Voices
A.N.: This is loosely based on the scripted characters of the WWE, not on any real-life persons or events. English is not my first language, but I do my very best. Have fun! :)

Voices - Chapter 1: Birth

Randy Orton, favored wrestling prodigy and proud ex-mentee of some of the greatest Hall of Famers, didn't stand a chance and he knew it. The moment his opponent had gotten hold of him the world had spun around in a funny twist and now he was facing the hall's roof while resting uncomfortably on the other wrestler's shoulders, his body being held in a vice-like grip. His whole body ached already and his limbs hurt like hell.

It was rather funny, pretty ironic, really. Cody had warned him before the match.
"You shouldn't have made Batista this angry, Randy" he had said. "If you're not careful, he'll-"
"Don't worry," he had interrupted, poorly faking arrogance and confidence that he thought was necessary. "Batista will get what he deserves."

Now it seemed like some deity unknown to him thought that Batista deserved a perfect fight and a good, old Death Valley Driver to teach the young upstart on his shoulders some manners. Funny that.

Then the world started to spin once more and he knew that the match would be over for him. Hot, white pain surged through his head as he hit the floor. Hard. For a few sickening seconds his vision turned blurry and the roaring of the crowd surrounding the ring became a hollow humming noise. He barely registered the referee who counted him out but it didn't matter anyway. He had been defeated. His blood was pounding in his veins, worsening his headache.

*You are weak.* someone hissed.
"'m not," he mumbled, unaware of the fact that no sound escaped his barely moving lips.
*You are weak,* the voice repeated. *I can make you strong.*
"Strong."
*Soon you'll join me,* the hissing voice said. *Soon, Randy. Soon.*
A numb feeling crawled up inside his limbs and although his eyes remained open, darkness engulfed him.

...

"I tell you, John! Hunter is going to rip Orton apart!"
Evan and John were waiting backstage for the next matches to take place but the Cenation Leader couldn't share the little wrestler's enthusiasm.
"I don't know, Evan. Something's off, I can tell."
"What do you mean?" the smaller one asked puzzled. John stood there with his arms crossed, watching the monitor that gave them a view on the ring.
"I mean ..."
Yeah, what did he actually mean? The feud between Tripple H, Batista and Orton had been going on for a while now and he really wasn't sure anymore who had started the whole thing. Men had been injured, bones had been crushed, but more importantly sensitive senses of pride had been hurt and now the damage was done. Hunter had been running rampage in the locker room and the whole backstage area for weeks now but hadn't had the chance to get a hold on Orton so far. John highly doubted that the match tonight would help to settle the whole dispute, in fact, he feared that it would only fuel Hunter's hatred for the younger wrestler. But although Hunter looked ready to tear Orton apart with his bare hands, John didn't share Evan's view on the probable outcome of the match.

Orton had become strange to say the least. In the past few months John had witnessed a change in the younger wrestler that no one else seemed to have noticed. It had started rather gradually and subtle but John guessed that it was only a matter of time before everyone else could see it too. Something had happened to Orton's demeanor. The formerly communicative, broadly smiling, cocky and slightly goofy 3rd generation wrestler had somehow retreated into himself. John had seen it with his own eyes only a few days before when he and Orton had met for a match on Raw. The fight had been long and hard and at some point they had been dancing around each other, waiting for the other to lower his defences. John had looked directly into the eyes of the Legend Killer, those icy-blue orbs that pierced their opponent like shards of glass, a stare that was fixed and concentrated, but within a split second that look had vanished from Orton's eyes completely. His eyes had dropped to the floor, a deep frown on his face, while his lips were moving soundlessly and barely noticeable. It had looked … odd … but John had seized the opportunity, finishing off his seemingly distracted opponent. The interesting thing was that Orton didn't seem to be affected by John's surprising victory at all. He had left the ring with a blank stare and without a warning word to John prophesising a different outcome when they would meet again. It was very unlike Orton to leave things uncommented. And it was even more unlike him to retreat in the middle of a staredown.

"I don't know," John said to Evan. "I just have a bad feeling, that's all. Orton is a strong competitor. You shouldn't underestimate him."
"He's a bragging jerk. Hunter is going to teach him some manners," Evan said and smirked. "Funny that Orton is still in need of that lesson after your attitude adjustment last week."
John displayed a half-hearted grin.
"Yeah, funny."
He didn't feel like laughing at all.

...

The locker room was almost empty. For reasons of safety, Hunter had been told to use a different room than his opponent and Randy was rather glad for the GM's orders. Now he sat alone on one of the benches, flexing is neck. He could hear the roaring of the audience in the hall, thousands of feet and voices. He wasn't ready for this. He had felt strange in the past few weeks, not like himself at all. Ever since the devastating match with Batista, he often felt dizzy and light-headed and was plagued by burning headaches. The doctors had said that physically he was fine and probably just suffering from a migraine, but Randy knew that something was wrong. He hadn't told them the entire truth. He hadn't told the doctors of the hissing whispers.

When he had awoken on a stretcher backstage after the match with Batista, he instantly remembered the voice that had whispered to him but he had only then realised that no one had actually talked to him in the ring. It was a scary thought but he had tried to push it away. He wanted to believe that these things could happen when you had suffered a severe blow to the head but that these things went away on their own afterwards. And when the voice didn't return in the following days, he had felt relieved and waving it off as a strange, temporary and now ended nuisance, he had started to forget about it.

Oh boy, how wrong he had been.

Two weeks later, in a match against Sheamus, he had been struggling to gain some ground. The Celtic Warrior had been in great form, while he himself had suffered from his first migraine attack since his match with Batista. After a heavy backbreaker by Sheamus, Randy had tried to lift himself up from the ground, but his arms gave up under him again and again.
"Get up!" the ginger wrestler demanded, obviously already aiming for a finishing move.

*You are weak,*
Randy's body convulsed when a new, hot stab of pain surged right into his head, a flash of white blinding his vision for a second.
*If you stop struggling, the pain will cease,* the voice hissed.
"Go away," Randy whispered.
*No,* the hissing became louder. *I can make you strong.*
"Go away," Randy said, louder this time, shocking the referee who had closed in on him.
*Without me, you lose.*

A roar from the Celtic Warrior was all he had heard before he had been grabbed and crucified, being smashed to the ground just a second later. The impact had run through his entire body, shaking his bones.
*You will be with me soon, Randy,* the voice had whispered, fading into nothingness. *Soon.*

Still sitting in his locker room, Randy shook his head to erase the dark memories occupying him. It was time to enter the ring. He didn't feel ready at all.

...

The music started and Hunter entered the ring. Although all they could do was watch the match on the monitor, John could see the hatred burning already hot in Hunter's eyes. The crowd cheered as Triple H was showing off with his light show.

Then the intro changed and Randy Orton stepped through the entrance, surrounded by flashing lights from the huge screens all about. John watched with fascination and worry as Orton made his way towards the ring, his eyes opening and closing slowly again and again, his steps hesitant and lacking the Legend Killer's trademark confidence.

"Look, Orton is nervous. I told you, he's probably scared shitless right now," Evan said mockingly.
"I don't think he's nervous," John replied. "Nervous looks different."
Evan raised his eyebrows.
"You sure?"
No, he wasn't sure, at least not entirely. It had become rather difficult for him to predict what was going on inside Orton's head. He usually prouded himself on the fact that he was able to read is opponents quite well but with his recent change, Randy seemed to elude John's attempts to do so.

"He looks exhausted," John said, noticing that the usually tanned features of the Legend Killer were now pale. As the camera showed a close-up of his face, John was able to see slim red rims surrounding the young wrestler's eyes practically shouting exhaustion. Orton looked drained and his movements were anything but confident. His shoulders, arms and neck revealed a certain tenseness but lacked any sign of a wrestler ready for a match.
Evan nodded. "Yeah, you're right. Did he skip training?"
"No, I don't think so. Something else bothers him."
Evan laughed.
"Well, I would be pretty bothered too if I were to face a raging Triple H."
John shook his head.
"No, that's not it."

Orton stepped into the ring, his eyes now fixing his opponent. Triple H was growling in the back of his throat, a menacing stare aimed at Orton. The Legend Killer squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, scrunching up his face.

"He looks like he's in pain or something," Evan said surprised.
"Yes, looks like it."
"An injury? Something we can't see?"
John shook his head again.
"Unlikely. We were both cleared by the doctors after our last match. No problem there. If he were severely injured, they wouldn't have given him permission to fight."
John still couldn't understand. If Orton was in pain - and now that he had realised it, he asked himself why he hadn't seen this before - why hadn't he told the doctors?

...

The pounding in his head had worsened when he had entered the arena, a pulsating dull pain behind his eyes and forehead. He could hear Hunter growling from across the ring, a deep threatening sound that was meant to intimidate him. Randy couldn't care less, he had far more severe problems to deal with, like his head that felt ready to combust spontaneously. He just wanted this match to be over so he could leave the arena again, get away the loud noise and the flashlights that he hoped were responsible for the pain. He knew he was wrong, that it wasn't any outside influence giving him pain but something from within him. He shuddered involuntarily.

"You afraid of me, kid?" Hunter mocked without smiling.
"Why should I?" Randy growled back, his voice betraying his fake confidence.
"Because," Hunter growled, "I'm going to break every bone in your body. I'm going to skin you alive, Randy, and leave your battered body to the vultures backstage, you know, all these legendary wrestlers you have disrespected, all these men that would like nothing more than to broken and bleeding."
Randy closed his eyes for a moment in the hope that the darkness would get rid of the ache in his head but it was to no avail. He was so tired of this. This headache had drained strength and concentration from him. He was exhausted and he wanted to go. He knew he wouldn't be able to put up a decent fight. This would be over quickly.
"Whatever."

Hunter drew his brows together, surprised by the fact that the young upstart had no better comeback in store. He decided, though, that he couldn't care less. The impertinent little bastard was going to pay for his insolence, for his lack of respect for him and his family. He would have his revenge for the humiliation of being spat at, for the kid's audacity to attack his former patron.

"I'm going to tear you apart!"

...

John saw the wild blaze in Hunter's eyes, the violent wish to destroy his former protégé clearly visible. John knew that Triple H had completely forgotten that Hunter himself had played a great part in establishing this fued. Evolution didn't fall apart for no reason and kicking Orton out of the stable in a most distasteful manner had been the beginning of the end. But knowing that Orton wasn't an angel either made the situation far more complicated. His arrogance had cost him a lot and maybe now was the time for him to pay for it.

The bell rang and the fight began immediately: Triple H didn't waste a second and tackled Orton to the ground, rapidly showering the young man's face and chest with heavy blows. It took a while before the referee was able to tell him off for a few seconds so that Orton could stand up again.

"Geez, man! Hunter's going to kill Orton!" Evan commented, clearly shocked by the uncontrolled violence.
"Let's hope he does not," John answered. "Although I'm not very fond of either of them, it would be a shame to lose two great wrestlers."

That was true. John had had his fair share of fights with Hunter and although they had never been able to establish anything close to friendship, they respected each other very much. Orton, on the other hand, was an entirely different chapter in John's career and one that was not finished yet, as the Cenation Leader presumed. He and Orton had disliked each other from the very first moment on. They had both been rookies back then, still wet behind the ears, but they couldn't have been any more different in character: Where John balanced bravery and consideration and never forgot to have a smile for everyone who deserved or wanted it, Orton had always been reckless and arrogant, too cocksure of himself for John's tastes. And yet, since he always tried to find the good in everyone, John had tried a few times to win the younger one over, always connecting hard with the concrete wall that was Orton's ego. But now, as he watched Tripple H taking Orton apart, John wondered how the confident, proud and contemptuous youth had become his own shadow, this weak imitation of the Legend Killer.

As John watched the match, Orton was trying to lift himself up, swaying with the effort, his head bent low, his hands clutching his aching chest. As soon as he was back on his feet, Triple H attacked again, grabbing Orton by the shoulder and flinging him around like a rag doll. The younger wrestler bounced off the ropes straight into his opponent's fist. In a desperate attempt to stay standing, Orton spread his arms but was ripped forward by Hunter. With an incredibly forceful pull, he smashed Orton into the nearest corner, effectively knocking the air out of the younger one's lungs.

"Why doesn't he do anything?!" Evan yelled. "It's like he doesn't even want to fight!"
"He can't," John said, not as surprised by the sudden realisation than he probably should have been. "He just can't."
Although John disliked Orton as much as many other wrestlers, he couldn't help but feel sadness and pity welling up inside him as he saw the young one being practically crushed by his rival. It always pained him to see uneven matches but this time he felt even stronger about it: In the state that he was in, Orton was no match for Hunter. He shouldn't have stepped into that ring at all.

He witnessed how Orton was kicked in the stomach twice before he was able to maneurvre himself out of the danger zone by dropping to his knees and rolling to the side. Triple H panted and snorted, muscles flexing and eyes flashing. Still on his knees, Orton crouched over and held unto his stomach.

Triple H said something and John didn't need to be in the ring to know what the older wrestler was saying. Orton's body suddenly stiffened and he didn't move for a few seconds. Then his hands travelled up his body, held unto his head, rubbed over his face and head.

"What the fuck is Orton doing there?" Evan asked.
"I don't know, man, but this doesn't look good," John said, a creepy feeling crawling up inside him. He knew something bad was going to happen, he just didn't know how or why.

...

Hunter's movements were too fast for him to react and the impact with the corner had been too powerful for him to regain his senses immediately. The much needed intake of breath was knocked out of him only a split second later, when Hunter's foot connected with his stomach. The pain made him sick but he didn't have time to counter the man's kicks before Hunter attacked a second time. The kick was even harder and he felt the intense pang threatening to overtake what little rational thought he had left. Purely acting on instinct, he felt Hunter's next kick coming and dropped to his knees to avoid another assault. Moving out of the corner into the middle of the ring, he curled up as tightly as he could, holding his middle and panting heavily. The pain in his stomach and chest lessened, but he was unable to stop trembling.

"Man up, kid! When did you become such a wussy?"
Hunter barked, walking slowly around Randy like a wolf closing in on his prey.
Randy wanted to stand up but his body was unwilling to even try.
A new sting of pain rushed through his temples.
*You are pathetic.*
"Go away."
Randy's voice was nothing more than a whisper as he barely moved his lips. The shouting of the crowd cheering for his opponent became a dull noise in the background as the hissing voice in his head grew louder.
*You need me. I can make you strong,* the voice said.
"Who are you?"
The pain in his head intensified. He clasped his head in both hands.
*You know me,* the voice said. *I am what you need to win. Without me, you are nothing.*
The voice seemed to close in even more and it felt as if the fizz was directly next to his left ear. Randy turned his head to see but there was nothing but the crowd cheering and booing and whistling.

*I am a part of you. I am the beast. I am the apex predator.*
Randy turned his head and stared at the floor. He knew he was going insane but the frightening thing really was that he was unable to do anything against it. He closed his eyes against the voice and the pain. Bright yellow eyes and two white fangs flashed in front of him before the predator's bite ignited hot fire inside his brain, poison that spread and infected his mind, setting it ablaze. He tried to fight it, to make it stop, but his mind seemed as powerless as his body.
*Do not struggle against me. Together we can be great. Surrender and join me.*
The burning pain in his head became unbearable and he knew that he would black out any moment.
*Give in to me. Forget what he taught you. He is nothing. I am instinct and I am strong. I can make you strong.*

"Stand up!" Hunter demanded, his voice loud but somehow muffled as if he tried to speak to Randy through a thick piece of cloth. The pain worsened and all he could do was swaying his head from one side to the other while massaging his head in a desperate attempt to prevent his skull from bursting from the inside out. He felt helpless and close to a breakdown.
*Surrender.*
"Come on, stand up!"
*Surrender,* the voice repeated.
Drums in his head, pounding.
"Stop it, please," he begged. Hunter laughed.
"You wish! Come on, little boy!"
*Surrender!*
Loud pounding, feral poison driving him mad. Sharp fangs piercing his mind.
"Pathetic coward!"
*Ssssssurrender.*
"No, I can't-"
"Stand, man!"
One last hiss echoed in his mind, white pain exploding in his head …
… and he let go.

His world drowned in a vortex of venomous colors, the poison spreading explosively in his head and entire body, setting his limbs on fire for less than a second and leaving a pleasant tingle in his fingertips. He believed to feel the dry yet smooth skin of a snake on his back and shoulders as the sinuous entity of the apex predator embraced his mind, his body and his soul.

The pain vanished almost immediately. Randy stopped trembling and opened his eyes, his vision clearer than before and razor-sharp. Rancor and spite welled up inside him, a cold storm of rage he had never felt before. It frightened him but the voice tried to soothe his fears.
*Do not be afraid. This is us now. We are strong. You are with me now.*
"With you?" Randy asked, his voice louder than before.

Hunter drew his brows together in confusion as he heard his opponent speak.
"What is with me?" he asked but didn't get an answer.

*Yes, with me. We are the beast. We are the apex predator. I am you and you are me.*
"I … am-"
Hunter took a step closer, his frown deepening.
"Speak up, kid!" he demanded. "If you've got somethin' to say, then speak up and look at me, coward!"
It only took a second for him to regret these words.

Randy lifted his gaze to look into Hunter's eyes and what the older men saw made his blood freeze.
*Say it.*
Randy hissed.
"Viper."

And hell broke loose.