Draft Day Looms

The phones inside the Raiders’ facility never stopped buzzing.

It was late. Lights still burned on the top floor. Draft boards covered the walls like war maps. And at the center of it all sat GM BBL Beasty, leaned back in his chair, sleeves rolled up, phone face-down on the desk—waiting.

He wasn’t chasing calls.

He was letting the league come to him.

The Las Vegas Raiders held the kind of power that made other general managers nervous: three first-round draft picks. Ammunition. Leverage. The kind of capital that could reshape an entire league if used recklessly—or dominate it if used right.

BBL Beasty played it cold.

Word had spread fast. Big names were available. Franchise players. Disgruntled stars. Contract-heavy veterans looking for a reset. Everyone knew Las Vegas was lurking, and that made the silence louder.

The first call came from the East Coast.

A familiar voice. A cautious tone.

Beasty listened more than he spoke.

He asked the right questions. He let pauses hang just long enough to force desperation out of the other side. When the offer came, he didn’t counter. He ended the call.

Let them sweat.

Across the league, rumors started moving faster than facts. Reporters whispered about blockbuster trades. Executives speculated over drinks. Agents began dialing Vegas directly, trying to attach their clients to the Raiders’ rising core.

BBL Beasty welcomed none of it publicly.

Privately? He sharpened the knife.

With three first-round picks, Beasty didn’t need to overpay. He could trade up. Trade out. Or detonate the draft entirely. He studied every roster in the league, hunting pressure points—cap hells, locker room fractures, expiring windows.

He wasn’t just shopping for talent.

He was hunting stars with motive.

A shutdown defender who wanted out.
A game-breaking receiver tired of losing.
A veteran pass rusher chasing one last ring.

Every name carried weight. Every conversation carried consequences.

And looming over it all was the Raiders’ timeline.

The team was ready now. The quarterback was ascending. The locker room believed. Beasty knew draft picks were powerful—but proven greatness was louder.

Another call came in. This one different.

The price was steep. A huge name. The kind of player that flips betting odds overnight.

Beasty smiled.

Three firsts meant flexibility. It meant fear on the other end of the line. It meant Las Vegas didn’t have to beg.

“Send me the medical,” he said. “And call me back if you’re serious.”

Click.

As draft night approached, the Raiders’ war room felt like a casino floor—high stakes, controlled chaos, fortunes ready to be made or lost. Beasty stood at the board, marker in hand, lines connecting players to picks, picks to trades, trades to legacies.

He knew one thing for certain:

The Raiders were not leaving this draft quietly.

Whether it was a blockbuster trade that shook the league, or a ruthless accumulation of elite young talent, BBL Beasty was prepared to pull the trigger. The league could speculate. Fans could dream.

But only one man knew how violent the splash was about to be.

The phone buzzed again.

BBL Beasty picked it up.

“This is Vegas,” he said. “Let’s talk.”