"That little mother fucker…"
Edge sighed as he muttered under his breath. He was the most evil and creative genius to ever set foot in the WWE. So how could this have happened? He never would have seen this coming.
It even defied the age-old question: Which game first? The "Rated" or the "RKO"?
Edge leaned back in the swiveling office chair that sat behind the desk of his wife and GM of SmackDown, Vickie Guerrero. His limber legs kicked in the air and landed swiftly on the oak desktop, his right leg crossed over his left. He inspected the aging leather of his expensive cowboy boots as he contemplated the fact that La Familia, or what was once La Familia, wasn't exactly the most powerful force in the WWE any longer.
The McMahon's were coming back, slowly, but surely. They could beat down Edge and his family as quickly as a bug's death in a bug zapper. But even so, there was a greater force that was giving the McMahon's, the supposed greatest force ever in the WWE, a living nightmare.
Edge huffed to himself as he reached for the remote control and hastily turned off the television screen that was placed in the General Manager's office. That should be him taking over Monday nights, not Orton and his little cronies. He once remembered a time when he and Orton were the Monday night vigilantes, saving the world from the powers of good and John Cena.
Edge tried not to show emotions that would make him feel weak. Anger made him feel stronger. Conceit made him feel powerful, like nothing could ever stop him, and rarely, it did.
But here he was, twitching from a small pang of jealousy. The small pang grew and grew until they blew up into seismic booms. If he opened his mouth, Edge felt as if the booms would physically escape him, blowing up anything in their path.
And what did these newcomers have that he didn't? Edge had it all: good looks and wrestling ability. He sent shivers of fear down the spines of the children of the world just by standing there. So what gave?
Obviously, it was the fact that he wasn't a second generation superstar. But was that really his fault? Was it his fault that he had a dream? No, it wasn't. And because of that dream, he was one of the best.
He couldn't fault Cody Rhodes and Ted DiBiase for the genetics, though. That wasn't their fault. But Edge never dwelled upon why people were better than him. He dwelled upon why he was better than everyone else.
Sure, he didn't have the benefits of parents in the wrestling industry. But he sure as hell didn't have a large bum or a lisp so bad that it could be considered its own accent. He had a wife in a powerful corporate position. He was the World Heavyweight Champion. He had it all…except for a true following. Everyone, even including his wife, either had betrayed him or would betray him if given the chance.
And now it was his turn to betray everyone else, to get the last laugh.
In order to do that, he was going to go to RAW. He was going to become the true power player that he knows he is. He was going to demolish his old tag team partner and his Legacy.
Monday Night RAW would suffer from the overtaking of the Rated-R Legacy.