"One Chance"
Taking his focus away from the flyer Ryan furiously picks at the tape around his wrists and peels it off, tossing them aside. He was still so heated by the way he was played. This dump was really getting on his nerves, and knocking guys out was starting to get old. Still in front of the door he closes his eyes and breathes. But his moment of peace gets interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat.
A guy sits on the bench directly ahead of him, arms crossed over his chest, leaning against the lockers. Wide shoulders. Military-like. For a second Ryan thinks this guy might be here to kill him; he looks so much like a hitman. Ice grey eyes and a shaved head, black jeans, boots and trench coat. Expensive watch.
“What is it my birthday or somethin’? Who the fuck are you?” Ryan says, palm still flat on the door, coming down from the anger that had flared in him so fast he feels dizzy.
The guy smiles a little, actually more of a smirk. Huge jaw on him and unkempt stubble. Difficult to read. “You Ryan?” arms still crossed, nonchalant. His voice is low and deep like the rumble of a Dodge.
“Who’s askin?”
The guy’s smile widens. “You know, when people say that it usually means I got the right guy. That was a nice fight out there.”
“Thanks. I still don’t know who you are,”Ryan’s hand is steady on the door, his palm a little clammy.
“My name’s Ortiz, Michael.” He nods a greeting. Ryan nods back.
“So what exactly are you doing in here? You know this is my changing room?”
“I was hoping so. I have a proposition for you. Shut the door.”
Ryan’s hand slips off the door and he steps back, leaning on the back of it and hearing it click shut. The guy, Ortiz, looks big but Ryan is sure he can take him. “How’d you find me?”
“Oh yeah? What d’you ask?”
“I asked who was the best.”
Ryan feels the corner of his mouth go up in the beginnings of a smile and fights it off. Ortiz uncrosses his arms and leans forward, looking at Ryan like he’s for sale. “You got any vices?”
Ryan keeps his eyes on Ortiz, trying to get a read on him that makes any sense. Too sharp and too tactful to be anything gang-related. Didn’t waste words, only said what needed to be said. Dressed wrong, definitely not from Vegas. Too rough around the edges, too dangerous–looking to be a serious professional.
“Nothin’. Just fighting.” Ryan hears himself say this and can’t quite work out why he isn’t half way to the parking lot by now.Michael nods like he doesn’t believe him and doesn’t care.
“You have a passport?”
He’s ticking things off a list.
“Sure. But I don’t think we look alike enough for you to get away with it, I’m much better looking.”
Michael breathes out a laugh and Ryan notices his eyes are blue, not grey. “Don’t worry about that. I have my own.”He pats his coat pocket.
“Are you gonna tell me what this is about, or are we gonna play twenty fucking questions all night?”
Michael holds his hands up like Ryan’s got a gun on him. “Alright, alright. Listen. This place is a hell-hole. I think you know that.” The light bulb in the ceiling flickers like it's making a point. Michael’s hands come down and rest on his jeans. Big, strong. Scarred knuckles. “You’re wasted, man. Too good for these assholes. I’ve been to your last three matches, and you’re about as good as it gets around here. But I don’t need to tell you that, right?”
“I’m getting déjà vu.”Ryan crosses his arms, shifting against the door. He is about ready to kick this pseudo hired-gun out on his ass and go home.
“I have an opportunity for you. To fight against real guys, to earn real money, real fast.”
“Sounds too good to be true.”
“It's in London.”
Silence weighs the room down like it's a sinking ship.
“As in, London, England?”
“The very same.”
“Why the fuck would I want to go there?”
“You sick of your life? Because you fuckin’ look like it. You want out? You won’t get another chance like this. Ever.”Michael's eyes are direct and nearly painfully intense and Ryan wants to look away, wants to break this up and forget all about this entire fucking day, but there is something niggling inside him. He could go. There is nothing for him here anymore.
“Legit?”
“Sure. Not legal, but I’m guessing that doesn’t bother you any. And there’s more money in it over there than here, I promise you that.”
Ryan is quiet, his mind running at a million miles an hour. Michael stands up and Ryan sees that he is a good few inches taller. Stands like he spends all his time slouching down to accommodate shorter people. He reaches into his coat pocket.
“Here. Your plane ticket.”
Ryan takes it, not even sure its real.
“I don’t care if we just go fucking sight-seeing and then you come straight back to this dump. But get on that plane. You got nothing to lose.”Michael looks him in the eyes like he’s cornering and simultaneously trying to comfort him. Its an unnerving effect. Ryan swallows and holds the ticket in his hands, trying to scrape his thoughts back into his head under that gaze.
“Take this. And call me when you leave.” Michael hands him a card with his cell number scrawled across it, UK digits. Ryan unconsciously takes it and steps aside, hearing him go, still staring down at the ticket.
"Wrestling EXPO?"
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One a secluded section of a training gym stood Ryan Keys. Stretching out his legs and bending his body in all sorts of ways, showing off his flexibility. He's been in this intense training session for almost a week now since his last match and he is ready to show the SCW crowd that he is ready and willing to be their Roulette champion. All he needs is a chance.
Though chances for him have been plenty, many weren't honorable. Most of his loses were due to outside interference, or by being too focused on giving the crowd a show. That is a wrestlers true. But now they want him to play the champion game. A childish game where holding a piece of gold meant more than entertaining the people that pay for their checks.
Ryan: "Maybe if the SCW roster worked for money instead of setting their sights on gold then maybe things would be different. Matches would he done right, people would enjoy talking with each other,and maybe, just maybe Christian Underwood wouldn't have gone a little off. But this is how things are right now, and Steve Ramone wants me to play the championship game. And I am ready to play.
Hoisting his legs up high it was incredible how a human can bend a certain way. Though that is a way to describe Ryan Keys. A flexible wrestler that can take any challenge with easy, and come out in the end shocking the people in amusement. A true entertainer. But though his mind is a bit warped in his own reality that did not stop him from giving his best.
Ryan: "Now Steve Ramone wasn't to see if I am ready to face him for his title. Why? I don't know. And there is no point in arguing about it since management word is final. I am to face Steve in a nontitle match. Sounds simple enough. The title is not on the line so I don't see why Steve would be upset about it. It's a match like no other with me. But maybe that's the problem. Is it? Am I a problem for you Steve? Because it sounds like it. I may actually be making you work instead of getting things handed to you simply because you have a small numbers gain.
He moved from the place he was stretching and decided to stare directly at the screen.
Ryan: "Well then let those numbers come. It doesn't matter to me. I won't go into this match wanting to prove something to you,when I can just show you. But you are right, my time isn't now. But soon. So very soon. See you out there.
