A/N: Oh, snap. This, for once, isn't about Batman. Shocking! Dark, dark, dark, so don't cry about it. I gave you fair warning. And psycho Randy is better than pansy Randy. (You should probably listen to "Inside the Fire" by Disturbed or at least look at the lyrics to better understand this). This one shot has been sitting unfinished for two weeks. Oops. Kayfabe.

Suicide. He set it up to look as if it was suicide.

Stephanie McMahon wasn't strong enough, or weak enough, to take her own life. It was murder, and Triple H knew it.

He knocked on the door of the office belonging to the youngest McMahon child for five straight minutes, calling out to his wife. When she didn't answer, he slowly turned the door knob. Luckily,it was open. He quietly opened the door, in case she was on a business call and wasn't paying attention to anyone who would be at her door.

But what he saw when he stepped in the room scared him more than the great equalizer scared his opponents.

Stephanie McMahon was hanging by her neck on a rope connected to the ceiling fan, her life clearly sucked out of her. Her lifeless body gently swayed back and forth, the rope showing no signs of snapping.

He chose his weapon well, Triple H thought.

"I've got to go, kids," Randy Orton said, standing up from the table in catering and stretching his arms out. "Cody, Ted, I'll see you guys later. Vince wants to have a chat with me in his office."

The young members of Priceless and Legacy exchanged grim glances. Ted spoke up first. "Um, Randy, don't you think—"

Randy was quick to cut off the son of the Million Dollar Man. "Shut up. There is no way he knows, okay? It's probably about our match at Wrestlemania. He'll probably tell me that you two can't come down to the ring with me or something. You know, business talk," Randy winked, straightening his shirt and leaving the cafeteria.

Business is a funny thing, especially in the wrestling sense. The person who Randy was really going to see did indeed wish to talk business with him, and in a sense, it did have something to do with his match against Triple H at Wrestlemania.

Randy strutted to the Chairman's office, feeling on top of the world as he usually did. He sharply rapped on the door twice.

"Come in," the angered and gruff voice of Vince McMahon barked, sounding as normal as ever. Word must not have gotten out about his daughter, a thought that pleased the brash Legend Killer. He slowly turned the handle and opened the door, walking into his worst nightmare, but his greatest desire.

It wasn't hard for him. Not much was hard for Triple H, after all. But walking into his wife's office to see her lifeless body dangling from the ceiling was one of the hardest things he's ever had to endure.

It was easy for him to imitate his father in law's voice. He already had a gruff voice himself. All he had to do was get lower with the tone and he pulled off a very believable Vince McMahon impression.

But then again, Randy Orton was never the smartest guy on the roster. Give him a mirror and he was distracted for hours.

Hunter brooded in the darkness, the light from the hallway blinding him, but he didn't flinch. He slowly closed his eyes as his head was bent, the man he who he was sure murdered his wife entering the room.

"I know it was you."

"Triple H? What are you—" Randy gasped, shocked. His plan was supposed to be flawless. No one was supposed to know it was him that killed Stephanie McMahon.

But what Randy failed to realize was that in this circumstance, with Wrestlemania but a week away, with all the advances he made towards her and the attacks attempted at Triple H, he was the number one suspect.

In more ways than one, it was a crime of passion.

"You killed my wife!" Hunter yelled, pounding both closed fists on the desktop as he stood up, shaking.

"You could have killed mine just as easily with your sledgehammer, Trips. Remember? When you invaded my home?" Randy countered.

"But I didn't, Randy. That's the difference between you and me. You killed my wife. I didn't kill yours."

Randy grinned, his eyes slowly looking up at Hunter and meeting his in a cold stare. "There is a way you can see her again, you know."

"Now you've lost it, Randy," Triple H seethed. It took everything he had to not jump him. He was not going to stoop down to Orton's level. He was better than Orton. "She's dead."

Randy raised his eyebrows at Hunter. "If you love her, you can be with her again. You could just…take your life to start another time with her. You could relinquish it all to me."

"You're insane. I don't know why you even brought her into this. When Vince hears about this, I swear—"

Randy slowly stepped up to Triple H, giving him a grin that rivaled that of Jack Swagger. They stood nose to nose, Triple H gripping the edges of the desk to prevent himself from truly getting his revenge on Randy Orton.

"It isn't about her. It was never about her. You're just as mad as I am."