*¤*SOMEWHERE...in a dark room, dimly lit by a few candles, shadows dance upon the walls from the flickering flames. A few dark figures are seen, but cannot be made out. One standing figure is seen standing infront of four others who are sitting. His arms stretch out to his sides, candlelight shining on his black leather jacket...we know who it is. Tis Raven and his lackeys...Raven and the Flock...*¤*
Raven: The night is upon us...OUR night is upon us. After tonight, no longer will we be looked upon as the weak...as the outsiders. We will consume the strong to become the strongest. What they believe will be the vatic outcomes will not. We will finally slake our thirst for power...we will imbibe...we will indulge...we will overthrow. The Flock, our cohort, will emerge as the arrant power that is OCW. Hah hah hah... As the senescence of the evening becomes apparent, they will realize. For they are fallible, and as we force pain to permiate through their wretched souls, the finish of the agon may be determined by the arbiter but that is only pablum. They are somewhat of a milksop...and Triple H, even with his corpulent ego, need no exegesis. For we are the fecund ones...and that is the crux of the matter.
*¤* The members of the Flock nod their heads in approval toward their leader...*¤*
Raven(whispering): Quote the Raven...nevermore...
*¤* Raven viciously knocks the candles over in one swipe, their flames not eternal, disappear into the darkness...*¤*

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