Back to the Beginning
Scene One | Off-Camera | 20th November 2023
Organ failure. Despite their best efforts, James’ organs were shutting down. His liver, his kidneys. His heart was slowing, and his lungs were threatening to give in. His best friend was dying. The doctors had lied. The doctors were wrong. The doctors couldn’t save him.
James was going to die.
James was going to die, and there was nothing he could do. All he could think about was that gunshot. The single bullet that had become two. How did it become two? How did he miss the second shot? Or maybe. Maybe he missed the first? It didn’t matter really. All Alex knew was that James going to die, and there was nothing he could do.
Comfortable.
They offered to make it as comfortable as possible for him. For the final few weeks, days, hours. However long his body kept fighting, for however long they could keep him alive. They offered to make him comfortable. So, whilst they were keeping him comfortable, and Luna was there to hold his hand, Alex had taken a trip.
A trip back to Australia, back to Melbourne. A trip back home. Back to where they’d spent six nights a week, slinging beers, singing loudly out of key and causing a general raucous. With their friends, their regulars and the walk-ins off the streets. Back to their bar. Back to a place that was filled with memories of happiness, peace and love. Where Lauren had spent her evenings writing at the end of the bar. Where James had thrown many a fuckwit down the stairs and out into, he cold. Their place.
Home.
The beginning.
Alex sat at the further end of the bar. Near the pool table, next to the window. The window that looked out into the dull afternoon city streets. Typical Melbourne weather. Drizzling, when only fifteen minutes earlier the sun had been making it unbelievably uncomfortable to sit in the sun. He held a glass of some local pale ale. Probably Colonial or something along those lines. Tipped forward a little, he swirled the half-drunk pint, watching as it sloshed. They were surprisingly busy for a Monday afternoon. Things were doing well ever since they’d sold it. Kept afloat. Good team, most of the stalwarts still here. Owner and bar manager between them. Engaged, and wildly excited to catch Alex up on everything that had been going on in their world.
Eager to distract him from death.
“What brought you back down this way, big fella?” Richard asked.
Richard had always been a good guy. A mane of hair, a big thick beard, and a jovial smile. A voice that carried over the thick sound of a busy night no matter how quiet he was trying to be. They’d fallen out of touch since Alex moved back to America. Nothing negative or problematic, just not as close. Sometimes work friends stay that way, but no matter the time or the distance. The man lit up with a big smile and yelled ‘Dad!’ every time Alex walked in. An inside joke, back from the days where he’d sported this horrendous looking pornstache every festival. Also helped that he was pretty much like everyone’s dad when he was here. Alex their dad, and James the alcoholic uncle who was everyone’s friend.
“I needed to come back for a bit. See how things were going. Been a while since I visited Lauren, you know?” Alex replied.
Richard nodded smiling, as his attention was pulled away by another patron. Always something to be doing, never enough time to finish a full conversation. He downed the rest of his drink, slapping the bar top and hopping to his feet. He pulled his jeans up a little, covering his ass and reducing the sag in them. The stairs up to the rooftop beer garden were next, stomping his way up them rapidly. The Rum Bar was currently un-manned, George in the kitchen. A nod and a wave, he swung around the dividing wall and stepped up onto the rooftop beer garden. Settling onto a chair, pulling a cigarette from his shirt’s chest pocket. To the lips, a cigarette following. Flicking it on, igniting.
Sometimes it felt like his world existed in slideshow. Never one moment lasting longer than the next. His mind never holding more detail than necessary. Cigarette, lighter, igniting. Beer, mouth, empty. Love, death, hollow. It all seemed to move in one frame at a time. How long had his life been this way? He couldn’t even remember a time when he had full memories. Just snapshots. Just flashes of light.
Gunshot.
No matter how much he tried otherwise, he couldn’t drown the sound from his mind. He couldn’t drown it in liquor. He couldn’t hide it behind delusion. He couldn’t pretend that something else was going to make it all suddenly better. There was a chance James would recover. The doctors kept saying it like that. Not to get hopes up, but there was a chance. A chance that he would survive. That he would come back, and he would live. For how long, they couldn’t say. But there was a chance.
Chance.
Chance was what had started it all. The chance signing. The chance acknowledgement by Alexander Remington. The chance to be the youngest ever UECW World Champion. The chance to become a one and doner. Chance had brought him to Sin City Wrestling. A chance conversation between himself and Christian. Chance had led him to beating his biggest naysayer in his return to the ring in Brandon Hendrix. Chance had brought him to the hospital, and in turn met his future late wife. It was appropriate that the first championship he had held in Sin City was the Roulette Championship. Chance and fate. Two sides of the same coin. Chance had led him here, and now fate dictated that he faces it all. That when he reaches for the apex, the world threatens to crash down around him.
“So, what match type are you going to go for?” George asked, slapping him on the back.
George had come to spend some time with him. An avid watcher it seemed. A few of the boys had said they’d been keeping track of everything going on for him. The Bravery Trials, Sin City. Hell some of them had even caught the few weeks of warm-up he spent in Steel Cage. It was nice, to know that they cared. That people he knew cared to know him. Followed what he was doing. Followed his career. It meant that what he was doing, was right. That the path he was on was the correct one. That there was a reason he was going to be World Champion again. Even if he had to walk through hell to get there.
“Not sure. Poetically, something to do with fire and flames would be the go. Appropriately, I’d stick our hands into super glue, stick it with glass and barbwire, and we could tear chunks out of each other. Whatever I pick, there’s going to be a lot of fucking blood. Enough to make what happened in Puerto Rico look like an afternoon stroll.” Alex replied, going to that place in his head where everything was just a little darker.
For whatever reason, his head had gone back to his father. He could hear his voice in his head. ‘Doesn’t matter what the gimmick is, what matters is the outcome.’ Boxer’s mentality. Didn’t matter how he got there, if he got there. Knock-out, a sneaky forced DQ, or a points victory. The outcome is what mattered. If that meant stacking the deck, then so be it. There was one thing he’d always been sure of. When it came to bleeding, brawling and fighting, there was few that could go toe to toe with Alexander Raven. He might not be the strongest, smartest, most technically gifted or the best wrestler. But when it came to beating ten shades of blue out of someone, that was something he knew how to do.
“You’re one sick cat. Personally, I think you should beat him clean. But there is something cool about a potential dismemberment at a show with dismember in its name.” George responded, lighting his own cigarette.
He’d brought a couple of shots over with him. Jameson, and pickle juice. A staple really. Couldn’t go to Ravens without having a pickleback. Shots lifted, and clinked. They knocked them back, a slight hiss from the burn. Followed by the shot of pickle juice. Momentary happiness. It all felt like it was right again.
“In the few times James has been lucid, he told me he wanted me safe. That the worst thing that could happen, is if I end up in the bed next to him. I told him that was a risk every time I got in the ring. All these people are so good, so dangerous. Peter Vaughn, eyes deceive with that one. Goth has my number. Austin nearly snaps me in half every time. Jack Washington can break me every which way to Sunday and not break a sweat. I think the least of my troubles would come from having some crimson loosed from my veins.” Alex quipped, nodding to himself. His mind going elsewhere.
“I like the fire idea, but man. No matches with fire ever come out any good. You’d really have to put your thinking cap on for that one.” George remarked, nodding to himself as well.
Good guy George, but also someone he likely could do without. He appreciated the support. But Alex had a bad way with dealers. He’d passed a blind eye to it back then. He was popular with the ladies, and… he had good drugs. That was the truth of it. A voice like gravel and oil made a baby. Yet he somehow kept business flowing and didn’t let his illicit activities affect his day to day. He just couldn’t really forgive him for fuelling Luna’s addictions as long as he did. Even when she was starting to get clean. He kept her on a line, and he hated it. George was okay, but he wasn’t a good person.
Seemed like he surrounded himself with not good people, really.
Someone called out, orders coming in. George smiled at him, putting his cigarette out and rushing off to the kitchen again. Leaving Alex to stew as he slowly smoked away at his own cigarette. His mind no quieter, except now there was many trains of thought. What would James want? What would his father do? What would Luna say? How was he going to put the world on notice? How was he going to break J2H?
He’d gone back to where it all began, and now he had no answers.
“Fancy seeing you here, Alex.” A voice came.
He sucked in a deep breath and raised his eyes. It was funny, how the past kept coming back to greet him. On the other side of the world, and he still couldn’t escape Sullivan fucking Pleasant. He still had that gross scruffy goatee. His skin looked even looser on his skeleton than usual, but somehow even more gaunt in the face. This was the second time they’d run into each other in a bar. Both times in James’ creations. It was somewhat uncanny. Alex took a long and deep drag on the cigarette and shook his head.
“Fuck me.” Alex muttered.
Blue Collar Beat Down
Scene Two | On-Camera | 24th November 2023
“This year started as the year of culling wolves, and then became a journey of Saviors. I started with Austin James Mercer. Then it was Ken Davison. Peter Vaughn crossed my path, but it was a blur in my mind. That mid-year slumps. The cruise ship where I stumbled for the last fucking time. The cruise ship that almost marked the end of my journey here in Sin City. The arrogance of us both to walk in thinking we’d easily walk away the victors. Yet, the truth? Neither of us were even remotely good enough to be toe to toe with those young kids. So here we are, months later. No matter how much I try and escape it, I’m constantly bombarded with the same ideas of the past. Wolves and Saviors. All year I’ve run into the same roadblocks. Arrogant kings, former and present. Cocky beasts who have continued to come up a step short against me and all others they’ve challenged. Two different journeys have taken us, however. Vaughn has been a dominant champion, and I’ve struggled my way through this year. Coming off a powerful reign as Internet Champion, I’ve only just found my footing once more. That footing leading me to being the clear second-best wrestler in this whole damn company. Or at least, that is what it would appear on the surface. That finally, they can’t just ignore me. That finally people are acknowledging Alexander Raven. The forgotten are having their voices heard, and now. Now there is a silver lining on the horizon.”
Alexander Raven can be seen sitting inside a rock formation, looking out over Papago Park. Looking onto the water. The low afternoon sun casting a yellow glow over the water’s surface. The dusty and sandy earth illuminated in the same warm glow. A small glimpse of warmth in an increasingly colder time.
“It’s an interesting place we find ourselves in this week. Both of us have our end of year opponents lined up. Eddie Lyons and J2H, respectively. Peter Vaughn is on track to be the man of this year. Regardless of the awards handed out. The respect given to our forcefully evicted former World Champion Michael Harris would deem him the man of the year. I’d normally be inclined to say so as well. However, I know Peter Vaughn is a man with lofty intentions. Focused, unassuming and dominant. A man who belies his own appearance with an acumen that few could ever hope to have. An acumen that few ever even come close to. No, Peter Vaughn is without a doubt the man of the year. The eleven-time World Champion himself looks to close this year out with one more showing. To prove that he is the man of the Roulette division. Smart money is that despite Eddie’s best efforts, Peter will once again walk out champion. I respect you, Peter. Of all the Saviors, you probably rank a close second. Just below the man who set my course, who made me see beyond the mirrored world I’d created for myself, that being Ken Davison. This week is interesting for us because it determines two things. If you beat me here, and I go on to dethrone James at December 2 Dismember, then it would only be assumed that the real man on top of the mountain is none other than yourself. Despite out shortcomings in the Mixed Tag Team Championship match.”
“See my confidence comes from my other half, Luna. Kim Pain was put in her place and made to see and understand how much this all means to us. I may not fully agree with the pathway that Luna is on currently but rest assured. She did exactly what she needed to. Proved that despite their two former encounters, at the end of the day she was the one who’d finish on top. It fills me with confidence that now, with us having this important match-up that the hand of fate changes just a little bit. No wheel of random chance to affect us. No random ruleset to put us at an equal disadvantage. No, just a straight up contest. You versus me, to see who the big dog heading into our respective encounters is at December 2 Dismember. Unfortunately for you Vaughn, I have little care for my own health and well-being. No, right now, I have a focus. A goal. Regardless of how much I am hurt, I’m going to make it to December 2 Dismember, to once and all put an end to my journey. One more time. Yet I wonder, how much are you willing to risk in this exhibition. Do you put it all out there and risk injury just weeks out from what could be seen as your biggest match of the year? Are you willing to go down in blood, bruises and broken bones at Climax Control? Will you let J2H simply exist at ringside? I don’t think so. No, I think you’ll hedge your gamble and take the safe bet. The safe bet to phone it in against Alexander Raven. The safe bet to let yourself a warm-up week, that is without risk. No injury, no damage. Just to keep yourself afloat and above board. I think, I’m not going to get the dominant janitor this week. I don’t think I get the man who won eleven world championships this week. I think I’m going to get a man at half mast, who is holding on to all he has for the big match.”
Alex crosses his legs, feeling around on the ground near him. Picking up an assortment of stones and rocks, placing them in the gap created by his crossed legs. The crow and screech of birds indicating life beyond the window of tranquillity he finds himself in.
“Why do I think this? Arrogance, really. I want to think that the man I’m getting this week isn’t going to be the absolute best he can be. I want to think that he is aware of the man who will be sitting at ringside. Banking on that man to interfere in some way, to affect the outcome of the match in his favour. J2H gets involved, gets me disqualified by laying hands on you. Easy win, easy march towards December 2 Dismember. Alternatively, you could be pretty confident in James doing his best to distract me and leading to your own success. Waiting for a moment to take the cerebral action and take advantage of a distraction. I think, Peter Vaughn is a smart man who knows that he can easily allow fate to affect things. But maybe, just maybe. I ask Eddie Lyons to join us at ringside too. Maybe I should reach out to Eddie and get him to be there. To ensure you don’t take the easy path, and to add just a little bit of equality to the situation. Arrogance comes from thinking, and boy oh boy, am I a thinker Peter. See what people may have forgotten whilst I was stumbling. What people may have forgotten is that Alexander Raven is the goddamn workhouse of Sin City in Twenty-Twenty Three. James can flaunt his ability to turn up to speak, and prance about. He can send in recordings, bait me into responding. Hell he can even mock my lack of attendance whilst my best friend is laying in a hospital bed if it makes him feel better. A showtime figure is appropriate. I’ll give him credit where its due too. We’re here every other week putting in the hard yards, tuning ourselves up and getting in those reps. You and I, Peter, you and I are the ones who really bring in the viewers. The viewers to see what sick match-up you’ll end up in, in your next defence. They turn up to see Alexander Raven put in another round in the ring. Knowing they’ll get exactly what they’ve paid for. A man who will fight tooth and nail to get it done in the ring or die trying.”
“You are the last hurdle on my journey towards being the workhouse World Champion of Sin City. The last bump in the road before the two biggest draws in this company go head-to-head, one more time. You are the last blip on my radar, and I just know your head is going to be in the same place as mine. So let’s not bang about, Peter. Let’s not let skip stones on this one, and dive in headfirst instead.”
Almost a proclamation in action, Raven throws a few of the stones that he had collected out into the water. Small splashes and sploshes from where the rocks and stones dropped into the water. Uncurling his legs as he dusts himself off to stand.
“You’ve got your focus, and I’ve got mine. Let’s not fuck about and act like this is anything more than it is. A distraction from our true goals. So I posit this, Peter. I have no problem in being the Napalm Kingslayer at Climax Control. If you want to bang heads and go the full hog, then I’ll saddle up and ride for the dawn. But if we’re going to do this, when the final bell rings know this. Whoever wins, is without a doubt the second-best guy that Sin City has. And that in the new year, one of us is going to be the World Champion. Either a third time for myself, or a twelfth time for you. Doesn’t matter, don’t care. I just want to see change. I want to see someone show up. I want to see a champion who doesn’t run their mouth, and act like their appearance fee is what makes them a worthwhile investment. Give me something to hope for Peter. Give me something to fuckin’ hope for. Or this janitor is going to have a hard time cleaning up his own spills.”
“Talking about talking, I’m glad you’re going to be ringside J2H. I’m glad you’re going to be there so you can hear in person what I have in mind. You offered me the golden platter to stack the match up however I felt, and boy. I’m nothing if not a sucker for stacking the odds. But I will give you a little something. A taste of what this means to me. A taste of how much winning our upcoming encounter means. One more time means one last time. If I can’t beat you at December 2 Dismember, then that’s it. Stipulation one, to give you something extra to bring it all. You beat me at December 2 Dismember. I’ll leave my boots in the middle of that ring. No more Alexander Raven in Sin City. This is it for me. So when I announce the match type at Climax Control, I want you to know. That ever drop of blood, every bead of sweat and every ache will be worth it. You beat me, you put me to sleep. So keep your eyes open and your ears ready. Cause win, lose or draw with Peter. I’ve got my eyes on you.”
Alex smiles to himself, closing his eyes and tilting his head back. He walks forward, one step at a time. One foot in front of the other.
“The Napalm Kingslayer is here. And I’m ready to burn down every single person who stands in my way. Bring it all or bring nothing Peter. You’re just a bump in the road at Climax Control. With no one to save us.”
He steps off the edge of the rock formation, and plunges down. Disappearing completely, a whirl of birds flying through the opening. Obscuring the world in a flurry of black feathers and beating wings.
“Happy Holidays. The Conspiracy is here.”
And then…
Darkness.
Silence.
Nothing.
