Finding The Lost
Scene One | Off-Camera
“True freedom only exists when we’re dead, rockstar. Don’t you forget it.”James’ words had been bouncing around in his head a lot lately. Alex thought it was most likely a result of no longer being half locked away in his own mind to the creature known as Vita Mors. Ever since he’d closed that door and signed his former friend’s fate away, he’d been free to actually be with his own mind. Things he hadn’t thought about for years resurfacing.
The part of him that he had long thought buried was starting to nag at the back of his mind once again. Part of him that he’d only really briefly shown in Sin City. The feeling of being lost, of being a leader. Of being the head of a broken ensemble of broken kids. The truth of it is that the Broken Messiah had been a shadow of what he ever really should have been. What he could have been. The voices were once again demanding blood in the back of his mind. Demanding to be listened to. Demanding to be freed.
See the thing about being free of inhibition, to be released from a prison controlled and touched by the infinite, and having seen everything that could be, would be and was. It made it just a little hard to readjust. Throw in the recent surge of success, and brutality that has come as a result and cause of that brutality. One has to begin to wonder if being simply the Kingslayer is a shackle placed upon oneself in a way of protecting others from what he really wanted.
There was a need to find purpose, especially now. The reality was getting closer and closer. At the end of last year, he just wanted to be free. He didn’t want to wrestle anymore, he wanted to be able to go home and mourn. To hang his boots and simply leave it all behind in the ring. That grace was not given to him, not even offered. Another series of matches led to more, and then more again. Another year, and despite wanting nothing more than to be free of it all. He’d legitimately become the Workhorse. On track to be the first person to reach double digits in matches for the year. He’d basically become a mainstay almost weekly in Sin City.
And there was only a week left to actually make decisions for the future. He doubted they’d simply oust him when the contract ran out, but he did expect them to make it increasingly more difficult for him until a decision was made. It was the simple truth of things. He’d held them to ransom, and now they could wait him out. They could force his hand, and that put him in a precarious position. A position he did not wish to be in. A position that made him feel… weak.
“How far we fall from grace, when we lock away the hate. Freedom is a farce, Alexander. The Lost and The Broken are the only way forward.” A voice that was both his and not at the same time, echoed around in his skull. A glass filled with bourbon hanging loosely in one hand. Sitting in the cuck chair of his hotel room, staring at the empty bed. Staring at the room he was slowly losing his mind in. Ghosts of the past, ghosts of the future and ghosts that would never be shifting in and out of reality.
Luna had stayed home with the dog, so he was travelling alone. It was the first time in a while that he’d really been truly alone with himself. Alone with his thoughts, and alone with everything. The freedom of himself now being cut apart by the collapse of his own mentality. He could feel all the work he’d done beginning to fracture and break.
“For once I was lost, but now I am found. In my peace, eternity bound.” Alex mumbled to himself, taking a long and deep mouthful of his drink, closing his eyes to the world. Trying to silence the murmurings. To block out the images around him. To drown himself out.
“Found in peace, but never free. You need me, Alexander. You’ve always needed me. For sanity exists in being broken, not in being found. Embrace The Lost, and we’ll be free forever.” The voice of this ‘Lost’, filling his mind again. Polluting his thoughts and demanding his full attention. Offering him things he knew were not true.
He opened his eyes slowly, seeing images of Luna and Leon. Smiling, embracing, loving. Being happy in their adultery, in their world without him. A happiness that they had from stealing his. Resentment and bile rising in his throat. A hatred for something he never truly forgave. Never truly get over it. He loved her, but there was a part of him that would always hate her. Hate her for her betrayal of all his trust. He swallowed deep and tried to shake away the thoughts. To clear his mind.
“She’ll hurt you again. She had no problem doing it before. When you no longer keep the demons at bay, she’ll hurt you and think nothing of it. Then you’ll see how much you need me. You’ll see how much you need to embrace the cracks. The dark. The Lost.” More words, more accusations. Further attempts to slip into his aching head. The alcohol blurred the world, but it did little to slow down his thoughts. He breathed deeply, sighing to himself. Shaking his head to clear his mind.
“No longer children playing at being adults. Bonded in shared happiness and sorrow. She won’t do that to me again. She wouldn’t. You’re wrong about her, and you’re wrong about me. You’re wrong.” Alex spoke into the world, into the room that felt so full of deceit, yet was empty. Empty and devoid of that of which he was attempting to fight.
Ghostly apparitions stood at the window, James and Luna. Brother and sister, smiling and happy. Happy with each other, but not with him. Lauren’s corpse laying on the bed, as devoid of life now as she had been that final day. His heart panged with pain, but his body refused to move. His eyes fixed on the scene. A world where everyone got their happiness except for those who were beside him. Broken kids are made more broken simply by being near him. By being around Alexander Raven.
He felt like the Angel of Death. For all those he loved, would be hurt, would lose their loved ones, and in turn die themselves. That was his truth.
“Let me make you whole again, Alex. Let me make you feel again. Let me make you who you are, truly. Be free of the shackles of normality, and embrace being lost. Forget the world and find me once more.” Final whispers, his mind filled with screeching and metallic scratching. Imaginary chains rattling and begging to be freed as she shook his head more. Closing his eyes, leaning forward. Draining the last of the glass and pushing on his eyes. Finding the space between space, and attempting to find a way to be free of the thought.
Free of the thought that demanded he free it. For being free meant that what was Lost would be found, and in being found it would be true. True in that being Lost meant that, yes, he was broken, but in being shattered he could be free. Being free meant dying, for James once told him that freedom existed only for the dead, not to be given willingly to the living. Living meant to suffer, and to suffer meant to hurt. Hurt meant to ruin others and in turn make them broken. To surround himself with the broken, to be uplifted by others who could see the truth. The truth of being free, of being Lost, of being broken.
Circles and circles, around they go. In his mind, the sharp edges became soft and in their softness her face. Her face brought the light, and the light burnt. For the light was not forgiving of his own crimes, of his own inadequacies. The light burnt for it knew that he was Lost and in being Lost he could not be free. Not unless he was to be found, and he felt he could only be found in her light. Circles and circles, they go around, and they do not stop. The edges are sharp and they cut deep into the psyche. For in the blood that falls, an image is painted. Painted and caressed onto a surface that demanded he look into it. Though it is not painted, a mirror stares back at him. Yet where he should exist it was not him.
No, for it was the darkness that looked back at him. Beneath the cracked surface of the shimmering lake, the lake that held the truth. Under the truth was the delusion, but in delusion freedom. Freedom and freedom in circles it does go. What was once free is no longer, because in death it will live again. All will live again. All hate, all pain, all of it will go in circles, and in circles we find a centre. A point of origin that exists not in but without. Without the pain, without the agony. Without the fear of loss and the fear of change. They cannot hurt him if they cannot find him. If they cannot find him then he simply is… The Lost.
The buzz of his phone. He sat bolt upright in bed, breathing heavily. Sucking and gasping at air, like he was breaking out from the surface of the lake, the mirror and the oppression. How long had he been asleep? When did he fall asleep? Was it all a dream? His phone buzzed and rattled on the bedside table. A reminder that he was here, that he was alive. That he was awake, and that for whatever it was. He didn’t remember getting into bed, but in bed he had gotten. Her name on the screen, and a momentary peace swept through him. Dependent on her for his own sanity, in the same way that he had been her rock. Necessary to remain together, if only to be happy and alive.
“Hey, you okay? Something in my belly made me worried. Sorry, I know it’s silly, but… we miss you Lexi. I can’t wait to see you when you get home.” Luna’s voice washed it away. If only for a moment.
“She’ll never truly love you.” His own but not his own voice, echoed once more.
He was losing his mind.
Another To Slay
Scene Two | On-Camera
“How could you, Alex? That’s the thing I’m hearing. The fans, other people, hell even my own friends. They’re asking me, how could I do such a thing to a person who was just trying to defend the honour of their father? To stand up to the perceived tyrants tearing things apart and down. I’ll tell you how I could do it. I’ll tell you, like I have been telling everyone from day one. I am here for one thing and one thing only. I am here for me, to prove that I am the best, and that the corruption of the filth that parades around at the top will not survive in my world. That’s the simple truth.”
“So when I’m asked how I could ruin the upstart little brat? The answer is simple. I’m sending a message. I’m sending a message to anyone who thinks they can simply step up and get away with running their fucking mouth. I’m sending a message to every person who accused me of being the weak link in the trio that has been tearing this place apart week after week. I’m sending a message to every person who thinks that I was lying when I said I’m the motherfucking main event. Nobody is talking about the forgettable journey of Raine. Nobody is talking about the nothing defence of Carter. Hell, nobody is even talking about Miles Kasey pretending to be a big boy and putting on his angry eyes.”
“No, the thing that people are talking about? How Jayden Harris may never wrestle again. How Alexander Raven took a fucking cinder block to that boys head and showed the world that I am not here to fuck around. I put the boy to sleep, and I’m not sorry that he isn’t going to step into this ring ever again. That’s a message. That’s what I want every single one of you to remember. When it comes down to it? I have no issue slaying anyone. Which brings me to the older king, who is trying his luck at being something of a name once again. A veteran, a first ballot hall of famer, a former fucking world champion. The man who has the most cowardly keyboard warrior of a wife, and felt so slighted by the fact that Finn and Kayla were making a mockery of his singular fucking achievement. That he had to step back into the ring, to tout and flout about his one success over our reigning and defending World Champion.”“Kris Ryans.”“See, the thing is this. As forgettable as Miles Kasey’s little tantrum is? The fact that it overshadowed anything you tried to do? That’s upsetting to think about. That is frustrating to me, Kris. It’s frustrating because you had everything to fucking prove. You had the world in your hands, the man destined to upend Finn Whelan. Yet here you are. A nothing man in a nothing world, playing to the tune of sycophants. Filth perpetuating filth, and yet. You’re playing second fiddle to the little wolf that could, and the man you just aren’t in the same world as anymore.”
“See I saw your little attempt to invalidate Finn’s success. Talking about successfully pinning the World Champion. Success implies what it fucking stands for, Kris. Success is only success when it results in a favourable outcome. You didn’t successfully do shit. You didn’t successfully pin the World Champion, because Finn beat you. That’s the simple fact of life. So tell me why, Kris, you are on track for a Internet Championship match? You lost, and no matter the delusions you attempt to create in your own mind, the simple fact is that you should be back at the beginning of the line. This is the very fucking thing I have been trying to put in the spotlight for months now.”
“The disparity in fairness. The disparity in the treatment of different wrestlers in this company. I have been on a roll. Ruining and destroying person after person, establishing the Roulette Championship as so important that in reality it should have been the main event at Violent Conduct. Instead we got the out of gas old man looking for a new payday trying to prove he still belongs. We got you, Kris. Stinking the fucking place out in a match that did nothing but soothe Finn’s ego. Yet you’re on track to fight for the Internet Championship? So I must again ask, why? What the fuck have you done to earn it? As much as I loathe Eddie Lyons' power of positivity mindset, the boy has worked. Aiden Reynolds has been putting in the mileage, and for better or worse, at least Bill Barnhart is here every week. Yet it is you, Kris. You who get put in the spotlight.”
“A benefactor of an unfair system designed to keep those who deserve a chance to exceed at the bottom. I look across and see women like Alexandra Calaway and Seleana Zdunich getting the opportunity to work towards the Bombshell World Championship, yet Luna, who destroyed those women? Relegated to an extended vacation with the promise of a future Bombshell Roulette Championship. A placation for a woman who was overlooked in the Proving Grounds, and is now being overlooked as getting back to her crown. A system that is rigged in the favour of those who play to the drumbeat of those masters. People like you Kris, who benefit from the favouritism, and do nothing to fight for those being treated unfairly. Something you could have changed, and yet you didn’t. You don’t. You benefit and you see no issue in it. Upsetting, Kris.”
“See the real pity here is that in this ever dwindling roster of men, they continue to try to silence me. There’s a reason I’m almost at twenty matches for the year. There’s a reason that I am the most watched and noticed man in this entire company. There is a reason that I am here, week in and week out putting the boots to the ground. Because they fucking need me. They need me more than they ever needed you, Kris. They need me more than they need Miles Kasey. They need me more than they needed Peter Vaughn, Mark Cross and Goth. They need me more than they ever needed your lone supporter in your delusions, Fenris. I am indispensable, and I know. I know they are shaking right now knowing that this may in fact be the last time I ever wrestle a match here in Sin City. See, some history for you here, Kris.”
“October Twenty-Sixth, Twenty Twenty One. That was the day I inked the paper here in Sin City. A long break from in-ring competition. Five years, give or take. I was a World Champion back then. In fact, my whole fucking career I’ve been at the very top. Rubbing shoulders with the best and proving that Alexander Raven can hang. So colour me surprised when I turn up here, and find a place that plays favourites. That the Golden Children of their past become the worthy of today. People like you, Kris. So, three years after the fact. October Twenty-Sixth, Twenty Twenty Four? My contract is up. As the reigning Roulette Champion, I will be free. Free to make my own choices. Free to do as I see fit.”
“Do they strip me of the title, as they have done with any who refuse to tow the line? I mean, Mark’s throwing his weight around, practically begging one of us to lay hands on him to give him a match with Kevin Carter. Does Christian stop pretending to be a big bad man, and actually stand in that ring face to face with me and acknowledge everything I’ve been saying? Do they try and hush hush sign me to a new deal behind closed doors, because they are so desperate to keep one of the only men still drawing a dime around here? I’m not sure Kris. I’m not sure what they’ll do, and to tell you the truth. I’m not quite sure what I really want.”
“Because of people like you, Kris. The filth who parade around like this world is owed to them. That the actions of your past give you the right to ignore the requirements of the now. To be treated in a way that you do not deserve simply because you were brave enough to stick your neck back under the guillotine one more time. Except, the problem here, Kris? You may have been a king, but let me tell you who the fuck Alexander Raven is. I’m the motherfucking Kingslayer. They rack 'em up, and I cut every single one of their goddamned heads off. Just like Jayden Harris, I have put the end to every upstart and mouthy little cunt who has dared to try and defy the truth I am forcing down people’s throats. You’re just the next King in the line to be executed. You’re just the next one in need of a reality check. You’re just the current benefactor that will be thrown aside once they realise you cannot stop the wave of revolution that is occurring beneath their own feet.”
“See I don’t know if I’ll stick around, Kris. There’s something poetic about taking everything they have. Turning it all on them, walking out the door still champion. The man who they didn’t just want, but they fucking needed. The man who has done nothing but attempt to disrupt their system of abuse, and they need me. That’s pure poetry to me, Kris. They need me, far more than they’ll ever need you. So they pity you, and give you another shot at feeling like you are needed here. They put you on a path to fight the better half of the McKinney-Kasey marriage. Something you should be all too familiar with, right? I mean, you’re the only one with the actual drive to be here, and yet you’re still being overshadowed.”
“See, I’m not normally one for taking the low road, but something about you just really irks me. Actually, to be truthful, there is something about your other half that really irks me. Holier than thouism, lies and delusions, the persistent desire to mock and belittle despite the fact that she cannot find even the slightest bit of faith in herself to actually do anything but talk shit. It bothers me, Kris. It bothers me deeply, because people like myself, my own wife, and hell the man you tried to pretend that you were any level of successful against in Finn Whelan. The nattering of your other half and your inability to prove that those call you out on your hypocrisy wrong? It’s frustrating to me. It’s upsetting to me. It boils my blood that you are here and I have to simply accept the fact that the undeserving like yourself are just going to be handed opportunity after opportunity. That despite all the work put in by Kayla and Finn. By myself and Luna. By the workhorses who are here every single week, and the men at my side in Kevin Carter and J2H. We’re going to be constantly overlooked for bugs like you.”
“So I’m going to need you to prove me wrong, Kris. I need you to prove that you’re better than the ever growing throne of corpses that make up my kingdom. I need you to prove that you’re better than all the other relics of your era. Better than Fenris and Ben Jordan. I need you to prove you’re better than the upstarts like Eddie Lyons and Aiden Reynolds. I need you to prove you’re better than saviours and wolves like Ken Davison and Austin James Mercer. I need you to prove that you are better than me, Kris. I need you to prove that you fucking belong, because I don’t think you do. I don’t think you can, and I know you fucking won’t be able to.”
“You’re just like the rest of them. Happy to succeed when the system allows, and benefit from the abuse of those who deserve more. Never working toward anything, but being handed everything. Being given the world in your hands and then kissing the ass of those who gave it to you. I need the impossible from you Kris, because the reality is? If you aren’t going to be that man, then I’m going to have to make a statement. I had no problem ending Jayden Harris’s career, and for better or worse? I liked the kid. I liked the fight, I liked the desire to prove himself. He was a shithead with less sense than an ocean warped rock, but he at least deserved some recognition. You, Kris? I hate everything you represent. I hate everything you stand for. I simply hate.”
“I’m going to send you home. I’m going to send you back to where you belong. Behind a screen talking about how you did it first and how much worse the people doing it now are than you. Saddled up with your cow of a wife who couldn’t find the desire to fight her way out of a paper bag. That’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to send you home, and then I’m going to write you a postcard. A postcard from wherever in the world I decide to go, to make the decision about my career. Because if you don’t go home, Kris? Then we’re going to have to send you there. Broken, beaten and ruined. That’s what I’m going to do to you. That’s not a claim, that’s not the ravings of a mad man. That’s not the delusional rants of a person with too much bravado. No, that’s simply, a fact. A promise, a goddamn guarantee. I am the Napalm Kingslayer, and I’m ready to burn you the fuck down.”
“Have you been listening?”
