Big Shank and I sit patiently in the police station, rickety wooden benches creaking underneath us as we shift and turn to try and take in our surroundings. This place is a shit hole. This isn't the type of police station you see on some A&E reality show, and it doesn't have the homey charm of some old Andy Griffith small town jail either. It's just a fucking dump; the paint chipping off the dingy walls, the ceilings stained with smoke from when smoking at your desk was still legal. There's not a single desktop computer that looks like it's running anything more recent than Windows Millennium Edition or a single window that doesn't look like it's been smeared with some perp's blood, cum or shit at one point or another.

BIG SHANK
Ah, just like old times.

JAMES RAVEN
Yeah, except back in the old days we were usually in handcuffs for something. Not visitors.

BIG SHANK
Let's not write anything off. The night is young.

I grin, but don't say anything as I notice a squat officer making his way over to us. Squat is being polite; he's short, and he's fat as shit. Shank raises his eyes and shoots me a sideways glance. I try not to laugh as I nod in greeting to the officer.

OFFICER
Are you two the ones bailing out that asshole?!

JAMES RAVEN
I'd assume so, yeah.

OFFICER
Jeremy Silver? Agent dipshit that we picked up in a playground, dressed like Michael Graves? He cussed up a storm when my boys tried to bring him in.

Shank nods his head, feigning disappointment. He tsk's disapprovingly but doesn't actually offer any sort of explanation.

JAMES RAVEN
Yeah, that would be him. Sorry sir. I hope he wasn't too much trouble.

OFFICER
He's a fucking moron is what he is! I mean, what sort of dumbfuck runs around a playground dressed like Michael Graves? A known child predator?! It's sick and twisted I tell ya, demented! Not only that, but someone who beats the hell outta people for a living? He's lucky my boys didn't shoot him when he resisted!

My heart skips a beat at that last comment, and I can feel Big Shank stiffen up beside me. Suddenly it's not as funny when the idea there might have been actual violence enters your mind.

JAMES RAVEN
Shit, he resisted? Is everyone OK?

OFFICER
My boys are fine. They're more than trained to handle themselves against some pussy ass agent throwing a hissy fit in the park. Your friend might have taken a couple of inadvertent nightsticks to the dome, though.

BIG SHANK
Inadvertent, I'm sure. Rich lives matter.

OFFICER
Shut the fuck up! While your friend was on the ground, he said two fuckin' idiots put him up to the whole stunt... that it was a prank as punishment for offending one of them. Now, you two wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would ya?

Shank and I shake our heads firmly, our shoulders lifting to our ears as we pretend we know absolutely nothing about the claims. The officer clearly doesn't believe us, and rolls his eyes before waddling away (I'm sure to search for coffee and donuts) and calling back over his shoulder.

OFFICER
He'll be out in a minute. Don't be making any more trouble in my town, assholes.

He disappears around the corner, and instantly Big Shank bursts into laughter and begins to mock the rotund authority. I glare at him with disapproval. He shrugs helplessly.

BIG SHANK
Don't tell me you expect me to take that guy seriously.

JAMES RAVEN
Can you at least wait until we're out of the building? Jesus Christ, they could literally walk us to cells if we piss them off.

I can tell that he thinks I'm being ridiculous, but I don't give a shit. I don't feel like having to explain to the XWF that I no-showed a match because my friend made bacon jokes in a police station and got me arrested. There's no way Vinnie Lane would still face me at Turning Point after some weak shit like that.

We sit in silence, but not for long. A door in the corner of the waiting room opens and Jeremy Silver is ushered out by a female officer. He's still dressed in the Michael Graves spandex suit, though the cape and mask have been either lost in the struggle or seized as evidence. He's grumbling to himself as the female officer pushes him into the waiting room and shuts the door behind him.

JEREMY SILVER
Thank you very fucking much! You guys might want to think about working on your hospitality! Christ!

Shank and I stand up from the rickety bench and make our way over to him, but he looks less than excited to see us.

JEREMY SILVER
Uh-uh! You two stay the fuck away from me, you're bad fucking influences!

BIG SHANK
You're a 46 year old man, Jeremy. Who the fuck is influencing you to anything!

Jeremy nearly explodes, his face turning beet red as he takes a step towards Big Shank and wags his finger angrily in his face.

JEREMY SILVER
You're a bad fucking influence, Dustin! You made me dress like a fucking pedophile and called the police on me!

BIG SHANK
First off, don't bring my government name into this. Second, I didn't make you do shit. You did it of your own free will because you know James is your golden goose and you didn't want to risk him firing you over your stupid ass comments about the XWF. Third, take your finger out of my face before I snap it off and give you a rectal exam with it.

He's still angry, but Jeremy remembers that he's talking to one of the baddest men to ever live and he takes a step backwards before dropping his hand to his side. He turns his attention to me.

JEREMY SILVER
Not cool, James. Not cool. That was the most humiliating thing I've ever done! The parents ABSOLUTELY recognized the outfit, and as you can imagine they weren't exactly thrilled. Then the police beat me! I'm an agent, Raven, not a fucking wrestler like you are! I wasn't made for this sort of abuse!

I can't help myself; I laugh directly in his face. I expect him to get angry, but he just looks defeated and toes the floor sheepishly. Big Shank had been ready to mock him some more, but he bites his tongue and settles. He can see we've broken the guy. It's not fun anymore.

JAMES RAVEN
Are you done trying to talk me out of fighting Graves on Warfare?

He looks down at his outfit in disgust, pulling at the lime green spandex with a furrowed brow and snarled lip.

JEREMY SILVER
Absolutely. Murder the guy. Stomp a hole in his chest and make him fear the raven or whatever the fuck it is you do.

JAMES RAVEN
And after that? We're not going to have another talk when I ask you to get the deal done for a match with Loverboy at the pay per view?

JEREMY SILVER
Absolutely not. I love the idea. I think you should go back to the XWF as much as possible, suddenly. I'll negotiate a full time deal and a rematch for your Universal title if you want me to.

JAMES RAVEN
Quite the change of heart. What on earth could have sparked it?

JEREMY SILVER
Fuck you.

I smile at Jeremy and motion for him to follow me as I lead the way out of the police station.

JAMES RAVEN
Let's go get something to eat. I'm starving.

JEREMY SILVER
Can we at least stop to get me some different clothes first?

BIG SHANK
Of course not. What would be fun about that?

FADE TO BLACK

Get ready ladies and gentlemen, and send the small children out of the room for a while. Grab your popcorn, your beer, and get yourselves fucking comfortable because the real St. Valentines Day Massacre is about to begin. Whip out your little buddy, give it a spit shine and a good stroke, because James Raven is here in all his mother fucking glory to go balls deep on Michael Graves' candy ass, and do a deep dive of shame on the man you add to any stable that you hope won't really work out.

Why were you so set on this, Graves? Why were you so bound and determined to prod at me, as if I had somehow wronged you because you hadn't been around in a decade to fight me sooner? You want to tell people that your involvement with AX3 was one of your worst career choices, but you fail to understand that there is no differentiating between your poor choices anymore. Your entire resume reads off as one misstep after the other, and a list of partners that you've inevitably weighed down. Jim Caedus should have been a godsend for you, but instead you were too busy chasing some 14 year old poon to utilize the weapon you had been bestowed with!

You think you became a laughingstock to the XWF by choice? You think you made a calculated decision to chase cheap pops and simply turned your back on being a legitimate threat? Yeah, sure, that was it... it's not at all that you tried to embrace the hand you were dealt after your return to the ring showed you that you weren't going to be "the guy". Don't you dare talk about friends of mine like Steve Jason or Blizzard and call them relics; they've got more skill than you do! They adapted to the times and dominated eras that you were M.I.A. for!

YOU are the relic, Graves. YOU are the remnant of days gone by, unable to evolve or maintain it's value! YOU are the one who's body and mental stability fails him so regularly he can't string together more than a few months of active competetion! YOU are the one looking down their nose at me when you can't even climb the ladder as quickly as someone like Finn Kuhn or Neville Sinclaire!

You're damned right I'm confident, Graves, and I have every fucking right to be. It's not some empty sense of entitlement and status that I've plucked out of the air, it's something that I've earned by grinding away year after year and beating people like you; people that were staples of the midcard and wanted to be more, and knew that one win over me could make their careers. I made a living putting my boot on the neck of people who thought I was the path of least resistance to a Universal title, or a main event spotlight. You could make a four DVD set of matches where I took on somebody who thought a sneak attack the week before might take me out of commission or weaken me enough to give them an edge... and every single one of them is left bloody and broken on the canvas as the referee throws my hand in the air and I move onto the next.

I'm confident because I'm the People's fucking G.O.A.T. and you, Mr. "Dark Warrior"? You're a statistic. Win #105.

I'm confident because I've done everything you've ever dreamed of. I've climbed every mountain in the XWF, I've dominated every promotion I've ventured into abroad, and I've made love to a woman I didn't have to pay. What have you done? Been the second best in a two team stable war? Be a decent contender that fell short? Finally stepping out of your brothers shadow, but only because he's no longer around to cast one?

I'm not afraid of you, Graves. There's no reason to be.

Paint your face all you want, it doesn't change the fact that you're an underachieving shock-reliant piece of shit that looks like Cadryn Tiberius came a gallon across your head, neck and chest. Dress in tight fitting Hot Topic pants, and get a new nickname, and try to pretend the past year of your career didn't exist. The fan's have already let it leave their minds, so it shouldn't be too hard.

I hope this is fun for you.

I hope it's everything that you ever dreamed the build to a match with James Raven would be.

Do you feel that warmth? That calming glow that's overtaking you? It's the shine I'm granting you for this one week, and one week only. It's what it feels like to have eyeballs on you. It's what it feels like to be covered by the national media, and blogged about online. It's the light you feel when strangers start to retweet you for the first time, or your paycheque has a discretionary bonus in it because management knows you were in over your head and put up a good fight.

It's what it feels like each and every week when you're relevant; when you're in the hunt and facing contenders night in and night out.

You're welcome.

I'm not The Kings, Graves. I don't have the patience to slowly chip away at you until you have nothing left to offer. I plan on ending this quickly, so savor the moment while it lasts, because once it's done you'll be out of my head again... just like you always have been. I won't think of this match again for years, if ever, and I'll have nothing but a couple of bruises from that beatdown you hit me with and are so proud of.

You?

You'll remember this forever, as the night that everything you ever wanted slipped through your fingers like the first verse of an Eminem song. You'll long for another shot at me, a chance for redemption and to learn more at the hands of a master, but it won't happen. The match you've waited years for... you'll have choked it away, like Jenny Myst does gratefully every time Chris Chaos pays her cell phone bill.

Have fun at Turning Point, Graves. While you're battling Grande Ricardo or some other equally untalented dipshit, searching for some new take on an old dog that'll give you a glimmer of hope, I'll be battling the man in charge of the XWF and the man you failed to protect from my fury. If you're lucky I'll break his hand so he can't sign your fucking severance package.

I look forward to whatever bomb you try and drop on me at the deadline, Graves, but save your fucking breath. There's no way you can spin this, no long winded and verbose way to tip toe around it, no syntax rich enough to distract from one simple fact...

You're fucked.

You were from day one.

Fear the Raven... Forevermore.