And so here we are at the “super show”, the event that people have waited all year for, the event that will be talked about around the office water cooler’s until the end of the year. And to think, it almost didn’t matter at all.

It was almost an event no one would have watched, it was nearly a night no one gave a shit about, but then Jonathyn Brown made the right decision, and he booked me. Now I know I’m not in a title match, I know I’m not in the main event, but that doesn’t really matter now does it? The mere fact that I am making an appearance in the event will bring ratings up five-fold.

Here’s the one small complaint I have, though. I don’t care that I’m not in a title match, because I came up short in my last attempt, I deserve to earn my way back into a headlining spot. I don’t care that I'm not in the upper card, because a win is a win no matter where in the night you pick it up.

No, the thing that really bothers me is my opponent. I mean, Robb Forrester? Who the fuck is this guy? I have to be honest, the first time I saw him backstage I tipped him, because I thought he was with the caterer or the stage crew. I mean look at the guy… just based on his physical appearance, well, lets be honest… you don’t think wrestler. His body doesn’t scream athlete. Hell, it is a few steps away from saying “unemployed asshole”. Now in the ring, he is slightly more impressive. He has picked up a few nice wins so far in his young career, and to anyone who studies him closely there are two things that stick out. First of all, he is the current True Violence champion. You want to know my response to that? Who gives a fuck? It’s the TV title… it’s a novelty belt around here. It goes to the guy who can make his opponent lay down for a ten-count… fuck, I could just have Hawaiian Hardhead sit on the champion, because if he did that you know damn well that no one will stand up. That belt is like a glorified Xtreme title. It was brought in when the XWF had a shortage on gold, so Jon Brown went into his office and grabbed a piece of scrap metal from the parking garage and nailed it to a strap of leather, then tried to act like it had some sort of prestige.

I think Boondock Saint has the right idea with this whole unification match. I mean, theres no point in having two titles reward people for having skill in the Xtreme style matches. Besides, those matches are for the people who cant win a regular match, so they need to think up some bullshit like a crucifixion or inferno match, just because the last time they lined up with someone they discovered they couldn’t get a pin fall. So there you have it, Rage against Robb Forrester. Which jack ass can prove more competent in a match no one cares about? Easy answer… Rage.

I know me saying that is a bit of a shock to a lot of people. Are Rage and I best friends now? Do we go for picnics in the park and push Lunatic in the swing? Do we take each other to basketball games and ooh and aah when Kobe Bryant throws down a 360 windmill? Fuck… to… the… no.

See, I don’t like the guy. I still don’t want to have anything to do with him on a personal level, but in a professional level, the man has my respect, and there are very few people in this company that can say that and have it be true.

I don’t lose often Robb, you can see that in my record. In my entire career, I have lost five matches. One was against the entire XWF roster, and I came in second. One of them was a match in which the referee was my enemy and attacked me right as I was about to pick up the win. Once, I was abandoned by my tag team partner and forced to fight with uneven odds. In those matches, I wasn’t beaten fairly, I was forced to face tremendous odds, and in each one, I almost pulled out the win… almost.

My point is if you take away those bull shit matches, I have two losses… both to Rage. Granted, the inferno match was a cheap victory on his part, where I dominated him most of the match and then had my hair spark and immediately go out, which unfortunately, was still ruled as me “being set aflame” so I lost. Later that night I went on to beat Zach Rizza and Alex Cutwright to retain my tag team titles, which were later ripped away from me for no good reason.

However, Rage and I had a fourth match… and in that match, we waged war. We pummeled each other, and we made each other bleed. We made each other cry out in anguish and we made each other pray that the agony would end. In the end, for the first time in my career, I lost fair and square. I had no excuses, I was flat out beaten… but at the same time I had no reason to feel sorry for myself. You see Robb… I was beaten by one of maybe four or five men in the XWF I honestly have respect for. I was beaten by a worthy competitor and a future World Champion… I was beaten by a man who for all intents and purposes that night, was better than me.

This brings me to the second “note worthy” thing about your career Robb. This is the only thing that makes me give you a second look. This is the only thing you have accomplished that makes me think “Huh, maybe the kid’s got something”. You beat Rage…

You took the man who demolishes everything in his path, and you beat him. Now does this earn you respect in my book? No. You have to beat me to get that. Does this make me think you are better than him? No. It makes me believe you have just enough skill to capitalize on an off night for him. Does this make me think you are a worthy TV champion? Well, maybe, but as I established earlier I see the TV title as slightly more valuable than a box of Count Chocula cereal and slightly less valuable than a Josh Beckett baseball card, so that’s nothing to hang your hat on.

I want to know what could have possibly happened that made you beat Rage though. I mean, I have done it twice, so I know its possible… but I'm good… so what's your excuse?

I mean, you aren’t that good, and your only XWF came from a man who got hit by a car… how much of a challenge could that have honestly been? I rank it about on par with beating QC Thug, so congratulations.

How did you even end up scheduled against me? Everyone around here knows that you are so out of my league that it is not even funny. Comparing you and I is like comparing Star Jones to Jessica Alba in a beauty contest, its not even close. Comparing us is like comparing a 1982 Pinto to a Mercedes Benz… no one wants the ghetto mobile, sorry. I can only assume that Jon Brown realized that he needed me booked and made a general announcement, asking the entire roster “Who wants to face James Raven at 08-08-08?”. I have to believe that no one really volunteered, so Jon looked around going “Anyone? Anyone? Uhhhhh… Please? Someone? Bueler? Bueler?” Finally someone raised their little quaking hand and Jon went “Great, thank… you… wait… you? Really? Wow, I guess so… ok”

Wow… so what was it Robbie? What made you want to step toe to toe with me? What made you want to stare across the ring at me? Do you think you can make a name for yourself by beating me? Do you think you can put a stamp on your career by beating the next XWF World Champion? Lets just take a look at our career’s, do a little compare and contrast thing, and see how it is you think you even deserve to face off with me. I have won five matches against former Universal champions, I have a 3-0 record against the current Universal champion and future legend Zach Rizza. I dominated Bigg Rigg, and picked up the win over the seven time World Champion and legend. I have beaten Alex Cutwright, I have beaten Nick Ryan. I have beaten Rage and Lunatic, and I have beaten Mark Wilder.

What have you done? Who have you beaten and what titles have you won? You beat Shawn Hunt, a hit-and-run victim, for your only title… you beat Rage in a match that Hunter Ryan interfered in, so that was a little cheap… you beat… uhhhhhhh… well… no one important. Congratulations, no one cares.

I guess that somehow someone sees some kind of potential in you. I'm just saying, I'm not one of them. I mean, part of that is just the hair… I can’t take someone seriously when they rock that waist length, greasy, uncombed hair do. I'm sorry but you are one leather jacket away from being an Axel Rose roadie. Seriously? SERIOUSLY? You are a wrestler? You look like you may have been at one point… kind of like when football players eat a lot after they retire, and the muscle sticks around but gets covered by that doughy layer of fat. You look, well you look like one of those Celebrity Rehab people from that show on VH1. You have the stubble on the chin, the wrinkles around the eyes, the sunken, sallow skin and the sagging muscles that are losing mass faster than Nicole Richie.

I'm going to be 100% honest about this Robbie, you don’t have the skill to take me out. You don’t have the speed, the strength, the durability, the agility the ability or the anything-else-that-ends-with-ility, to keep me down long enough for that ref’s hand to slap the canvas three times. I'm sorry, I'm not trying to be rude, I'm not trying to make you cry or curl up in a corner. I'm trying to protect you honestly. I'm trying to not let you think you have a shot, I'm trying to not let you get confident or god forbid cocky with your ability, because when I pimp slap you across the ring, I don’t want you to retire. I don’t want you to bitch and moan that you got cheated. I don’t want you to go home and cry to your husband that you aren’t good enough to make it in this business, because here is the inside scoop, Robb… no one wants to hear that because we already know. No one expects you to win this match. No one thinks you can beat me and no one thinks you will hold onto that title much longer. So how about we make a deal? You lay down in that ring and allow me to pin you easily, and I wont hurt you any more than I have to. Sound good? I doubt it. You have too much pride to just lay down and take it, even if it is the smartest thing for you.

So, let me lay out exactly what I plan on doing to you Robb. I plan on slapping you around like Bobby slapped Whitney Houston, I plan on tearing you up worse than Tommy Lee and half of the United States Marine Corp tore Pamela Anderson, I will spank you harder than Raziel spanks Cyren and if you try and run away like a little bitch during the match, I will chase you like Hawaiian Hardhead chases boobs (which is ironic since he has the biggest set in the XWF).

That’s all I have to say to you Ronnie, er, Robbie. Not because I don’t have anything else to say, because trust me, I do… no, its just because you aren’t really worth much more of my time. You don’t warrant the breath from my lungs, so I leave you with this, come 08-08-08, you will fear the Raven…

Fuck it, it’s not even worth finishing that off now. I have other shit to get to now. First of all… someone I haven’t faced or heard from in a long, long time. QC Thug. Dude, where the fuck have you been? Oh, right… Impact. Come on Thug, really? You got signed to the XWF the same time as my brother, he retired, he came back, he left, I joined, he died and I moved to Massacre and now I am in the World title match… where are you? STILL ON FUCKING IMPACT! You don’t have the skill to compete here man, I mean, you are competing for the same two titles that you have been vying for your entire career. You are still not good enough to grab the belts that I wouldn’t pick up out of a gutter… when are you going to realize this and just give it the fuck up?

Whatever, I'm sure you are wondering why exactly I’m bringing up some Impact punk that I beat and moved past about 3 months ago. Well, here’s why.

The dude wants to fuck my girlfriend.

Seriously asshole? I heard about the whole conversation that you had with your friends about what XWF diva was hotter and who you would want to do what to. I'm going to say this quickly… if you touch one of them, I will personally fuck you up. I will wait for you to take your belt off, then I will snatch that shit out of your hands, and beat you with the buckle so that the bruises spell out “Wayne Brady”. You “feel” me, Thug?

I don’t know why I'm taking this so personally though. I mean, you and all your friends want to fuck the two girls that I am with on a daily basis. I suppose that I should take that as a compliment… you guys want to be like me. Thanks I guess.

A little inside info, though? You don’t stand a chance. Mia likes men, not little children who laugh when someone says doo-doo or boobie. As for Roxy, well, unless you have a vagina your not getting into hers, and from some of the things I have seen come from you… it wouldn’t surprise me if you had a little bit of a “downstairs mix up”.

Now that I’m done with him, I may as well talk about Mia and Roxy for a minute. See, the two of them and I have had a somewhat low profile alliance for quite sometime. Obviously, Mia and I are dating, and I brought her up the ranks of the XWF with me. Roxy is a good friend of mine and I actually introduced her to the XWF all together. Roxy and Mia are very good friends in reality, and they hate having to fight each other for the punk ass womens title. So as the three of us all had our own minor alliances, it only made sense that we make it something slightly more stable… pun intended. So the three of us united against our common enemies, and we dominate. Then, something amazing happened… a legend called. You see, Centurion and I have a professional relationship, but not much more than that. We have helped each other here and there, we have talked, we have hung out backstage, but as far as a personal relationship goes… well, we had none.

What it comes down to though, is that once every decade a group of superstars comes around that is destined for greatness. They elevate themselves to the headlining status that many fight years for, with relative ease. They pick up titles at will and they are destined for greatness… they are the kind of stars that are prophesized about.

When this happens, everyone wants in at the ground floor. Everyone wants to jump on board and allow those stars to carry them to greatness they could not achieve on their own, and if that group is stupid they let them.

However, if they are lucky there is one man who has done it all before. There is one star who has achieved what these new prodigies hope to do. If they are really, truly lucky, he will be willing to help them. He will be willing to sacrifice his role as the hero, and he will sacrifice his own personal limelight to take the backseat behind these young stars, and steer them in the right direction.

Now being as how the XWF is approaching its 10 year anniversary, and this type of thing happens just once in a decade, I suppose its about time that it happens isn’t it? Luckily, the stars have aligned, the planets are in order, and the prophecy will be fulfilled.

Together Mia Sanchez, Roxy Nova, James Raven and Centurion will dominate, they will rise to the top and they will be legendary, going down in the books as the greatest alliance that anyone has ever seen.

The Prophecy has arrived, it has been laid out, it has been written, it has been foretold, however you want to say it… its out there. Now it is our job to fulfill it.

May you fear the Raven… Forevermore.

* * * Scene: James lays in his bed, asleep. He tosses and turns in his bed, the sheets twisting and tightening around his rigid body. He moans and whimpers in his lucid state until finally he pops upright in bed. He glances around the room, eyes wide in fear, cold sweat dripping from his forehead into his eyes.

He peers into the shadows of his bedroom, looking for any shapes or movement that could be construed as threatening. Finally convinced that he is alone in the bedroom, he drops back into his bed like a stone. He sinks his head into the pillow and pants heavily for a few moments, lifting his forearm to wipe the beads of perspiration from his face.

Finally he lifts his body again, cringing as he feels the twinge of pain in his back. He swings his feet over the edge of the bed and feels the cool relief on his skin from the hardwood surface. He balances on the edge of his bed for a few more seconds, as if attempting to catch his breath.

He stands up, listening to his knee crack and his spine pop. He stretches his body, craning his neck and shoulders while yawning audibly. He tries to stifle the yawn, but cant. Slowly he trudges over to the door, pausing at the mirror to look at his own reflection. God… he looked a mess.

He runs his fingers through his hair, then rubs his eyes, trying to get the blur in his vision to go away. He brings his fingers up to his chest and runs them across his body, stopping at each scar… where Zach Rizza stabbed him with a shard of wood, where Mark Wilder attacked him with a tazer, hell, even the most recent on his wrists from where Rage had tied him up to a crucifix. That’s the XWF, though, right? That’s the profession he chose. Every victory comes at a cost, as does every defeat.

He opens the door quietly, feeling a strong pain in his bicep. What the hell is he doing with his life? What is he doing in a business that is eerily similar to the gladiators? What is he doing in a profession where the crowd roars its approval as one man is beaten and bloodied by another, where the savage fans cheer and applaud as one star is set on fire or hit with a chair or even seriously injured by another. This isn’t what he wanted to do with his life, not since he was older than 13.

He had given up on that, he had moved on. He was an all-state high school basketball player, and once he got to college he had more professional acting opportunities than he had DVD’s in his house. He had a plan and he knew exactly what he wanted out of life, then his brother had suckered him back into this world.

Every night James went to sleep with aches and pains, every week a new injury to deal with. No matter what toll was taken on his own body though, he always got up in the morning and hit the gym, ready to do it all again. Every Monday night he walked down the Massacre entrance ramp to the ring, looking at his opponent as nothing more than a flavor of the week. He stood behind that curtain, waiting for that music to hit the speakers, waiting for that pyrotechnic display to go off and waiting to hear that collective scream from the fans that pay his check every week, the ones that buy his t-shirts and action figures.

The XWF had grown stale and stagnant behind the scenes, and no matter how thrilling it was in the ring, and no matter how much adrenaline pulsed in his veins as he soared through the air like his namesake bird… he had to question himself every week… was it worth it?

No matter what the reasons he was brought into wrestling again, and no matter how much it hurt him to admit it… he didn’t think it was anymore.

He walks into the kitchen, stopping to peer into the living room. No one was on the couch, Michael is still out. He left a few days ago, not knowing when he would be back. The two of them both acted like James didn’t know what was going on, but he did… Michael never really got over his past life, he was still involved and he was still in love with it for whatever reason.

James shakes his head in disappointment and continues into the kitchen. He walks over to the sink, turning on the faucet and listening to the water splash onto the surface of the aluminum sink. He shoves his head under the stream, soaking his hair and his face in the cold. He turns off the flow but leaves his head in the sink, allowing it to drip dry.

He grabs a hand towel from the counter top and tousles it through his hair and his face until he is dry. He throws the towel down on the tiled surface and stands up. He runs his tongue across his teeth and the inside of his cheeks, feeling the cottony texture of his mouth. Fuck morning breath.

He takes a few steps over to the side to the fridge. He opens it up and peers inside, finally pulling out a carton of orange juice. He pops it open and throws his head back, chugging down the sweet liquid. He drains almost half of the carton before pulling it away from his lips.

So, you plan on manning up any time soon, or are you just going to hide from it all like a little bitch?

James drops the carton on the ground, feeling the cold juice flood across his floor and cover his feet. He lunges for his draining board, pulling a large steak knife out of the slot and turning it on the mystery voice. He stretches his hand out for the light but when he flicks the switch, the room stays immersed in darkness.

He flips the switch a few more times, but the light never comes. He peers into the shadows, looking for the intruder.

James: Who the fuck are you? WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT!?!?! There is no response from the shadows, but James knows the man is still there. James advances a few steps, waving the knife as if trying to scare the man off, or at least fend him off.

James: I know you’re still there! I can hear you breathing…

It was a bluff, but maybe that would provoke whoever was in his house to make a move.

Suddenly, there is a rustling sound and out of the pitch-black shadows, a figure begins to slowly advance. He is clad all in black, with long and loose cargo pants and black combat boots. He wears a black wife beater, partially concealed by his floor length trench coat that is rustling off to the side, as if there was a breeze blowing through the kitchen. He wears black and white ‘Mechanix’ gloves with a short length of barbed wire wrapped around his wrist. He has stringy, shoulder-length black hair that whips around his face as if controlled by the same wind as the trench coat. His face is shock white with black streak’s radiating from his eyes and running vertically across his face in a spider web like pattern.

James drops the knife to the floor with a clatter, shifting his foot to avoid the tumbling blade. He cranes his neck towards the shadow, trying for a better look. He rubs his eyes, half expecting the shadow man to be gone when he opens them again.

James: Is that you? Are you… TJ?

The shadow nods slightly and James takes a few cautious steps forward. He circles the shadow, peering it up and down.

TJ: Stop gawking… seriously, it’s a little weird.

James: Wow, really? You cant understand why I'm a little shocked right now?

TJ: Well, shocked is one thing, but this… seriously, pick your jaw up off the ground and back away from me before I am forced to punch you.

James backs off a few feet, but doesn’t take his eyes off TJ. He fumbles around behind him, feeling for a chair to sit on, and finally manages to pull one out from the table.

James: So, uhhhh… are you planning on telling me just what exactly this is?

TJ: Not really, its more fun to see you stammer around like an idiot trying to figure out what I am. Your thinking… ghost, right?

James: Well, yeah, I mean… your dead, so what else can you be?

TJ: Wow, you’ve changed.

James: What is that supposed to mean?

TJ: Well, I just mean you aren’t the same as you used to be. A year ago if someone brought up the idea of ghosts to you, you would have laughed them out of your house. You always had the scientific approach to things, not spiritual or anything like that, and now here you are just accepting that the ghost of your dead brother is standing in your kitchen in a pool of spilled orange juice. I'm telling you, you’ve changed.

James: Well, I'm sitting here staring at you and talking to you, am I just supposed to deny it and chalk this up as me eating some bad food before I went to sleep?

TJ: I'm not saying that, believe whatever the hell you want to believe… just not all that X-Files shit… I asked around up there, trust me, its all fake.

James: Up there?

TJ raises his eyes upward and points up at the ceiling, mouthing the words again.

TJ: Up there.

James looks up at the painted ceiling, not sure what exactly to think about that. He shrugs and returns his attention to his brother.

James: So, you're telling me that heaven is real? God, angels, clouds and big gates?

TJ shrugs his shoulders.

TJ: Believe what you want to believe, that’s not what I came to talk about.

James: Well, what exactly did you “come here” to talk about?

TJ: Take a guess.

James takes a long pause and finally drops his head, knowing this is about to be a conversation he has no desire to have. After a minute, he pops his head back up, shaking his head from side to side, realizing he is scared of having a conversation with someone who probably isn’t even there.

TJ: Oh, don’t kid yourself Jimmy, I'm really here.

James: How the hell did you-

TJ gives him a look that says “You’re kidding me, right?” and James drops his head again.

James: Right, my bad.

The two of them just sit there in silence for another few minutes. TJ stares a hole through James, but James does everything in his power to avoid eye contact.

TJ: Fine, if you don’t want to start this off, I will… what the hell is going on with you? Are you seriously ready to walk away from the XWF right now?

James: I don’t know… maybe.

TJ: Why?

James: Because TJ, its not what I wanted to do with my life… its what you wanted me to do. I joined for you, I wanted to continue the career you had to give up, and I wanted you to feel like you were included in the life that YOU loved, but it wasn’t me. Now I'm sorry, but your gone, and I don’t belong there, so what point do I have in sticking around?

TJ: You don’t believe that do you? I sure as hell don’t. You don’t belong there? What the fuck are you talking about? You are a top star, you are a fan favorite… for fucks sake, you are going for the World title in a few weeks!!! You met Mia through the XWF, and I cant tell you whether or not that will work out, but we both know that you want it to… we both know that you love her and you were empty for a long time, no matter who you were with. You met Roxy because of the XWF, and she is already someone you trust more than anyone… more than our parents, more than your past girlfriends, hell, I get the feeling you trust her more than you trusted me. You met Nick Ryan who you cared enough about to support and help come back from rock bottom. You met Krazzy Kidd, you met Aidan Collins and Drake Komodo, and they are connections you will have your entire life… the Impact guys look up to you, you are on a fast track to legendary status I could never achieve. You make a good living and you have people all around the world look up to you and root for you to succeed every week so please… please fucking tell me just exactly how you don’t belong.

There is a long pause as James thinks about it all, and TJ simmers quietly, trying to calm down.

James: You want to know why I don’t belong there anymore? Because I don’t have the fire anymore, I don’t have the drive or the desire to succeed or to feel bad when I fail… so what's the point? Grappling Gary or Kevin Jewert, or any of the Impact people would kill to be where I am at this point… Hawaiian Hardhead has been trying to get to where I am for years, and I'm here… I'm at the top of the heap and I don’t want it. I want to just… I don’t know, come home at night and be able to do something other than ice bruises. I want to go out with Mia and not get stalked by people who want my autograph or to see her act the way she does on TV… so what exactly do I do? Huh, TJ? If you have all of the answers, why don’t you tell me what I should do… why don’t you swoop into my house in the middle of the night, all cryptic and Edgar Allen Poe like, and why don’t you tell me exactly what to do with my life… do I continue on the path that is making me miserable, or do I do what will make me happy?

TJ: You do what makes you happy.

James: Exactly.

TJ: Good, so now that we are on the same page… what are your plans leading up to the pay per view?

James: What!?!?! Are you kidding me? Did we not just go over this entire thing? I'm done, I'm out, I'm finished.

TJ: No you're not.

James: What, do you plan on stopping me?

TJ: No, you do.

James: What the hell does that even mean?

TJ: It means you will stop yourself. We both know that if you honestly didn’t want to do this, you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t have tolerated it this long, and if there was really a doubt in your mind on whether or not you wanted to do this with your life, you would have never taken the risk. So, its something else that’s stopping you, its something else that’s holding you back. So are you going to act like a baby or are you going to figure out what the problem is and fix it.

James: Fuck you!

TJ: No, FUCK YOU! Ok? People don’t tell you that enough. I didn’t force you into this job, I pointed you in the right direction, sure, but you walked into it all on your own. You wanted to do this, and if you cant admit it, well, I guess that’s your own problem… but I will not let you sit around and blame me because your back hurts! I will not sit around and watch while you resent me for “forcing” you into this job as if I sold you into slavery! So deal with your damn problems and leave me out of your sob story.

James: WELL WHAT IF I'M FUCKING SCARED!!!

Long pause.

TJ: What?

James: You heard me… what if I'm scared?

TJ: What the hell do you have to be scared of?

James: Don’t you get it? I go to bed every single night with some new ache, some new bruise. Every show I do I come out with a sprain or a crack in some bone. Do you not realize what happened to you? Do you not remember the separated cornea, the brain bleeds, the shattered bones? Have you somehow forgotten the body cast? Or the wheelchair, or the two months in the hospital? Jesus Christ, have you forgotten that your dead? I am finally happy, and you know that doesn’t heppen often with me. We left Toronto, we left mom and dad… I was almost expelled from my college for a crime I didn’t commit and I was almost arrested for an assault that I was framed for… but now? I love Mia, I love Roxy… I am happy at home, Michael is back in my life. I have money to pay my tuition and pursue acting like I always wanted, I play college basketball… I don’t want to lose all of that. Cant you understand that? I don’t want what happened to you, happen to me. I don’t want someone to lose control and attack me with a lead pipe… I don’t want someone to hurry a move and drop me awkwardly so I land on my spine… I cant do it. Most of all, I cant live with that fear that it could happen to me at any time.

TJ: Of course I understand that… I dealt with that on a daily basis. But if this is what you want to do with your life, you find the thing worth fighting for and you do it. You find the one thing that makes it worth it to you, and you go for it.

James: And where did that get you?

TJ: You want to know where it got me? It got me to the happiest place I ever was in my life. It got me friends, money and fame I never thought I would get… It got me a sense of satisfaction in my life and it got me the ability to fall asleep at night knowing I was one of about 100 people in this world that was living their dream life… that’s what it got me.

James: Now from my perspective, it got you buried six feet under.

TJ: No, that mental patient in the hospital is what killed me. You forget I was making a full recovery in that hospital, it was a schitzo that put me in that coma. You want to know what? If this is the price I have to pay to live the way I did, I would gladly do it again 100 times over.

James: I don’t know if I am though.

TJ: Well, that’s what you have to figure out, isn’t it?

James: I guess so.

TJ: You just need to find something worth fighting for.

Suddenly, the phone begins to ring. The ringing gets louder and louder, drowning out all the sound in the room. TJ’s mouth is still moving, but James cant make out the words he is saying. The room begins to get blurry, and the edges peel away and fade out. TJ starts to draw away, as if he was walking backwards.

James: Wait, DON’T GO!!!

TJ: Its too late.

Somehow now his voice is perfectly clear, and it can be heard over the ringing phone.

James: What do you mean its too late?

TJ: You know… its too late to capture this, because its not even real.

James: Not… real…?

TJ: Find something worth fighting for… The room blurs out completely and begins to spin around and around as if water in a flushing toilet. Suddenly, pitch black. James opens his eyes and finds himself in his bed, sweating profusely. His bedside phone is ringing, and it takes him a moment to process. He reaches over and grabs the receiver, hands slick with sweat.

James: He- Hello?

Voice: Hello, James? I'm sure I'm waking you, but I have something I need to talk to you about. This is Andy Cortinovis.

James: Oh, uhhh… hello, Mr. Cortinovis.

Centurion: Please, James, I would like to think we know each other better than that by now, please… call me Centurion.

James: Ok, ummm… Centurion. What can I do for you? Do you have another charity thing coming up or something?

Centurion: Well, always, but nothing that I am calling you about.

James glares at the display of the clock on his dresser. 4:37… what the hell does he want?

James: Wow, late night?

Centurion: No, actually its an early morning. I have been pretty busy these past few nights and haven’t had the gym time I would like.

James: Oh, well… I don’t mean to hurry you or anything, but-

Centurion: No, of course. James, I'm calling you because I had an intriguing dream last night.

James pops out of his bed, heart immediately racing. A dream, what the hell? What did Andy see? Was it… could he have… seen TJ as well?

James: Oh- uhh… really? What exactly… did you… see?

Centurion: Well, its tough to say. It started out strangely. It was as if… as if I was flying. I wasn’t in a plane, I was just… gliding. I was in the clouds, but something was strange about them, they were silver and almost metallic. As I flew, I replayed my career in my mind. I saw both of the World title reigns. I saw how I literally built the Canadian division. I saw my battle royals, and I saw my ladder match where I claimed my legendhood. After I saw all of that, do you know what I realized James?

James: No, I don’t…

Centurion: I’ll tell you, I realized that I am old…

James stares at his phone, not sure whether to laugh or not.

James: Well, I wouldn’t say old, I would say-

Centurion: That’s not what this call is about James… I know I'm old, and I know