I've never been one to claim that I have a specialty. It would cheapen myself.

I've worked my ass off to be good (if not great) in every aspect of this sport, and I won't short-change myself on the amount of time and energy that it took to get there. If you think you're stronger than me, faster than me, a better mat worker or a higher flyer, bring it the fuck on because I'm telling you right now that you're not... and that no matter what stipulation you try to corner me with, your little experiment is going to end in shattered dreams and a river of tears.

With all of that said if there was a gun to my head and I HAD to name a specialty... well....

You don't want to see me when War Games start being played.

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Look at me standing in that ring. I look young. I look ready. Full of piss and vinegar, and ready to shine the brightest in a night full of stars. It's Battle Lines 2010 for the WGWF, the company that shall not be named in the XWF these days, and they brought everyone they could find to try and stop my squad. None of them could. Jocelyn Camden, the golden child of the company? I put her out. Paul Frost, Chris Page, the XWF tag team icon Ryan Brothers... none of them could finish me.

None of them.

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I don't know what I'm looking for as I watch this. It was 7 goddamned years ago, there's not many lessons to be gleaned from the performance now... not many tendencies I'll spot and correct before I get back into the ring again this weekend.

Still, I keep watching.

I watch as I pin Famine of the Vile, and send him packing for whatever dumpster he crawled out of that night. I watch as I work with Aidan "Blizzard" Collins to isolate and destroy "The Iceman" Dean James.

I watch as I destroy them all.

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It's 2011 now, but the canvas still says "Battle Lines" and the cheque I cashed that night still came from the WGWF. You can't blame me, can you? When you absolutely shit-kick half a roster and get invited back the following year, don't you say yes? The circumstances were a bit different this time around, though. I was no longer the cash cow of their company, brought in to do what everyone expected of me... I was the former champion, returning after months of radio silence with promos that left the roster more uncomfortable than if they'd wiped their ass with a razor blade.

I was angry, I was vengeful, I was sick of the circus the place had become while my friends sat on the back burner and suffered... I was ready to do something about it.

Sound familiar?

This wasn't like the group I faced the year before, though. This was a literal murderers row of XWF and WGWF Legends; Steve Jason, T Money, Blizzard, Christian Connolly, Drake Komodo, Star, Ranma Saotome... and li'l ol me, fresh outta the woods. Care to put some money down on who walked out of that one as the top dog once again?

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2009. The XWF's annual "Lord of the Ring" pay per view, though this one was bigger than the ones we had run in years past... not only did the roster go to war in the traditional rumble, but control of the XWF was up for grabs at the end of the night. Team Raven vs. Team Cash, comprised of some of the darkest and most violent names in the companies history... oh, and Peter Gilmour was there too.

I was 19 years old.

I was 19 and tasked with putting together a team to beat the Legends, and to take over as the owner of the XWF.

Yet you new people wonder why I'm considered a fucking legend...

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There's no need to watch the whole thing. I was there. I know how it ends; I know how they all end. It's just a question of how many teammates were left standing beside me when the bell rang. This time there were three survivors; Big Shank, Ranma Saotome, and the new owner of the XWF... the Peoples GOAT...

It was one of the most important nights of my career.

It still is.

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The Florida Wrestling Alliance; 2012. I helped FuZz defeat Trent Geins team to win FuZz the FWA World title.

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Siberian Wrestling. 2011. I'm the sole survivor from my team, pinning the Arbiter X to earn my way out of a prison that Satan himself thought was intense.

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Hybrid Wrestling Organization, 2014. I carry a GM, his nephew, and two rookies to victory over a team of Hall of Famers headed up by the companies owners.

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I sit quietly in the office, submerged in darkness and silence as I contemplate the events of the last few days and their effect on my future, and the future of the XWF. This is exactly what I wanted; this is my wheel house. There's nobody in the XWF that can beat me in War Games when I'm on my game, literally dozens have tried and each and every time things go according to plan.

So why in the hell am I so nervous?

Maybe because this time... the plan is different.

This time...

... I'm planning to lose.

A soft knock on the door precedes the entrance of one of my assistants, a look of concern on her face as she looks around in the darkness for me.

ASSISTANT:
Mr. Raven? Is everything alright?

RAVEN:
Everything's fine. Are they here?

She nods her head, but says nothing. I take a deep breath and stand up from the desk, adjusting my cuffs as I make my way for the door. She leads me silently down the hall and into a small conference room where I see three men waiting for me. The Apex.

JIM CAEDUS:
JAMES! Brother! You have no idea how good it is to see you! How the hell have you been?

I don't have time to answer before he crosses the room and snatches me up in a bear hug that nearly lifts my feet from the floor. He sets me down, suddenly slightly self conscious over his exuberance.

JIM CAEDUS:
Sorry, not trying to make things weird.

DREW ARCHYLE:
A little late for that, Jim. Nice to finally meet you, Raven. I've heard a lot of good things about you.

He extends his hands, and I take it politely while nodding in acknowledgement. Robert Main is the only one that doesn't move to greet me, but considering he's the one that came to see me and kick this whole plan into motion, I'll let it slide.

RAVEN:
Everything good, Omega?

ROBERT MAIN:
Sure.

His answer is short and his voice is tense. There's something wrong.

RAVEN:
I get the impression that's not the truth, Robert. Speak your mind, Omega, I don't bite.

Robert shoots a worried look at Jim and Drew, who exchange nervous glances of their own. Eventually Drew rolls his eyes and breaks the awkward silence.

DREW ARCHYLE:
God damn it, Robert. You said you'd be cool about this. It's nothing serious, James. We just... we were confused about something...

RAVEN:
Fine. Hit me.

JIM CAEDUS:
Don't get us wrong, we really appreciate the help you're giving us, and showing up to referee the match against the Mother Fuckers is incredible...

RAVEN:
But?

DREW ARCHYLE:
Well, we know that you have your own reasons for things and we're not trying to question you or anything... damn it, this is tough... just forget about it.

RAVEN:
We've passed that point, friend. Spit it out.

Caedus and Archyle don't say a thing. They don't even look me in the eye. Instead they stare blankly at my carpeting until Robert Main throws his hands up in the air.

ROBERT MAIN:
Fuck it! I'll ask him, you pussies! Why did you lie to me, Raven? Why tell me you couldn't fight alongside of us if you were just going to turn around and team up with Chris Chaos of all goddamned people?! If you didn't want to help, fine, but just tell me like a man instead of making up excuses about how you aren't healthy enough to make a return and battle with the top tier guys again! If you win your first match, which we ALL know that you will, you're going to end up fighting us! What the FUCK man?! You didn't help us by making yourself the guest referee! You bent us over a desk and fucked us!

The room falls silent. Drew and Caedus don't look at either of us, like two children that just watched daddy hit mommy at the dinner table. Omegas face is red, his hair flying wildly around his head as he unleashes on me. I let him take a breath.

RAVEN:
Are you finished?

JIM CAEDUS:
Yeah, bud. He's done. Just forget it, we appreciate any help you're willing to give us and it's not our place to question what you do outside of that. We just want to know that we're not the ones being played here, you know?

RAVEN:
No, actually I don't.

DREW ARCHYLE:
Put yourself in our position, Raven. What if we get to War Games and suddenly you put the Mother Fuckers over us just so that you get to take Robbie out in the main event? What if you turn out to be just another legend willing to squash us to stay in the spotlight for another year? Without trying to suck up to you, we respect you, and we trust you... but it would be devastating...

I nod my head slowly. I get it, and honestly had never considered that they might have seen it this way. They've been spending too much time with the current generation, where everyones out for themselves and their own best interests. That's not me. It's not how I was raised, and it's not the generation of wrestlers I came up with.

When you tell someone you have their back, you'd damn sure better.

RAVEN:
I never lied to you, Robert. I'm NOT totally healthy, and I have no intention of fucking you guys over. Trust me, you guys are going to beat the Mother Fuckers, and after that you're going to win the entire War Games PPV.

JIM CAEDUS:
Then why do this, brother? If you're not healthy, don't fight! Or fight WITH us like we originally asked you too! I just don't get how facing you at the end of the night isn't supposed to sour the whole event.

RAVEN:
Give me more credit than that, Jim. That's what I brought you all here to talk to you about. I AM fighting alonside you. Look, I can't dedicate myself to another Universal title run yet, and I have no interest in trying to get my hands on Robbie myself, I didn't even want to fight him the first time. I won't have any problems smashing Frodo, Edgar and the rest of the job-squad though... and then, when The Apex reaches the finals... I'll be there waiting. The four of us take out Bourbon and whoever else we need to, and then... well... I'll have no problem taking my leave and letting you finish Chaos.

DREW ARCHYLE:
Jesus Christ...

JIM CAEDUS:
You'd... you'd take a loss like that?

RAVEN:
I'll do what I need to for the XWF. I always have, and always will. Everyone wins. The Mother Fuckers get knocked from their pedestal, you boys take your place on top of the heap where you belong, and I ride back into the sunset knowing that Chris Chaos hates me just a little bit more. There's a few more details that we'll need to go over, but we'll do that downstairs over food. Fair?

Drew nods slowly, still running over the scenario in his head. Jim smiles.

JIM CAEDUS:
Thank you, brother. You have no idea how much this means.

RAVEN:
Trust me, I do. Are we good, Omega? Any more concerns?

Robert shakes his head sheepishly.

ROBERT MAIN:
We're good. Thanks... and I'm sorry.

DREW ARCHYLE:
I didn't even realize "I'm sorry" was in his vocabulary.

ROBERT MAIN:
Fuck yourself.

DREW ARCHYLE:
That's more like it.

FADE TO BLACK... FADE TO BLACK... FADE TO BLACK... FADE TO BLACK... FADE TO BLACK...

Ladies and gentlemen, your eyes do not decieve you! The Peoples GOAT, Your Moms Favorite Wrestler, The Prophecy and Your True XWF Universal Champion has returned to you!

Don't get your hopes up, this isn't full-time. I was back in the company for 11 seconds before I got paired with Chris Chaos and everyone started hurling the word "faggot" around, so fuck it, when my business is handled you boys can have it back. Don't let that rain on your parade though! Grab a beer, unzip your fly, take yourself in your grubby hand and have at it... even if only for a moment, James Raven is here.

Now let's get starte-

Jesus, you came already? Work on your control, man.

Frodo! It's nice to finally meet you! I heard you're a dick, and that you were bizarely fascinated with all things vulgar and/or homosexual. You didn't disappoint, but what they failed to tell me is you trash talk like a third grader that just discovered Jerry Springer. "Imma punch you in the jaw, then hit someone else in teh jaw, then my friend is gonna hurt you more! FACEFUCKNIGGERFAGGOTCUNTTRANNY!". It's really great stuff, 'Pest'. Thanks for the effort. You do seem a little confused, though... I'm not overlooking anyone that I'm facing at War Games, I just don't give a shit.

You're damn straight I'm focused on Robbie and the Mother Fuckers, Pest, because the rest of you were never going to pique my interest enough to bring me back... why try and keep up appearances? Why bother trying to counterpoint the morons like you who spout nothing but Fake News? Talking about my father, as if that has any bearing on anything? Claiming I'm over the hill, when I'm head and shoulders above everyone here and EVERYONE knows it? Telling me losing to Robbie is a career highlight, when I've done more than you have twenty times over and just keep going?

Yeah, I don't give a shit about the people I'm facing when that's all they bring to the table. You're a cake walk, bitch. I'm cutting this promo drunk, at 2:40 AM with my back against the submission deadline to even get this thing to air... I'll still expose you to be the shorter, fatter, more anally inclusive version of Peter Gilmour that you are.

Hey Edgar! How's it going? I beat you already, and it wasn't even a challenge. I hear you've gotten better. We'll see.

Hey Erik Black! You're slightly more skilled than The Outlaw Brian Harris! Congratulations! That's... about all I have that's nice to say about you, so...

Danny Imperial! You're cool. I guess. I don't know, I might just deal with you tomorrow.

I know, disappointing right? You all wait three months for a James Raven promo and get this diabolical piece of shit where I barely acknowledge you and am not even remotely worried about the consequences... That's life. You don't always get what you want. Jim Caedus didn't get me on his team. Chris Chaos didn't get a co-captain that had the same goals he did. Robbie Bourbon didn't get to escape me forever.

You get the point.

I'm rambling.

Goodnight, Frodo. Goodnight, Pest. Goodnight, XWF.

Goodnight, John Boy.

I have War Games to lose.