If Hell exists, I'm going there.

Scratch that. I've been there already.

"If", of course, is the most important part of nearly any sentence it's a part of. This short tale is no exception.

Honestly, I've had "if" after "if" for the past year of my life, most of them pertaining to my career of choice. But of course, professional wrestling, for me, never really was a choice. There were never options for me - because this business is my lifeblood. Ever since I was falling and bleeding on the grass of backyards all across Chicago in a magical time known as the Nineteen Nineties, I knew there was something inside of me that separated me from all of the pretenders, the jokers and the time wasters involved. Back then, I wasn't entirely sure what it was ...but it was there all along. Now, I know.

I was born to be a professional wrestler. There's no question in my mind.

It's 4:42 in the AM and I'm in Hampton, Virginia. I'm envious of how asleep they seem in these twilight hours; sleep isn't something that's coming easy to me the past few weeks. I lay awake on the admittedly rough bed sheets of the hotel EBWF has been kind enough to put me up in. I grab my shoulder, clenching my hand and releasing, rolling my troublesome joint (obviously not the kind you're thinking) round and round in a cycle that, coupled with my restlessness, will undoubtedly drive me to madness before long. Of course, with all this time I'm not spending on much needed beauty rest, I've had a lot of time to think about the things that I'm going to do when I'm afforded the chance to put my hands on Raven tomorrow night inside the Hampton Coliseum. Believe me, if I could sleep ...well, not even my dreams would be able to compete with my waking thoughts.

Phillip Jack Brooks and CM Punk are one in the same. Where as a lot of men in this business have a clear, defined line separating who they are with their families and friends on the outside and who they are after they step out from behind that curtain, I have never been that way. CM Punk is who Phil Brooks is, and vice versa. Inside and out. We uphold the same morales, the same personality - we are the embodiment of one another. One, dare I say it, couldn't survive without the other. Neither of us could imagine life without professional wrestling; and neither of us doubts for a second that CM Punk is the Best in the World.

That's why, when the unwelcome shrill of my phone rippled through my brain late last night, the surprise of my sister's voice on the other end came close to stopping me dead in my tracks. Nothing had managed to cause me to double take on my choice to step between the ropes. After all, how does any man stop and wonder if it's the right time to give up on, not only his dream, but what has become his life?

Simple answer: he doesn't.

Yet, as my sisters' words warbled down the phone, shaky as I imagine she was, only a fool would ignore the cries of somebody they care about; someone who's family. Long story short, she basically begged me down the phone not to get in the ring tomorrow night. She knows how dedicated I am to my craft - and she knows that there are parts of this business less real than others. She told me to be careful and she has struggled to see me writhe in agony. Of course, she knew better than anybody that I wouldn't be careful, whether I get injured or not. She said that Warfare, with a man with as many credentials and as much ability as Raven. And as I sat not five feet from where I'm laying now, she was worried for me, as any good sibling would be. That was the hardest part to hear - it's not that she didn't believe in me, it's not that she didn't understand - but that she just didn't want me to be permanently damaged, as Raven could do to me.

Please, Phil ...please, think about us. Think about what we would do if you got hurt. How could you take it? Phil, please ...

That was a tough pill to swallow.

Unfortunately, I couldn't give her what she wanted. I couldn't agree to not step into the ring and risk my career and long term health. As she tried to interrupt me, in order to drill her point further home if I know her the way I think I do, I had to cut her off. In no uncertain terms, I told her anytime away from this ring was worse than any injury, and it's far worse for my sanity than the chance I could get hurt against Raven. I'm not delusional; I know what I'm getting myself in for. This match on Warfare will be a war of attrition - but in no means is it one that I am unprepared for.

Whatever may or may not happen to me tomorrow night, I told her, none of it could do more damage to me than not wrestling. It's who I am, and who I always will be. I'm not about to let it be taken away from this business. Nothing or nobody will be able to prove any different.

To her credit, she understood. She wished me luck. She ordered me to take care of myself. I'm smarter than to deny her again.

That's the way that is - CM Punk is walking into Hampton, Virginia the same man he was on the phone with his sister ...and I'm walking out the same way I'm going in, and that's as the best wrestler on this Earth. Hell, high water Raven won't prove any different.

I'm not a good guy. I ride into town alone and I leave the same way, the way you've seen a million films before, but I am not the hero of this piece. Raven, consider himself a villain. Tomorrow night, he's going to find out what the word "villain" really means, down to the letter.

If there is, in fact, a Hell - I'm going there. Scratch that ...I've been there already -I've fallen from the top of it - and I've come out the other side.

Tomorrow night, it's Raven's turn to go there.

________________________________________________________
This year hasn't brought any new fortune in regards to the weather. The warm weather sweeps the dusty, desolate streets of Hampton, Virginia. The sky is as dank a shade of grey as the buildings decorating each side of the road, benefiting slightly from the very first, pre-sun rise shreds of light managing to take their grip on the city, taking in all the attention they never get from the murky, flickering streetlights.

Slowly, but surely, there's a distant echo of feet landing on the concrete, one after the other. Spinning on an axis, we come almost instantly face to face with CM Punk, just finishing up a run. Breaking a sweat in the warm May air, the Straight Edge Saviour is nonetheless breathing heavy from what was surely a lengthy workout. Draped in a blue hooded sweatshirt, zipped all the way to the top, Punk takes a few seconds to simply compose himself, and, subtle though it is, shaking out his left shoulder a little more than anything else. Popping his in-ear headphones out, he looks past the camera, to whichever EBWF employee is manning it.

CM PUNK: Happy Five-Thirty, buddy.

CAMERAMAN: Am I, uh, here early or?

CM PUNK: Not at all. In fact, you're right on time. Now, you're only job is to point that camera at me and pick up everything I've got to say. Got it?

With that, the cameraman realizes his speaking role in this situation is officially over, so instead the motion of camera simply nods "Yes" along with him. Punk also nods his approval. 5:30 in the morning, but Punk is somehow looking awake and fresh, although with his levels of determination as famous as his exploits inside the squared circle, he may not have slept at all last night and we'd be none the wiser. Both his beard and hair, under the hood, are freshly trimmed, his beard in particular looking neater than we've seen it in perhaps three or so years. It seems Punk has no concern for the temperature, even though the amount of layers, or lack thereof, would suggest otherwise. There's very little chance, however, that the Voice of the Voiceless asked our cameraman out here to discuss the habits of the climate.

CM PUNK: Good, because, and I doubt this will surprise anybody watching this, least of all Raven, thinks that I have a few select thoughts running around this head of mine that I'd like to verbalize before tomorrow night falls upon us and you bare witness to one of the greatest matches in EBWF history between Raven and myself.

Punk trails off, letting his gaze shift contemplatively towards the tepid orange lamp above him, one of the only things that's keeping the Second City Saint from being completely obscured by the low lighting of this Virginia dawn.

CM PUNK: Well, it seems I've already misspoke; whilst in any normal circumstance this would indeed be one of the most scientifically perfect wrestling clinics ever witnessed in the history of our business, me and Raven aren't meeting under any normal circumstance. No, this thing between the two of us, it's just about as far from normal as it gets in this industry. Believe me, I do know something you don't; something that I'm sure you're as curious to know as everyone else. Normally ...well, normally I would have found a way to make my voice heard by now in spite of the suits, but there is no normality here, Raven. And frankly, the only reason I haven't let the world know what I know is that I'm sure management would be more than happy to keep me from becoming King Of The Ring - and that would stop me from getting a title shot. It's too important; it's so close I can practically hear the sweat trickling down your cheek.

Punk runs his tongue through the inside of his mouth, replenishing all important moisture in this hot temperature. Punk continues his sermon.

CM PUNK: I've been waiting for it for weeks now, I'm standing here in Hampton, Virginia, just over twenty fours away from kicking your ass. Because that's what this is, Raven: this won't be a wrestling match, the kind of match that both you and I have built our reputations on night in and night out. Maybe it'll start out like that, sure - but I think we both know that this is going to end in a fight. And yet, I still see you running your mouth on EBWF programming week in and week out, it's the same thing, Raven. I thought you had a penchant for evolving, but you've become a real stick in the mud on this point. I'm going to give you a little bit of CM Punk's famous truth and tell you that CM Punk will beat you and will move on in the King Of The Ring tournament.

Punk shifts his weight around, keeping the circulation going in his body as the wind cuts through the empty streets with purposeful force. A single, old vehicle shambles past, driving from behind the camera, and it's headlights clearly illuminate the Voice of the Voiceless for the first time since we begun: his eyes, whilst slightly sunken, are looking through the camera with a fearsome, singular focus.

CM PUNK: So yes, you may have found a song you can scream at the sun about what you think it is that CM Punk cost you, but the sun will not give you any answers that can take away from what you know, deep down in that gut of yours; the reason you're so angry, enough to want beat me, is because you know the fault lies with you, and that's something that you're not able to take. After so long of letting every. Single. Person around you, you're unable to look underneath all of that hatred and bile and see the mistakes you've made - there's always someone, or something, else to blame, isn't there Raven?

With the Second City Saint, as unconventional as he is, you can always expect him to cut right to the core of his opponents when he's granted the opportunity to talk, whether it's an out-and-out pipe bomb or a more stealthy, under the radar form of verbal warfare. Punk bears his slightly gapped teeth with more than a hint of disgust at the mention of Raven's past.

CM PUNK: So maybe there's a "congratu-freakin'-lations" are in order for me, after I kick your teeth in.

On the switch of a dime, we get to see another glimpse inside the head of CM Punk, and another reason, perhaps, he could have never gotten along with Raven. Suddenly, a whole new dimension to their match has been added, courtesy of the Straight Edge Messiah. Punk is clearly incensed by this point - much has been made of Raven here in EBWF, but if there's any man that might be able to match him in EBWF, it just might be CM Punk.

CM PUNK: Meanwhile, I scrapped through backyards and gymnasiums until I reached the very zenith of the professional wrestling world and I had perfected my craft. I don't use that term lightly, Raven there are very few perfect things in this world, but I am the perfect wrestler - and I did it by myself. I was strong enough to endure the pain that this business brings because it surges through my veins from when I wake up to when I fall asleep at night without having to put myself under. It may be hard to hear, but that's honesty for you, Raven. You couldn't do it, simply because when you put the facts as facts, you're not as strong as I am. You're weak, Raven; maybe not in the ring, but in that mind of yours is fragile. I don't think it's any secret I will be going into Warfare at my best - I'm flesh and blood, just like you - only I will eliminate you from the King Of The Ring.

Tapping at his hood covered temple, Punk grins again, but only briefly.

CM PUNK: Let's face it, isn't that the reason you really want to beat me? Because we are on a collision course and, at the end of the day, with this aura of invincibility you've built up in your own head, you don't want these people to see that maybe, just maybe, you aren't the best. You want to beat me before I even get the chance to plant my boots firmly across the ring and stare you in the face because you KNOW that you will lose to the true Best in the World. After you started running your mouth, you knew I wouldn't give up until I got you in the ring and you tried to take precautions to make sure that wouldn't happen. Well! Too fucking bad, Raven - because here I am, one day away from standing across that sweat stained mat, locking eyes with you and then, in that moment, you'll truly be able to fathom just what you've brought on yourself. Tomorrow night, in the Hampton Coliseum, it's not going to be a happy ending at sundown; I'm pulling on my boots, I'm throwing on my uniform I'm going to war.

Chomping at the bit, Punk's top row of teeth clench his bottom lip, in particular his lip ring. As for the rest of his body, it's basically stoic, frozen with concentration and determination.

CM PUNK: Please, continue to pander to all these people like you're some borderline institutionalized, raving madman, Raven. Maybe you truly are going insane, but that only means you're going to make it that much easier for me to pick you apart. For somebody as "untouchable" as you, I really managed to work my way under your skin, huh? We both know that you don't have the fire inside that I do; or did you simply bestow the honor of addressing me to a show of good faith? To see what you've become, nothing more than a glorified cheerleader, it makes me sick. I'm using my talents in the way I was born to use them, I've become everything anybody could've ever imagined Phillip Brooks becoming and then some - whereas you're talents are occupied under the pretence of a glorified bag boy.

As almost to put an solemn exclamation point on Punk's tirade, the street becomes, somehow, even more quiet. It's as if the eerily silent street, somewhere in Hampton, is hanging on Punk's words too. Punk takes his right hand, and fastens his jaw firmly in it, thoughtfully caressing the stubble on his chin.

CM PUNK: Perhaps one day you'll come to your senses Raven ...perhaps not. Regardless, tomorrow night, it doesn't matter who's side your take because it will take much more than simply Raven, to stop this ride; it will take all of Earth and half of Heaven to stop me tearing him limb from limb, and no gold medal or past glories will stand in my way.

Punk staring deep into the camera with a stone cold ferocity showing the intensity and the seriousness in his face.

CM PUNK: To defeat Raven, I need to put him to make him go to sleep. Raven doesn't have the guts to address me himself, I'll direct this one to you personally, Raven; listen up. On Warfare, it doesn't matter which match goes on last. It doesn't matter about the pageantry or the spectacle. It doesn't even matter who is making good challenging who - tomorrow night, the only thing that matters is I'm going to walk out in Hampton Coliseum and I'm going to steal the show. You know why? 'Cause that's what I do. After I'm done with you ... Raven will be getting the time off he so desperately needs.

The sermon is in full effect; the only reason the Straight Edge Messiah slows down is to simply take one glance over his shoulder, before letting out a half hearted laugh to himself, although he's not trying very hard.

CM PUNK: It was a given something like this would happen: this is a business at the end of the day. As heart warming as that tale is, and, my sarcasm aside, it's all smoke and mirrors. I deal in facts, so here's another one - Two Thousand Twenty One, in reality, is the year of CM Punk. Raven, I am the Boa Constrictor that is going to choke the life out of you tomorrow night until I see the whites in your eyes. I don't forgive and I do not forget. I am a villain, I am a serpent - and I am your own personal Devil coming for my penance. My name is CM Punk, and I am the Best in the World - and Raven, it's nap time.

With not another word or a sideways glance, the Second City Saint turns his back on the camera, choosing instead to walk off through the streets of Hampton, Virginia, to perhaps gather more venomous thoughts about the fate of Raven only a sweet twenty four hours from now.

CM Punk has managed to get under the skin of Raven in a way that perhaps no man ever has, and likely ever will again. Undoubtedly, at least in Punk's mind, Raven's onset will be the final nail in his coffin. Raven had his time, he was the man ...but the Ace is back.

Tomorrow night in Hampton, Virginia, we witness quite a few histories being made in one evening on Warfare, but perhaps none is more important, than when Raven steps into the ring with CM Punk to prove just who, at least on one night, is better than the other.

CM Punk has a pretty good idea who that will be.