"TERRORISTS!"
The one who provided the outburst isn't the target. But now no one is at her side. He progresses further down the corridor in pursuit but not before dragging his tongue along his upper lip..
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It's difficult to tell exactly where our subject is. His long, dark blond braids hang in front of his face like tendrils and a few of them are deep, purple shade. Black grease paint is smeared around his eyes and some of it is spread downwards in a line across his jaw. He's wearing a leather jacket and a black shirt underneath with a gruesome image displayed upon it. The rest of his tattered attire consists of a ragged pair of jean shorts and boots. Wherever he is at this moment would be deemed completely unlivable by anyone with a pulse. But many locations in Iraq could certainly fit the category. Their is a staircase but whatever it led to is blocked by a massive pile of debris. A large hole in the surface provides a makeshift window and to allow a few trickles of light to pour in. He paces across the creaky floorboards beneath his feet..
Raven: "It's interesting. I'm in the middle of a war-torn country and yet I find the entire notion to be strangely..arousing. Maybe because in the 14th century, the Black Death wiped out a third of the population. Swelling lymph nodes forming in the neck, armpit or groin. Spewing blood and pus. Or maybe it's because, right now, I could be walking over a grave. The graves of 120,000 Kurds "Chemical Ali" had exterminated and buried deep within the earth. Men, women and children..now nothing more than rags and bones. Or perhaps it's because very soon I'm going to be performing in front of a group that has seen it's fare share of carnage and bloodshed and still yearns for more. I am being cast as a proverbial Christian being thrown to the blood thirty lions. I shouldn't be excited by this but I am. And, deep down inside, I know someone else who is as well. Jimmy Jacobs.."
Raven stares down at his shaky palms with wide eyes and an unnatural grin. Getting such a pleasurable response from those topics means we are obviously not dealing with someone who has a clean bill of health.
Raven: "Jimmy Jacobs, I know who you are and I've been watching you for quite some time. And how disappointing it is to see you wearing a guise of normalcy like a cloak of human excrement. To say that you owe a great deal to me would be a strong understatement. You practically owe me your career. You can look in the mirror and tell yourself that I haven't influenced you but then you would only be lying to yourself. I've watched you from afar. Novel idea's but poor execution. When you were the leader of the Age of the Fall, you tried to treat your minions like equals. First mistake. You should have kept them firmly underneath of your boot and maybe then things wouldn't have ended so poorly for you. So despite all your grandiose plans and talks of revolutions, you were merely an amateur.."
The poet of the macabre shakes his head in disappointment, his hair swaying about like warped tree branches, but still has a small lingering of hope within his eyes.
Raven: "But an amateur with potential nonetheless. I watched you hang one of the Briscoe's upside down and let his blood rain down upon you like a nightmare inducing faucet. You caught his blood in your mouth and spit it out. Literally. Some one who does something like that...they can't just change! You're still that same person. You're only wearing your mask of sanity for some confounding reason. People like us, we lack empathy and guilt. So it sickens me to see you..conforming to society's norm's while paling around with Alex Shelley. You've lost your way, Jimmy. But we both know it isn't going to last. You've got blood on your hands and skeletons in your closet. And if I have to beat that out of you, then so be it.."
Raven presses his back against one of the nearest walls and slumps downwards until he's in a sitting position.
Raven: "Like I said, now you're hanging out with that little parasite Alex Shelley. Believe it or not, Alex actually reminds me of myself at point in my life. Your parents probably beat you too except that probably happened about two weeks ago. Back when I was Scotty Flamingo and Johnny Polo, I was brash and arrogant as well. CRYING out for the attention that I so desperately sought. That was until I realized the true being that I actually was. And for all his propensity for dick jokes, it would seem as though Alex actually doesn't have one. Everyone has a little darkness dwelling inside of them but Alex Shelley might be the exception to that rule. You can snap his ribs, you can cave in his face with a title belt, and yet he just keeps grinning and making wise cracks. There is nothing monstrous dwelling inside of that kid.."
With an almost dull and lifeless expression, Raven looks to his cuticles before giving a small grin. Given his appearance and style of dress, he doesn't look entirely out of place in this desolate landscape.
Raven: "And last week, I watched Alex try and play doctor and diagnosis CM Punk. While I can't question his athleticism or drive, I can soundly say that Alex Shelley is a mere child when it comes to playing mind games. Do you want me give you my opinion, Shelley? You have trust issues. Everyone knows this, it's a common fact. And don't you find it just a little bit odd that during your decimation last week, Jacobs was only the secondary target? You took the full brunt of the assault. And as a would be revolutionist, Jacobs knows full well that sometimes you have to suffer a little to achieve a goal. Look at this track record. Simply, just look at HIM. Doesn't he fit in just bit too comfortably amongst our ranks? He could very well be one of us. You have a lot of enemies and maybe this is all just an intricate plot to run you out of the company? Wrack your mind around that, if you can.."
After a calming sigh, Raven shifts his head backwards and stares up at the remains of the ceiling in the decrypted room he's holed himself up in. He scowls, as if smelling something exceptionally putrid.
Raven: "I've hung men. I've set them on fire. I've crucified them. Wins and losses have never met very much to me. It's all about how much pain you can inflict in your opponent. There are three categories. Lust. Thrill. And comfort. This is going to fall under thrill. If I could make a lamp shade out of either of your skin, I would. But I'm always thinking up new ways to get my rocks off. And there really isn't anyone else I would rather have at my side than CM Punk. We've waged wars against each other, that much is true, and have brutally battered one another. When we combine those destructive capabilities and focus them on a pair of opponents...we become your punishment made flesh. Dr. Stevie has written a prescription and we are here to fill it. So it is written, so it shall come to pass. ...Quote the Raven...nevermore..."
Upon uttering the last few words, his voice drops to a whispered hush. From his seated position, Raven strikes his crucifix pose and tilts his head sideways while the camera slowly begins to back peddle on the disturbed mastermind..
