[SCW Staff]

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

[Alexander Raven]

When Alex decided to take the dog for a walk in the early hours of the morning, he didn’t expect to find himself pressed to the ground. He didn’t expect the barrel of a gun pressed to his temple, and he didn’t expect to meet new people. He just wanted to clear his head, to enjoy a moment of comfort with his talkative beagle. To give Luna a morning to herself.

Leaving the house, he didn’t have an underlying worry for his life. For his safety. For anything to do with himself. He was going to walk the dog, take the scenic route through the park, and leave the dog with Harrison and Saoirse in preparation for the trip. A suggestion from Harrison himself. It was a good idea. Duchess was familiar with James’ place, having spent a long time there with Adrienne, with James. While they were on the road, it was her home away from. While there were not as many people to play with her ears and throw a ball for her as there once was. It was familiar.

Alex wasn’t his usual hyper alert self today, and that was a mistake it seemed. If he had, he would’ve noticed the car that was following him from a distance. The nondescript Chevy that kept just far enough away that it didn’t seem suspect as it happened to reappear every time he crossed from the park and back to a main road. It was a slow walk, Duchess had to inspect every smell like her life depended on it.

He was strong, but moving an anchored beagle was a task even he didn't have the strength to do effectively. If he had noticed the people, he wasn’t really sure what he would have been able to do anyway. Duchess may have been a hunting breed, but she definitely was not a fighter. He wouldn’t have really been able to move her any faster. She was a rock when she was on a walk.

He didn’t notice them, and so it didn’t matter what he would have done. In a moment of almost inevitable death, it was strange that he felt this… calm. That his mind was going over things he could have noticed, rather than trying to think of a way out of this situation. Instead he was remembering his walk. Maybe that was his own defense mechanism. To think of the peace of it, rather than what would be coming for him.

They had spent a little while sitting in the park, playing with a ball. Throwing it for Duchess, wrestling to get it back from her as she brought it most of the way back but refused to let go. Only throw, no take. It was a fun little game that would have gone far better if she had simply let him take it. That however would not be at all the right way to play, it would seem. Duchess had her own version that took precedence.

She had been good today, stopping to pee on every leaf, rock and tree, but no bowel movements to clean. What should have been a thirty minute walk, ended up being a two hour one. The sun was beginning to creep out and some warmth was beginning to creep in. It was just about to go six, and Alex knew that Harrison was going to be so pleased for the early morning wake-up call. Saoirse didn’t seem the type to get up before noon, so he doubted she’d be the one to greet him. He hoped she liked dogs.

Fumbling for his keys in his pocket, there was that primal sensation finally. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Too late. He felt a pair of rough hands, one on the middle of his back, the other on his head. He was slammed into the door. Another set of hands yanked the lead from his hand and threw it to the floor. Duchess, trained well enough, didn’t take off. Instead she started to bark. Loud enough to wake the dead. Hopefully loud enough to wake someone to what was happening.

“I don’t want any trouble. Take what you want, please.” Alex said as firmly as he could. The people however did not seem to care for the placation. They yanked him back aggressively before throwing him to the ground. A knee dropped into his back that knocked the wind from him. The second person straddled his legs. Assumedly the one with their knee in his back, pressed a gun to his temple.

So he remembered the walk, a moment of peace. Tried to relive a happy moment. Tried to be in that moment for as long as he could. Time seemed to be moving incredibly slowly at that moment. He could feel his heart in his throat, but it seemed to be beating far too slow for the terror that was tearing through him right now. He’d been close to death before, but this was a bit beyond even him.

This was true terror.

“Sorry about this, but that fucker took somethin’ from us. So now, we’re gonn’ take somethin’ from ‘im.” One of the men said, his voice muffled, seemingly behind a mask. He noted something of an Irish accent, but he couldn’t be quite sure. Funny how life comes about in roundabouts like that. Everything seemed to slow a bit more. He closed his eyes, and braced for the bullet.

He heard the gunshot.

The strangest thing was how far away it sounded. He expected getting shot at point blank would’ve been deafening in the moment. There was a considerable lack of pain too. Maybe a protection by the brain to stop the moment from being too shocking. Shock was the last thing he was really worried about, but the primal reactions of the body were something else.

Then he noticed the person on his legs slumped away, less pressure on them. Then the person on his back seemingly floated up and away from him. Was this really what death felt like? A fading away from everything. He dared to open his eyes, and suddenly the world rushed back to him.

“Get up you fucking idiot.” Harrison’s rough voice ripped through the early morning air. Alex rolled over and suddenly felt a spurt of wet liquid across his face. Blood by the smell of it. The door to the bar was open, and James was pulling an already limp body inside. Throat cut. Saoirse dragged the body off his legs and in right behind him.

Why the fuck did he make a morning house call?

Coming somewhat to his senses, Alex got himself up and took a look around. An empty, dusky morning street. Duchess had run inside almost immediately after it opened by the looks. Alex saw the gun that had been pressed to his head on the ground and picked it up. Shoving it into the back of his waistband as he followed Harrison in, closing the door behind him.

“First run in with them I take it?” Saoirse said kind of non-chalantly, no longer lugging a dead body but playing with Duchess’ ears. She was a natural it seemed. The adrenaline it seemed was wearing off, and the actual reality of what had just happened was coming to him.

He emptied the contents of his stomach all over the welcome mat.

Classy.


The light patter of rain, the splat of raindrops across a window. A man sitting in a simple wooden rocking chair by the window, his face obscured by a swathe of darkness. A shadow cast by the flickering light of a fireplace. A lingering grasp of a cold winter, refusing to let go. A dreary world, for a dreary story. A large book lay upon the man’s lap, open somewhere in the middle.

“It is funny how life unravels for us all. The days come to pass, and we see all of it fly past us. The villain of yesterday becomes the hero of tomorrow. The actions that lead us to where we stand, they beg for enlightenment. They beg for the light of truth to show them exactly what is necessary to move to the next stage. To overcome our own faults. Winning, and then losing.”

“I won the World Heavyweight Championship, through my own hubris, I lost the World Heavyweight Championship. Eyes on the horizon, looking beyond what lay before me. Twice now, Miles has been the man to upend me. He ended my first reign as Roulette Champion, and though he was unable to stop the stampede of my Internet Championship reign, he got his revenge for that.”

The man turns his face a little, Alexander Raven’s visage revealed. Half swathed still in the flickering shadows. His eyes drawn and tired, his expression softer than usual. A sorrow to the man.

“In what should have been the most important match of the night, the only thing I was meant to be focusing on and my mind was somewhere else. My mind was on the future, my mind was on the ache. My mind was on fucking Brandon Hendrix. A mistake on my half, I won’t contest that. No matter the opinion of those around me, I’ve never had an issue telling the truth. When I make a mistake, and when I am beat. Miles Kasey beat me that night, and I made the mistake of thinking he couldn’t even come close.”

“I’ve been making a lot of mistakes. I nearly lost the championship to LJ. It was only in focus that I was able to win the World Heavyweight Championship. Dubious as the final outcome was, we’ll never know if Carter truly would have escaped the cage. Before that, I was obsessed with the concept. The idea of taking it all away, more than the truth of doing it. It was my mistakes that took me to where I found my struggles.”

“The hardest part of realising you’re wrong, is knowing what steps are next. I don’t really know what is next for Alexander Raven. That is the simple truth. A swansong was the idea planted, but I wonder if I truly deserve that. I built my career on hurting people. Not simply hurting, but ruining them. I have taken every step of the way in blood, fire and pain. Every single action has led to a selfish decision. A narcissist who beggars belief beyond belief. A story told a thousand times, and maybe one that needs an appropriate ending.”

He flicks through a few of the pages, getting closer to the ending of the book. The turns are slow and deliberate. His eyes scanned the tiny print on each page, like he was searching for something. He lowered his head a little, bathing his face in shadow once more, coming to a slow stop.

“I look back on that scared boy who didn’t know what awaited him. The scared boy that had no idea what awaited him. That scared boy who was quickly lured to the quick path. The painful path. The abusive and damning path. The path I knew from my own past. Violence puts the fear into everyone, and in that fear, control. Control and power. That scared boy would be scared no longer. I wasn’t even twenty and I had become World Champion.”

“By twenty-four, I was a two time World Champion. By twenty-four, I thought my career was over. Laid on the ground, and my skull bashed in. A borderline acquired brain injury scenario. I paid for my hubris, tenfold. It was years before I was lured back. A marriage, the self-inflicted death of a friend, the death of said wife. I realised in my time away, that life outside the ring? It hurt just as much as being inside it. Painful, truly.”

“So I came back. To a world that had forgotten me during my sabbatical. To a world that would remind me quite quickly of why it is unforgiving to those of us who struggle and strive. That insidious desire reared its head and it took but a mere moment for it all to come rushing back. Lesson not learnt it would seem. One thing however that would not be forgotten, was the scars that I already wore. The agony that I was already in.”

He slowly closes the book, shaking his head a little. He takes it in his right hand and slides it down the side of the chair, pushing back a little before using the momentum of the chair to push him up onto his feet. Turning his back as he stares out the window, out into the dark and stormy skies.

“It is a story we’ve all heard before. I apologise for always repeating myself, but. Unless we truly understand history, we cannot hope to change the future. Those who do not learn from the past are doomed to repeat it. It is a truth we see constantly before us. It is something that my very own actions brought to light.”

“Miles, you said something that struck a chord with me. You called this my swansong, and that made me wonder. A swansong is an ending, and I do not know if I am ready for an ending. I do not know if at thirty six, I’m really ready to hang it all up. My choices, my actions. They have led me to a body that just won’t heal. That is the simplest way of looking at this. My mind is at odds with my body. A mind that refuses to quit, a body that is held together by hope and string.”

“Swansong, it is poetic. Ask Jack Washington and he would have told you that, an edgy poet with black and white profile pictures. A man who hides behind big words and lies to protect himself. A poet might be apropos in describing me. I wouldn’t go so far myself. The things I’ve said, the things I say. That aren’t designed to be poetic, they aren’t meant to be elusive. I’d hazard I’ve never really said anything of true substance, but that is all part of the allure. Don’t you think, Miles?”

Alex slowly raises a hand and places it on the window. His other hand was digging into his jacket, searching for something. Not a long search it seems, as his hand evidently curls around something. The bulge of his fist evident through the heavy jacket. He leans forward and places his head against the hand on the window.

“I refuse to let this be my swansong, Miles. I may not have much left, but I’m going to use what I have left to right my wrongs. Right them as best I can. I can’t make up for everything, for every poisoned word. I can’t make up for every egregious action, every drop of blood spilt. I cannot make up for shortening Carter’s career in that Three Stages of Hell. I cannot make up for putting a blemish upon the World Championship the way that I did.”

“What I can do is change how I will be remembered. A man hurt, a man scared. A man who fought tooth and nail to achieve what he needed for his legacy. That is what I will be remembered for. The man who would do anything for them. The people out there, the people who come and bay for it. The roaring fans, the children who will look to be in my shoes one day. For every tortured child who thinks there is no escape from the agony of home.”

“My Swansong will not be a beautiful affair. It will not be a wonderful and applauded thing. I have not and will never earn that. I don’t get to make that choice after what I have done to you, to Carter, to Remington, to Ami and Jamilyn. To my own wife, to my friends. To the world that I pushed aside, abused and used to get to the top. I do not get to have the storybook ending.”

He slowly removes his hand from his pocket. A glinting silver flip lighter, and what appears to be a small fire starter block. He grips them tightly in his hand, as he slowly lifts his head from the window. He turns on his heel slowly, reaching down to grab the book, placing it on the seat of the chair, opening it up once more.

“The Raven is a messenger of the dead, of the sleep, of the other worlds. It travels between realms to deliver messages from the departed to the living. To protect those deemed worthy of a journey beyond that which they currently have. Alexander Raven Black, that’s my full name. Rabenschwarz. A family a little too close to the touch of insanity some would say. My family name will die with me. The last of the Rabenschwarz. The last Raven Black.”

“The more I think about it, the less confident I am in that being the truth of who I am. A phoenix is more appropriate I think. Time and time again, I sizzle down. Ember out and smolder. A pile of ashes waiting for a reignition. Waiting for life to be breathed back into me again. Swansong, Ravens, Phoenixes. I seem to be surrounded by imagery of birds. You know the funniest part of that, Miles? I fucking hate birds.”

He grips the edge of a page in the book and tears it out. Then another, and another. Page after page being torn from the book and thrown to the floor. Ten, twenty, thirty pages torn out. More and more, his eyes rapidly scanning back and forth across the words before tearing another, and another and another.

“Redemption, for me, is human. A man seeking to right his wrongs. Yet I am a victim to my own actions. I am a martyr for my own cause. A heart may be found but the mind is still poisoned. The mind is still deluded. I may not seek to ruin all you have, but I still want what it is you took. I want the World Heavyweight Championship back. I want… I need to be the World Heavyweight Champion. Ego, for all it entails, demands it of me.”

“I hate birds, I hate ships. I hold a lot of hate in my life. Part in parcel for the anger. Ego is what drives me for the most part these days. Ego and anger. Hate and anger. Ego and hate. Some would say I have been projecting my own insecurities for a long time now. They aren’t wrong. I mean, I am but essentially an elder millennial emo at heart. I have to keep up appearances.”

“But I also seek to invite ambition. Desire and drive. To be the man that people want to be, to be better than, or to erase. For those who want to be me, I need to show them how far they can go. For those who want to be better than me, I need to show them how far they must climb. For those who want to erase me, I need to show them what is necessary to make them forget about me. Born in flame, a cleansing.”

He throws the book roughly to the floor. Kicking at the chair and knocking it sideways, tumbling it to the floor too. Aggressively stomping on it, breaking it apart. Breaking it in shards and sticks. He drops the fire starter block onto the pile of tinder and paper. His eyes looked toward the fireplace. The flames threw long shadows over the room.

“I’d like to say this isn’t personal for me, Miles. That I am a better man, a stronger man. A man renewed and with clearer vision. Some of that is right. I am trying to be better, I am trying to be stronger. I am trying to see clearer. To see beyond the illusions that my mind has cast for almost two decades now.”

“This is personal for me, Miles. Not in the same, but personal all the same. This is my story of redemption. This is my main character moment. This is where I must make a choice. Make a decision, make a stand. I am sorry that it must come at the cost of your moment. At the cost of what you have strived for. You took the head of the hydra and held it aloft for the world to see. The snake laid dormant for a moment.”

“On the ship, I will show the world that things aren’t always storybooks. That things aren’t always perfect. I have to show them that Alexander Raven was not a winner by desperation, by fallacy. No, Alexander Raven was and will be, Worlds Champion because I fucking fought for it. By tooth and nail, on my final stretch. With a body broken and beaten down, I am still good enough. I am still strong enough. I am still the man who people quiver at the thought of. No Brandon Hendrix will change that. No moment of clarity will absolve that. Miles, I apologise. But I must take back what is mine.”

Alex walks slowly towards the fire, reaching for a poker that sat nearby. Taking it in hand and shoving it roughly into the fire. A flurry of embers flying off as he does. Notably a few rays of sunshine began to streak through the murky dark storm clouds. The rain begins to lighten as the light begins to pierce through. A few beams of light streaming through the rain splattered window.

“I failed before. I have failed many times. I am a failure in the eyes of many, and that is okay. People underestimate failures. People forget how far a failure climbed before they fell. I wear the ring I made, out of some warped sentimentality to myself. But also because my mind casts my own doubts upon me, it also holds onto hope. Hope that I will defeat myself, and be… reignited.”

“Like the inevitable storm, the sun will always come out. That is a universal truth. No matter how dark the night, dawn will break and hope will come back. The world will be warmed once more. The flowers will bloom, and everything, for a moment. Everything is hopeful once more. If the world won’t produce light, then I will do it myself.”

He yanks back the poker and pulls a few of the burning logs from the flames. They roll onto the paper and the tinder and the fire starter. It takes mere moments, before they ignite. The flames low at first, before screaming to life. The room itself takes mere moments before it ignites. A furious inferno engulfing the room, engulfing Alexander Raven.

“I might not want to hurt you anymore. But I am a sucker for theatrics.”

The flames roar and spin. A furious inferno that engulfs everything. Something sizzles and flies from the flames, landing in the only space that seems phobic to the roaring inferno. An ornate ring. The Sin City Wrestling Worlds Heavyweight Championship Number One Contendership ring, as Alexander Raven so eloquently coined it. Among the burning inferno, one point of peace. That stupid ring.

“I’m coming to take back my World Heavyweight Championship.”

As the fire rages, smoke fills the room. Black smoke that has nowhere to escape to. The room filled with the black smoke, obscuring even the flames in its blanket of darkness.

And then…

Nothing.

[MiloKasey]

Las Vegas Post Office

The day had started as ordinarily as any other. Las Vegas was already going strong by the time Miles Kasey pulled into the parking lot of the post office, the desert sun reflecting off windshields as people hurried through another workday. It wasn't glamorous work, but every couple of weeks he stopped by to collect the mail from the post office box that he and Carter had maintained for a couple of years. Between wrestling, travel, and the occasional fan correspondence that somehow found its way there, it was simply easier than trusting everything to arrive at Turnberry Towers.

He pushed through the front doors, immediately greeted by the familiar blast of air conditioning and the low murmur of customers standing in line. A few people recognized him, he would get a quiet "Congratulations, Champ.". Another wished him luck at Summer XXXTreme.

Miles smiled politely, thanked each of them, and continued toward the counter, as one of the clerks looked up from behind the register and grinned, "Morning, Miles."

"Morning Justin."

"Are you just here to pick up your mail?"

"Yep. Figured I'd beat the rush."

The clerk disappeared into the back for a moment before returning with the usual stack of envelopes and a couple of padded mailers, then he hesitated, "Oh... and this."

He reached underneath the counter and lifted out a medium-sized brown parcel. Nothing flashy with no return address. Just a shipping label with the post office box number neatly typed across the front.

Miles frowned, "I wasn't expecting anything and Carter swore he wasn’t expecting anything."

"No shopping from Carter? Has he been sick?"

“No, just busy.”

The clerk turned the package over in his hands, "This one was... different."

Miles raised an eyebrow, "Different how?"

"The instructions on it when it was dropped off yesterday were pretty adamant. 'Make sure Miles Kasey gets this tomorrow.' And before you ask, no, I don't remember much about him. Ball cap, sunglasses... one of those people you almost forget the second they walk away."

Miles looked back at the parcel, something about it made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

The clerk noticed, "He also insisted on one other thing. He wanted you to open it here."

Miles stared at the package, "...Did he say why?"

The clerk shook his head, "Just that it was important."

For a long moment, Miles didn't move. His instincts told him to walk away, leave it, call somebody. But another part of him...Needed to know.

He slowly picked up the package. It wasn't heavy, in fact it was lighter than he expected. The brown paper crinkled beneath his fingers as he carefully tore through the tape. The clerk leaned forward slightly, curiosity getting the better of him. Miles folded back the top flap.

Inside were photographs, dozens of them.

He frowned, "What the..."

He reached inside and pulled out the first one, his own living room, taken from inside the condo. Not through a window, which would be impressive considering they lived on the 5th floor but drones were a thing. But they were also not from the hallway, it was deep inside their home.

Miles' brow furrowed as he picked up another this one of the kitchen.

Another, their bedroom entranceway.

Another, Kevin sitting on the couch doing homework, completely unaware that someone had been watching him.

Miles stopped breathing.

Another photograph of Ms. Thang stretched out across the back of the sofa, lazily staring toward the television.

Another, Carter standing in the kitchen making coffee.

Another, Miles himself, back turned, standing out on the balcony, taken from inside the condo.

His grip tightened so hard the photograph bent between his fingers, "No..."

His voice barely escaped above a whisper. He flipped through the remaining stack faster now. Every photograph was the same, different rooms, different days, different moments. All from inside their home.

Their home. The place where Carter slept, where Kevin had finally begun feeling safe again, where they had tried so desperately to build something resembling a normal life.

Someone had been inside. Someone had walked through their home...Watching and Waiting.

Miles felt every muscle in his body lock. There was no mystery, no guessing, not even second-guessing.

He knew exactly who had sent them.

"Lazarus..."

The name left his mouth with a mixture of disbelief and fury.

The clerk's expression immediately changed, "Miles...?"

He wasn't listening anymore. His pulse pounded so violently in his ears that the room suddenly felt distant.

Every photograph, every angle and every room. Lazarus hadn't just been watching them. He'd been inside.

Miles' hands opened involuntarily.

The photographs slipped from his fingers, scattering across the counter and onto the floor with the package following a heartbeat later.

He took one step backward. His mind was already somewhere else.

He needed to get home. NOW.

He looked at the clerk, his voice suddenly urgent, "Don't touch any of it."

The clerk blinked, "What?"

"The package." Miles pointed toward the photographs scattered across the floor, "Keep it exactly where it is."

"I'm calling the police—"

"Do it and tell them that they need to get this and then get to the towers on Karen." Miles cut him off, "Just... keep it here. I have to go."

Without waiting for another question, Miles turned and bolted through the front doors of the post office.

The bell above the entrance slammed against the glass as he disappeared into the Las Vegas morning.


A Short Time Later....

Miles came down the hall at a run and hit the bedroom doorway just as Lazarus got both hands on Kevin. For one terrible second the whole scene seemed to hold still around him. Carter lay crumpled on the floor with blood running down the side of his face. Kevin clung desperately to Lazarus' back.

The pillowcase on the bed thrashed violently as Ms. Thang fought to free herself, her terrified cries filling the room.

Then Lazarus threw Kevin. The sixteen-year-old hit the wall with a sickening thud before collapsing onto the floor.

Something inside Miles snappe, there wasn't a though, there wasn't a decision. There wasn't even anger anymore.

There was instinct.

Miles crossed the room in what felt like a single stride and drove both hands into Lazarus' chest with every ounce of momentum he had behind him.

Lazarus never saw it coming.

The impact launched him backward into the dresser hard enough to send framed photographs and lamps crashing onto the floor. Before he could regain his balance, Miles was already on him.

The first punch landed square across Lazarus' jaw, the second split his lip, the third sent blood spraying across the hardwood floor.

There was no technique, no wrestling, no measured strikes.

This wasn't the SCW World Heavyweight Champion. This was a husband, a father in every way that mattered and a man who had just walked into his own home and found his family under attack.

Lazarus tried to cover up but Miles grabbed him by the shirt, yanked him back to his feet and drove him face-first into the bedroom wall. Drywall exploded outward.

"You broke into my home!"

Another punch.

"You touched my husband!"

Another.

"You laid your hands on my son!"

Lazarus staggered sideways, desperately trying to create space but Miles refused to give him any. He caught him by the shoulder, spun him around and buried a knee into his stomach before hammering him with another right hand that dropped him to one knee. For the first time since Miles had entered the room, Lazarus looked afraid.

Miles hauled him upright again by the front of his shirt.

"You wanted me?"

He slammed Lazarus into the bedroom doorframe.

"You've got me."

Lazarus managed to shove him backward just enough to create an opening, he stumbled into the hallway. Miles was right behind him, the fight spilled into the living room. Lazarus tried to throw a dining room chair in his way followed by the the coffee table flipped onto its side.

Glass shattered somewhere as Lazarus grabbed the first thing he could reach and hurled it. Miles ducked underneath it and the object exploded against the wall behind him.

He answered by tackling Lazarus through the sofa, both men crashing to the floor in a tangle of fists, elbows and broken furniture.

Lazarus clawed at Miles' face. Miles answered with a headbutt and another barrage of punches that forced Lazarus to curl into himself. And finally Lazarus stopped moving.

Breathing heavily, Miles pushed himself back onto one knee. His chest rose and fell violently as adrenaline surged through every nerve in his body. He turned toward the hallway.

"Carter! Kevin!" His voice cracked, "You okay?"

Carter had managed to pull himself halfway upright against the bedroom doorway, one hand pressed against the bleeding gash on the side of his head. Kevin was sitting against the wall, dazed but conscious.

Carter looked up, his eyes widened, "MILES! LOOK OUT!"

At almost the same instant, "DAD!" Kevin's scream echoed through the condo.

Miles started to turn but it was too late as something hard smashed into the back of his shoulder and neck. The blow staggered him forward and the pain exploded through his upper back.

Lazarus hadn't stayed down. He'd grabbed a heavy decorative sculpture from beside the television. He swung again but Miles got one arm up this time.

The sculpture glanced off his forearm before crashing to the floor.

Lazarus lunged and the two men collided again, crashing into the dining table. Wood splintered beneath their combined weight. Lazarus clawed for Miles' throat.

Miles answered by driving repeated elbows into Lazarus' ribs until the grip finally broke.

"You just don't learn..." Miles growled through clenched teeth.

Lazarus threw another wild punch, Miles slipped underneath it and then he exploded. One right hand followed by another. A left followed by a knee and a forearm. Every strike drove Lazarus farther backward.

Toward the balcony, Lazarus stumbled into the sliding glass door. For one brief second he looked over his shoulder. That hesitation cost him as Miles lowered his shoulder and drove straight through him.

The glass door erupted into thousands of glittering pieces. The deafening crash echoed through the entire condo as both men spilled onto the balcony. Shards scattered across the concrete and Lazarus hitting hard on the concrete.

Before he could even think about getting up, Miles was already there. One hand wrapped around his throat, the other grabbed the front of his shirt. Miles hauled him bodily to his feet and drove him backward until the backs of Lazarus' legs struck the balcony railing.

Five stories below, traffic continued as though nothing in the world was wrong.

Miles looked over the edge, then back into Lazarus' eyes. For the first time Lazarus truly looked terrified.

Miles' grip tightened, "You know what the difference between you and me is?"

His voice was frighteningly calm.

"You have spent the last 2 years OBSESSED with something that you lost. You took my warning and instead of learning from it, you tried to use it against me."

Lazarus's lower back pressed painfully against the railing.

"You didn’t learn a fucking thing, bruv. I didn’t want it to come to this.."

Miles leaned in until they were nearly nose to nose.

"You broke into my home. You stalked my husband. You terrorized my family. You put your hands on my kid. I want you to understand something, you fucking toss pot."

His eyes never left Lazarus's.

"If I let go..." He glanced briefly over the edge before looking back, "...I won't lose a second of sleep over what happens next."

Inside the condo, Carter had made it to the shattered doorway, blood still running down the side of his face. Kevin stood beside him, one arm wrapped protectively around his ribs, both of them stared at the scene unfolding on the balcony.

Neither had ever seen Miles like this. Not once....Not ever.

"Miles..." Carter's voice was barely above a whisper.

Miles didn't look away from Lazarus.

"Miles..."

This time Kevin spoke, "Dad..."

That one word reached him, not because it was loud, because it wasn't. It was small, shaky and scared.

Miles blinked and for the first time since he'd burst through the front door, he actually saw them.

Carter.

Kevin.

They were alive.

They were standing....barely.

Looking at him, not with fear of Lazarus, but with fear for him.

His grip loosened.

Just slightly.

Carter took another careful step forward, "He's done. Don't let him take anything else from you."

Miles closed his eyes for the briefest moment, when they opened again, the fury was still there, but it was no longer in control.

He shoved Lazarus away from the railing, hard and Lazarus crumpled to the balcony floor in a heap and Carter wrapped his arms around his husband’s midsection with Kevin right behind him on the other side. They stood there holding one another as the distant sound of sirens grew louder, then louder still. Moments later, heavy footsteps thundered through the hallway outside the condo.

"Vegas Police! Nobody move!"

Officers flooded the apartment, weapons drawn, two immediately rushed to Carter, another to Kevin. Three more converged on the balcony. Lazarus barely had time to lift his head before they forced his arms behind his back and snapped the handcuffs into place.

For the first time in what felt like forever, he wasn't escaping. As officers hauled Lazarus to his feet and marched him back through the shattered condo, Miles never took his eyes off him.

Not a word was exchanged.

There was nothing left to say.

The nightmare that had haunted their family for so long wasn't ending with another disappearance into the shadows.

This time, Lazarus was finally leaving in handcuffs.

---------------------------------------


“I Cannot Leave My Guard Down”

The hotel balcony overlooked the water, where the last light of the evening danced across gentle waves stretching toward the horizon. The sounds of vacation surrounded the building, families laughing near the pool below, music drifting from somewhere down the beach, gulls circling lazily overhead.

For most people, it would have been peaceful.

For Miles Kasey, it was the first time in weeks that his mind had finally slowed down.

The SCW World Heavyweight Championship rested on the small table beside him, the faceplate catching the fading sunlight. He hadn't touched it since stepping outside. Instead, he leaned against the balcony railing, both hands wrapped around a bottle of water as he watched the ocean.

Inside the room, Carter, Kevin and Connor had gone downstairs to find dinner before everyone boarded the cruise the following morning. Miles had stayed behind, he needed a few minutes. Not to be alone but just to think.

He let out a slow breath before finally looking toward the camera.

"For the first time in a long time..."

A small smile crossed his face.

"...my head's actually quiet."

He laughed softly to himself.

"I didn't even realize how loud everything had gotten until it finally stopped. The last several weeks haven't exactly been about wrestling. They haven't been about championships. They haven't been about rankings. They haven't been about proving anything. They've been about protecting my family."

His eyes drifted back toward the ocean.

"They've been about making sure Carter's okay. They've been about making sure Kevin feels safe in a place that's supposed to be his home. They've been about trying to keep the people I love standing after somebody spent years trying to knock them down."

Another deep breath.

"And somehow...”

He shook his head.

"...that's exactly what brings me back to Alexander Raven."

Miles rested both forearms on the balcony railing.

"I've spent the last several weeks trying to figure him out. I kept replaying everything that's happened since Osaka. I beat him. I took the World Championship like I have wanted to do for the last 6 years. I watched Brandon Hendrix jump him from behind. I listened while he stood in the middle of a ring and talked like a man who wasn't sure if he still belonged here. I watched him pull my husband out of a fight that could've ended a whole lot worse than it did."

A thoughtful smile appeared.

"And the whole time...I kept asking myself the wrong question."

He looked directly into the camera.

"I kept asking... 'What's different about Alexander Raven?'”

A slight shrug.

"The better question is...'Why did I expect him not to change?'"

Miles leaned back against the railing.

"People change, I've changed. I'd hope I have. Six years ago, I would've looked at all of this and thought one thing. 'He's trying to play me.' 'It's mind games.' 'It's all part of some bigger plan.'”

He chuckled quietly.

"Maybe that's because six years ago I still had a lot to learn. I think losing something you've carried for as long as Raven carried that championship changes you. I think getting blindsided when you're already trying to figure yourself out changes you. I think standing in front of thousands of people and asking yourself whether you still have anything left to prove...changes you."

Miles nodded slowly.

"And maybe...that's not a weakness. Maybe that's strength. Maybe it takes more courage to admit you're lost than it does to pretend you've got all the answers."

He looked down at the World Championship sitting beside him.

"But here's the problem, Raven."

His voice remained calm.

"I can understand every bit of that. I can respect every bit of that. I can even admire some of it."

He rested one hand against the championship.

"But I can't let any of it matter. Because this..."

His fingers tapped the faceplate.

"...doesn't care. The championship doesn't care that you've changed. It doesn't care that you saved Carter. It doesn't care that you've earned my respect. It doesn't care that you've questioned retirement. It doesn't care about either one of our stories. It cares about one thing. That that is, who's better."

Miles picked the championship up from the table and settled it comfortably across his shoulder.

"For six years...I chased this. I thought winning it would be the hardest part."

He smiled.

"I was wrong. Winning it was just the beginning. Holding it...that's where champions are made. I don't get to spend my reign looking backwards. I don't get to spend my reign wondering whether Alexander Raven is okay. I don't get to spend my reign worrying about whether people get the ending they deserve. My responsibility is a lot simpler than that."

He looked directly into the lens.

"When that bell rings...I beat whoever's standing across from me. So Raven...I don't want the man who questioned whether he should retire. I don't want the man who wondered if he still belonged. I don't want the man who walked away from Osaka carrying doubts."

His eyes narrowed slightly.

"I want Alexander Raven. The man that carried this company when he defeated my husband after his ilke 5th time to become the World Champion. The man that every single one of us measured ourselves against. The man that forced me to become better than I was yesterday. The man I had to climb over to become World Champion. Because if I beat that man again..."

He adjusted the championship on his shoulder.

"...then there won't be a single question left."

The ocean breeze caught the edge of his shirt as he looked back toward the horizon.

"You've spent the last several weeks trying to figure out who Alexander Raven is without this championship."

He patted the title resting on his shoulder.

"I've spent the last several weeks figuring out who I have to be because of it. I think we're both about to find our answer."

Miles looked down one last time at the championship before lifting his eyes back to the camera.

"I respect you, Raven. I always will and you've earned that. But respect doesn't ring the bell. It doesn't win championships and it doesn't stop me from doing exactly what I've spent six years fighting to do."

His smile returned that confident, comfortable and certain.

"So when we walk onto that cruise ship...When we stand across from one another one more time...I'm not walking into that ring trying to recreate Osaka. I'm walking into that ring to prove that Osaka wasn't the greatest night of my career. It was the first night of the rest of it."

He turned back toward the ocean, resting both forearms on the railing once more.

The World Championship sat securely on his shoulder, it was not borrowed and not carried by circumstance. He earned every bit of it and he knew it.

It was Earned.

"And Raven..."

His voice carried over the sound of the waves.

"Bring me the very best you've got. Because that's the man I want to beat and that's the only victory that'll ever mean a damn thing to me."

[Alexander Raven]

One year he’d run a cocktail master class. It had garnered a bit of intrigue, but he’d been reprimanded quite viciously afterwards. He’d broken a man’s nose and essentially trapped and detained a group of people when he did it. It was a somewhat regrettable action, but it had gotten him out of doing other classes for a while there.

A bar takeover, that was fun. The crowd weren’t familiar with his and James’ bar, so the intrigue and desire had mainly come from avid wrestling fans. People who were excited to see and mingle with wrestlers in a more human setting. In an on-ship bar. It went over relatively well, but the underlying tensions with the organisers and himself were still relatively prevalent.

Luna had led a scream yoga class one year. It was a generally well-received little activity, even if it absolutely had resulted in some deep and dark secrets being screamed into the air for everyone to hear. Not everyone had enjoyed the antics however, and it was not allowed to resume for another session on the deck following. Pretentious and bitter old people who were not a fan of their peace and quiet sunbathing being disturbed by yelling and noise.

Shame for them. They could have been the biggest beneficiaries he would have believed. This year, Alex wasn’t quite sure what the plan was. His mind really wasn’t on it. The run-in with the separatists who had come from Harrison and Saoirse was still heavy in his mind. They’d made the group decision that it was probably for the best that they didn’t let Luna know that Alex had nearly painted the sidewalk with his brain matter. Those two thugs were dead as a result of Alex’s lackadaisical walk.

No, it was better to keep that one quiet for the moment. Unnecessary worry was unnecessary for a reason. That didn’t mean his own mind was clear enough to really work it all out. It seemed however that Luna was doing the hard thinking for him.

“D&D. You’ll be a natural. Just channel that inner angsty child and the rest will flow, lover.” Luna said chirpily. He blinked at her rapidly as he sat there almost dumb-founded. He had not expected to be accosted in the middle of their brunch mimosas. It was smart though.

He was far more pliable to strange requests and suggestions when he was three or four mimosas deep. A quick look at the table told him he was about seven deep. Pliability at its highest.

“I do not know the first damn thing about Dungeons & Dragons, Lu. I love your enthusiasm for garnering me some brownie points, but that… that is a horrible idea.” Alex said with just the lightest bit of confusion in his voice. Maybe that was drunkenness. He couldn’t really discern it in his own voice.

“See, I knew you’d say that. Which is why I think you’ll do great. Stick with me on this.” Luna said, as she flipped out her phone. She had clearly been thinking and planning on this for far longer than he realised. Alex leaned forward and furrowed his brow trying to steady his eyes.

The following couple of hours was a crash course and being the absolute worst Dungeon Master he could be. The fun part however is that it seemed to be what Luna referred to as ‘homebrew’. Not traditional D&D, but a wrestling themed one. What could go wrong?

Apparently, a lot could go wrong.

Later that day, and far too many mimosas later, he found himself sitting at what one could only really be The Command Deck. The Dome had been repurposed for the use of Alex and the few people who had been lucky enough to be meticulously chosen to play this game of Deathmatches & Dark Matches. Meticulous by his standards anyway. That meant he pointed at a few eager beavers who had definitely not got the memo.

So he found himself sitting at the command deck, at a table that had been made to look like a miniature wrestling ring. Four people sat around it at each corner of the traditional four sided ring. One was painted green and was definitely meant to be an orc of some kind. One was dressed head to toe in armour and metal, with a sword sheathe on his hip that was currently devoid of his implement of death.

There was a girl who was definitely the only one dressed appropriately for the heat, who had some of the most gaudish looking elf ears he had ever seen. The last one was a pity pick, a guy who was simply wearing an Alexander Raven T-Shirt, and a pair of swim shorts. Alex could only assume that he was not here for the game of D&D, but to see Alexander Raven. Alex only hoped that guy would know as little about the game as he did.

“Ladies, theydies, gentlemen and gentlethems, and to all those who identify and conform outside of the norm. Thank you for taking a moment out of your day, out of your schedule and out of your drinking and frivolity making. Thank you for choosing to spend the next few hours for these unlucky participants, and for however long you can put up with it for the crowd watching. I am Alexander Raven, for the majority of you who have already been introduced to me either through my rampaging on this or previous cruises, as well as those who are simply fans of my work. I bid you welcome, I bid you a fondness and I welcome you to this game here. Deathmatches & Dark Matches.” Alex speaks loudly, strongly and only with the slightest bit of a drunken lisp. A showman at heart.

All five of them on the stage had been set up with lapel mics that were wired into the P.A system, so that everyone could hear every grunt, cough and snort. Alex raised a glass of some atrocious tasting champagne and offered a toast to the surprisingly large crowd. Some were probably there just checking out what was going on in the Dome for the day, others were likely there to see him embarrass himself. Whatever their reasons, there was a crowd.

“Alright, let’s go around the table. Tell me about your character and then I’ll cry a little about this all and we can go from there.” Alex said as he turned to face the orc. They stiffened a little and then looked down at their character sheet.

“I uh, didn’t realise it would be wrestling themed. I might need to uh… redo my character?” The Orc lady said, to which Alex simply shook his head and pointed at the character sheet.

“Well then… My name is Zol Spite Spear, a female half-orc. Mid thirties and… really want to kill a dragon that killed my family.” She said with a little less confidence and enthusiasm than her look would make one anticipate.

“Great, so you’ll be ‘The Spite Spear’ Zol, on a journey to get redemption against Dragon Daniels, the current World Champion, known for his vicious brutality and penchant for hardcore violence.” Alex nodded at Zol, and then turned his eyes to the elf.

Turn by turn they went around the table, introduced their characters and had Alex rearrange them to be fit for a wrestling themed game. There was ‘The Spite Spear’ Zol, the ‘Avenger’ Reynauld Vexx, ‘The Elusive’ Elowyn Aisliesen and finally… ‘Super Fan’ Axel Corvus.

This was going to be a long few hours.

And they were long. Alex went through more glasses of champagne than he should have. Manipulating and contorting rules to fit a wrestling themed game. There were a lot of laughs, a lot of really bad on the spot promos that resulted in most of them getting put out with fantasy injury or dropped down the card because they couldn’t talk their way out of a paper bag. By the end of it, they all seemed to slowly be getting it.

Which meant by the end, when Alex and Axel teamed up without even the slightest bit of conversation the finale was far more exciting than any of them expected.

“I’m tired of your failures Zol! This ends here and now, at Summer XXXTreme, you’ll feel the power of the SUPER FAN!” Axel Corvus shouted across the table, standing up and pointing at her.

The confidence had built by this point at the very least.

“You’ve gone too far, Axel! We only lost the Tag Team Championships because of your own arrogance. The Spite Spear is coming to pierce your very soul, and when I do, I’ll be the one to take on Dragon Daniels!” Alex leaned over to Zol and whispered into her ear.

With no hesitation, Zol leapt from her seat and speared Axel right out of his own. There was a gasp of shock from the crowd, but there were also claps and chants. Those who had stuck around long enough had seemingly got into it. Alex was smiling to himself, as he looked across at Elowyn and tilted his head a little.

“I’d like to roll an acrobatics check to break them up!” Elowyn shouted as she looked at Zol and Axel who were now rolling around putting each other in headlocks and attempts at armbards.

Alex nodded, she rolled. A nat 20. He nodded again, and Elowyn leapt from her chair to try and get between the two of them. This however just resulted in her getting wrapped up in it all. Alex shrugged a little and turned to Reynauld Vexx and tilted his head. His brow furrowed and he handed over a token that had indicated him as the Briefcase of Opportunity holder.

“In the midst of the inner turmoil between the team, Reynauld throws aside his holier than thou beliefs and cashes in his Opportunity Briefcase, declaring himself the contender for Dragon Daniels’ World Championship. Roll to hit.”

Reynauld nods and rolls, another nat 20. These dice had to be loaded. Alex frowned as he rolled his own dice, a nat one. Alex stood up slowly and walked around the length of the table. His eyes locked on Reynauld. There was a sudden tension in the air, a sudden wash of anxiety. Axel, Zol and Elowyn had stopped fighting and they too were staring at the situation before them.

Alex leaned down and whispered into Reynauld’s ear. Reynauld tilted his head and looked almost shocked at whatever Alex had said to him. But Alex simply squeezed his shoulder and nodded. Without a moment’s hesitation, Reynauld had his hand around Alex’s throat and threw his arm over his shoulders. Alex went up, and then he came crashing back down, right through the miniature ring and table. Slammed to the floor of the stage.

Luna came running and slid in, adorned with a referee’s themed dress. Somehow she pulled it off, despite the absolutely gaudish colouring and design. She pointed at Reynauld then at Alex, and nodded furiously.

Reynauld dropped down and pinned Alex, Luna made the count. One… two… three!

Despite the agony of it all, people were pretty happy with the show. The players themselves had seemingly come around to the absolutely awful game of Deathmatches & Dark matches, and even gotten into his haphazard bending of the traditional TTRPG rulesets.

As Alex lay there, he simply stared up at the roof of the dome and closed his eyes. He really fucking hated these cruises.

“I love you, Lexi.” Luna whispered in his ear, placing a gentle kiss to his cheek as she stood up and held Reynauld’s arm in the air. Alex smiled a little, and then the reality of how drunk he was truly hit him. The buck and roll of the ship was just gentle enough that it felt like a sweet hammock rolling him to sleep. Which is exactly what he did.

He fell asleep, drunk and tired, right in the middle of the wreckage of what had been their terrible little setup for the terrible little game of D&D. For a moment, it actually seemed like people liked him.


“What is the silence like, Miles? I have to ask. The biggest irony in my life is the more I think about what it would be like, the louder my mind becomes. I don’t exist in a place that allows for silence. I don’t exist in a time that allows for a breath of fresh air. The overthinker is forever an overthinker. I’m thinking about what my friend James would be telling me to do. I’m thinking about what is best for my wife. Thinking about whether she is telling me straight or if there is a deeper meaning that must be understood through her words.”

“In the last few weeks, my mind has become increasingly noisy. A place filled with clashing thoughts, inner turmoil. Doubts, confidence, a battling of ideologies. The ideas of retirement, the ideas of forced exit. Swansongs, careers, the future, the past. All of it a whirlpool of thought and noise inside a head that really does not have the capacity for it all anymore.”

“I’m glad you’ve found that clarity Miles. I’m glad that the moments that have been causing you a furious uproar of synaptic firings have settled. That there is peace in the home, for that peace. I often wonder what it would be like. Unfortunately, I am cursed to an existence without it. A mind that does not settle, that does not calm. A mind that continues to play a background track of noise because silence. Silence is terrifying. Silence is like death in the chamber. Silence is the begging abyss attempting to lull you in.”

“The more I think about silence, the less comfortable it makes me. I used to have these nightmares, my grandfather caused them. Nightmares that he used to have himself. I hate ships, Miles. I hate them deeply. I hate them because of those nightmares. I’ll tell you about them. About the noise that exists because of the mind that cannot escape these turmoils.”

“My grandfather worked on a naval carrier during the Korean War. A navy man tasked with upkeeping and taking care of the carriers. An electrical engineer realistically. Never academically trained, but he was a trusted pair of hands. They used to play this game when the waves were rolling. When the ship was being tossed hither and to. In the depths of the night, they would climb into the cockpit of one of the planes strapped to the deck.”

“The sea is a furious mistress. When she is angry, ships are thrown about like a child splashing his toys in the bath. Mercilessly, and it is unbelievable that this metal colossi can just continue barrelling through the water. They would climb into these cockpits, and they would wait. They would sit themselves up in there, strap in and wait. They never needed to wait long. The waves would come and the ship would roll and buck. One second they’re staring at the darkness of the deck, the next the sky as the ship reels back. Then the horror would come.”

“As they stared into the darkness, the ship would roll back to correct itself. No longer the beautiful night sky, or the seeming familiarity of the deck. No, they would be staring into oblivion itself. The ship so aggressively keeled that they would be staring straight into the ocean. The angry, roaring ocean that sought to throw all intruders upon its face into the depths below. To feed the creatures that exist simply to cleanse its interiors.”

“As they stared the restraints would strain. They would struggle, and to ensure damage to the planes? They would allow them to move. They would begin to roll towards oblivion. Towards the depths below and almost be swallowed whole by it. They would stare into the ocean that beckoned them to death and pray that the restraints held. Pray that the ship did not capsize. Pray that they would climb out of that plane again. The nightmares weren’t of dogfights and sky bombings.”

“The sea was the most terrifying thing in the world.”

“Calmness is a peace that brings comfort. Silence however. Silence is those moments while the ship rolled, and the plane would begin to slide towards the screaming ocean waves. Towards an inevitable death. A man trapped in a metal bird, in the middle of a raging sea, in the depths of the night. I hate ships, Miles. There is no silence for me here.”

“It is healthy to ask yourself questions, Miles. I would be surprised if there wasn’t every single person waiting with baited breath. Waiting for me to spring my next trick, my next action. Waiting for Alexander Raven to do what they all expect him to do. Mind games.”

“I have made my career off getting under people’s skin. Making them question themselves, making them wonder. Comfort and confidence in their beliefs of me, only to be thrown completely to the wayside by the next movement. The next play of the game. It is smart not to trust what is before you, because even as confident as I am in this moment. As reproached as I am, as… contemplative as I am.”

“There isn’t a person in this world who would tell you to trust Alexander Raven. Smart, really. Respect goes a long way in my life. Everything is interaction, a transaction, of respect. Of understanding. Of forgiveness and accountability. Trust is in short supply at the best of times, and only six weeks removed from the man who would do anything to have anything I want? It would be smart to believe the nagging voices. Believe the voices of those who are telling you not trust me. It would be smart for you to believe that voice in the back of your head, that is still telling you one thing.”

“Alexander Raven cannot change. Alexander Raven isn’t really different. It would be smart, because I wouldn’t believe it myself. I would not be able to look at a man who had done what I have done. I would not be able to look at a man I respect for what he does, but also think that it is different.”

“I wouldn’t trust me, but in this moment. In this very moment, I simply have to ask you to do just that. I have to ask the impossible of the world. I have to ask the impossible of you, of Carter, of the people who will be watching and wondering. Deciding if they believe that there is anything left of the Alexander Raven who sought to take everything from you and everyone you loved. I must ask that you trust that revelation and light has brought me to a place where I do not care to take everything away.”

“No, I simply seek to quiet my mind. To silence the demons. To bring some peace to the nightmares. I will never stop hating ships, I will never stop hating birds. I will never stop being Alexander Raven, but the Alexander Raven that stands here now? There’s just a little less of him, and a little more of me. Of Alexander Rabenschwarz, the man behind the mind games. The scared child who doesn’t know what comes next.”

“The man with the nightmares, the man with the turmoil and agony. The one who repeats himself time and time again, because he hopes beyond all hope that this time. This is the time he remembers what he did wrong, what he has done to create the villain that everyone sees. The one that nobody trusts. That this time it is different, and I beg of you. I beg of Carter, I beg of the world. Let me show you what is different. Let me show you that here and now, in this place and time. There is something different. A changed man, a man focused.”

“But change doesn’t alter my course. Change doesn’t stop that burning deep desire. Change does not make a man weak. Change does not hope to change that which I need to feel alive. To feel alive, I want… I need to be the measuring stick. I have an ego, I am a narcissist. No matter how much I project and argue on it. No matter how much I tear others down for it. No matter the requirements, I fit them to a tee.”

“Changed though the mentality might be, the outcome must be the same. I must have the World’s Heavyweight Championship. Not to keep it from the world, not to keep it from you. Not to keep it from Carter, or LJ, or the likes of the Lyons clan. No, in the same way that I sought to prove myself  when I reigned as Internet Champion. In the same way I sought to try and change things around here when I did stand as Worlds Champion for albeit a brief moment. When I stood across the ring from Kevin Carter to punish him for his wickedness.”

“I seek what I must, and that is to be World Champion again. To hold that belt, to be the king atop the mountain. With no questions about it, no qualms. No deniers of truth. To silence the likes of Brandon Hendrix and Logan Hunter. The nipping and tearing claws of James Huntington-Hawkes that linger in the back of mind. To rectify the path I took to get to Carter. To ensure another Alex Jones does not rear his head.”

“I must be the one to head the ship that we are on, because I must be the man who can silence my own doubts. To exist in those moments of clarity, of understanding. To justify my own past actions in a way that makes today’s Alexander Raven even more dangerous. The Ring General, the man of many names. The player of mind games, and the wordsmith of asinine and innocuous language. I need to be that man and in order to be that man, I need to step upon you once more.”

“Change is dangerous Miles, for sometimes change brings out something worse and something better. A man focused, a man with a desire. A desire to be the one to get off the ship. To be the one who holds the Worlds Championship once more. To prove that it was no fluke, no flash in the pan. To prove that every time I’ve had the opportunity it was simply a matter of difference in the final moments and not an inevitability.”

“This may be built on respect, on trust. On two men of different paths finding the same crossroads on that journey. Two men who have spent weeks working their way through their own minds. Whilst your mind is finally allowing for silence, for a moment of peace. Mine will continue to refuse that to me. It will continue to ruin that for me. I will never have peace, Miles. That is why this is not a Swansong for me. This is why this isn’t a retirement tour for me. A final burst of life.”

“This is all I have, because the only time my mind is quiet. The only time is when that bell rings. When there is nothing else but me and the destination. Between me and the goal. When the only thing that matters in that moment is the victory. The win. It is a dangerous path to walk for an addict, for that is what I am. An addict.”

“I am addicted to that feeling when it all comes together. That no matter how much I change, that moment is all that matters. When I step in the ring and the bell goes. When it comes down to those deep and dark moments. To those difficulty lengths. When ten, fifteen, twenty, thirty, sixty minutes have trickled by and two men refuse to give. That is what gets me going. That is what gets me high.”

“I am an alcoholic, I am a smoker. I am an addict to the pain, to the adrenaline. I am a junkie for this, because this is all I have. This is all I want. This is all I need. So yes, Miles. When that bell rings, it does not matter anymore. It does not matter about the respect, about the change. About the thoughts and the melodrama. When the bell rings and the World Heavyweight Championship is on the line once more. Only one thing will matter at that moment. Only one thing will ring out as truth.”

“Can Alexander Raven win the World Heavyweight Championship again?”

“I am going to prove that it was no result of another. That it was no question. That even now, in my hardest of moments. On days where my body takes hours to warm up enough to even get going. That in the days where there is nothing left, that I have one thing. That no matter how good anyone else is. No matter how much people like Brandon Hendrix attempt to steal that spotlight from me. The simple fact remains.”

“I am Alexander Raven, and at my best? There is not a single man, woman or anything in-between or out. Not a single person who is better. I am sorry that I must end the dream for you Miles, but I have a legacy to continue building.”

“I’ll see you in the ring.”