[SCW Staff]

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

[HBCarter]

Las Vegas -
Turnberry Towers

The dining room in Turnberry Towers had been transformed into a battlefield Kevin Chapman had built with a lot of care for a night of fun. It was a full Dungeons & Dragons setup, brand new from his Christmas morning haul. A felt-lined dice tray. A grid map with little dungeon walls and a miniature figure for each player. There were note cards stacked in careful piles, pencils sharpened to lethal points, and a separate notebook opened beside everyone. All he needed now was a group to practice with, and that’s where our story comes into play.

Kevin sat at the head of the table, a Dungeon Master screen with the art of a dragon separating him from the rest of the players. It was Kevin’s first try at running a campaign and he didn’t want anyone to see when or if he got nervous. Except everyone at this table already knew him well enough to recognize nerves in the way he paused or how he cleared his throat.

Carter sat to Kevin’s right, and played as a Drow assassin named Paeris. “One name.” As Carter phrased it. “Like Cher.” Carter was a long-time player but admitted that it had been awhile and was thrilled to be invited to play again. Across from Carter sat Miles, the epitome of casual indulgence, having never played before but was open to a fun night with family and friends. Miles was playing as Aelarion Vael, a High-Elf Wizard.

Next to Miles was LJ, seated comfortably like a man who’d come ready to have fun and whose character sheet had a doodle of a screaming axe. He was playing as Marmalade Ironbelly, a Dwarf Barbarian with a comedic attitude. Beside LJ, his girlfriend Alexandra Calaway sat. She’d taken her time choosing spells and features, and it paid off with her character, Seraphine Nyx, a Tiefling Warlock.

Beside Alexandra was her daughter Ashlynn, perched on her chair like she was ready to launch into action at any second. She was playing as Pip Underbough, a Halfling Ranger.

And then there was Connor Wayley, sitting close enough to Kevin that their shoulders almost touched when they leaned forward. Something everyone else at the table noticed though nobody brought the attention to either boy. Connor’s character sheet was neat, but the corners were already bent from being handled too often, like he’d been rereading it in anticipation. Connor was playing as Jace Merrin, a Human Rogue.

Kevin glanced down at his notes, then lifted his eyes above the screen, voice tightening into that storyteller’s cadence he’d found halfway through the night.

“You come to a door.” Kevin said. “It’s stone. There’s a face carved into it but the eyes are wrong. And the mouth looks like it’s almost smiling.”

Carter leaned in. “I don’t like it.”

Kevin’s eyes shifted to Carter, then back to his notes, gaining confidence from the fact that Carter was invested enough to dislike a pretend door. “There’s writing on the bottom. Old script. Aelarion, you can read it.”

Miles straightened, slipping into character. “I read it.”

Kevin took another breath. “It says ‘Confess, and be made clean.’”

Alexandra tapped her pencil thoughtfully. “That’s either a trap or a moral test.”

Kevin nodded, grateful they were taking the bait. “There’s also a small bowl carved into the stone beneath the writing. Like it’s meant to hold something.”

Alexandra leaned in, voice smooth. “Seraphine steps forward and says, ‘I confess I have stolen secrets from people who trusted me.’”

The table went quiet, because Alexandra had executed what was expected perfectly. Kevin looked down at his notes and nodded.

“The bowl fills with dark liquid.” Kevin said. “Like ink.”

Ashlynn made a face. “Gross.”

Connor murmured, “Cool.”

Miles’s wizard asked, “Do we have to drink it?”

Kevin lifted his hands, both palms up behind the screen. “I don’t know. Do you?”

Carter groaned and looked at Miles. “Kevin is trying to kill us.”

Kevin’s mouth twitched into a smile. “That’s literally the Dungeon Master’s job.”

Connor leaned back with a grin and added, “We’re trying to start a D&D club at school. This is good practice.”

Miles mused, “So we’re your guinea pigs.”

Kevin said, “I prefer educational sacrifices.”

The game rolled forward and after they’d survived the confession door, Kevin glanced at the time on his phone. “Snack break?” He suggested it to everyone and was met with approval.

Carter stood first, taking charge as host, “I’ll grab us something.”

He headed to the kitchen and moved with ease, pulling out bowls, shaking pretzels into one, Kevin’s favorite jalapeno Doritos into another, all the while throwing a bag of cheesy popcorn into the microwave. When he came back into the dining room, Miles picked up his phone, declaring, “I’m ordering pizza!”

Everyone happily approved of this plan, especially the three teenagers, because what teen doesn’t appreciate a pizza dinner? Miles looked to Connor and asked, “Your folks okay with you eating here?” To which Connor nodded, “They just said I had to be home by ten.” Earning a nod of approval from Miles.

Kevin watched Carter as he carefully arranged the bowls around the table so as not to disturb Kevin’s set up. Kevin asked shyly, “Can we get a Dr. Pepper? Me, Connor, and Ashlynn?”

Connor nodded immediately, “Please!” Ashlynn the same.

Carter gave a nod and went back into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and leaned in. Bottled water. Juice. Leftovers stacked neatly. And tucked behind a container like it was hiding? One can of Dr. Pepper. “Bad news!” He announced, “We’ve got exactly one can left! Good news? We can take a break and I’ll run down to the store.”

Miles’s head turned immediately, protective instincts snapping into place. “I should go with you.”

Carter grabbed his keys out from the seashell dish. “It’s just down the block.” He declared. “I’ll be right back.”

Miles’s expression tightened, concerned. “Still...”

Carter kept his voice gentle but firm. “Miles, you just ordered pizza. One of us has to be here to pay for it. Unless you want to shake Connor for it?” Connor looked up from his conference with Kevin and Ashlynn with wide eyes.

He declared, “I’ll be right back!” And headed out, the door clicking shut behind him.

THE FOLLOWING MESSAGE HAS BEEN PAID FOR BY THE PRIDE OF SCW

“Inception VIII, the first big night of 2026! New year, new noise, same old truth. That I have to continue silencing critics and proving myself to all the people who think I don’t deserve to be the World Heavyweight Champion. And you know something? That’s fine. That’s alright. I’m fine with that because the more I prove myself, the more I humble every person who tries and tells me I have no business being at the top of the mountain.”

“And I think about men like Finn Whelan when I say that. I think about what it meant when Finn held this title for over a year and made it feel heavy in the best way. There are champions who wear gold like jewelry, and there are champions who wear it like a responsibility. Finn was the second kind. When I won this championship, Finn looked me dead in the eye and told me, plain as day, ‘Don’t drop the ball.’ Not congratulations or good luck. He didn’t tell me to enjoy the moment. He said don’t drop the ball. Because that’s what this is. It’s a ball you can fumble, and the second you do, there’s this pack of hungry hands reaching in and tearing it away. I took that to heart because after J2H, Finn set the standard. I’ve replayed it in my head on the days where my body felt like it got hit by a truck, on the nights where I could’ve coasted by, on the moments where it would’ve been easy to be like Alexander Raven and take a shortcut and call it smart. I didn’t get to be Helluva Bottom Carter by being the guy who takes the easy route. I got here by doubling down when everybody else started backing toward the door.”

“So going into Inception VIII, I’m not asking for applause or begging to be accepted. I’m telling you what I already know. I have lived up to that standard. I have carried this title like it matters. Every week I have shown up as the champion this company deserves and can put at the front of the line and not worry about being embarrassed. I have done champions like Finn Whelan proud, because I didn’t take the crown and start acting like a king. I took the crown and started working like a man who knows the whole place is watching!”

“And then there are ‘men’ like Alexander Raven.”

“Alexander, I want you to listen closely, because I know you’re the type who hears what he wants and then calls everything else propaganda. You’re the type who thinks a fact is just a rumor that hasn’t been bullied enough yet. You’re the type who loses a match and starts looking around for hidden cameras, secret agreements, the deep state, the shallow state, and whatever other state makes you feel better about the fact that you came up short. Only for you, it’s the state of denial. You come up short in a match and immediately it’s ‘the Rings of Saturn got in my eyes!’ or ‘the Earth’s axis was tilted unfairly!’ You have built a whole identity out of excuses dressed up like revelations. You don’t just miss the goalposts, you swear somebody else moved them, then you write a manifesto about it!”

“But here’s the part you can’t conspiracy-theory your way out of. You’re stepping into Inception VIII against a champion who doesn’t need smoke and mirrors to make any sort of impression. You’re stepping into the first event of the new year against a man who has made a career out of being both fabulous and undeniable. And you are coming into it with a fresh reminder, stamped right on your forehead, that when you don’t get to stack the deck. You just fold.”

“Let’s talk about that tag match two weeks ago, hm? Let’s talk about you teaming up with Brayden Williams, and me teaming up with Eddie Lyons. Because I know you’ve been chewing on that one. I know you’ve been trying to rewrite the story. I know you’ve been telling anybody who’ll listen that the whole thing was some cosmic alignment of unfairness designed specifically to embarrass you. That’s what you do, right? If you look bad, it’s because someone made you look bad. If you lose, it’s because the universe is against you. If you get outworked, it’s because the other guy had some unfair advantage. Well allow me to clear the fog from your mind, Alexander. You didn’t get betrayed. You didn’t get robbed. You got beaten clean enough that you could’ve eaten off the mat afterward.”

“And it wasn’t just the fact that you lost. It’s how you lost that matters. Because Eddie Lyons stood across from you and didn’t even blink! Eddie didn’t get rattled by the fact that you cheated your way to victory the previous week. Eddie looked at you like a professional looks at a problem, and then he solved it. Meanwhile you were out there trying to play chess with the pieces glued to the board and you still managed to lose your Queen, pun intended! Which brings me to my next point…”

“Do you see now what happens when your wife isn’t there to bail you out of trouble? Do you see what happens when you don’t have somebody at ringside ready to jump in and play damage control the second reality starts to set in? Because I saw it! Everybody saw it! Eddie warned you! I warned you! You were reaching for that safety net and it wasn’t there, and suddenly Alexander Raven didn’t look like some diabolical mastermind. He looked like what he really is. A man who’s been propped up by interference, shortcuts, and a whole lot of noise!”

“And I know you’re sitting there thinking that you can call my bluff. I mean, you tell the world that you have no control over what your wife does in regards to interfering in your matches when that's really just more excuses. So let me save you the trouble of digging yourself into an even deeper hole.”

“I don’t believe you have the stones to leave your bitch in her kennel!”

“There it is in plain language. Not lip service. Nothing sugarcoated. You don’t have it in you to walk into the Main Event of Inception VIII and tell your little security blanket to stay backstage. You’re addicted to the idea that if you can just muddy the water enough, nobody will be able to see you drowning. That is literally all there is to you. You don’t wrestle matches, you manufacture confusion. You don’t win, you just survive long enough for somebody else to do the dirty work. There is nothing - NOTHING - about you that isn't skin deep!”

“So here’s the problem, Alexander. I’m not stupid. I know you think otherwise but that's your room delusions screwing around with your head. I’m not the kind of champion who wanders into a title defense like it’s a friendly sparring session and not  expect things to go South. I’m the kind of champion who plans for every version of you there is. Dirty, desperate, delusional, all of it! You want to bring Lassie, er, Luna to ringside? I’ve got a leash ready. You want to bring Luna to try and cheat your way to the World Title? I’ve got my own insurance policy on the likely chance you don’t have the guts to do this like a man!”

“And before you or Luna start clutching pearls about my having a backup plan, let’s clarify there’s a difference between having a plan and needing one. You need one. I prepare one. That’s the difference between a champion and a snake. I don’t rely on my plan to win. The plan is just there to make sure your nonsense doesn’t rewrite the outcome. The plan is there so I don’t get caught in some Raven-produced episode where the ending doesn’t make sense but the villain still walks away smiling. I’m not letting you turn the World Heavyweight Championship into a prop for your paranoia.”

“Because that’s what you do, Alexander. You take the simplest thing in the world, two men competing athletically to see who is better and you complicate it until it resembles a Stephen King novel! Every time you get called out for your tactics, you don’t deny them. You justify them. You dress them up like you’re some noble rebel fighting a corrupt system. You act like you’re exposing SCW from the inside out, when really you’re just a guy who wants an excuse to do whatever he wants without the benefit of consequences.”

“You hit someone below the belt? ‘They made me do it!’ You grab the tights? ‘That’s strategy!’ You bring your wife into it? ‘I can’t control what she does!’ These are all the excuses that you’ve used in the past and you don’t even hear yourself doing it! You call it ‘truth’ when it’s convenient and ‘lies’ when it’s not. Meanwhile, I’m standing here with the one thing you can’t manufacture. Credibility.”

“Credibility is built over time, over defenses, over the way you handle pressure, over the way you show up when you’re tired, when you’re hurting, when your back is against the wall! Credibility is walking into a new year with the biggest target in the company on your chest and still sleeping just fine because you know you’ve done the work! That’s me. That’s what this title has turned me into. You think being champion is about being the center of attention. It’s not. Being a champion is about being the center of accountability. Every hungry contender wants a shot. Every bitter veteran wants to prove you’re a fluke. Every rising star wants to use you as a stepping stone. And you either stand up to that pressure or you break.”

“I’ve been standing tall since May 2025. You, Alexander? You don’t break, you shatter. And then you hold up the pieces and insist it was sabotage.”

“So let’s talk about Inception VIII like grown-ups. Let’s talk about what’s really happening. You’re not getting this title match because you’re the most deserving. You’re getting it because you’re loud. You’re getting it because you’re a problem people want solved. You’re getting it because SCW knows that if they put you in a world title match, you’ll show up, you’ll run your mouth, you’ll try your tricks, you’ll stir the pot, and people will tune in to see if you finally get your teeth knocked in. Congratulations, Alex! You’ve finally made yourself useful!”

“You are not the future of this company. You’re not going to be the guy who carries SCW into 2026. You’re nothing more than a speed bump. You’re a chapter the real story has to get through before it gets to the part people actually want to read. And I know that stings, because you see yourself differently. You see yourself as the main character. You see yourself as the misunderstood genius. You see yourself as the only one brave enough to tell the so-called truth. But the truth is simpler than any of your theories; Alexander Raven is nothing more than a placeholder for legitimate contenders.”

“Legitimate contenders like Eddie Lyons.”

“Let’s say his name again, because I can tell it bothers you. Eddie Lyons. A man who doesn’t need his ego to be his tag partner. A man who doesn’t need outside interference to feel important. A man who doesn’t need to turn every loss into a conspiracy board with black Xs across a dozen blurry screenshots. Eddie Lyons is the kind of contender who fights forward, who takes his lumps, who learns and comes back sharper. Eddie Lyons is the kind of contender who can look a champion in the eye and make you believe he’s ready. And after Inception VIII, after you do what you always do and you find a way to choke when it matters most, I want Eddie next in line.”

“Because I’m not here to dodge the best. I’m here to beat the best. That’s what a real champion does. A real champion doesn’t hide behind politics. A real champion doesn’t pick opponents he can out-cheat. A real champion looks at the division and tells the match makers to line them up! That’s me. I want the men who can actually take this title from me, because if they can’t, then all we’re doing is wasting everybody’s time. And Alexander, you are the definition of wasted time.”

“You’re going to come into Inception VIII with the same bag of tricks and the same need to control the story. You’re going to try to bait me into making a mistake. You’re going to try to get under my skin. You’re going to try to turn this into the sort of chaos that you can thrive in. You’re going to start whispering about referees and management and favoritism, because if you can plant enough doubt, you think you can make my confidence look like arrogance and your paranoia look like insight. But I’m not playing your game. I’m stepping into a world title match where the only thing that matters is which one of us can go the distance. And that’s where you’ve always come up short. Because when the shortcuts get cut off, when the noise gets quiet, you don’t have what it takes to finish the job.”

“And deep down, you know it.”

“That’s why you cling to the dirty tactics. That’s why you try to justify everything. You are so terrified of a clean fight because a clean fight forces you to stand on your own two feet, and Alexander Raven has never trusted his own two feet to carry him anywhere worth going.”

“Meanwhile, I’m built for this. I was built for the nights where everything is on the line! I was built for the nights where one mistake could cost me everything! I was built for the nights where the challenger is desperate and the champion is expected to deliver!So here’s how this is going to go, Alex. You can bring your wife. You can bring your excuses. You can bring your theories. You can bring every dirty little trick you’ve ever used to steal a win! And I’m going to do what I always do.”

“I’m going to out-think you when you try to get clever. I’m going to out-fight you when you try to get violent. I’m going to out-last you when you try to drag this into deep water. And when you reach for that escape hatch, when you look for the bailout, when you look for the shortcut, when you look for the moment you can twist into an excuse, I’m going to slam it shut in your face! Because I’m not just defending a championship at Inception VIII. I’m defending the idea that this title means something. I’m defending the idea that the man holding it is the best man in the company, not the luckiest, not the sneakiest, not the loudest. I’m defending the standard men like Finn Whelan handed me when he told me not to drop the ball. And I haven’t dropped it yet. You, Alexander, are not the man to make me fumble.”

“And when you choke, like you always do, I’m going to walk out with the World Heavyweight Championship still around my waist. Both earned and respected. Then I’m going to look down the line at the legitimate contenders, men like Eddie Lyons, and I’m going to keep doing what champions are supposed to do; defend this title against men who have stepped up and earned it the hard way, not tossed the wrestling equivalent to a pity fuck!”


The moment Carter set foot into the parking garage, he immediately wished he had relented and allowed someone to come along. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, telling himself that he was being ridiculous. He was going to a store that was, by his own words, “just down the block,” because the kids wanted Dr. Pepper. He should have been thinking about what kind of pizza Miles ordered, whether Connor would like pineapple on his pizza, whether Miles would steal looks at his drow character sheet.

Instead, Carter’s mind kept dropping into darker grooves it had no business visiting.

A shirt in their closet that didn’t belong to anyone who lived there. A bottle of wine left in Miles’s shopping cart. The phone call that still made Carter’s stomach clench when he remembered the voice asking if they’d “checked their cat”.

Every incident wasn’t just a moment. It was a message that said, “I’m close. I’m here.”

So yes, he was feeling paranoid as he walked quickly to where his car was parked, stealing glances at every shadow and dark corner. His lime green Beetle sat where it always sat, a bright absurd dot of color in a world of gray concrete. It looked cheerful. It looked harmless.

It looked like a target.

He reached the driver’s side, slid his key into the door, and unlocked it with a click before opening the door and climbing inside - perhaps quicker than he would admit to.

He shut the door quickly and slid his key into the ignition and froze. That was when he saw it.

The little Stitch figurine on the dashboard. Miles had teased him about it at first, calling it “Carter’s emotional support alien”. The world knew Carter’s love for all things Stitch and this was just another testament. Except for one thing.

Stitch was knocked over.

Carter stared at it for a beat too long. His fingers tightened around the key until the metal bit into his skin. He hadn’t driven since the last time he’d been in the condo. Stitch had been upright then.

Before Carter could fully process it, a figure rose up from the backseat like a nightmare unfolding and something clamped over his face! A rag, rough and soaked with a slightly fruits albeit minty odor! Chloroform! The smell hit like a punch, sharp and wrong, and Carter’s body reacted instantly! He tried to inhale and his throat spasmed! He tried to shout and the sound came out muffled, crushed into fabric!

His eyes flared wide! His hands flew up, grabbing at the attacker’s wrist, at the rag, at anything! His nails scraped skin! Carter bucked in the seat, twisting his torso, slamming his shoulder back to try to knock the attacker off balance! His muffled screaming filled the small car and went nowhere! His lungs burned! The chemical smell crowded his head, turning the edges of his vision strange and swimming! The attacker leaned in harder, bracing his knee against the back seat behind Carter’s body, trying to keep him from thrashing too much, trying to keep the rag sealed tight!

Carter’s glasses flew off in his wild struggle! His legs kicked and his back arched, heels striking the underside of the dashboard! His hands scrabbled blindly across the center console, searching for the door handle, the window buttons, anything that could make noise, anything that could bring the outside world crashing in!

His fingers found the steering wheel! He didn’t even realize what he’d hit until it happened…

The horn blared!

Not a simple beep. It erupted like a scream that felt too big for the small green car thanks to the acoustics of the cement walls of the garage! It filled the space! It announced Carter’s presence like a flare shot into the night!

Then panic ripped through the attacker’s body! The grip on the rag tightened reflexively, but the plan had just cracked open! Noise was the enemy. Noise meant the attention of security, residents, anyone within earshot! The figure scrambled backward, fumbling for the door handle in the backseat, movements jerky and frantic.

The horn continued to blare, a relentless alarm! Carter’s hand was still pressed into it, either by accident or instinct, his body clinging to the one thing that had shifted the odds in his favor!

The back door flew open and the attacker spilled out, half-falling, then caught themselves and bolted into the garage shadows! Carter saw only a blur of dark clothing, the quick retreat of a form in his foggy mind.

He gasped for oxygen but the smell was still on him, in his nose, in his mouth, coating his tongue with bitterness. His heart hammered so hard it hurt. His head swam, his senses reeling like a boat in a storm at sea!

He reached for the driver’s side door handle. His fingers were clumsy, disobedient. He grabbed the handle, missed, grabbed again. His vision blurred at the edges. The garage lights smeared into bright streaks. Somewhere in the distance he heard running footsteps and voices growing louder.

Carter fumbled the handle and finally pulled, the door finally falling open and Carter tumbled helplessly out and to the concrete floor of the garage, one knee scraping hard, palms slapping the ground! The world tilted again, harsher this time as he fell over onto his back. TPeople were coming, shadows turning into bodies, bodies turning into faces.

“Oh my God!” A woman’s voice cut through. “That’s Carter McKinney!”

Carter tried to lift his head while his vision fought against him. He could make out a phone held up as someone called for help. His chest heaved. His mouth tasted like chemicals and fear.

“Carter!” Someone, a woman’s voice, called to him. “Carter, what happened!? Are you alright!?”

But he couldn’t answer. He felt like he was slowly being pulled under, his eyelids fighting him to remain open, the back of his throat burning!

Another voice, deeper, urgent, shouted over the growing crowd. “Someone get Miles Kasey in 5C! Now!”

The panic set in even deeper as his eyes started to drift closed, despite his best efforts to keep them open, and he felt like he was losing himself to unconsciousness…

[Alexander Raven]

There was a peace in being back in what he felt was truly home for the holidays. Being back in Australia, being back with people he hadn’t seen in so long. He didn’t really consider most of them friends. Adrienne was a friend, but the rest. They were just faces; faces of people he hadn’t seen in so long. Old regulars of the bar. People he’d befriended in moments of delirium in a bathroom haze. The sounds of snorting and the grunt of poor-quality drugs sliding up orifices they shouldn’t. A lot of trust put in people he wouldn’t have trusted to pay their tab most of the time.

There was a peace in it. In being surrounded by people who pretended that they were closer than they actually were. Closer than any of them would ever actually be. At least to him. The true peace of it all though, was in watching her. Watching Luna in her element. Flitting about, moving between groups. Smiles, laughter and happy. A true happy in being the hostess and socialite that she wanted to be. Part of him felt bad for keeping her ‘trapped’ all the way over in America with him. Trapped with the grouch with a heart that only thawed for her.

There was peace, but there was also doubt. Fear and sorrow. There was a concern all the way through. A fear that he was ruining her, by simply being who he was. No amount of reassuring could fix that either. Not when he could see the joy radiate off her in these moments of happiness. Not when he could see how much she missed being in the world. Being with these people that were just acquaintances to him ,but to her.

To her they were the world she was giving up.

Peace and fear. Peace and doubt. Peace and concern. A concern he needed to talk to her about. The hard conversations between husband and wife. The scary talks, the talks that put doubt on the truth of their situation. That was it all just because of the closeness of it all. That without James, was he just a burden on her? When the bar was pumping, she was still able to live this life. To see James, to have that connection to people. Without him, without the bar, without Adrienne’s regular presence.

Was he destroying everything about her he loved?

It was something he had to think on. Something he had to dwell on, because he did not know. He didn’t know the answer to the questions he was asking, and that scared him. That scared him to not know. It was all a deep-seeded fear, and he didn’t quite know how to deal with that. He didn’t quite understand it all. It was a conversation they were going to need to have. A conversation he dreaded, because if she left. He would have nothing. He would be alone. Trapped with himself, trapped with his mind. Trapped with being The Lost.

He couldn’t think of anything that scared him more.

He smiled the smiles he needed to. He smiled and played nicely. Laughed, and shook hands. Drank beers and told stories. Talked about some ‘inside baseball’ with the few guys who had taken it upon themselves to destroy their bodies in the same way he was. Every part of him screaming at him to tell them to save themselves. To not put themselves through the pain and suffering. That the first time they actually taste their blood they will be rattled. That the first time they feel a bone cracking from the force of another’s hold or fist. They’d have wished they’d never laced up a pair of boots.

But that’s not what they wanted to hear. No, they had dreams of grandeur. Of hearing the roar of the crowd. Of hearing the success and admiration. To be the centre of all the focus, the modern-day gladiators. In worldwide coliseums of blood sport. With people baying for the blood of the competitors, demanding their favourites win. Wishing death upon people like himself. Wishing death upon those that did not play the sport the way they demanded of him. When it all came down to it.

He realised just how stupid these people really were. Yet they brought her happiness. They brought a smile to her face. They let her drink and eat and smile. To feel alive in the moment. A feeling he knew she never felt in that ring, no matter how good she was at it. It wasn’t her dream; it wasn’t her goal. She just wanted to do anything to be closer to the two of them. To be seen the same way as James and Alex were. To be closer to her brother.

“Did you used to sit there and think like this when it was her and I dancing through the crowd. Shaking hands and befriending everyone? You always were the fucking weird kid standing in the corner Alex. I did you a favour by toughening you up. You should have been fucking thanking me for taking her from you.” Whispers of Leon’s voice creeped up through the back of his mind. Trying to pull him from his own thoughts.

To bait him into being in his own head again. To start arguing with ghosts, and ruin today for her. To ruin this trip. The problem was that his own mind just knew how to torture him in just the right way. To say the things that would upset him the most. The things that would make him most likely to snap and scare people. To scare people who didn’t know he was as broken as he was. Hearing ghosts, seeing ghosts. Fighting a battle with a consciousness that existed only in his mind. The Lost was a sneaky little bitch.

He took a deep breath and excused himself from a conversation. Stepping through this decent little home of Adrienne’s newest boyfriend. She’d actually been with him for a while. A simple guy, but she seemed to really like him. Maybe she was finally settling. She was finally growing up. Hopefully she didn’t break him like she had a habit of doing.

He crossed and stepped out into the backyard. Everyone else was still inside, eating and drinking and pretending that they were some level of human. That they weren’t having some internal debate about their own existence in others’ lives at any point in time. He pressed a cigarette to his lips and lit it. Taking a long and deep drag on it. Letting the sensation flood through him. Momentary peace. Momentary aloneness.

“You okay, lover?” Luna’s voice came through as she closed the door behind her. Any other time he’d be happy to be interrupted from himself by her. He’d be happy to have her presence. Right now, he was afraid. No amount of peace could truly overthrow the doubts. The fears. The fact that he had Leon’s mocking laughter ringing around his skull. That was something he couldn’t talk to her about. They’d fought in the past over his seeing of ghosts. Her not understanding his delusions. Then because James and her had hid the truth of Leon’s death from him. Hid the fact that he was dead.

“Just needed a moment. You look like you’re having fun.” Alex said softly, taking a long drag of his cigarette as he slipped an arm around her waist. Her own arms coming around his, lacing her fingers on his hip opposite her.

“I’m exhausted actually. I was hoping we could leave soon. It’s been fun, but fuck. They’re all so fake. I’m glad we did this, but…” Luna spoke softly, leaning into him, letting her words trail off. Letting her mind trail off. He looked at her, wondering what was going on in her head. Wondering what she was thinking. Wondering if she was just placating him because she knew him so well. Or if she truly was as good as wearing a mask as he was now.

“We can go soon, if that is what you want. I don’t want to be the cause of you leaving things that bring you joy. I don’t want you to worry about me if it is going to bring you down.” Alex said softly, taking another long drag on his cigarette. The pregnant silence was a little unnerving. Her grip on him didn’t loosen, didn’t tighten. Just remained in the moment.

“I remember why I hated these people. Why when James came to see you, I had to run halfway around the world. I remembered why I hated everything that I had become. That I was made to become. I remember why I used to hurt myself, Lexi. I remember all of it being here. As much as the moment is nice and fun. To see Adrienne playing at being an adult. To see people I used to look forward to seeing. I don’t love it here. I don’t love it like I once did. Once every now and then, is more than enough for me.” Luna’s voice was soft, but there was a confidence in it too. An almost sternness as she spoke. A sternness that spoke into his soul. That aimed to push all the negative from his mind.

They would still have to have the full conversation, but for now. For now they could just be at peace. Peace without doubt.

“I’d like to visit someone, on the way home. You don’t have to come if you don’t want, but. I haven’t been to see her in a very long time. I owe her that much.” Alex said softly, and turned a little, to look into Luna’s eyes.

She just smiled, understanding and nodded.

“I want to see her too. To tell her I’m sorry for who I was. For hurting you. I want to ask her to understand, and to forgive. To see how hard I’m working to try and make you happy.” Luna said softly in response, leaning into him some more.

He smiled a little and wondered. Wondered if Lauren and Luna would have been friends if she had met the woman she is now. Part of him wondered how different things would be in his life if he had never lost her. Not in a regretful way, but in a what if kind of way. Wrestling probably never would have made it back into his life. Reality is that Luna likely never really would have either. It was a strange way to think about life. A strange what if to consider.


“It finally comes down to this. To a final moment. One more match, to start the year. A chance for things to change. A chance for things to be different. For Sin City to have a new fear to have. A new change in the wings and a journey that they would never really quite understand. I’m not afraid of what is to come. I’m not afraid of what is before me. I’m not worried because I am happy. I am content. I am at peace with it all.”

“See, I have done nothing but bust my ass to get to where I am. Two years I worked my ass off to get back into the World Championship picture. I left to try and recover, to try and get my body back to where it needs to be. Thirty-Six years of age, isn’t that old, but with the horrors my body has gone through over the last eighteen years of my career? The fact I’m still standing is more than most could ask for.”

“But that’s not enough for me. No, I got my body working just well enough again. I got… well, my mind has never quite worked correctly. That I can’t blame on the crushing of a chair or a pipe. I can’t blame it on the copious amounts of spilt blood, or the broken bones. No, my mind has been a fractured beast most of my life. This isn’t about pity, or garnering forgiveness for my actions. Far from it, I am who I am, and I have no desire to change that. I am bitter, I am passionate. I am angry and I am focused.”

“The sand in the hourglass slowly trickles down, and with each drop, I know my time slowly comes to and end. Maybe not so slowly anymore. Not with how I treat myself. Not with what I do, what I will do, and what will be needed to be done. For beyond it all, for all the doubts and faults. For all the sickliness that I bring to people, there is a universal truth. There is a constant. A constant from Carter, a constant from Eddie, a constant from them all. If I am present, they will do everything they can to try and rattle my confidence. To try and tear down what I do. To try and rewrite their own compass as long as it benefits their own psyche, their own image. It is sickening.”

“Consistency is all I have ever offered. Consistency and transparency. No pretence of a greater ethics. No pretence of being anything more than human. I am someone who will take what I need to take to get to where I need to be. Success has been built on the backs of psychopaths and the world hates that those lack the empathy and care for others get to where they needed to be. Sociopaths and narcissists lead the world, and they are lauded for their successes. Until their lack of empathy finally shows the psychosis of what exists beneath the surface. All I have done is point that out. Point out their sycophantic nature and watch them come apart at the seams.”

“Which is what is happening to you, Carter Casey-Mckinney. Success corrupts and drags down those around you. Success paints a target on your back and puts those around you in danger. You have to be strong enough to fight back those dangers. To be the one to continue to stand or realise. Realise the poison that is seeping into your blood. Seeping into everything around you. Seeping into the world around you. Let me pose you a hypothetical here, Carter.”

“Say you beat me, say you win. I go back to the bottom of the pile, wash your hands of Alexander Raven. That’s how it is done around here, is it not? People are thrown back to the bottom and told they must claw their back up. So I go back down, I get thrown to Miles Kasey or Alex Jones. Your immeasurable faith in your own husband would suggest that you expect him to walk out of Inception still the Internet Champion. Alexander Raven goes back to the bottom of the pile, and in doing so, I set my eyes on hurting you in a different way. I set my eyes on Miles Kasey.”

“Hypothetical, all of it. Hypothetical because I do not share your immeasurable faith in Miles. What I do have a guarantee here, however, is this. Win or lose, Miles is next. I promised to hurt and take everything you love. I win, I take the World Championship, and I demand that Miles be first up on the plate. As the dictator of direction, I will ensure that Miles is hurt next. If I don’t? Then I’ll be at the bottom, and I’ll make it my fucking mission to hurt Miles.”

“Do you know why, in this hypothetical, that is the direction for me, Carter? Let me tell you, let me explain it so you can understand. You can stand by the idea of what you call your morals. What you deem as the right thing to do. To let people fight their own battles, even if it means that they will inevitably suffer. You can stand by as I torture Miles, as I whip him from pillar to post and punish him. As I martyr him for your narcissism, and you have to a make choice. Do you stand by these false ideals you force upon everyone else? Do you stand and let him fight his own fight, or do you interfere as you blame my own wife for doing? Would you make a choice to do the incorrect thing, because you want to?”

“I pose this hypothetical, because I want you to truly think about what I’m trying to do Carter. I have said I care little for the prop. I care in hurting you. In taking away what you have because I do not believe you deserve it. I want to hurt you because you have been nothing but a blind narcissist who refuses to admit it. Admittance is all I demand of you, and you refuse to do it. Did it get under your skin when Alex Jones pointed it out too? Called you out for being a blinded hypocrite? I don’t think it even registered because the words of others, they do not matter to you, Carter. You don’t care. You never have and you never will.”

“I think you will let Miles suffer, because you pretend to hide behind the idea of it being the right thing to do. To let someone do their own fighting. To let them fight their own battles and fight their own wars. You’ll let him suffer because it protects you. In your whole time as champion, why have you never offered Miles a chance at the top? See, love is one thing. Marriage is one thing. But this is a business, this is a business built upon image. Upon success upon how you are perceived and how you are seen by others. Miles cannot be happy bumming about at the ‘bottom’ with the rest of us underserving, can he? So why not offer him the opportunity that he so rightly deserves in everyone else’s eyes… except your own?”

“I pose these hypotheticals, because I simply ask that you think, Carter. I ask that you think about what is before you. I ask you to think about what you are doing to yourself and those around you, by refusing to admit your wrong. By refusing to apology for being an inconsiderate fucking dick. That is what you are Carter. An inconsiderate, narcissistic, sycophantic fucking dick. A prissy fucking cunt who is going to be shown the fallacy in his way of thinking. A fucking mongrel who will be torn down at the ankles because that is all you deserve. You deserve to have it all taken away from you because you are nothing but the scum that exists beneath our feet.”

“I made you a promise when I came back, that I would hurt. I made you a promise that I would take everything from you. I made you a promise that I would ruin you and everything you love, and if there is one thing that people know for sure about Alexander Raven? When I make a fucking promise, I will act on it, or I will die trying. I’m not getting younger Carter, and the reality is? I’ll never be healthy again. I’ll never be able to flip and fly like I once could. I’ll never be able to do half of what I can now, in a year. The difference is. I’ve lost more ability and acumen in this sport than any of you have ever had in your whole damn careers.”

“I want you to truly think about what is coming, Carter. There is no out for you anymore. There is no escape. You lose, and it all comes crumbling down. You lose and everything you’ve said, everything you’ve accused me of, every fucking part of it? You look like a liar. You look like the tantrum throwing child that you accuse me of being. We both know you’ll kick up a storm, you’ll complain. You’ll bitch and moan. Any way it goes down, the great Carter Casey-Mckinney will be a failure in the eyes of those who he has been pretending to stand for.”

“I want you to understand this, Carter. I want you to understand the depths of it all. I do not like you; I will never like you. I want nothing more than to hurt you, because you deserve to be hurt. You deserve to be the one who suffers in agony. You deserve to suffer for your indiscretions and your horseshit approach to being the leader. To being the one that you want people to emulate. Nothing but a bitter spitting mongrel who pretends that they are anything more than that. Mocking and belittling those who come to stand before you, even if you speak the world of them in the moments before.”

“The worst thing someone could do in your world is be the one who steps to you. That is the true reason you deny Miles a chance at what you hold. Because you don’t truly know how to say the right things. You don’t know how to talk, you just emulate. You emulate those you admire, because you are nothing but a mimic. A mimic of those better than you, except now its slipping. Now you are the narcissist that we are. You so desperately wish you could match the person to the action, and yet you cannot. In the depths of your soul, you know this one universal truth.”

“Carter, you wish you could be Alexander Raven.”

“Let me elaborate on that. Let me elaborate on why that is the truth. See, no matter how much anyone tries to talk me down around here, there is one thing they cannot contest. That even in their most confident, when it comes to facing Alexander Raven. You never know what you will need to do. You never know what is going to be required to keep him down. I get under people’s skin. I make them frustrated; I make them angry. I get them heated because I want them blind to the truth. Blind to the world. Blind to their own shortcomings. I am the consummate Ring fucking General of Sin City Wrestling. Eddie will tell you. Aiden will tell you. Alex Jones for better or worse, he’ll tell you. Stepping into the ring with Alexander Raven? You don’t come out trying to play me at my game, and you cannot beat me if you try and ignore it. You simply need to be fucking better than I am.”

“And you, Carter? You’re not better than me. You never have been, and you never will be. You’re just in my fucking way.”

“I’d ask if you’ve been listening, but truthfully? I don’t think you could hear me over the self-lavishing of your own thoughts. But know this. I cannot wait to hear what you have to say, Carter. I just know it’ll be fucking enlightening.”

“I’ll see at Inception. I hope you’re ready Carter. Truly I do. I hope you are ready to lose everything you fucking love.”

[HBCarter]

Las Vegas, Nevada -
Turnberry Towers

The camera filled with the face of Maya Ortega, news reporter for WNVN 8 NEWS. Behind her, the scene was filled with the dire nature of what had just happened. Multiple police cruisers with red and blue lights flashing against the concrete, along with an ambulance backed in tight.

“Good evening. I’m Maya Ortega with WNVN 8. We are live tonight at Turnberry Towers here in the heart of Las Vegas, where World Wrestling Champion Helluva Bottom Carter was attacked under mysterious circumstances just moments ago. Residents heard a car horn blaring continuously, and when they rushed down, they discovered Carter by his car, barely responsive. Paramedics are treating him on-site, and investigators are now working to determine how this happened and who may be responsible.”

Carter lay flat on his back on the cold concrete, limbs heavy and awkward, his chest rising unevenly and drawing ragged breaths as he continued to struggle to remain awake. The mere thought of losing consciousness an absolute terror to his mind. Paramedics crouched and hovered over him, gloved hands working carefully as he drifted in and out, losing his focus as the lingering chemical effects threatened to drag him under. The news camera pushed as close as it could without crossing the invisible boundary of authority and aid.

One paramedic swabbed and treated along the irritated skin where the chemical had made contact. A sharp, bitter smell hung in the air even from this distance, and a detective’s voice carried from the open car nearby…

“It’s chloroform. Bottle’s spilled everywhere … rag in the back seat.”

The oxygen mask came out but the moment a paramedic tried to bring it down over Carter’s face, his entire body snapped awake in a burst of terror that didn’t match his strength a second earlier. He bucked and twisted, hands batting wildly with his mind returning suddenly to the inside of his car and the stagnant fumes of the chemical agent playing recurring nightmares with his mind! Paramedics struggled to keep him from hurting himself as they tried to angle the oxygen mask into place without resorting to restraining him which would have resulted in his fighting even harder!

And then Miles was there, pushing into the edge of the circle, his face was tight with a fierce blend of both rage and worry carved deep. He didn’t fight the paramedics, but positioned  himself right there, crouching near Carter’s head where Carter could see him.

“Carter! Love, look at me!” Miles said, words softened at the edges despite the emotional turmoil he was experiencing racing through his mind like an open floodgate. “It’s alright! You’re safe! You’re safe, yeah? Just breathe…”

Carter’s eyes flicked toward him, panicked and glassy, and when he tried to speak it came out raw, hoarse, a rasp like his throat had been sanded down. “M-Miles…” He croaked, then coughed as if the name itself hurt.

Miles leaned closer, voice steadier than he felt. “That’s it. Stay with me. Let ‘em help. I’ve got you.”

At the limegreen car, detectives in gloves photographed everything. The interior, the mess made in the struggle, the evidence frozen in time. A knocked-over bottle glistened on the floor of the backseat  and beside it, more ominously, a bundle of zip ties and a roll of duct tape. On the dashboard, knocked askew, that small Stitch figure, like it had watched the whole thing happen and couldn’t do anything to help. On the front passenger-side floor, Carter’s discarded glasses lay twisted where they’d fallen, one lens cracked and the right temple bent at a bad angle.

A detective leaned in, careful not to disturb anything, a flashlight beam skimming surfaces as another dusted for prints with patience defying the given circumstances. They checked the door handle, the window edge, and the lock mechanism. Questions plagued their expert minds. How had they gotten in? Had they waited? Another officer peered toward the garage entrance and then up toward the security cameras overhead, pointing once.

Miles was guided back a step by LJ and Alexandra, both of them trying to give space while also refusing to be far from Carter. LJ’s hand landed on Miles’s shoulder, reassuring and strong. Alexandra’s face was tight, her fury at someone hurting a loved one near equal to Miles’s own. Miles didn’t want to move, but he let them pull him just enough so the paramedics could finally settle the oxygen mask into place with less resistance. He watched with a kind of contained violence, fists opening and closing at his sides as his eyes tracked every touch. Miles wanted to cause some damage to whoever did this to his husband.

Two more figures stood at the edge of the scene, talking to police. Anne Thompson, the HOA President of Turnberry Towers, and beside her, the building’s chief of security, Darius Kell. Anne gestured toward the elevator and then out toward the garage ramp, voice rising and falling with panic. Darius spoke more evenly, but his hands moved when he talked, betraying agitation.

“We heard the horn and came running.” Anne said. “But we didn’t see anyone. Just Carter.”

An officer turned his head slightly and made the demand they were ready for. “Security footage. We need to see the cameras. Now.”

Darius nodded once. “Come with me, I’ll get it for you.” Leading the officer inside of his security office.

The paramedics lifted Carter with careful coordination, one hand supporting his head, another steadying his shoulders. Carter’s body slackened again, the fight draining out of him as the chemical haze and exhaustion took their toll. When the gurney rolled, Miles stepped in alongside them. He turned to his brother and close friend, saying, “Take care of the kids. Make sure Connor gets home safe. Please…” LJ and Alexandra nodded as Miles turned to go with his husband in the back of the ambulance.

The camera followed, close enough now that the frame was crowded with shoulders and uniforms and flashing light. Maya Ortega moved with it, voice rising into the foreground again as she tried to intercept.

“Miles Kasey? Miles, can you tell us what happened? Did Carter recognize his attacker? Was…?”

Miles tried to go around, jaw clenched, ignoring the microphone. The camera kept stepping with him, persistent, invasive... until something in him snapped. Miles’ hand came up and shoved the camera aside, the frame jolting hard, lights streaking, audio popping as the last shot was of gravity taking its toll and the world lurching aside in the tumble!

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Miles blurted. “Get that bloody thing out of my face, you fucking vultures!”


“Let's be honest here. At this point in time? Alexander Raven is beginning to resemble a broken record more than he does a broken wrestler. Which I can understand, I mean I'm not inhuman. This is our third time around in a row and someone with as limited of vocabulary as Raven seems to have would be at a disadvantage. Sort of like bringing a glow stick to a lightsaber duel.”

“The man  tends to lean hard on the same six words like they’re a life raft. Hypothetical. Narcissist. Sycophant. Poison. Promise. And my personal favorite, every time you swear you’re at peace right before you spend fifteen straight minutes proving you are anything but! You’re not a prophet, you’re not a philosopher, and you’re sure as hell not some tragic hero! You’re a man who found a mirror one day, hated what it showed and decided the problem was everyone else’s reflection!”

“So let’s do this step by step, since you love to talk like you’re some sort of intellectual instead of some lunatic who preaches reading from the back of a box of corn flakes. First you have the ‘I’m content’ routine. That’s really adorable. That’s like watching a rattlesnake tell you it’s a garden hose. You can hiss and perform, but you’re still the same creature that crawls on its belly. You didn't come back to be a savior. You came back because the only time your brain stops screaming is when you try to turn damage into applause.”

“Second, the autobiography you use as a weapon. Eighteen year veteran. Thirty-six years old. Broken body. Spilled blood, bones… congratulations! It's your Greatest Hits album! And I’m not even mocking the wear and tear, because I respect mileage when it’s real. What I’m mocking is how you weaponize it like it entitles you to the happy ending you want. You keep presenting your suffering like you can cash in for my championship. Like the universe owes you a refund because you spent too many years in pain. Newsflash, Raven! Everybody in this industry pays! Some of us just don’t stand in the middle of the store yelling at the cashier that life is unfair until they hand us the belt out of pity!”

“Third, you called yourself consistent and transparent, which is one of the only honest things you’ve ever said! You are transparent, Alexander. You’ve spent years building a fog bank around yourself so nobody has to focus on your mediocre reality. Everyone can see you for what you actually are and the sad fact is that alone terrifies you above anything else.”

“Now let’s talk about your favorite little word, ‘hypothetical.’ You use it like a priest uses holy water. ‘Hypothetically I beat you.’ ‘Hypothetically you beat me.’ ‘Hypothetically I go after Miles after I finish with you.’ You see how that works, right? It’s the verbal equivalent of pulling a knife in a crowded bar and then going, ‘Relax, I didn’t hurt anyone!’ You want intimidation without accountability. You want fear without consequence. You want to be the monster and the victim in the same sentence because that’s the only way your ego can fit through the door.”

“And since you dragged my husband into it like you were tossing raw meat into a cage, let’s address that like two mature adults, well one mature adult. Miles Kasey is not next on any menu. Well, except for my dessert menu. He’s not a lever you pull to get a reaction out of me. He’s not some hostage you can wave around because you’re running out of fresh material. The fact that you keep circling him tells me everything I need to know about you. You don’t want to beat me. You want to hurt me because you can’t stand the idea that I can love something without it becoming ammunition. You want to hurt me because deep down, you can’t beat me.”

“Now, you also took a swing at me about never giving Miles a shot at the top. You framed it like I’m hoarding the spotlight because I’m scared. That’s hilarious coming from the guy who has made it his mission to need the entire company to revolve around the gravitational pull of his trauma! Miles doesn’t need me to allow him to be great. He is great whether I’m the World Champion or not. The reason you don’t understand that is because you can’t comprehend a relationship that isn’t transactional, which speaks volumes about your own relationship with Luna. You don’t know what it looks like when two people are on the same team without one of them keeping score. You think everything is about appearances because you don’t have anything else to offer! You’re the one who treats people like props, Raven, and you only called me that because you saw your own reflection and didn’t like the angle!”

“Then we get to the part where you just start unloading insults like you’re trying to win a fight by throwing the entire dictionary at my head. ‘Inconsiderate.’ ‘Narcissistic.’ ‘Sycophantic.’ Seriously, did Luna buy you a Word of the Day calendar for Christmas and a mirror to practice in front of? Well here’s a little more truth for you to chew on, and it’s something that you’ve proven to everyone the world over.  When you run out of credible points, you start throwing insults with more than one syllable and then demand a participation trophy from someone higher up! You need people angry and rattled in order for you to feel relevant! You need people playing on your emotional frequency because if they don’t, you’re just you. A mediocre little man with a limited vocabulary, a failing body, and a mind you keep excusing as fractured while you sharpen it into a dull blade at best.”

“I don’t have to be you in order to beat you. Therein lies your mistake where I’m concerned. You insist I wish I could be you like you’re some final boss form of wrestling evolution! Raven, I would rather be a prissy anything on my worst day than be whatever the hell you consider yourself on your best day! You want the legend. You want the myth. You want to be the man that everyone remembers and tells stories about. Fine. I’ll give you that much, you are consistent at one thing. You are consistent at trying to drag your opponent down into the depths of your own depravity so you can beat them in the only environment you feel comfortable in. You want chaos because chaos is the only place where your mistakes look like strategy. When everything is dirty, you can pretend you’re clean. In your twisted logic, that makes you someone to look up to.”

“But here’s the problem for you, Alexander. This is Inception VIII. This is for my World Heavyweight Championship. This isn’t a support group. This isn’t therapy. This isn’t your confession booth where you get forgiveness by saying you warned me before you do whatever it is that you’re already planning to do. You tell everyone that you’re not afraid and that you’re ready for whatever I bring. Kudos to you, Alexander. That’s the bravest lie you’ve told all year. Because if you weren’t worried, you wouldn’t be writing fanfiction in your head about my downfall. You wouldn’t be building contingencies where even losing is a win because you can try to hurt someone I love. You wouldn’t be pre-loading excuses about your body, your health or your age! You’re already crafting the story you want people to tell when this doesn’t go your way. That’s not bravery, Raven. That’s an insurance policy.”

“Let me be very clear about something you keep trying to twist. I don’t hate you because you’re damaged. I don’t hate you because you’re intense. I don’t hate you because you’re angry. I hate how you talk about empathy like it’s a weakness and then beg for understanding every time you bring up your past. I hate your hypocrisy and how you think you can have it both ways! You don’t get to call the world sick for rejecting cruelty and then act offended and bitch when people don’t clap for yours!”

“You think success corrupts, and maybe it does. It especially has that effect on people who are already rotten. It just finds the decay in their heart or soul and embellishes what is already there. But success doesn’t corrupt me, Raven. It shows exactly who I am when the stakes are highest. And what it’s going to reveal at Inception is that you are not the inevitable end of my reign. You are literally nothing more than an obstacle. A dangerous one, sure. A stubborn one, absolutely! But still just an obstacle between me and the future I’ve built.”

“You want me rattled. You want me furious. You want me so emotional that I chase you into your kind of match at your own pace. You want me to prove your whole theory correct by becoming the villain you’ve already written me as in your mental walk about. It’s not happening. I’m going to do what champions do. I’m going to listen with my ears. I’m going to watch with my eyes. And then I’m going to walk into Inception VIII with my head clear and carve your little manifesto into confetti! And when the final bell rings, all your conspiracy theories about me are tossed in the garbage bins. Because in the real world, there’s only one truth that matters. Can you take the championship from me? Not in a threat. Not by terrorizing the people I love. In the ring, in front of everyone. You beat me once with help when the stakes didn’t really matter. Can you do it a second time around when they do? You said I’m in your way. So move me. Stop making empty promises and even emptier threats! Walk into Inception and earn the ending you keep trying to write!”

“Because I’ll tell you what I’m going to do, Alexander, and I am not going to waste either of our time with theatrics or sweet words. I’m going to outthink you when you try to bait me! I’m going to outlast you when your body starts screaming and shuts down! I’m going to outclass you when you reach for shortcuts! And if you decide you’d rather hurt people than win, then I’m going to hurt you back in a way you can’t romanticize and make yourself the victim!”

“You want Sin City to fear something new? How’s this? The end of your own story. Not because you were robbed. Not because you were betrayed. Because you walked into this match with the same tired threats, and the same addiction to being the victim in your own violence and you met a champion who doesn’t need to be you in order to beat you!”</color>

Las Vegas, Nevada -
Sunrise Hospital

The hospital room’s lightning was kept dim as the doctor leaned in and shone a penlight into Carter’s right eye, then the left, watching the pupils tighten and release. The doctor kept his voice calm and asked, “Can you tell me your name and where you are?”

Carter squinted against the light and forced the answer out, and it came hoarse and ragged. “Carter … Carter Kasey-McKinney.” He croaked. His eyes drifted around the room, a little lost at his hospital room surroundings like he was trying to remember how he’d got here. “Where …?”

“You’re at Sunrise Hospital.” The doctor said immediately, lowering the penlight. “Emergency department. You’re safe.” He glanced to the monitor and then to the nurse at the bedside, who busied herself checking his vitals and keeping records on her clipboard.

Miles stood at the bedside like a silent sentinel, close enough to be a constant in Carter’s blurred periphery. Carter’s glassy eyes finally found his husband and he croaked in a voice pained by his throat suffering damage from inhaling the chloroform. “Miles…”

“I’m here, love.” Miles said softly, keeping his voice low for the surroundings. “I’m right here. You’re all right.” Miles hovered close, jaw clenched and hating this feeling of like he somehow failed to protect his greatest love. He started to say something when Carter sat upright and as if expected, the nurse grabbed the wastebasket in time for Carter to pull the oxygen mask off just in time to get violently sick into the waste!

When it finally eased, Carter fell back against the pillows, trembling and damp with sweat. The nurse wiped his mouth and offered water. Carter tried a swallow and flinched, coughing hoarsely against the rawness.

The doctor nodded like he had expected it. “Irritation from the chemical exposure and from vomiting. We’ll treat the nausea through the IV, give you fluids, and keep you on the monitor. I’m ordering blood work. Electrolytes, liver enzymes and an EKG. If your confusion doesn’t clear, or if there’s concern you hit your head, we’ll consider imaging.”

Miles bristled at the word ‘confusion’, hands gripping the rail. “How long are you keeping him?”

“Long enough to be safe.” The doctor answered, then turned back to Carter with simple grounding questions. “Do you know what day it is? Do you remember where you were before you came here?” Carter blinked slowly, trying to reach for memory, and came up with only fragments. He shook his head, and admitting it made him angry.

The next stretch became a procedure, step by step. EKG stickers went on with efficient gentleness. The nurse adjusted oxygen tubing beneath Carter’s nose, a sensation he hated but she helped talk him through it. Anti-nausea medication helped soothe the nausea and IV fluids began to drip while the monitor kept its rhythm.

Carter’s panic still threatened to overtake him, the feeling of his attacker standing there in the corner of the room, smiling from the shadows. Miles lowered his voice and slowed his own breathing. “Look at me. You’re safe, you’re with me. No one’s getting near you.”

Only when the doctor was satisfied did he step to the curtain and speak quietly with someone waiting outside. When the doctor returned, he spoke calmly. “A detective is here to ask a few questions, if you’re up for it?”

Carter nodded, stiff. “Yeah.”

The detective stepped in with a plain notebook and a posture careful not to crowd the bed, eyes flicking first to the monitor and IV, then to Carter’s face to assess whether or not he was getting a coherent person. “I’m Detective Stabler.” He introduced himself. “Mr. Kasey-McKinney, do you know who might have done this?”

Carter’s jaw tightened. He blinked, tried to pull the memory into shape, and came up with nothing. “No.” He rasped. “I-I don’t know.” The detective’s pen moved without judgment, and he shifted to Miles. “Has there been anyone threatening him? Any reason someone would target him?”

Miles sighed and shook his head. “I think there’s been a stalker. A shirt showed up in our closet like someone wanted us to find it. Carter’s films were moved around, not stolen, just rearranged. A bottle of wine appeared in my grocery trolley when I know I didn’t put it there. The patio door was locked before bed and unlocked in the morning. And our cat’s been spooked, hiding and staring at corners like there was someone in the house.” Saying it all at once made Miles feel regret that he didn't take action sooner.

The detective’s expression hardened at the escalation. He asked for dates and details and Miles did his best, guilt rising the longer he talked until it spilled out sharper than intended. “This wouldn’t have happened if you’d let me go with you.” Miles said, the words escaping before he could catch them and regretted it a beat too late.

Carter’s head snapped toward him, eyes hot, and he tried to speak fast, but the hoarseness forced his voice into a rough rasp. “Are you saying I asked for this!?”

Miles flinched, then answered, “I’m not blaming you! I’m saying I should’ve been there. I should’ve insisted!”

Before Carter could argue, the detective stepped in. “With that history, neither of you should be taking unnecessary risks. You shouldn’t be going anywhere alone. Not until we know who we’re dealing with.”

Carter’s temper flared but the detective didn’t let it spiral. He tilted his head slightly and asked in a quieter tone. “Do you have any idea what was found in the backseat of your car?”

Carter stared at him, confused by the question, then shook his head slowly.

“Zip ties.” The detective said. “And duct tape. That meant this wasn’t just a physical attack. This was an attempted kidnapping.”

The room felt like it dropped in temperature. Carter’s face changed from confusion to comprehension. His face drained of color. Miles went rigid, color thinning in his face, knuckles tightening against the bed rail. “Oh my God…” He said, and it wasn’t dramatics; it was horror with nowhere to go. His gaze flicked to Carter. Miles had only been five floors up in their building when his husband had almost been… So close….

“That’s planning.” The detective confirmed. “It means we treat this as high risk. We’re pulling security footage, canvassing the garage, working building access logs, documenting the prior incidents, and we’ll be prioritizing safety measures for both of you.”

Carter’s breathing stuttered, panic threatening to surge again. He still tried to claw back control the only way he knew how, with stubborn insistence. “I want to go home…”

“No!” Miles said immediately, his tone final. “The doctor has more tests to run, and after what we’ve just heard you’re not walking out of here to prove a point! Kevin is safe with LJ and Alexandra.”

Carter’s pride flared anyway and collided with the reality of the situation. “I’m fine.” He insisted, the lie obvious to everyone. Miles’ patience snapped and he reached for the leverage he hated using but trusted when fear overrode diplomacy. “If you keep fighting everyone, I’ll call your mum!” He declared. “And your grams!”

“Go ahead!” Carter’s voice burned. He fumbled for the phone in his pocket, and in a burst of stubborn fury he flung it across the room! By some miracle, Miles managed to catch it and felt it vibrating relentlessly. “Do it!” Carter croaked. “I’m on the fucking news! They probably already know! My phone’s been buzzing since they put me in the ambulance!”

Miles reacted like someone who recognized someone on the verge of a mental breakdown. He didn’t match Carter’s heat with his own. Instead he lowered his voice. “All right.” He said softly. “I hear you. You’re scared and pissed, and you’ve every right to be. But you’re still coming out of what they did to you. You’re not thinking clearly, and that’s not your fault. We’re not making decisions out of rage. We’re making them out of safety.”

The detective let that settle, then closed his notebook with controlled finality and shifted from adrenaline to logistics. “We’re going to find out who did this.” He said. “In the meantime, do you have somewhere safe where you can stay? Somewhere you can change your routine?”

Miles answered immediately, “We’ve a house in Olympia. We could go there...”

Carter’s refusal was visible before the words came out, “We can’t.”

Miles’ brow furrowed, frustration and disbelief warring on his face. “Why not?”

“Kevin.” Carter rasped, simple and absolute.

The detective asked, “Who’s Kevin?”

Miles answered before Carter could shred his throat any further. “Our kid.” He answered. “We have guardianship. We can’t just yank him out of school. This shit is already risking custody.”

The detective nodded once, taking this new information in. “All right.” He said, voice steady. “We’ll take that into account. We’ll talk to you again once you’ve had your tests and you’re more clear-headed. For now, stay here. Don’t leave. And don’t go anywhere alone.”

He exited, and with his exit, the seriousness of the situation seemed to magnify. Miles stayed at the bedside, gaze fixed on Carter like he was afraid to blink, while Carter stared at the ceiling with an expression caught between rage and shock.

A few minutes later the curtain parted again and the nurse returned, this time with a fresh cup of ice chips and a small spoon. “For your throat.” She said softly, offering it to her patient. Carter took one spoonful at a time, letting it melt slowly on his tongue, wincing as the cold slid down the raw back of his throat.

The phone in Miles's hand started to ring again, incessant and non-stop. Carter flinched at it, the screen lighting up with a name that made both men go still for a beat. He glanced at Carter with a look that was equal parts apology and necessity, and answered before the second ring could finish.

“Hi Grams…” Miles said quietly, then he stepped out into the hallway, pulling the curtain partway closed behind him as he left the room to explain what had happened.

[Alexander Raven]

Fawkner Memorial Park was a strange little place. Right next to the train station, bright and colourful. It was a place filled with death, and yet. There was a peace to it. A happiness. A memory of lives lived, forever etched in stone and granite. Grave upon grave, yet there was a sombre peace in it all. Alex was glad this was where Lauren was buried. A happy and bright place for her. A place she would have loved. Filled with rows and rows of flowers and hedges. Healthy and green grass. Spaces to be happy with them all. It reminded him of his mother’s grave in a way.

Buried back at their home in Texas. On a hill, constantly overlooking trees and greenery. He’d always wished that his mother had been able to meet Lauren. They would’ve been fast friends, he thought. His mother was always so sweet to the women in his life. Maybe because she wanted to ensure that they never felt like she did. Trapped by a hateful man, with a son who had become so full of anger. She’d worked so hard to love the women he loved, to ensure that he saw the sweetness that came with it all. To show love, through love. A hard woman, but one filled with immeasurable amounts of it.

Two the sweetest women he had ever known, with lives cut too short. A sad reminder of the harshness of the world.

It was strange, being her with Luna. Not because he didn’t want her to be. Hell, he knew Lauren would even want her to be here if she was the one who was bringing light to his life now. No, it was strange because in life, the two of them never really got along. Lauren was a fiercely protective woman. Fiercely protective of the people she loved. Alex hadn’t made it easy for Luna to remain in their lives after her betrayal. Even years later the sting hurt him still. There would always be some resentment there. He knew that. Yet, he was at least at peace with it.

Luna had worked hard to be better than who she once was. To be free of her of demons and ghosts. It was unfortunate for him, that he may never really get that freedom of his own. Tormented by his own ghosts, his own inability to truly move on. The mocking of his father, the berating of Leon. The soft reminders to be better by James. The sweet understandings of Lauren. Common ghosts. Despite it all, sometimes he just wished he could hear his mother again.

She didn’t exist in those torments. Not in the softness like James and Lauren. Not in the cruelty like his father, Leon and The Lost. No, she remained peaceful on her little hill. Never a ghost, never a torturer. For that he was happy. For that he was reminded of the small peace in his life. But still, some days. He just wished he could hear her voice one more time. Telling him she loved him. That she was proud of him. That she would always be there for him. The one person in his life that he truly wished had never left it.

“It’s really pretty here. It smells so alive. I can see why you always came back.” Luna’s voice cut into his thoughts. He smiled a little and nodded, as they slowly strolled through the rows of graves.

They’d eventually come to Lauren’s grave. He suspected it would be a little sad looking. He hadn’t been back in a while to clean it up. Hadn’t been back in a while to talk to her. His heart hurt at the thought. He hadn’t forgotten her. He truly hoped she understood that. That she knew he would never forget her. Just as time went by, and life took hold. It became harder to come back as often. She was always with him. He just hoped she knew that.

“I like it here. It’s peaceful. It’s… serene.” Alex said softly, taking one of Luna’s hands into his own. Lacing their fingers together. Linking them together. A wash of calm. He’d been in control a lot more lately. He wasn’t quite sure what had led to the change. The ghosts were more common, and the grating voices in the back of his mind never really relented. But it had been a hot minute since he was trapped in that room. Perhaps he was slowly starting to put his mind back together. Maybe Mors had been more helpful than he thought.

The short stroll eventually brought them to the grave. Her grave. Lauren’s grave. A wash of calm, a wash of peace. Someone had been kind enough to keep it maintained. Fresh flowers, the grave wiped down and cleaned. Maybe her family had been coming back. They’d fallen out in life, but death was generally a good equaliser and squasher of discontent. He hoped they were doing okay. They deserved peace too.

“I’ll give you a minute. Let me know, okay?” Luna said softly as she pulled her hand from his. A smile that reached her eyes, the gentle brushing of hair from her face. He nodded in response as she began to wander away, taking in the sunlight and the scenery. Leaving him to himself. He turned and sat down slowly in front of her grave. His eyes fixated upon her name. Upon the engraving on the headstone. He’d spent good money on one that would stand the test of time. Almost as pristine today as it was the day she was buried.

“Hey you. Sorry I haven’t visited in a while. Things are just a little hectic these days. I know you’d understand, but. I need to apologise anyway. I miss you. I miss you every day. I miss every damn day. I don’t think my life would be like it is now, if you were still here. I don’t know how I feel about that, you know?” Alex spoke softly, almost whispering. His voice was choked up, tears welling in his eyes. He hadn’t really been emotional here for a long time. Maybe a good sign of his thawing heart. He hoped it was a good sign.

“I’m still so lost, every day. I don’t know who the man in the mirror most of the time is. I don’t recognise myself anymore, you know? James is gone now, and I don’t think I’ll ever really be able to deal with that. The world gets a little bit emptier every day, and I’m struggling. I don’t know how to ask for help. I don’t know how to reach out for it. I put on this mask, and I pretend everything is okay. I have to. I have to pretend to be Alexander Raven every day now. I don’t even know if it’s really that much different anymore.” He sighed as she ran a hand over his face, sniffing deeply. Taking in a deep breath of the flower filled air. A slow exhale as he got control over himself again.

“I love you, Lauren. As much today as I did on your last one. I love you so deeply. Maybe in a different way now, but. The world is darker without you in it. I hope you are proud of me. Truly, I hope you are. I hope I haven’t let you down, but I think I might have. I promise, I’ll be better. I know I’ve broken a few promises, but I won’t break this one. I promise, I will be better.”

He picked up a few stones and began fiddling with them in one hand, lowering his gaze from the grave. The first few tears falling. The first bit of pain truly seeping from his body. A broken man, held together by hope and desperation. He sat there, and he sobbed. He sobbed deeply from the depths of his soul. Not for the first time, but one that was far more cathartic than he ever thought it could be.

He let himself hurt.

Some time passed. He wasn’t sure how long but eventually the sobs stilled themselves. His heaving and sniffling came to a slow end. Then the silence. The light twitter of birds, the rustle of foliage in the light wind. The slight burning of the world under the intensity of the Australian sun. For a moment he just existed. He could almost feel the soft touch of her hand on his cheek. Time dulled memories and the more it went by the less he remembered of it all.

Yet, he would never truly forget. There would always be something to remind him. Remind him of the gentleness of her caress on his skin. The softness of her fingers on his cheek. The sweetness of the woman who loved him for him. Who didn’t shy away from the pain and difficulty. He’d lost two of the most important people he’d ever known, yet. Where he was now, wouldn’t be possible without them. Without James. Without Lauren. Without… Luna.

“Luna’s here today. I know last time I was here; I was telling you about her. About how she’s changed. How hard she’s worked to be better. I think, if you guys met now. You’d have really liked her. Not resented her for hurting me. You were always far more forgiving than I was. She wants to talk to you. I hope that’s okay. I’d really like it if you two could get along. For me, you know? I know its selfish, asking my former wife to get along with my new wife, who we both once resented for her mistreatment of me. Funny life I lead, huh? But please. Just hear her out, okay?” Alex spoke softly, the tears now dry on his face.

Breathing deeply he slowly composed himself again, letting a wash of calm come over him once more. His gaze rising to the headstone once more, staring at the engraving once more. He fiddled with his fingers as he slowly looked around him. He couldn’t see Luna anywhere in the immediate vicinity. He reached down into his pocket, took his phone out and sent a message. A message to let her know he’d had his moment.

“I think I’m going to need you both. For your strength, your confidence. To help me be better. To cleanse these ghosts from my mind. I love you, Lauren. I hope you always knew that.” Alex said softly as he heard the crunch of Luna’s shoes coming closer. He slowly pulled himself to his feet. His body groaning at him under the effort. He smiled as Luna approached. Doing his best to obscure his red eyes in the glare of the sun. She would know, but he didn’t want her seeing the pain.

“Give us a minute?” Luna said softly, as she placed a gentle kiss to Alex’s cheek. He nodded as he turned away. Going for his own little stroll through the place of the dead. Leaving Luna to have her words, to say what she needed to say. For some, talking to the dead wasn’t the done thing. It wasn’t something that brought peace or gave them comfort. For Alex, he never for a moment doubted that they could hear him. Despite his fear of death, there was a constant peace in believing that the dead could still hear him. For a moment tormented by ghosts of his past, it would be wrong to deny the idea of talking to the dead. He breathed deeply, as he slowly wandered around the Memorial Park. Lost in his own mind. Allowing himself to just be at peace for a little while longer.



“It’s funny, listening to you talk Carter. It amuse me, because, deep down, I don’t think you’re comfortable in your own skin. I want to take us back to the end of 2023. I want to take us back to that moment, when you realised that the vitriol wasn’t you. That the incessant need to rip and tear at people. It wasn’t something you truly understood. That you actually felt was necessary. Because I called you on it. I called you out on being inconsistent in your treatment of others. I called you out on your lack of confidence stepping into that match. I called you on being unsure of your place in that match.”

“I told the world, that of all us? You were the one that belonged. I told the world, that you Carter, were the only one who deserved it. It made you think, it made you wonder. It lit a fire in you, that in time led to where you are now. You can deny it if you like, I don’t blame you for wanting to be free of that ideology. To acquiesce anything to Alexander Raven. Nobody wants to give me due credit, due process. I can accept that. I can take that.”

“I can take the hounding, the bashing. The constant smearing of my character. I can take the pounding of something that hasn’t been true for… well, almost a year now. Growth is what we call it. Personal understanding and growth. An acknowledgment of our shortcomings, in order to progress to a better tomorrow. A better future for ourselves, one grounded in success. One grounded in the belief that we are in control of our own path forward. See, I can see a growth in you, Carter. I’ve never denied that. I do everything to see growth in those around me. I want the best of the best, and if you cannot deliver it, then I will hurt you for it.”

“I’ve demanded nothing but excellence from touted Eddie Lyons. Now he has that little weight lifted from his shoulders. He finally felled the demon that he just couldn’t figure out. That played with his mind, that got under his skin. That made him feel legitimate doubt. You want to talk about Eddie Lyons being next in line? Good. I’ve done my best in making sure that he has every confidence in stepping in that ring against you. I’ve made sure he has every confidence in his ability to be the best of the best. To be the next World’s Heavyweight Champion. I’ve done that, because I have seen the potential.”

“The same way, I saw the potential in you. You lost that night, I lost that night. I pinned; James Huntington-Hawkes pinned me. He did it again, and again. The thorn in my side that just wouldn’t come out. See the conspiracist that you seem to still think I am? He would’ve thought a greater plot afoot. A greater plot by the consummate World’s Champion, Carter Casey-Mckinney. To work with Kevin Carter to make sure Alexander Raven didn’t get to the big one. Once upon a time, not too long ago in fact, I would have screamed that from the heavens.”

“I didn’t blame you, Carter. I have learnt that the actions of an individual do not always come from the mechanisations of the sycophants. No, I focused on Kevin Carter. Scared the man more than anyone else ever has, ever will. For a fleeting moment the crowd threw themselves behind me. Baying for the bloodletter to take it. On a technicality, I lost. Visual confirmation of one man before the other, despite the inverse being true. I didn’t scream to the high heavens about the fallacy of it. No, instead, I refocused. I put my mind towards what I needed to. I went and proved my Valor. Became a World Champion and showed that I still could.”

“You however, Carter. You don’t see that. You refuse to grow, once more. You refuse to step up. You refuse to be better tomorrow than you are today, even though you so heavily tell yourself that that is what you are doing. No, in this case, Carter. In this case you are simply trying to prove the naysayers wrong. You aren’t trying to grow; you aren’t trying to improve. You are simply trying to prove that you aren’t out of your depth. So you ignore the world, you ignore the things around you. You forsake your past in hopes that your future will be brighter. You’re not the man I saw the confidence in. No, far from it. You’re a quivering little pup, who barks and barks, snaps and bites.”

“You bite at all because you are so far into the defensive that you cannot comprehend that you don’t need to. I can see it now, Carter. If you somehow manage to retain the Championship. You defy the odds that you feel are so against you. You offer the next opportunity to Eddie Lyons. The first fucking thing that will flow from your mouth with be how he isn’t ready. That as good as he is, he’s just not good enough. That the future doesn’t belong to him just yet. That is how you work, Carter. How you’ve always worked, the more I think on it. It’s the same vitriol, the same hatred you showed towards me. Towards the man who offered you nothing but praise and acknowledgement. Accepted your role in the dance and encouraged you to be confident in it.”

“The same thing you have been time and time again called out on by others. By Alex Jones, by Aiden Reynolds. Countless times by myself. Time and time again, you turn to the same tricks because at the depths of it all. You’re afraid of the past repeating. In your mind, the confidence I demanded of you was your undoing. You took your foot off the gas, and it meant that I got that win over you. That’s how it works for you, doesn’t it? Praise in the off, but tear down in the focus. You lavish him now, but you will tear him down when it benefits you. No different to me, I suppose.”

“There seems to be this idea. That when I lose, I refuse to acknowledge it. Never truly been the case. A period of time when I screamed about hidden agendas, sure. But most of my life, I’ve been able to admit when I’ve been beat. You get used to getting knocked down when you spend your whole time trying to fight up. I always acknowledge my failures, Carter. Always have, always will. There is now growth in denying what happened. Let’s get things clear though. You didn’t beat me. Eddie did. The man I’ve been hounding to be better. To do more. Been digging and tearing at for years now. Demanding excellence. Demanding him to do more tomorrow than he did the day before. That is who beat me, Carter. Not you.”

“In fact, historically. You’ve only managed to do it once, Carter. You only got the win on me, in those very early days. When I was demanding absolutely everything I could. When I beat Fenris, and Ken, and Austin James Mercer. When I beat Miles, and Lachlan Kane. When I was tearing through name after name, you got me. Some might say that counts for me. I’m not that kind of person. I was on a high, but I was running ragged. No excuse for a failure, but the man who was beating legends of this company, week in and week out. He was a shadow of who I am now. You want to talk about earning my way here?”

“I’ve beaten you, twice. Clean as a whistle, and as you would put, with smoke and mirrors, and deception and dirty ploys. I’m no Michael Harris. I’m not going to knock you out with chloroform. I’m not quite so dirty as to ensure that every action is shadowed by two sycophants that I keep in purview to ensure that distraction is constant. My wife, as you continue to refer to her. My wife, my wife. My wife has a fucking name, Carter. I would suggest you start to fucking refer to ‘my wife’ by her name. Luna tips the scales when she deems it necessary. Luna puts her best foot forward when she deems it required. Luna is her own woman and will make her own decisions. If she wishes to affect things, she will. If she does not, she won’t. It is as simple as that.”

“People are their own deciders. People act how they wish to act, and Luna. Luna is not demanded an action from me. Luna is a woman, a grown fucking person, who can make her own decisions. Do not debase her, by simply referring to her as ‘my wife’. You disrespectful fucking cunt.”

“What kind of fucking World Champion refers to someone as a bitch? Who infers her to Lassie, who talks about having a leash for me to use? You want to parade around as if you are something better than what I have told the world you are, and then you debase yourself to such antics? The beloved world champion, who stood their surrounded by children. Children who are going to grow and learn and think that is acceptable to tell people to leave ‘your bitch in her kennel’. You want to talk about about antics, about twisting the narrative. How about we talk about you twisting the narrative in telling people that you are the good guy. That you’re the one to look up to. That people should be attempting to emulate Carter Casey-Mckinney. The man who refers to women as someone’s ‘wife’. Refers to women as a ‘bitch’. Who belittles and tears others down to make himself feel better.”

“You’re going to fucking out-think me, Carter? You’re going to outlast me? I’m not running from you fucking mongrel. I’m not running or hiding. I’m not bailing and I’m not fleeing. The greatest fucking thing is this world for you, is that I cannot do everything I wish I could. Cause mark my fucking words, Carter. In my world, this match? It would’ve been inside a steel fucking cage. Or better yet, those ropes would have been replaced with barbwire, and your body would have been the pincushion of thousands of sharp objects. I would have dragged you pillar to post and bled you dry like the dog you fucking are.”

“You want to me to get angry; I’ll get angry. I made my fucking career of being angry, Carter. Don’t you forget, I am bigger, I am heavier and I am much stronger than you Carter. Don’t mistake my temerity in being unfounded. You want to find that hot button, you fucking found it, Carter. I can take anything you can dish out. I can deal with the accusations and the belittling. I can deal with the blindness, the false confidence and the abuse. The moment however you become a disrespectful fucking cunt, you lose all right to a simple ‘athletic’ contest. You lose all right to fairness and sportsmanship. You get, exactly what I’ve been telling people you deserve.”

“You get fucking bled dry like the stuffed pig you are.”

“A pig of a man, a pig of a person. The self-aggrandising asshole who thinks that he can get away with anything and it will be acceptable. No, Carter. There is no accepting the bullshit you’ve just dribbled. There is no accepting the hatred you spew and hide it behind the idea of being ‘bitchy’ and ‘sassy’. You, Carter, are an awful fucking person, and maybe, just maybe. There is a reason people are trying to hurt you. Maybe there is a fucking reason that people are beginning to see through you. Maybe, just maybe, the poison that seeps from that championship into your soul is beginning to reek. The decaying flesh is becoming more obvious as the mask continues to slip. You are nothing but a maggot. A sycophant. A narcissist in the clothes of an altruist. Surrounding yourself with pleasant imagery to distract everyone.”

“Distract them from the fact that you, Carter. Are nothing but scum.”

“I’ll see you at Inception. No more words, no more lies. No more pretending and no more hiding. I’m coming from you, Carter. I’m coming to hurt you, like I’ve said from day one. I’m coming to tear you down. I’m coming to break you. I’m coming to ensure that you know what, who and why. What you did, who hurt you, and why you are no longer the World’s Heavyweight Champion. Inception marks the beginning of my reign. A reign you so vehemently wish you could stop. A reign you so vehemently wish would never happen.”

“This will be my Inception.”

“I hope you’ve been listening Carter, because after I’m done with you. You’ll be lucky to be breathing.”