He was covered in it, soaked. It was all over his hands, face, and entire body. His clothes reeked of guilt. His body language defined it.

It was rare that Randy Orton felt anything other than anger or conceit.

It was his fault. It was his fault that his protégé, Cody Rhodes, was in a hospital bed right now. The young son of the American Dream wanted to prove himself to his leader, the man he looked up to, like the normal older brother he never had. To Cody, Randy's determination overshadowed his insanity. He wanted to be just like the Legend Killer.

Randy didn't want to admit it, but he was scared for the boy. He was afraid that Cody would get hurt, or even worse, dead. But when Cody concocted a "fail proof" plan to extort Triple H, how could Randy deny him? He wanted Triple H exposed for the crook he was. He wanted to prove that Hunter used his marital ties to guarantee title shots. He wanted to prove that Stephanie McMahon ordered Superstars to throw their matches in order for the Triple H legacy to reign supreme.

Randy Orton lacked evidence, and Cody vowed to give him it.

While RAW was not happening and SmackDown was on the other side of the country, Cody had coerced Randy into helping him break into the McMahon-Helmsley home.

Triple H had the night off. He was spending time with his daughters.

And when he said that his sledgehammer was his best friend, he wasn't lying.

Randy escaped undetected. Both of Cody's legs were viciously broken by the great equalizer.

He could have prevented it. He could have rushed in and saved his stable member. He could have denied the plan. He could have laughed. Sure, a bruise to Cody's ego, but he'd still be a contributing member to Legacy. He could have saved Cody.

But he didn't.

Instead, he was stuck in a tag team rut with Ted DiBiase, Jr., who was more concerned with flirting with any cute girl who passed by than doing anything to help themselves take control of RAW.

At least he learned something from Randy.

It was over a month ago, and Randy still couldn't bring his mind to think of anything else except the innocent boy condemned to a hospital bed until he recovered.

"He'll be back in no time, Randy," Ted reassured the eldest member of Legacy, patting him gingerly on the shoulder.

Randy Orton wasn't always running at the mouth. He only spoke when he believed he needed to speak. And when he was silent, it was either a brooding silence or a gloating silence. But in this moment, Randy Orton wanted to explode in babble. He wanted to tell Ted everything he was feeling at the moment. He needed to speak his mind.

But instead, he remained silent. A somber silence. It was a mood that did not suit Randy whatsoever.

"Um…Randy?" a meek voice chimed in, breaking Randy out of his trance. It was a female voice, a tone that Randy had trained himself to instantly answer to. Randy's head raised and looked at the speaker.


She was nothing more to him than a quick fuck, and an easy one at that. Blondes weren't exactly his style, but she was cute and on the rebound. She didn't seem to care that he was married, and quite frankly, neither did he. But then she started to disgust him more than he disgusted himself at times. He didn't speak to her unless he had to.

And he had nothing better to do at this point.

"Yeah?" Randy sighed, not meeting Kelly's eyes, guilt washing over him. He couldn't get over it.

"Vickie wants to see you in her office," she smiled. She could tell that something was wrong with him. He wasn't giving the newly returned Batista any glares from across the cafeteria. He wasn't mocking Jericho even though he had just been drafted to SmackDown. He wasn't even talking down to her, one of his favorite activities. He was hurt.

Randy walked alone to the office of the newly appointed General Manager of RAW. His feet dragged along the tile. He didn't have the energy to pick them up. He was in a mentally comatose state. He didn't even remember the walk once he got to Vickie's office. His feet had carried them there on their own.

"Yes, Vickie?" Randy glumly asked once he entered the office, the walls covered with WWE Magazine covers and other various pictures of her husband, Edge.


Edge and Orton had at one point been a dominant tag team on RAW, even capturing the World Tag Team Championship. The two biggest egos in sports entertainment teaming up together was certainly a dangerous thing, and it self-destructed in their faces. But even so, Randy missed Edge. Edge was the only person in the WWE as evilly insane and demented as Randy, something that the brash Legend Killer appreciated.

He missed Edge. He could use a friend who understood him.

Vickie looked shaken. One would almost feel bad for her if they had just looked at her without knowing her. Her glittery eye shadow was less than perfect. She had lipstick on her teeth. She looked as if she had just aged a couple of years. She was worried and distraught.

That seemed to be a popular thing around the WWE in recent times.

"I'm sorry," she choked, her words breaking up.

"Why?" Randy shrugged emotionlessly. Sorry? No one in the world understood what it was like to be sorry, at least in Randy's eyes. He was the most sorry of them all.

"I don't have a choice. I've been ordered to put you in a no-DQ match against both Triple H and Batista."

Randy shrugged, indifferent. He was at the point where he wanted to just lay in the ring and let them beat the ever living hell out of him.

He deserved it.

"Aren't you…upset?" Vickie asked, rattled. She had just told him that he was going up against two of RAW's biggest stars, and alone at that.

Randy inhaled deeply. "Vickie, nothing upsets me anymore."

Chalk up another lie for the Legend Killer.

"I can't believe you won," Ted said, shaking his head.

It was a great feat. Randy had once again punted Batista in the head and RKO'd Triple H when he attempted to come in for the save.

Randy Orton was faking everybody.

And little did he know, someone was faking him.