[SCW Staff]

Please post all roleplays here! Have fun and good luck!

[Alex Jones]

The Texas Debut
Houston, Texas[/b]

The sun beat down hard against the cracked parking lot asphalt outside the small independent arena. The air shimmered with heat, the faint smell of gasoline and hot metal lingering. Alex stood beside the rental SUV, one hand resting against the door, his other clutching a bottle of water he hadn’t even opened. He stared ahead at the warehouse-style building with a bright red banner reading

LONE STAR WRESTLING LIVE TONIGHT!

The sound of laughter and chatter drifted from nearby, fans already lining up for the show, wrestlers smoking and talking trash behind the venue. The kind of atmosphere that took him back twenty years.

Back to when he was reckless.
Back to when he thought he was invincible.
Back to when he made the same mistake his son was making now.

He felt the weight of that memory like a chain around his chest. Dylan hopped out of the passenger seat, gym bag slung over his shoulder, his face bright and excited. The orange Wolfslair logo across his hoodie almost seemed to glow in the sunlight. Alex finally opened the water, took a sip, and exhaled. “You nervous?”

“Should I be?” Dylan grinned, walking a few steps ahead before turning back. “It’s just another ring, right? I’ve been training for years. I’ve done this in the gym a hundred times.”

“A ring is a ring, sure. But a crowd changes everything.”

Dylan shrugged, that same stubborn smirk Alex knew too well spreading across his son’s face. “Guess we’ll find out.” Alex watched him start toward the door. Every instinct told him to grab Dylan by the shoulder and stop him, tell him they weren’t doing this, that he wasn’t ready, that there was still time to turn back. But this wasn’t about readiness anymore. This was about pride. About letting go. He followed him inside. The building’s interior was small but alive. Folding chairs surrounded a makeshift ring in the center, and a crowd of maybe two hundred filled the air with anticipation. Posters plastered the walls—local heroes, old names, and a few who had gone on to bigger things.

Alex couldn’t help but glance at one in particular. A name he recognized. Someone who’d been there when his brother Dylan was still alive. The past always found a way to sneak in. Backstage, the locker room smelled of sweat, oil, and the faint chemical sting of mat cleaner. Dylan found a spot on the bench and started taping his wrists, humming under his breath. Alex stood nearby, watching in silence. “You gonna stand there and stare the whole time?” Dylan asked, not looking up.

“Just making sure you don’t forget anything.”

“Like what? My boots?”

“Your head.”

Dylan smirked. “Relax, Dad. I’ve got this.”

Alex ran a hand over his jaw and sighed. “You’ve got confidence. That’s good. Just… don’t let it turn into arrogance. You go out there, you respect that ring, respect your opponent, and—”

“—and I’ll learn something.” Dylan finished the sentence for him, grinning. “Yeah, I’ve heard it all before.”

“Then maybe it’ll finally sink in.”

For a long moment, they stood there in silence—father and son, both too proud to say what they actually felt. Alex wanted to tell him how proud he was. Dylan wanted to tell him how much this meant. But neither of them said a word. When showtime hit, the lights dimmed, and the crowd roared. Alex stood in the back corner of the curtain, arms folded across his chest, watching as his son made his entrance. Dylan’s name echoed through the sound system—“Dylan Jones!”—and the kid came out in simple black tights, Wolfslair logo stitched on one knee pad. He moved with energy, slapping hands, smiling wide, but there was a nervous shake in his right hand that only Alex noticed.

The opponent, a veteran named Ricky Vega, already waited in the ring. Mid-thirties, broad shoulders, the kind of guy who knew how to make a young rookie look good… or make him look like a fool. Alex had wrestled Vega years ago. He remembered that smirk, that cocky strut.

The bell rang.

For the first few minutes, Dylan held his own. Basic chain wrestling, lockups, arm drags, headlocks. Smooth. Crisp. Just like they’d drilled. Alex found himself nodding slightly. Then Dylan got cocky. He hit the ropes and went for a running dropkick—a move they hadn’t even practiced—and Vega caught him mid-air, slamming him down hard with a spinebuster. The crowd ooohed. Dylan arched his back in pain. Alex’s jaw tightened. “Keep your head, kid,” he muttered under his breath. Vega taunted, pulling Dylan up and clubbing him across the shoulders. Dylan fired back, instincts taking over. A sharp forearm to the jaw, then another, the crowd coming alive. Dylan hit the ropes again—another rookie mistake—and ran right into a lariat that nearly turned him inside out.

Alex swore under his breath. He could almost hear his own father’s voice from years ago—the same frustration, the same helplessness. The match wore on. Dylan showed heart. He refused to stay down, even after a brutal backbreaker and a running knee to the ribs. Every time Vega covered, Dylan kicked out at two. The crowd started chanting his name.

“Dylan! Dylan! Dylan!”

Alex felt his chest tighten, pride and fear colliding. Then it happened—Vega went for a suplex, but Dylan countered midair, twisting out and landing behind him. He hit the ropes one last time and nailed Vega with a running knee strike. The crowd exploded. Dylan dropped into the cover.

One! Two! Three!

The bell rang. The crowd cheered. Dylan’s music hit. Alex exhaled for what felt like the first time in ten minutes. Backstage, Dylan was practically glowing, drenched in sweat but grinning ear to ear. He dropped onto the bench, gulping down water. “Did you see that counter? He didn’t even see it coming!”

“I saw.” Alex crossed his arms. “And I saw you almost get your head taken off two minutes before that.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t, did I? I kept going. That’s what matters.”

Alex sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You got lucky. You made mistakes…”

“Can you just say I did good for once?” That stopped him cold. Dylan stared up, eyes still bright but tired now, the adrenaline fading. “Every time I try to do something right, you find what’s wrong. You think I don’t know I made mistakes out there? I’m not blind. But I went out there and did what you taught me to do—I fought through it. I learned. Isn’t that the whole point?”

Alex opened his mouth to answer, but the words didn’t come. He wanted to say yes. He wanted to say he was proud. But that same old fear clawed at his chest. “You’re too much like me,” he muttered finally.

“Yeah, maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”

Alex stared at him for a long moment before turning away. He walked to the door, paused, and looked back. “You did good out there. Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Thanks… I think.” Dylan grinned faintly.

They left the building late that night. The Texas air had cooled, a faint breeze carrying the distant hum of highway traffic. The lights from the arena flickered out behind them. For a while, neither spoke. The drive was quiet—not tense, just heavy. Finally, Dylan broke the silence. “You ever think about Uncle Dylan when you watch me wrestle?”

Alex’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. He didn’t answer at first. The question hung there between them. “Every damn time,” he admitted softly. “He was fearless. Reckless. Just like you. I thought I could protect him from himself… and I couldn’t. So maybe sometimes I try to protect you too much.”

Dylan looked out the window. “I get it. But you can’t protect me from everything. I don’t need that. I just… need you in my corner.”

Alex glanced over at his son, a small smile finally forming. “Guess that’s something I can do.” The rest of the drive was quiet again, but it wasn’t the same silence as before. It was lighter. Simpler. The kind that comes after a storm when you both realize the world didn’t end. By the time they reached the hotel, Dylan was half-asleep in the passenger seat. Alex sat for a while before shutting off the engine. He looked over at his son—at the resemblance, at the determination, at the reflection of a younger version of himself. He thought about the years he spent running from grief, from the memory of his brother, from the guilt of surviving. And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel haunted by the past. He felt anchored by the present.

He reached over and placed a hand on Dylan’s shoulder, giving it a light squeeze.

“You did good, kid,” he whispered.

Dylan stirred but didn’t wake.

Alex leaned back, staring out at the dark Texas night, and smiled faintly. Tomorrow, the road would call again. Tomorrow, the training would start again. Tomorrow, they’d go back to Wolfslair, father and son, student and teacher. But tonight, for the first time in a long time, Alex let himself feel peace.

The mirror didn’t haunt him anymore. It reflected hope.

CAW CAW! BANG! FUCK DEAD

“Is this what you all wanted?”

Silence

“This should be it, right? What you all wanted. Me to lose and Carter to go on being your world champion? It’s what so many of you seemed to champion when asked. It’s what everyone in the crowd wanted when Carter and I went toe to toe. I wanted to become a full-time SCW world champion. I wanted to save the championship from itself and make sure that this company had a world champion it could believe in. A world champion that was worthy of holding that title. A world champion that wasn’t a complete joke and someone who wasn’t a hypocrite. But, in the end, he beat me.”

“Everything I have ever done was for the betterment of this company. I wanted to hold that championship above my head again so I could prove to everyone and show the world that SCW matters. That the world championship matters. I wanted to be a champion that wasn’t a shit-talking hypocrite who hid his true intentions behind a smile. I wanted to be a world champion who was serious, who was a beast in the ring, and who had the weight of a veteran’s voice behind everything that he said. And I failed.”

“I failed miserably…”

“And why is that? Hmm? Why did I fail? Think about it. I have the experience advantage. I have the skill advantage. The power advantage. The technical advantage. I have every advantage conceivable over Carter. But still, he walked out as the champion, and I walked out holding nothing. I beat him when it didn’t matter, but when the bright lights were on, he was able to walk away with the title. And the truth is, the real cold hard truth, that he can’t admit to himself because he doesn’t have that kind of self-awareness, as he shouldn’t have. He shouldn’t have beaten me, and he shouldn’t have walked away with that championship. He didn’t deserve it, he doesn’t deserve it, and now he’s going to get exposed. But unfortunately, not by me. Not my circus, not my monkeys.”

“But just to reiterate, Carter should not be the world champion.”

Alex growled under his breath, trying to hold back all the emotions that were getting ready to explode, the anger and the frustration. All of it.

“You understand that, don’t you, Alexander? After all, you’ve been on the receiving end of the typical bullshit from Carter. He would stand there doubting the fact that he has been the world champion and you haven’t, shitting on every single one of your accomplishments—including the fact that you yourself have been a world champion. You know something I can’t stand in this business? It’s hubris when it comes to thinking your accomplishments outshine others. Sitting there and talking about how you are the SCW world champion and another company’s world title means nothing. I dealt with that when I first came into this company, Raven…”

“Fenris, a man who was well-respected as a champion in SCW. A former MMA fighter. You would’ve heard of him, you would’ve seen him. When I stepped foot in SCW, he pretty much asked who I was and shat on every single one of my accomplishments. Me, a multiple-time world champion over 15 years. A guy who had taken on and beaten the best of the best, made to look like a fool because someone decided to use a comeback that was meant for middle schoolers with nothing else to say.”

“The old Conor McGregor ‘Who the fuck is that guy?’ A stupid comeback that seems to not get old with stupidity.”

“It’s basically what Carter did to you. You’ve been in this company for a while. You went away and made something of yourself and became a world champion in another company before coming back. But you have always been a danger. Something that Austin knows. I respect Austin James Mercer, and I respect his opinion, and he told me just how good you are. Something that I’ve known from watching you. But you and I have never faced. You and I have never had the pleasure of being able to get into a professional wrestling ring and seeing which one of us is the superior Alex.”

He smiles slowly before continuing.

“Many would say that it is me. I’m a three-time SCW world champion. An 11-time world champion. I have held championships all over the world and have been a multiple-time champion in this company over multiple divisions. I have beaten some of the best, and I am a member of the SCW Hall of Fame. On paper, Raven, it’s not even close. But we don’t rely on reports and paper, do we? This is the professional wrestling business.”

“We settle things through fights.”

“So, here we are, Alexander. Facing off at High Stakes. And the simple reason why? Because there’s nothing else for us to do. You and I have had words backstage, said in the heat of the moment because we were both going after Carter. But in the end, you failed to get the job done in a tournament, and I failed to get the job done one-on-one with Carter. Just think about it, somewhere out there is an alternate universe where this match is happening, but it’s happening for the SCW World Heavyweight Championship. An alternate universe where you beat Aiden Reynolds and I beat Carter.”

“But… that isn’t what happened.”

“So now what? Where do we go from here? I’m sure that a lot of people are going to tell you that if you beat me, it’s not going to mean a lot. Sure, I beat Finn for the world championship, but I promptly lost it to Carter. Some are going to tell you that if you beat me, you’re not beating me in my prime and you’re just taking advantage of an old man. Who knows? Maybe they’re right. I’m as cynical as they come. But no, Alexander, if you beat me, then you have every right to gloat about it. Use this win to go after anything that you want. That is, of course, if you win. But what if you don’t?”

Alex pauses and shakes his head before stepping forward and continuing.

“You are a hell of a lot better than your record and your failures lead some to believe. There are so many who automatically write you off because you have never succeeded in your quest to become the SCW world champion. But I know better. I know that a win over Alexander Raven is nothing to be overlooked. It’s nothing to be taken for granted. I beat you, and I know that it’s a win worth bragging about. A win worth talking about. And it’s one that can get me back on track to what I want to do, even if what I want to do hasn’t actually presented itself yet. The truth is, I don’t know where I’m going or what I’m doing. It’s clear that the world championship is not in the cards for me right now.”

“So… where to? Well, one step at a time. One match at a time. One win at a time. And one loss at a time. That’s all this is. A High Stakes match to find out who the better Alex is. And does it really need to be any more than that? Does every match need to have a story of hatred and anger behind it? Does every match need to be for a championship? Can’t it just be between two exceptional athletes trying to figure out who the better professional wrestler is? That’s what we have. And that’s all this match needs to be.”

[Alexander Raven]

This place was a house of horrors. So many bright colours, an abuse of the senses. Employees and patrons alike painting themselves to look different, to put a mask on for the world. Everywhere he turned there was different smells and scents. His nose burned with the agony of it all. Perfume and cologne, and a plethora of products. It was a nightmare come to life.

So why in the hell did Luna seem so giddy to be here? To be in this place that was as agonising as the last three. When he had suggested they make a quick trip back to Australia, to take advantage of the week of freedom, this is not what he expected. He had expected they’d make a visit to old stomping grounds, maybe he’d take a moment to visit Lauren’s grave. To tell her of the torture that his betrayal had wrought upon him.

Instead they were shopping, and not just any kind of shopping. No he didn’t mind the usual stuff. Going for clothes, going for accessories. He could probably do with a new wardrobe, he felt like most of his things had been stained with blood or other fluids over the last few years. Torn, ripped and destroyed. No, they were going through his own personal hell. Today, of all days, he begged for the sweet release of that prison. The room that was not really a room. The beach, that was devoid of all comfort. To be hand in hand with the image that wore her face. The pretender.

No, today they were going for the scents. The smells, the feels. The ambience. It was hell. Names like Dusk, and Lush. Mecca Maxima and Pandora. Make-up, perfume, bath bombs. Candles, incense burners and a world of other things that assaulted his orifices and made him weep from the bombardment. It was enough to make him consider ending it. They wouldn’t even be able to take most of it on the plane back. It just defied all logic.

“I like this one. What do you think? I think citrus scents really brighten up the world, don’t you? Joy inducing, don’t you think, lover?” Luna asked, more out of courtesy than anything. She was conversing with herself; he was just the sounding board. Did that mean he could simply nod and agree? No, of course not. No, there was an expectation. An expectation to be present in the moment. To acknowledge and engage.

“Never really struck me as the fruity type. Lavendar and sweet flowers. That is what you remind me of.” Alex said, with all the enthusiasm one could muster in this scenario. This particular Dusk was in full festive swing. Contrary to popular belief, Alex actually had a sweet spot for the holiday season. There was an ungodly number of photos of Alex dressed up as Santa, handing out gifts to drunken idiots who felt a nearly similar ungodly need to sit upon his lap and whisper dirty everything’s into his ears.

It was a small reprieve however, to get fixated on the little baubles and Christmas themed collections. Ceramic angels, Snowman and Christmas trees, full of LED lights. The sheer irony of the Winter Wonderland themeology in Australia was not lost on him. It was that one thing he truly missed, having uplifted and moved back to America. The feeling of Christmas to him, was not wintery. It was not snow, and snowmen. Snow dusted trees and hot drinks. No, Christmas to him was a BBQ in the backyard. Beers and tequila aplenty. Backyard cricket with wheelie bins, or maybe against the wall of the house of a crotchety old bastard.

He missed the warmth of a Summer Christmas. Bright sun, a warmth in the air that wasn’t artificial or fire induced. The drip of sweat, the laughter and chatter of friends and family, knocking back one too many and topping it all off with desserts, sweets and a few too many wines. The laughter and chatter of family enjoying the happiness of the world around them. Vitamin D aplenty, and none of this need for cozy closeness. An Australian Christmas mirrored some of the feelings of an American one, but the celebration. The celebration was different.

It didn’t however change his stance on things. There was a peace in the idols of Christmas. The festive feeling, the festive scents. Spit roasted Lamb would probably be more appropriate than ginger spice, and the smell of a frosty pint of Victoria Bitter more accurate than that of Eggnog or Rum. Unless it was a rumball made with just a bit too much of the alcohol and not enough of the sweets. Not one for the kids to eat, but a treat for the adults who had to pretend that they weren’t boozing hounds.

“What do you think about doing Christmas back home this year? Talk to Adrienne, get some of the safer friends around. The ones who’ve grown up a little bit. The married, the clean. Keep us on the straight and narrow, but still some fun. I’d like to lounge in the sun for a bit this year.” Alex asked quietly as he picked up a little ceramic Christmas tree, turning on the LED lights. He held out in front of him and then turned to Luna holding it toward her.

Her face was alighting with happiness. True, real happiness. Something he hadn’t seen in so long. He’d almost forgotten what joy looked like. A peace in the world, that was beyond the safety of her. Her smile was so wide, it almost looked threatening to tear her face.

“There is nothing I’d love more baby boy. Nothing in this world. I’d love to Lexi.” Luna said gently, stepping into him and wrapping her arms around him. He slowly put the little adornment down, wrapping his own arms around her. Tying his arms together around the small of her back, bringing her in close. Take a deep breath, allowing her familiar scent to cleanse the abuse of the world around him from his nose. The waft of coffee, cigarettes, and the perfume of the day. Safe and familiar.

“I’ll put the feelers out. Find out who is still up for a little orphan Christmas. Hopefully not everyone hates us. Maybe touch base with Adrienne, see if she knows any of the old crew still. One’s that aren’t stuck on the drugs still.” Alex said softly, breathing deeply. She slowly lowered her arms and took a step back, the smile still on her face.

“G’day guys, how’s it going? What are we after today?” An overeager store attendant had decided right now was the right time to try and sell. The unfortunate part is that Luna was now ready to face the world, and that meant…

“Okay, so I’m having a bit of a hard time choosing. Alex is a fan of the ginger spice stuff from the Christmas collection, but that’s not really appropriate year-round. Would you suggest anything as a nice middle point? I was thinking maybe the Water Garden reeds, or the Lily Bouquet candles.” Luna was straight into it, the joy from her filling the attendant and suddenly they were off. Wandering the store, trying and testing.

The momentary bliss stolen away, and he was left to ruminate on the fact that today was going to be very long. Make-up was next, and that meant more perfume too. He just really wanted a beer. Maybe he could sneak off for one, a couple Guiness while Luna went about her fun and ambition. It was a nice thought, but one that was broken by the feeling of nails scratching down the back of his skull. The sensation of the world pulling away from him. The agony of a moment and then freedom.

Freedom in a prison. Devoid of sensation, devoid of pain. Devoid of warmth and understanding. The room that wasn’t a room, but a prison with a window to a world that didn’t exist. The smiling emotionless face of the man that wasn’t him but wore his face. The Lost, dragging him back to his prison.

“You know, Alex. I think we’re really finding a good middle ground. You get a moment of happiness; you let me do what needs to be done. You realise it now, don’t you? Out there, in the world. That’s your place. Not where the bloodletting needs to be done. Not where the chaos and depravity must take place. You let me, do what I need. I’ll give you what you want. Fair is fair, isn’t it?” The Lost spoke softly, sitting on the edge of the bed, as Alex found himself trapped in the chair.

“It is still my life you’re stealing. It is still me; you’re attempting to be. You aren’t anything without me. That’s the truth of it. You’re not going to exist forever; I will find a way to bring the halves back. I will be what I was, and you will not exist without me. That’s the truth of it.” Alex said defiantly, attempting to lift himself from the chair, but finding no strength in his body. Completely numb. He was just stuck staring at his own face being worn by a part of his mind that tried to keep him trapped.

“I really thought we were making progress. How unfortunate.” The Lost spoke with disdain and then vanished. Leaving Alex alone in the room by himself.

And then…


“Ego, it is the undoing of the greatest of us. Ego brings us to our knees. It takes our focus away, and it strips us from doing the right thing. Doing the just thing. Doing the thing we need to do. Ego is our worst villain. We are all victim to it, unfortunately. The greatest of us, the most likely to collapse under the weight of it. My attention was on the destination, not the journey. It was an unfortunate outcome. But don’t think this is the end of it.”

“I’ll be watching you Aiden. To see if you deserved that win. To be at the end. To be the final chapter in this ram shod tournament. I’ll be watching to make sure that you do not fumble again. Yet, the more I think about it. The more I wonder, the more I realise the futility of such a thing. See, you got the ego, and you broke it. You took my distraction and used it. I can respect that. I overlooked you, not underestimated. I knew how much you’d grown, but I still overlooked it. The timid boy was no longer the whimpering whelp, and I felt the ire as a result of it.”

“But don’t discount it all, Aiden. I won’t let this slip. For the truth of it, it doesn’t matter if it was me or you. The end result remains the same. You beat Carter, I’m coming for you and the championship. You fail to beat Carter, you go right back to the bottom, and I’ll be gunning for the simpering boy who got lucky enough to avoid me for one more week. I told him, I was coming for everything he loves. Everything he holds dear. Everything he wants to keep to himself. I’m going to punish him, I’m going to continue to punish him. For being blind, for being obtuse. For blocking the world out, for that is what is owed to Carter. I ruined his precious little trinket. No matter how much he scrubs, no matter how much he cleans. Hell, he could go and replace the damn thing.”

“At the end of day, he’ll always have the same thought in mind. Alexander Raven ruined what is mine. His unclean flesh covered it, fluids all over it. Ash and alcohol staining the pristine gold and gems. Carter will never feel comfortable with that championship again. I might have even thrown him off enough to make him worried about you Aiden. Worried that this time, you’re going to outsmart him. He’s been shown to be a step slow to the beat. A step behind Alexander Raven. The man he wants to belittle because that is all he is. A petty, vindictive little bitch.”

“I want you to win Aiden, because believe it or not. There’s at least something interesting about doing this with you. A new J2H to this Alexander Raven. A passage of respect, from someone who doesn’t smear for the sake of it. A man who wouldn’t pander to a grieving woman after she screams at the lack of empathy for her and her husband after the death of her brother. Yet… I don’t believe you can do it. As good as you’ve become, as good as you are. I don’t think you’ll ever quite be ready. Not until you do what needs to be done. Just like I tell Eddie. You need to be ready to go to a place, that you don’t think is appropriate. To ruin someone from the depths of it all. To martyr them. To crucify them.”

“Bleed them dry.”

“I’m coming either way. Carter or Aiden. It doesn’t matter who it is. One of you is going to be the final victim, and then it will be as I knew it always should be. I will be World Champion of Sin City Wrestling, and they will no longer be able to simply walk away from it all. No more blinders, no more smear campaigns from the narcissistic. No more do-gooders attempting to pretend their honour and their righteousness puts them above us. No, no more. This city will be led by Sin, and the by blood it will happen. By decay and agony, I will do it. By pain and brutality all will be left to die. I will lead them all to my desire.”

“I will be the champion baptised in the blood of the failures.”

“Yet before we can get to all that. There is one thing left to do. That’s you, Alex. Who is the better Alex in Sin City. The two men who have beaten Finn Whelan for championships. I beat him for the Roulette title; you beat him for the world title. I lost my Roulette Title to Miles Kasey, you lost your world title to Carter, Kasey’s husband. Funny how little parallels run. I don’t truly disdain you, Alex. No, you just happened to be a piece in the game. A part of the strategy. Chess is a game of many moves and knowing how to play several steps ahead.”

“My choices worked. You were frazzled; you failed to beat Carter. Your anger with me, led to you getting involved. Truthfully, if it wasn’t you and I here, Eddie Lyons in his misguided quest for a better tomorrow, would demand that you two settle it. That you once again get thrown into the den of lions, as the leader of wolves. A battered, frazzled veteran led by the heat of the moment. One to give into his own temptations. One to give into the anger of the moment. A man not unlike myself. I know how that burning rage builds. I know how the anger of it all feels in the moment. I know that things can get blurred at the end of the day.”

“I actually kind of like you, Mr Jones. An unfortunate namesake, but maybe one that paints an even funnier little picture. I was always accused of being the conspiracist. The one who was fearful of the unknown, because I would point out things that they didn’t quite have the guts to admit was true. The abuse of the system, the abuse of the power. That narcissists get away with whatever they want, and we have to pretend like the muck we walk on isn’t a result of their ineptitude.”

“Another funny little man called Alex Jones is and always will be, a conspiracy theorist. Chemicals in the water that turn the freaking frogs gay. Denial of the most prolific mass shootings in American history. A man you unfortunately share the namesake of. The Conspiracist, and the man who shares the name of one. Which Alex is better, I wonder. The one who gives into his anger, or the one who lets his anger drive him to depraved acts? This isn’t a competition of acceptability. This isn’t a competition of grandeur. This is you and me, doing what needs to be done. I put to rest the ideas of being a loser, you get a chance to get one up on the man who spoke poorly of you.”

“There’s little to risk here, and a fair bit to be gained. The truth of it, I win, I’m all but guaranteed what I want. The pathway to the top. You win, maybe you get one more chance to win that World Title back. A stop gap measure while they try to find a way to keep me down again. Fines, poor booking. Throwing me at the same losers’ week after week in hopes that it’ll placate me. Maybe they’ll even thrown the Roulette Champion or the Internet Champion my way. In hopes that the lesser will keep me out of their way just long enough for me to go away again. To get frustrated with their constant attempts at keeping me down.”

“But that’s not going to happen this time, Alex. I’m not going to let it. I have my goal in mind, and even though I stumbled by my ego this time. I won’t let that happen again. I won’t let you be a stumbling block too. This is my time, whether they want it or not. I am inevitable, in a world full of constant chance. I am the only, in a world full of the Broken. I am the Messiah in a world full of misguided maggots. I am the Alpha and the Omega. You’re just another Alex Jones.”

“I hope you’ve been listening, I need you to listen. I need you to understand.”

“Someone has to be ready to take my fucking head when I call for it.”

“I’ll see you at High Stakes, Alex.”