A/N: This was originally written as a second person narrative where you, the reader, placed yourself in the main characters shows and experienced the story with them. Sadly, that kind of story isn't allowed on this site, so I had to change it to first person. The original intention is still the same, so, even though I've given the narrator a name and personality, I've left her appearance intentionally vague so you can imagine her however you like.

"Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall". - Measure for Measure by William Shakespeare.

Chapter 1: Sierra

"Hey, mate, how's it going? Listen, I'm just calling up to find out if there's been any word back from Punk or Heyman. It has been a couple of days, you know?"

I try to drown out the conversation my dad's having on the phone, finding his loud voice is distracting me too much from my reading. Granted, the book is just some god-awful, smutty romance that's rife with purple prose, but I promised my friends that I'd give it a read and I can't do that while my dad's around. I can only hope that he finishes up soon and goes back to watching the football on the TV. Or locks himself up in his room, I really don't give a shit.

Name's Athena. Athena Reese, but friends just call me Thea. At elementary school I used to get a lot of snickers from the other kids about my name. I was able to ignore it until finally, on one particularly bad day – I think when I was ten – I asked my mom just what the hell she was thinking giving me that kind of name in this day and age. Don't get me wrong, Athena's a nice name and not many can say they're named after a Greek goddess; it's just… odd, you know?

Well, apparently, one of the nurses was a real Greek mythology lover and suggested the name to my mom. Lucky for her, my mom, having spent hours in labour and all pepped-up on painkillers, couldn't have cared less and went with it. If anything, it saved her having to go to the trouble of coming up with a name for me herself. Now that I know that, I find it all kind of hypocritical, especially considering how huffy she always got when I said I wished I had a more ordinary name.

That was about eight years ago and my mom's now long gone. She ran off to Barbados (or Cyprus, whatever) with her, according to my pops, "pretty boy, poet lover" when I was fifteen, leaving behind a note and a very scorned, alcoholic dad in her place. I took it all in my stride and carried on with my life as normal. This may sound mean to my mom, but the only thing that really changed in my life as a result of her leaving was that my dad drank and hated my guts even more than before. (I was an accident, apparently).

Speaking of my dad, for the past couple of days my old man's been acting all secretive and shady, refusing to tell me next to nothing and always hiding away in his room by himself. He's been doing it so frequently that I'm starting to feel as if I'm the only one living in the house and he's some poltergeist or something. In fact, lately, the only time he really comes out is to have his breakfast, lunch and dinner, and to make a few calls, all of which were always about two men called "Punk" and "Heyman". Whoever the hell they were…

At first I was really curious and kept asking my dad just what he was up to, my mind rife with possibilities. But, when each and every time his response was to yell at me and order me, as he so eloquently put it, to "piss off to your room", I gave up and stopped caring. I reasoned that the reality was probably something really mundane anyway. Anything my dad did normally was.

"So they're not returning our calls? Fucking cocksuckers! Alright then, we'll just up the ante! You tell Maddox to send that walrus, Heyman, the photographs. Can't ignore us if they know we aren't bluffing and really have evidence, hehe."

'Or maybe not…'

I would have loved to have heard more of the conversation, but then my dad noticed me watching out of the corner of my eyes and listening in. Needless to say the old bastard went ballistic and practically chucked me out of the living room, ordering me to go upstairs and stay upstairs.

So, naturally, I didn't. What I did instead was, put some eye shadow on my mocha eyes, straighten out my long hair and put on my favourite red dress, and go hang out with some friends. I mean, like hell was I going to be cooped up in my room for the rest of the night! By the time I got back home, my dad was no longer on the phone but back in his room and now fast asleep, snoring his head off.

'Shame, because I really want to know what the conversation was about. It was just starting to get interesting...'

My dad must be getting really paranoid because, the next night when he's on the phone again, rather than just send me to my room like before, he kicks me out of the house! And all because he thought I was listening in on his conversation from the stairs! Sheesh!

That doesn't bother me too much. After all, it's not the first time my dad's thrown a tantrum like a child and left me outside, hoping I'll come crawling back. No, what bothers me is that it's currently ten o'clock at night and I'm scared shitless!

The area I live in is not particularly the safest of places. There are more robberies, murders, and gang violence than I'd care to admit, while going outside once it gets dark is never the wisest of things to do. For every street that is safe there is sure to be an alleyway or park nearby that has some dangerous people lurking nearby.

Lucky for me, the school I go to is in a ridiculously close proximity to my house. It's only a five minute walk at best, and the underground pass I have to walk through every day to get there is normally empty during the school hours: 8am and 3.30pm. In fact, I can honestly say that, in all my years going to and from my high school, I've never once walked down that way before or after those times.

Until tonight that is.

I hadn't planned on going anywhere near there. Underpasses were creepy enough in the daytime, so God knows what it'd look like in the night. But then, I also hadn't planned on been stuck outside late at night, or it pouring down with rain while I was. My lousy, no good, loser of a father wasn't going to suddenly just let me back in, so I ran to there, the only place I knew I could dry myself off.

I reach it in no time, but quickly realise that I'm not the only one there. Turns out some baaaad shit is currently going down.

Three muscular men are giving a beatdown to another, much smaller man. To my horror, I recognise all four of them. I've seen these guys on the news before...

The black-clad trio who were dressed like SWAT team officers and administering the beatdown are apparently a renegade group called The Shield.

The one with the two-tone hair – half blonde, half black – is called Seth Rollins.

He's super passionate about honour, integrity and all that bull, and really loves the things he gets to do as a member of the group - You know, beating the shit out of people "for the better good", terrorizing them and throwing his weight around, acting like he's some goddamn hero. My friend thinks he's "so cool" and "super cute", but, then again, she's always been a sucker for a 'bad boy' types, so go figure.

The one with the slicked back, brown hair who's pounding the ever-loving crap out of the poor guy currently on the ground is Dean Ambrose.

Dangerous. Unhinged. Deranged. Volatile. All these words describe Ambrose perfectly. As my friend put it, he's "a complete psycho" and "the violent, sadistic one of the group." I don't doubt her for one second. The photos of the bloodied, broken bodies of their victims in the newspapers and the many, many stories of how he's a monster or like the devil himself are proof enough for me that this guy is bad news, full stop.

And the tall, imposing guy towering over all of them goes by the name of Roman Reigns.

He's a savage Samoan who's a complete and utter beast and fucks up anyone who dares stand in his way. My friend told me that he's "the quiet badass one of the group who only speaks when he needs to" - which I find ironic because, right now, the man's been anything but quiet. No, while Rollins and Ambrose are mauling the man much like a pack of wild dogs, Reigns is trash talking and roaring like he's a goddamn lion!

That might sound ridiculous but, in the flesh, it's fucking terrifying!

In their own words, they were advocators of justice who were trying to right all the wrongs they saw around them. And, unlike some of the gangs in the area who just run their mouths off, they backed up their words. If they thought someone was committing an injustice, they dealt with them swiftly and thoroughly, showing no mercy or restraint for their victim.

Course, as far as I was concerned, the three of them were nothing but nasty, violent, sanctimonious a-holes who thought they owned the place! It was because of them that people were living in fear that they might do or say something to piss them off and, BAM, it would a picture of their corpse on the news or in newspapers!

There's no way in hell I plan to let that happen to me as well. Rain be damned, I'm turning around and getting as far away from these guys as I possibly can! But, as I back away and make to leave...

"Think you're tough, Braaaad!? Think you're better than us!? Oh, what's that? Speak up Brad, I can't hear you! 'Please, stop. I'm begging you'? Is that what you're trying to say? Awww, what's the matter, Braaaaad? You don't wanna hang with the big boys anymore? Are you starting to realise what a failure of a human being you are!? Well, answer us!"

I hear Ambrose yell before launching into another attack. I freeze, breath hitching in my throat. I want to keep on walking, but my conscience is starting to get the better of me. A man is being attacked! I can't just ignore that!

And then I hear this:

"Did you really think you could blackmail CM Punk, Maddox? Did you really think you'd get away with it? Paul Heyman gave you the chance to just walk away, Bradley, and you blew it! Not only did you and your loser friends keep harassing them, you had the audacity to say that you were doing it in the name of justice! We're The Shield - WE ARE JUSTICE!"

Rollins rants this to Maddox, all the while lifting him by his hair so the two are face to face. Not an easy feat given how Ambrose is currently in a frenzy, punching and kicking every part of Brad Maddox's body he can get his hands on.

'Wait a sec… Punk? Heyman? Maddox? Those are the guys my dad was talking about on the phone!'

A million questions bombard my brain and none of them are particularly comforting to think about. The main one though is, 'Is my dad one of the 'loser friends' blackmailing CM Punk and Paul Heyman with Brad Maddox?' Well... If the phone conversation I overheard is anything to go by, then all arrows point to 'yes'.

'Fuck.'

'But, wait!' I think, an idea having just come to my head. 'Do Heyman, Punk and The Shield know my dad? Maybe Maddox is the only one who's come into contact with them!' I know it's a desperate way of thinking and I'm just clutching at straws, but so what! Right now, the thought of The Shield breaking into my house at night and doing the same thing to me what they're doing to Brad Maddox is scaring the almighty crap out of me!

'How can he still be conscious after all that!?' I think in horror as I see Maddox weakly begin to crawl away. Sadly, his efforts are futile.

"Where do you think you're going?! You ain't going nowhere! Get up, fool!" I jump as Roman screams a colossal war-cry at Maddox, kicking the struggling man in the stomach. Not in a patient mood, he takes a step back and motions for Ambrose and Rollins hoist him to his feet. "Get him up! Get him UP! It's time to take a ride, little tiny man! It's time for you to die!"

Ambrose and Rollins lift the dazed Maddox up, resting his legs on Reign's shoulders. From there, all three raise him up even higher and then, in a moment which has me fighting back the urge to scream, slam him down upon the concrete floor. Hard. A sickening crack rings out and Maddox's leg starts to convulse, the only part of him seemingly showing any signs of life.

"Heh, nice knowing ya, Brad" Ambrose snickers, patting a roaring Reigns on the back.

"BELIEVE IN THE SHIIIIELD!" yells Rollins to Maddox.

I doubt there's much that can be done for Maddox now. The guy is so injured at this point that it's a certainty that, if he does live to see another day, he'll be wheelchair bound for life. Still, I have to do something, so I quietly pull out my phone and start to dial 911. As it starts to ring, I, as slowly and quietly as I can manage, start to walk backwards, never taking my eyes off the three Shield members. I'm almost out of the clear, safe and sound (if not wet and cold) when fate - it seems life really hates my guts - decides to give me the middle finger...

"Aa-choo!" It comes so suddenly that I don't even have time to try and hold it back. Before I can stop myself, I sneeze. Loudly, might I add. In a matter of seconds, the talking from the three men stop and things go deathly silence.

I shouldn't be surprised. It may be raining heavily but The Shield would have to be goddamn deaf not to have heard me! Even worse, I sneezed so forcefully that I dropped my mobile! So I can't make a run for it until I've found the damn thing! It's wet, dark, cold and-

"Well well, boys, looks like we have ourselves a visitor! Seth, take Maddox and finish him off. Me and Roman will deal with this one" Dean Ambrose drawls, and suddenly him and Roman Reigns are bounding right towards me. I stare at them like a deer in headlights, frozen on the spot.

'FuckFuckFuckFuckFuckFuckOoooooohfuck!'

A/N: If anyone has any suggestions please don't hesitate to tell me! Thank you for taking the time to read this and I looking forward to reading any reviews this receives!