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James Raven · (05-18-2019)

TWO NIGHTS AGO
1:03 AM
JUST OUTSIDE PITTSBURGH, PA

I pull my bike into the parking lot, rolling it quietly to a stop in a space as far from the bars main entrance as possible. My headlight shines brightly into the night until I switch off the ignition and plunge myself into the darkness. I listen to the gentle hissing and pops of my cooling engine, blending with the chirping crickets in the distance. There's no passing traffic, no mindless chatter to overhear... just a soothing calm that washes over me and eases some of my tension. I lean over on my kickstand and relax, taking a few deep breaths of the cool night air.

It's been a long ride. Five hours non stop from Toronto with nothing but the roar of vehicles passing me on the highway and the overwhelming sea of thoughts bouncing around inside my skull. In just over a week I'll be in Russia of all places, facing off against a team of four of the most dangerous men I've encountered in my entire career, locked in a double cage for a War Games match that promises to tear flesh from bone and separate the true Legends from the washed up has-beens.

I'll be facing off with men that have all taken great pride in spilling my blood at one point or another and now unite to try and tarnish a company that's become my home, and my business. They all want to prove they're better than me, and that they're better than the XWF.

I have no intentions of coming up on the wrong end of that equation.

I slide off the bike and stretch my arms high over my head, feeling a crackle up the length of my spine and a rush of blood to my brain. More deep breaths; I just need to relax, I always find a way to convince myself that the sky is falling before a match... but that's exactly why I've come to Pittsburgh, to avoid that.

JEREMY SILVER: There you are! Christ! I've been here for an hour and a half!

I turn and see my agent standing outside the bars front door, shirt collar flipped up around his neck and arms crossed tightly against his chest to prevent from shivering as he makes his way over to me. His feet crunch softly on the gravel as he approaches, a shit eating grin on his face.

JAMES RAVEN: That's your fault. I told you I'd call you when I got here and you could meet me.

SILVER: Did you really expect me to do that? Sit at the hotel and wait for your call like a bitch in need of a prom date? And what else was I supposed to do, go out in this town and talk to Steelers fans? FUCK. That. Goddamn mouth breathing dummies, the lot of 'em.

RAVEN: Whatever.

SILVER: Hey! Relax, baby! I'm just messin' around!

RAVEN: I'm not in the mood. I literally JUST got here, can you chill for ten minutes and let me get my bearings?

His expression softens and his gaze falls to the ground, nodding apologetically. I take a deep breath and remind myself that he's here for me, standing outside a bar in the middle of the night across the country from his home on nothing more than a phone call because he had heard I might need a pep talk. No questions asked. He deserves some slack.

RAVEN: Sorry. It's good to see you. Thanks for coming.

SILVER: Of course.

RAVEN: Are they here yet?

SILVER: I don't think so. I've been asking since I got here, and nobody seems to know shit. They're looking at me like I'm crazy, too.

RAVEN: If the shoe fits.

SILVER: Shut the fuck up.

I try to make my way past him and towards the entrance but he puts an open palm on my chest and stops me dead. He stares deep into my eyes, then studies my entire face carefully. He looks around to make sure there's nobody lingering in the lot, but this isn't exactly a local hotspot. We're alone.

SILVER: Be honest with me. How are you feeling?

RAVEN: I don't know.

SILVER: That's not honest.

I roll my eyes and try to storm past him again but he digs the heels of his Italian loafers into the gravel and keeps me in place.

SILVER: James! It's me! I'm not a reporter or an opponent looking for a fucking weakness! I've been with you since day one, if you can't tell me what's in your head who are you planning to trust?

He's right. He's right more often than I like to let him know.

RAVEN: Did I fuck up? Since I came out of retirement I've been pretty open about chasing things that remind me of the old days, things that make me feel like the old Raven again... when Page showed up in the XWF again and demanded he get a team at War Games, I got my wish, but I think it clouded my judgment.

He tries to follow me, but he's struggling.

RAVEN: I mean, I'm a part owner of the company now! If I really wanted to protect it I could have found a way to keep Page out! I could have blocked Rage and MDK from making it through the gates... but instead I let my ego get the best of me and I agreed to fight them all! I put the reputation of this company and the fans on the line against a bunch of invaders. That's bigger than me, and I didn't get a second opinion. CCP has come in beating an "anti-XWF" drum, but what if he finds a way to win? What does that say? The entire federation is tarnished because I'm just not as good as I used to be?

SILVER: Shut the fuck up.

RAVEN: No! You asked, so now you'll fucking listen! I'm NOT the guy I was ten years ago when I was kicking the shit out of these guys every other week! I'm barely in the ring these days, and it's an uphill battle against this new generation every fucking time! Now I have to fight off four hall of famers and hope I don't let down every single fan and-

He slaps me hard across the face, stunning me. His jaw is clenched, eyes blazing with intensity.

SILVER: You're not doing this woe is me bullshit, Raven. Not now. Sometimes life's easy. This is not one of those times, so gather your fucking balls and get to fucking work! We both know you weren't going to keep CCP out with red tape and paperwork, and if he's got a couple of WGWF lieutenants willing to follow him then the XWF needs an army of it's own. Vinnie Lane was willing to open the door to this, do you think he's going to suddenly try and slam it shut? Do you think Lux or Vita or Duke or Big fucking D are going to understand the threat that's facing them and unify? OF COURSE NOT! You did what had to be done, and you were the only one that could do it.

RAVEN: But what if-

SILVER: STOP! STOP IT! You can run the hypothetical scenarios all night but it doesn't change anything! You've got a literal dream team with you! Stop acting like you're running a gauntlet match! ROBERT Main is the Universal champion, dude! Are you trying to say he's dead weight? Drew Archyle is one of the most underrated stars in the company, and Centurion is a legend! Each and every one of them have fought by your side before and you know damned well you couldn't have handpicked a better group than this one that came together organically. MDK and CCP have been feuding for a decade! What are the odds they're suddenly on the same page? Do you think Fuzz has any allegiance to those three? The entire team are hired guns, halfway crooks... but the Apex Prophecy is the future.

This is why I keep him around. Maybe it's a little cheesy and over the top, and maybe there's a few cliché's mixed in... but I needed to hear it. There's a hundred reasons why I have the edge heading into this. I just need to maintain perspective, stay focused, and most importantly stay positive. Easier said than done.

RAVEN: Sometimes life's easy... this just isn't one of those times...

Jeremy smiles at me, nodding his head slowly and knowing he managed to break through a bit. I glance over his shoulder and notice a woman walking towards us from the bars front door, high heels digging into the small stones and hips switching from side to side as she moves. She stops a few yards away. I've met her before, the last time I was here.

CLAIRE: Mr. Raven? We've been expecting you, please allow me to escort you to your party.

SILVER: Hold on. I've been here close to two hours now, and I've said a dozen times I was here with Raven!

CLAIRE: Well, the party never asked me to come get you, so... I didn't...

SILVER: Cunt.

RAVEN: WHOA!

CLAIRE: It's OK. Mr. Raven? If you would? Your friend can wait outside.

She steps aside and gestures towards the bar. Jeremy's jaw drops as he realizes the consequences of his words. He looks pleadingly at me, then back to the hostess.

SILVER: Hold on, are you shitting me?! I fly all the way from California to this shit hole, sit here all goddamn night, then don't get to be a part of the meeting?! Because of one little "cunt"?

CLAIRE: No, because they told me to leave you outside.

SILVER: ... oh, that's cold. Raven, tell your friends they're assholes.

He looks at me as I turn to follow the woman inside, shrugging my shoulders helplessly. Defeated, he spins around and trudges aimlessly across the lot to wait for me. I have a feeling he's going to be waiting out here for a long time.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for tuning in to XWF masterpiece theatre! In tonight's episode 'Chronic' Chris Page storms the companies gates with a renegade faction of yes men, claiming our talent inferior and stating his intent to slay us all en masse on his way to a Universal championship and the thing that's always eluded him, the respect of his peers!"

Wait, hang on. Can we check the program info on this? I swear it said it's a new episode but I saw this exact same story in 2009. Chris wouldn't possibly be hack enough to try and infiltrate the same company with the same canned speeches and buzzword laced superiority rampages, would he? Pause the tape! Study the faces standing behind him in the background, does anyone see Dean James or Paul Frost or Sam Hain?

NO?! MDK, Rage and... Fuzz? I could have sworn Fuzz worked for me again? Whatever, I definitely don't need him, but this most certainly isn't the 2009 story; the one that ended with CCP failing to ever capture the Universal title and eventually heading back to the land of home cooking and field advantage when we shattered his ego. This is just a shitty reboot, albeit with a better supporting cast.

We've been here before, Chris. You can pay for as much time as you want on XWF weekly programming (thanks, by the way, that's money in MY pocket these days) and tell the fans how you're the second coming, but you can't rewrite the history. You tried this already Chris! Am I getting that fucking point across?! You tried and you failed to prove the exact same things you've made a mission statement of now! No matter how many times you found the deck stacked in your favor and tried to cheat your way to the top there was always a Ranma Saotome waiting to pimp slap you off of your pedestal like you were late with his fucking money. There was always a Big Shank or a James Raven, and now there will always be a Lux or a ROBERT Main waiting in our place to humble you when you feel froggy.

I was 19 when I beat you for the first time, Chris. I still remember the stench of purple haze in the air each time I knocked the wind from your lungs and scored myself a second hand high. I still remember the horror in your eyes a month later when I hurled you from the roof of the Hell Dome and cost you the big gold belt you wanted so badly. I'll acknowledge I lost a step in my years of absence, but do you think you've improved? Do you think your lungs can somehow carry you further after you've smoked Snoop Dogg to shame, or your body is somehow peaking after years of half assed circle jerks you called matches with the core six people you passed off as a Monday Night Brawl roster?

You're not ready for this kind of smoke, Page.

The Apex Prophecy is not some makeshift band of roster scraps trying to slow your momentum. It's a sledgehammer waiting to smash you to pieces before you realize the bell's rung. You and the team you've somehow cobbled. Speaking of which...

Hello, Rage; my old friend.

If I thought Page was a relic from the past I don't even know what to call you. It's been years since I've heard from you, even longer since I've seen you, and even longer still since anyone knew anything about you in a ring. After all we've been through over the years, all of the bloodshed and tears and beating respect out of each other... you chose to side with him? After all of the speeches we made, burying hatchets and promising our allegiance to each other, after you worked with The Prophecy and we put on a series of matches that attaches our names forever... you chose him?

I don't know what your endgame is here, but I'm disappointed. While sometimes misguided I always considered you loyal and fair. We can't go into this match and pretend we're still friends at his point. I'm tossing out all of my expectations of you, and we're starting fresh at War Games. As far as I know you're just the violent goon that demanded blood and fire and brimstone to work his way through the XWF ranks because he lacked the technical prowess. You're the guy I managed to upstage repeatedly months into my professional career and stay a step ahead of for the next ten fucking years.

War Games should be right up your alley. It's suited to guys like you and Page, but there's a couple of boys on my side that aren't afraid of some brutality themselves. Drew Archyle is going to fly around that cage like a fucking cannonball, cracking ribs and concussing you treacherous fucks every time you take your eyes off of him... and ROBERT Main is a savage. Did you see the tape of what he did to Chris Chaos? He left him in a bloody heap and carried the title belt out in less time than it takes the Ryan brothers to rip your bong, if you catch my drift. Did you see him turn Ned Kaye into a zombie, and beat his brains in with a ladder before calmly heading home to cash his check?

I know you guys are familiar with Centurion and I, and I'm sure you've managed to convince yourself you stack up well against us, but these new kids? They're something special, and they may be the deciding factor in sending you all packing back to a fifteenth relaunch of the WGWF. I'm sure Kyle Shane and John Cable are available.

MDK is sure to be back. You guys have become a nice retirement home for him, away from the spotlight and scrutiny of everyone else he knew. Every time I mention the guy on social media, without fail, someone exclaims "Danny is still alive?!". It's a shame, Tenegra. Out of everyone on this team you're the one who still seems to have something going. It's no secret, you've beaten me twice, and while I can make excuses or justify the losses at the end of the day the scoreboard flashes in your favor. On your own I'd have welcomed you to our ranks, I'd have eagerly thrown you into the talent pool and watched you work your way to the top... but you took the cowards way, Danny. You sold your soul to a man you've tried to tear the throat from, you've attacked me from behind in my own company... and for what? Because he asked you too?

I'm disappointed in you too, Danny. I always gave you more credit than that.

Revenge is a powerful motivator. I've wanted another shot at you for a while, and you've done nothing but fuel the fire since joining this anti-XWF brigade and co-signing with CCP in a battle you didn't ever need to concern yourself with. While Page may be the face of the team, and Rage may be the man I've got the most history with... I'm eyeing you, Tenegra. I've got some receipts to send your way.

Finally, Fuzz... it's only fitting to mention the Afterthought last.

The last man to stick his nose into the scene, the final to align himself with the same Chris Page he tried to end years ago. What's YOUR excuse, Shawn? Did you forget about the hypodermic needles and your epic battles with CCP when he first tried to destroy our fed? What's changed? Are you that desperate to work your way into a main event after losing a title belt to Big D of all people, that you'd ship your pride and dignity down the river to join three men that don't give a shit about you just to see your face on a fucking poster? You're the bottom of the totem pole, Fuzz, the first to be sold down the river when things get tough in Russia. Rage and MDK have no loyalty to you, and Page has loyalty to nobody.

Eyes wide, Warstien. Get one of them before they can get you.

You've got the best resume of anyone on your squad, Fuzz, but you're the weakest link. Your fall from grace is the thing of legends, and while a quick win here or there may seem like the beginning of a momentum wave you'll soon realize your a day late and a dollar short for anything beyond a 24/7 title and a nostalgic vestige for parents bringing new fans of Thaddeus Duke to the shows.

Promise me that if you start to slide too badly you'll just disappear into the night again. I'm not sure I can bear to see you stick around and embarrass yourself worse than your ownership tenure.

You're seeing all of this, right Chris? You don't have a team. You have a group of people that have all tried to take everything you have at some point or another, united under some flimsy hatred of a company that we ALL KNOW YOU NEED!!!

You're here because you have nowhere else. You're here because your resources dried up and none of you can survive running a house show every few months and pretending WGWF is a viable brand. It's our payroll that'll keep you in the black, and our title belts that will feed your ever starving egos. It's our roster that will keep you relevant. Our pay per views that keep the spotlight on your face and out of the cold shadows you've all been living in.

Pretend to hate us.

Pretend to want us gone.

Keep that same energy when you start to feel the pressure in Russia and cannibalize "Team Page", each sensing a loss on the horizon and trying to save yourself in the process. A fair word of warning; Apex Prophecy will not be accepting applications when you realize CCP was a false prophet. We're going to massacre you all.

One more week.

This is a warning shot. Next time you see me, the kid gloves are off.

Fear the Raven... Forevermore.

Claire leads me inside the bar, an empty room with a lone tender behind the countertop watching baseball highlights idly. She motions towards the kitchen. I know where I'm going, I've been here plenty of times before. I work my way around the meat station and across the room to the dishwasher, rounding a corner and making my way down a long and narrow flight of stairs to the basement. My heels echo softly with the low ceilings, and Claire's stilettos are sharp and loud behind me. We pass a small managers office, then an ice machine and walk in freezer. We pass the booze storage, and a maintenance closet, then finally reach a small door... the private bar.

I stand aside as Claire slides a keycard quickly and pushes the door open, revealing the group that's been sitting inside.

I see Blizzard and Big Shank immediately, giant smiles on their faces as they raise whiskey glasses to my arrival. This is why I came to Pittsburgh, to see these two before heading to Russia and have a night of-

I start to recognize more of the faces sitting around the room. Legends of the XWF from the glory years; Universal champions and fan favorites all staring at me expectantly. I feel my heart begin to race, my stomach leaping up to the back of my throat. What the fuck is this? It's a fucking ambush!

BIG SHANK: Relax. We just didn't know if you'd come, knowing it was going to be everyone...

I scan the group. The angry Italian, the stinger, the hate razor, the primo, the VIP and countless others eye me up and down.

AIDAN COLLINS: We need to talk.

RAVEN: About what?

SHANK: About everything. Your ownership in XWF, XWF Classic, XX-

RAVEN: Oh fuck, not now! I don't have anything ready to present to these guys, I'm trying to get it all together, but the time isn't right! I need to worry about Chris Page and War Games.

COLLINS: Right. We need to talk about that too.

This is a nightmare. I came five hours for drinks with friends before one of the biggest matches of my career and these guys want a business presentation? They want to pick apart deals I've been working on for months and discuss how I'm in over my head?

RAVEN: No. Fuck this. I'm not ready for this, you guys are cocks.

Big Shank stands up and makes his way over to me, placing a hand on my shoulder to try and reassure me.

SHANK: You don't understand. There's something happening here, and it's not just on you. We all want to protect what we built. Sit. We talk. You listen.

Aidan motions to an empty chair and slides a whiskey class across the table to it. Slowly I take my place, as instructed. I glance around the room again, the supportive faces of men and women I consider family after everything we've put each other through.

This is bigger than me and Page.

This is bigger than the Apex Prophecy.

COLLINS: Let's get started.

Sometimes life's easy.

Maybe, just maybe, this is one of those times...

FADE
TO
BLACK

Threaded Mode \| Linear Mode Sometimes Life's Easy (RP #4 of 8 for Apex Prophecy vs. Team Page)
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