beside his husband so Carter could lean into him again. Kevin stayed on the ottoman, eyes half-focused, guarding them with the fierce protectiveness he’d only ever shown for the people who saved him.
The room stayed gently dim. It was quiet, heavy for now and safe, at least for the moment.
Just before Carter’s eyes finally drifted shut from exhaustion and medication, he whispered, “Kevin?”
Kevin looked up instantly. “Yeah?”
Carter mustered a tired, hoarse little smile. “You’re staying. You hear me?”
Kevin swallowed hard and nodded.
Miles rested a hand over both of theirs. And for the first time since the attack, the house felt whole again, even if the world outside didn’t.
------------
“THE WOLF WHO OUTGREW THE PACK”
The camera turns on with a soft click — not dramatic, not stylized, just Miles, standing in front of a wall in his condo, hoodie on, hair tied back, Internet Championship hanging over his shoulder like an unavoidable truth.
He drags a hand down his face before he speaks.
Then a laugh. It’s dry, humorless. And you can already tell that he is already pissed off.
“Alex... Jones.”
He shakes his head.
“I wasn’t gonna say anything yet. I was gonna hold all this in until next week, let you enjoy your little breakfast-special pity party. But then you opened your mouth... and you kept opening it... and you just kept talking until every ounce of stupid that lives inside your skull came crawling out.”
Another bitter laugh.
“A Grand Slam? Legacy? Wrestling purity? Bruv, I’m just going on record by saying that Waffle House is better anyway.”
He lifts the title off his shoulder and holds it between both hands like he’s presenting a weapon.
“Let’s get straight to the bone: you don’t want this belt because you respect it. You want it because it’s the last spot in your little sticker book. You’re not chasing greatness, Alex, you’re chasing a checklist. A bullet point. A Wikipedia edit.”
Miles steps closer.
“I absolutely loved how you called the Internet Championship meaningless... while needing it to validate your ‘legend’ status. Bruv, if a belt you think is irrelevant is all that stands between you and immortality? Then why the absolute fuck are you so fucking thirsty for it? That says more about you than it does about me.”
He sets the title back on his shoulder, patting it softly.
“I didn’t realize legends we had around here were this fucking fragile.”
Miles begins pacing, it’s not angry pacing, measured pacing. Like he’s keeping himself from burning a hole straight through the camera. It’s been a hell of a week as is.
“You said I’m a pampered child who had everything handed to me.” He stops and looks directly into the lens. “Motherfucker... what exactly do you think I was handed?”
He ticks off with his fingers, “Was it the losses? The nights I went home questioning why the hell I even kept doing this? The matches where I got used as a stepping stone? The months I tore myself apart to climb into the place you kept telling me I didn’t belong?”
He points to himself.
“This? This championship? This reign?” A scoff fell from his lips, “Nothing about my life has been handed to me. Sure as fuck was not this title. It wasn’t this spot. And not the respect I earned by showing up every damn week while you were too busy playing Life Coach from the sidelines telling everyone how to be better wrestlers.”
He leans in.
“You didn’t build me. You BARELY mentored me. But in the end you didn’t shape me. You sure as hell didn’t save me. I was offered a place to go to better myself and I used that chance,” He tilts his head, voice lowering, “The work that went into me, that came from guys like Finn and Austin. You were just close enough to pretend you mattered. I never gave up on anything, but I let life take me where I felt like I needed it more than anything. It brought me to Vegas.”
Miles folds his arms.
“Let’s talk about Carter, since you apparently can’t help yourself.”
His jaw tightens, but it’s controlled and directed.
“You said that loving my husband came at the expense of my career, my credibility, my manhood.”
A slow, dangerous smile spreads across his face.
“You’re right. Loving Carter did cost me something.”
He steps closer again, eyes darkening.
“It cost me the illusion that men like you were ever worth following. And my manhood? If you think a belt defines it, you’ve never had any. Because fuck forbid I let my husband handle the spotlight that he was able to keep from you with a proud look on my face. I know...I KNOW...that whole mentor ‘Wanting better for the student’ is thinking that I should be at the top of the game but mate, in the bedroom, I’m the top...I have no problem cheering for him as the World Champion and I enjoy it even more just to SPITE your fucking ass.”
He exhales sharply, shaking his head.
“You know what the funniest part of your whole little diner-side monologue was? The way you said you want me to beat you. Like you’re some noble veteran passing the torch.”
He scrunches his face mockingly and raises his voice into a faux heroic tone, “‘I want you to prove me wrong, Miles. I want you to rise above! I want to see you become the star I KNOW you could be!’”
Miles drops the act, deadpan.
“Alex... let’s be absolutely for-fucking-real, you don’t want me to win.”
He gestures at the camera.
“You want credit for wanting me to win. You want to look gracious. You want to look like the wise old man. You want to look like the washed-up vet who ‘believes in the next generation.’”
He lifts the Internet Championship again.
“But you need this way more than I ever did.”
Miles stops pacing altogether now. There is that stillness and intensity. A quiet that hums with threat with the man that Alex still looks at like a boy that has never stood taller as a man.
“You talk about my plateau, like this is my ceiling. And stepping beyond it is my fear.”
He lifts his chin slightly.
“I don’t chase the World Championship because I’m not tearing down my marriage for a belt. Because I have priorities and I’m the fucking Internet Champ. I won’t do it because I have loyalty, because I have integrity. And somewhere deep down in that swirling vortex of ego still making your decisions... you know that scares the shit out of you. And I know somewhere out there, I just heard Finn scream “BULLSHIT” but that was a different time in my life and a lesson that I had to learn the hard way.”
“You can’t understand choosing love over legacy because legacy is the only thing you’ve got left. You threw your love away for a cheap thrill.” He lifts a finger. “You want to know what really makes me better than you?”
A pause and it was subtle and confident.
“I don’t need to stand next to someone smaller than me to feel tall. That's the thing that you do.”
Miles leans in, final blow loading.
“Alex... you’re not the wolf anymore. You’re not the gatekeeper. You’re not the legend. You’re a man begging the world to remember you for something other than four walls, old accolades, and a diner breakfast.”
He taps the championship again.
“This isn’t just the Internet Title. This is the future. The next generation. The division you dismissed because it’s easier to talk down to people than admit you couldn’t keep up with them.”
His voice drops to a razor’s whisper.
“And at Inception? You don’t get a rising star. You don’t get an underdog. You don’t get the rookie you once welcomed in.”
Miles steps closer until only his eyes fill the frame.
“You get the man who outgrew your shadow.”
He smirks.
“And mate... I’m gonna make sure the whole damn world sees the difference.”
Blackout.....for a moment....
“Ya know what...hold up...one more thing.”
The screen is already black when Miles’ voice cuts back in, low, almost conversational, like a man remembering one last thing before walking out the door.
Then the video snaps on again.
Miles is closer than before. Much closer. Just his face, his blue intense eyes.
“Alex? You still listening, bruv?”
He tilts his head slightly, expression unreadable.
“You keep calling yourself a legend...”
A faint, humorless grin curls up.
“But legends don’t have to beg for relevance. Legends don’t have to guilt-trip the next generation into making them feel important.”
Another beat.
“Legends don’t need my belt to matter.”
He leans in, almost whispering.
“You’re not chasing a Grand Slam. You’re chasing a reason people should still give a damn about you.”
He lets that sink in — no smile, no smirk, just the quiet brutality of someone stating a fact.
“And at Inception?” A slow exhale through his nose. “You’re gonna find out the hard way that I’m not your revival arc...”
He straightens slightly.
“I’m your ending.”
A click.
The camera shuts off for real.
The elevator ride felt like it was moving through molasses.
Miles kept one arm firmly around Carter’s waist, guiding him slowly, step by careful step. Carter wasn’t collapsing, but he wasn’t steady either. His legs trembled, not from weakness alone, but from the shock that still clung to him like static.
The doors slid open onto their floor.
Two things hit them immediately: A uniformed Turnberry Towers security officer posted directly outside their condo, posture alert but respectful, a quiet presence meant to reassure. Silence from inside the condo, too still for a place usually echoing with teenager energy.
The officer gave a small nod. “Mr. Kasey. Mr. Kasey-McKinney. I’m posted here all night per the building manager’s request. If you need anything, you call the desk.”
Miles nodded, his voice strained. “Thank you.”
The lock beeped, the heavy condo door swung open, and Kevin was standing in the entryway.
He must’ve heard them in the hall. He must’ve been waiting.
The hoodie he wore looked too big on him tonight. His hands clutched the bottom hem, twisting it, and his eyes, they were big and wet.
Quietly spiraling.
The moment Carter crossed the threshold, Kevin froze like he was trying not to startle a wounded animal.
Miles closed the door behind them, engaging the lock, the deadbolt, the chain. Then exhaled once. Then turned.
Kevin looked from Miles to Carter to the faint red marks on his Carter’s face and the way he was holding himself together with stubbornness and pride.
“Carter...?” Kevin’s voice broke.
Carter lifted his head, tired, hurting, but trying to keep it gentle. “Hey, kid.”
The word kid made Kevin swallow so hard his throat clicked. He approached slowly, almost cautiously, like he was afraid touching Carter would make it worse. Carter lifted a hand anyway, inviting him closer.
Kevin stepped into him and wrapped both arms around Carter’s middle, careful, light, like he thought he might break him. Carter stiffened for half a heartbeat from pain, but then melted into it, resting his chin lightly against Kevin’s hair.
“I’m okay,” he whispered, though it still rasped. “I promise.”
Kevin didn’t let go.
Miles stood there, watching the two people he loved most in the world cling to each other and he had to swallow down the burn behind his eyes.
After a moment, Kevin pulled back, wiping his face on his sleeve like he could hide the fact he’d been crying. “I, I made the couch up for you guys before LJ and Ally took down stairs for his ride Connor and Ash home. I didn’t know if...”
Miles placed a hand on the back of Kevin’s neck, gentle. “Thank you, mate. But we’re sleeping in our room.”
Kevin nodded. Of course he understood.
He followed them into the living room anyway, hovering near the arm of the couch as Carter was lowered into the cushions.
“Do you need anything?” Kevin asked immediately. “Water? Blanket? Ice? I can....”
Carter shook his head softly. “Just you being here is enough.”
The kid blinked like he didn’t quite believe that, but he sat down on the ottoman facing the couch anyway, hands knotted in his lap.
Miles went to get water, and Kevin used the seconds he was gone to whisper, barely a breath, “I thought I was gonna lose you.”
Carter’s expression hurt in a different way than any bruising or chemical burn. “You didn’t.”
“But I could’ve.”
Carter reached out, placed a trembling hand over Kevin’s. “You’re stuck with me. You hear?”
Kevin nodded, but his eyes stayed glassy.
Miles returned, setting a bottle down and helping Carter take a few careful sips through a straw. Kevin watched everything like he was trying to memorize how to keep Carter alive by observation alone.
The three of them stayed in that quiet for a while. There was no TV. No ambient noise. Just the hum of the refrigerator and the faint rumble of Vegas outside the windows.
Eventually, Miles said gently, “Kev, you should get some sleep too.”
Kevin shook his head instantly. “I’m not leaving him.”
Carter managed a small, exhausted smile. “You’re safe here. I’m safe here. Miles has me.”
Kevin’s breath stuttered. “But what if they comes back?”
Miles came around and crouched in front of him, leveling their eyes. “He’s not getting near any of us. Security is watching the floor. Cameras are everywhere. And tomorrow I’m installing additional locks. Cameras inside too. Whatever it takes.”
He squeezed Kevin’s shoulder.
“You’re safe. I promise you.”
Kevin hesitated then whispered something almost too soft to hear:
“I thought... after everything that happened with my mom... and then this... that maybe I shouldn’t be here. That maybe it was my fault because...”
Carter didn’t let him finish.
“Kevin,” he rasped, cutting through the thought like a blade. “Stop. Right now.”
Miles echoed it, firmer, “None of this is your fault.”
Kevin blinked rapidly. “But if they hurt Carter because...”
“No,” Miles said, sharper now. “You being here has nothing to do with some sick bastard targeting us. You’re ours. You’re family and that means you stay. End of discussion.”
The word family always hit Kevin like sunlight. Even now, even tonight, it steadied him.
Finally, finally, Kevin nodded. “Okay.”
Carter held out his hand, and Kevin took it, squeezing lightly, as if grounding both of them.
Miles draped a blanket over Carter’s lap and another over Kevin’s shoulders and then settled beside his husband so Carter could lean into him again. Kevin stayed on the ottoman, eyes half-focused, guarding them with the fierce protectiveness he’d only ever shown for the people who saved him.
The room stayed gently dim. It was quiet, heavy for now and safe, at least for the moment.
Just before Carter’s eyes finally drifted shut from exhaustion and medication, he whispered, “Kevin?”
Kevin looked up instantly. “Yeah?”
Carter mustered a tired, hoarse little smile. “You’re staying. You hear me?”
Kevin swallowed hard and nodded.
Miles rested a hand over both of theirs. And for the first time since the attack, the house felt whole again, even if the world outside didn’t.
------------
“THE WOLF WHO OUTGREW THE PACK”
The camera turns on with a soft click — not dramatic, not stylized, just Miles, standing in front of a wall in his condo, hoodie on, hair tied back, Internet Championship hanging over his shoulder like an unavoidable truth.
He drags a hand down his face before he speaks.
Then a laugh. It’s dry, humorless. And you can already tell that he is already pissed off.
“Alex... Jones.”
He shakes his head.
“I wasn’t gonna say anything yet. I was gonna hold all this in until next week, let you enjoy your little breakfast-special pity party. But then you opened your mouth... and you kept opening it... and you just kept talking until every ounce of stupid that lives inside your skull came crawling out.”
Another bitter laugh.
“A Grand Slam? Legacy? Wrestling purity? Bruv, I’m just going on record by saying that Waffle House is better anyway.”
He lifts the title off his shoulder and holds it between both hands like he’s presenting a weapon.
“Let’s get straight to the bone: you don’t want this belt because you respect it. You want it because it’s the last spot in your little sticker book. You’re not chasing greatness, Alex, you’re chasing a checklist. A bullet point. A Wikipedia edit.”
Miles steps closer.
“I absolutely loved how you called the Internet Championship meaningless... while needing it to validate your ‘legend’ status. Bruv, if a belt you think is irrelevant is all that stands between you and immortality? Then why the absolute fuck are you so fucking thirsty for it? That says more about you than it does about me.”
He sets the title back on his shoulder, patting it softly.
“I didn’t realize legends we had around here were this fucking fragile.”
Miles begins pacing, it’s not angry pacing, measured pacing. Like he’s keeping himself from burning a hole straight through the camera. It’s been a hell of a week as is.
“You said I’m a pampered child who had everything handed to me.” He stops and looks directly into the lens. “Motherfucker... what exactly do you think I was handed?”
He ticks off with his fingers, “Was it the losses? The nights I went home questioning why the hell I even kept doing this? The matches where I got used as a stepping stone? The months I tore myself apart to climb into the place you kept telling me I didn’t belong?”
He points to himself.
“This? This championship? This reign?” A scoff fell from his lips, “Nothing about my life has been handed to me. Sure as fuck was not this title. It wasn’t this spot. And not the respect I earned by showing up every damn week while you were too busy playing Life Coach from the sidelines telling everyone how to be better wrestlers.”
He leans in.
“You didn’t build me. You BARELY mentored me. But in the end you didn’t shape me. You sure as hell didn’t save me. I was offered a place to go to better myself and I used that chance,” He tilts his head, voice lowering, “The work that went into me, that came from guys like Finn and Austin. You were just close enough to pretend you mattered. I never gave up on anything, but I let life take me where I felt like I needed it more than anything. It brought me to Vegas.”
Miles folds his arms.
“Let’s talk about Carter, since you apparently can’t help yourself.”
His jaw tightens, but it’s controlled and directed.
“You said that loving my husband came at the expense of my career, my credibility, my manhood.”
A slow, dangerous smile spreads across his face.
“You’re right. Loving Carter did cost me something.”
He steps closer again, eyes darkening.
“It cost me the illusion that men like you were ever worth following. And my manhood? If you think a belt defines it, you’ve never had any. Because fuck forbid I let my husband handle the spotlight that he was able to keep from you with a proud look on my face. I know...I KNOW...that whole mentor ‘Wanting better for the student’ is thinking that I should be at the top of the game but mate, in the bedroom, I’m the top...I have no problem cheering for him as the World Champion and I enjoy it even more just to SPITE your fucking ass.”
He exhales sharply, shaking his head.
“You know what the funniest part of your whole little diner-side monologue was? The way you said you want me to beat you. Like you’re some noble veteran passing the torch.”
He scrunches his face mockingly and raises his voice into a faux heroic tone, “‘I want you to prove me wrong, Miles. I want you to rise above! I want to see you become the star I KNOW you could be!’”
Miles drops the act, deadpan.
“Alex... let’s be absolutely for-fucking-real, you don’t want me to win.”
He gestures at the camera.
“You want credit for wanting me to win. You want to look gracious. You want to look like the wise old man. You want to look like the washed-up vet who ‘believes in the next generation.’”
He lifts the Internet Championship again.
“But you need this way more than I ever did.”
Miles stops pacing altogether now. There is that stillness and intensity. A quiet that hums with threat with the man that Alex still looks at like a boy that has never stood taller as a man.
“You talk about my plateau, like this is my ceiling. And stepping beyond it is my fear.”
He lifts his chin slightly.
“I don’t chase the World Championship because I’m not tearing down my marriage for a belt. Because I have priorities and I’m the fucking Internet Champ. I won’t do it because I have loyalty, because I have integrity. And somewhere deep down in that swirling vortex of ego still making your decisions... you know that scares the shit out of you. And I know somewhere out there, I just heard Finn scream “BULLSHIT” but that was a different time in my life and a lesson that I had to learn the hard way.”
“You can’t understand choosing love over legacy because legacy is the only thing you’ve got left. You threw your love away for a cheap thrill.” He lifts a finger. “You want to know what really makes me better than you?”
A pause and it was subtle and confident.
“I don’t need to stand next to someone smaller than me to feel tall. That's the thing that you do.”
Miles leans in, final blow loading.
“Alex... you’re not the wolf anymore. You’re not the gatekeeper. You’re not the legend. You’re a man begging the world to remember you for something other than four walls, old accolades, and a diner breakfast.”
He taps the championship again.
“This isn’t just the Internet Title. This is the future. The next generation. The division you dismissed because it’s easier to talk down to people than admit you couldn’t keep up with them.”
His voice drops to a razor’s whisper.
“And at Inception? You don’t get a rising star. You don’t get an underdog. You don’t get the rookie you once welcomed in.”
Miles steps closer until only his eyes fill the frame.
“You get the man who outgrew your shadow.”
He smirks.
“And mate... I’m gonna make sure the whole damn world sees the difference.”
Blackout.....for a moment....
“Ya know what...hold up...one more thing.”
The screen is already black when Miles’ voice cuts back in, low, almost conversational, like a man remembering one last thing before walking out the door.
Then the video snaps on again.
Miles is closer than before. Much closer. Just his face, his blue intense eyes.
“Alex? You still listening, bruv?”
He tilts his head slightly, expression unreadable.
“You keep calling yourself a legend...”
A faint, humorless grin curls up.
“But legends don’t have to beg for relevance. Legends don’t have to guilt-trip the next generation into making them feel important.”
Another beat.
“Legends don’t need my belt to matter.”
He leans in, almost whispering.
“You’re not chasing a Grand Slam. You’re chasing a reason people should still give a damn about you.”
He lets that sink in — no smile, no smirk, just the quiet brutality of someone stating a fact.
“And at Inception?” A slow exhale through his nose. “You’re gonna find out the hard way that I’m not your revival arc...”
He straightens slightly.
“I’m your ending.”
A click.
The camera shuts off for real.