[The Dragon]

 Part 1 - Living Nightmare

Aside from the ringing, no other noise was getting through to my ears, it was like I was underwater, but deep underwater, not like I’d just dunked my head under. The room span slowly, randomly, but definitely in a constant state of movement each dimly lit light bulb appearing three, sometimes four times over.

This wasn't a sprung-floored, wrestling ring I’d hit, but a rock hard concrete floor. There were no ropes, just padded walls, plus one badly-stained mattress that had been nailed in place when the occupant of the room had no doubt ripped away what was there before. I’d been hit with what had loosely resembled a wrestling move, but I hadn't expected the early release, the angle I'd be heading to ground at. Head and neck bounced when it should have been back and shoulders. There was no referee to get me out of there...my only company being my opponent, teeth blackening and mis-shapen, cackling maniacally as he stared up at one of the cameras, the whirring it made as it panned the room attracting his attention momentarily.

It was called The Institute...an already ominous name with an even more sinister concept to go along with it. Only in Russia, right? From what I gathered, a business tycoon with morals even looser than his pockets were deep had purchased a run-down old mental asylum, inheriting the remaining inmates as part of the deal, and proceeded to put them in against boxers, MMA fighters and pro wrestlers alike, streaming the action on the Internet pay-per-view style. It was dark, brutal, very very illegal, and at a time when very few were brave enough to speak up or speak out when it came to matters of mental health.

Wrestling moves go "wrong" of course, by that I mean not how the coaching manual tells you they should, and as a decade in the sport has taught me, happens far more regularly than you would expect. In reality, dropping an opponent neck-first is a quite effective way of getting the W in a match, and one of the biggest lessons I’ve learnt over the years is the importance of good body control, for my own self-preservation more than anything. When this “match” took place, I hadn’t been to Japan, maybe a year before I still carried a football as a career. My game plan back then was to go in, take a beating, hope the other guy gets tired, then try and work something from there. It was utilising my strengths from football, my ability to take a hammering while trying to cover up my weakness - my wrestling ability. All of it. I didn’t adapt to this situation like I would do now.

So you might ask, why did my team send me there in the first place, and why did I let them? Simple - It meant more money for one fight than whole tours were bringing in. The NFL made me a multi-millionaire, I didn’t need the money, I could have quit anytime...but the guys who were in my corner? They knew the ex-football gimmick had a very short shelf-life if I didn’t start improving my work in the ring. They’d take every payday they could get. I wanted to do right by them for believing in me, so I put myself in there and hoped for the best.

As the room came back into focus, and reality set in, my head throbbed like a bad hangover. My vision was still a little fuzzy around the edges, but normal sound service had resumed, it was like I’d lifted my head out of the bathtub. The laughing had stopped, but I felt a hot breath on my face. He...it...was right there, squatting like a frog, examining me. It’s face against mine. I could see the whites...no...the bloodshot red eyes, the pupils as wide as saucers. I pushed away, climbing to my feet, they were shaky under me and I staggered straight back, smacking into the padding of the wall. It was then I heard it for the first time, the laugh, it sent shivers down my spine and every hair on my body stood to attention. Still moving on all fours it stalked me, I willed my punch-drunk legs to move and they did, clumsily, this time almost hitting the ground again, a hand on the cold floor guiding me back up to standing. I tried to bounce on my feet, like I’d learnt with the boxing trainer I’d been working with back in Florida, but I almost toppled forwards, the movement throwing me instantly off-balance.

Instead I gave myself a few more moments, watched and waited, he smacked off the wall, still walking on knuckles as he rounded to face me again. He faked a lunge, I flinched, which turned out to need  about three or four steps to right myself. He laughed again, faked again, I wondered if really he was as out of it as he seemed as this time I corrected myself in two steps. The laugh turned into a shriek, he pushed off like a sprinter out of the blocks and ran at me, this time on two legs, and at speed. I waited as long as I could, sidestepped, my legs cooperated, he hit the wall at full tilt and I was off in pursuit, charging at my opponent like I was running at a Cornerback headed for a pick-six, connecting with a spear that sent us both sprawling for the concrete.

The laughter continued unabated, as if the whole thing was just a game, cackling away even after my first elbow connected with skull. Then the second. Then the third. After the fourth, finally that goddamn sound stopped. Six...seven...sweet silence...eight...the frantic turning of a key...nine...the squealing of a heavy metal door against the ground as it was flung open by two men. Ten...stopped in mid-air by the mountain of a man that dragged Mark off and flung him like a ragdoll out into the corridor.

The Dragon: Get me out of this country right fucking now.

Andy: Is he erm...gonna be OK?

The man dressed in glasses and a suit, looking to be in his late twenties, peered back into the room, craning his neck to try and see what’s going on with the medical personnel that had poured into the room in front of him. An older man, with slightly greying hair moved to pull him away as their charge had already stormed off down the corridor.

Octane: Andy...come on…

Andy: Mark could have killed him, what about our money?

Octane: Fuck the goddamn money man! That thing coulda killed our boy man, he’s got a wife! Just come on, we gotta get on the first flight outta here, especially if he has

Andy hears the sound of defibrillator paddles charging up from inside the room, paired with the sound of animated voices speaking in unintelligible Russian.

Andy: Probably a good idea…

We see the pair turn tail and scurry off down the corridor, leaving the drama to unfold.

Part 2 - Taking Stock

We are taken to a kitchen. We don’t know where this kitchen is, but it’s in a location we haven’t seen on camera before. The decoration makes it appear like a pretty modern building. Standing in the centre of the shot is Mark “The Dragon” Cross, armed with coffee in hand.

I just want you all to know that for all the backstage shenanigans, which I admit have been kicking up to high gear lately, I’m still deadly serious about this sport. I have been consistently since I left Japan for the first time, finally safe in the knowledge that I had the technical capability to make a success of this. My attempts to be funny, whether you like them or not? A chance to let off steam after spending the week leading up to a match watching old footage, seeing the same four walls of my gym as I work bloody hard, give it my all, only to head back to an empty house where I have all the time in the world to come up with fresh, new ideas to ruin Mikah’s Sunday, or at least make it just a little more challenging for her, before getting up and doing it all again the next day. Talking of challenges...

Mark took a sip from his mug.

Go back 18 months, I had my star student Faith in the gym every day, she's now touring Japan. I was working alongside Leon "Octane" McKane daily, who's been part of my team since my first minute in this business, now running our second gym full-time out in New Orleans. My accountant Andy, who would regularly come along for the ride, now under instructions to stay in England after encroaching too far into my personal affairs...and I had my now ex-wife waiting for me at home. What happened there? Well you know what ‘ex’ means right? I’m not telling you this because my life sucks - I don’t suffer from loneliness. In fact, I really enjoy my own company. I think I’m hilarious, even if it’s becoming clear that an increasing number of others don’t feel quite the same about me. I also crave my own space sometimes, and I’d feel crowded having all these people around me, even if they felt more like family. As for the training...well you know they say “is it really work when you’re doing something you love?” Well yes,  and the day I never have to do another burpee jump is when I start on the path to true happiness I swear, but from idolising my favourite wrestlers in my early teens to a decade and counting of getting to be one of those guys? I’m living the dream every day that ends in a ‘y’ and I couldn’t be more thankful for that. Like I say, it’s not bad, it’s just different.

Mark finished the last sip of coffee, leaving the mug on the counter behind him.

Now I’ll have to make this uncharacteristically short, as you know what the problem with a hometown show is? You have to fit in visits with your hometown friends, hometown family, visit your hometown favourite restaurants, drink in hometown favourite bars, as well as an impromptu trip to Romania in between, but you’ll have to watch “The Purge” to see what that’s all about. It’s a real challenge to fit all of these things in, and that unfortunately means I can’t ramble on as much as normal, so two key points - BFTP, and Climax Control.

Mark clapped his hands once before diving straight in.

Now Blast from the Past hasn’t quite turned out how I expected. In fact, the only part of the plan that came together was the first round victory, but that, I suspect, was never really in doubt. I heard that invites went out for a match on the Travis Nathaniel Andrews retirement tour, and unless mine got lost in the mail, I’m guessing he doesn’t want any guaranteed losses out of those matches huh? Never mind. Like I said last week anyway, my dance card is already pretty full, and I wouldn’t want to make anyone look bad .

Mark unzipped and removed his jacket, revealing a Fire Dragons 1.0 shirt beneath it.

Would I rather Valentina was in my corner? Hell yes, because we meet at the nearest Starbucks and scheme how to terrorise the backstage interviewers on the regular. Dani Weston had me down as one of her preferred partners. Would I rather she was in my corner? Hell yes, we sit at the casino bar when it’s quiet and come up with silly little ranking lists and you know what? Both of them can, on occasion, find me funny once in a while. You know what one easy way to build chemistry in the ring is? Being able to have a conversation outside of it. That’s one barrier I’m having to work on breaking down right now, and sadly I might have to dial down my usual brand of humour to get there, but it’s a commitment I’m willing to make.

Mark removes the Fire Dragons 1.0 shirt. Underneath that, like a low-budget Russian doll, is a Fire Dragons 2.0 shirt.

You see one fact that remains is that Evie Jordan’s achievements here were incredible, awe-inspiring, one of the best Bombshells to set foot in the Sin City ring. A lot of things don’t last forever but in an industry like ours, class is permanent. I may not have a partner wearing a Fire Dragons 2.0 shirt with pride right now, but I have a partner who knows how to win a whole lot of wrestling matches, and so does she. Evie knows she doesn’t need this, and you know what, my own performances have done enough to earn me opportunities under their own steam. I could have let her walk away, taken a leaf out of her book and LITERALLY laid down and let TNA pin me, the kind of courtesy he probably expects from his farewell opponents. The benefit, I could stop wasting any more energy on this tournament and go back to forging my own path for someone who acted like they wanted it - Me. Of course, sorely tempting, but I have too much pride for that.

Mark picked up his coffee mug, remembered he’d already drained it, and put it back.

Mark my words - Even after that absolute mess of a debut, either one of us has more than enough pedigree to change the course of a contest on our own. Even if Evie and I don’t exchange a single word between now and the Quarter-Finals, there’s still a very real possibility we can advance. In this thing. Let me leave you with one final thought...what if we do talk before then? What if we do start putting it together and working as a team? What if Fire Dragons 2.0 DOES become a thing that happens after all? Checkmate other Blast from the Past contestants...but as time is ticking let’s just jump to the task in hand, and Jack Russow...now Jack presents an interesting problem for me...a problem being that my recent record against young stars hasn’t been as healthy as you might expect. The Fire Dragons came unstuck against Emmie Ward and Jack Asher - Culture Shock, on their title winning run...Faith Simpson...well I trained her, she knows all my secrets, so we can definitely write that victory one off can’t we…

He coughs, making no attempt to cover up it’s fakeness.

...and with the prospect of coming up against the highly coveted newcomers Tallyn and Jack Washington in the Blast from the Past tournament in my near future, it’s important that I approach this in the right way, maintain my momentum, and keep moving forward. Besides, rookies make things very interesting for the neutral fan...

Mark stretched out his shoulders.

Now as long as I can remember, I’ve always been a bit of a “Yes Man”, anyone remember the Jim Carrey movie? Jack, are you old enough to remember that one? When it comes to a new experience, a new training method, a restaurant that’s just opened, I say yes. I ask questions later, if I ask questions at all. I go through large passages of my life where I don’t consider what the worst is that’ll happen, I’m basically just plodding along thinking it’ll be fun and I’ll learn from it. Doesn’t sound too bad huh? Rookies are the yes men and women of the wrestling world. I’ve sat at ringside watching students of mine run the show, be firmly in the driving seat of a match, they just have to shift it into cruise control and wait for the victory to come. A few minutes later, my head is in my hands after they’ve LOST because they went for that top rope move they missed 98.7 times out of 100 in training the week before. Their reason? “Oh, I thought I could make it!” I’ll watch that same guy or girl a month later, getting their proverbial ass handed to them by some grizzled veteran who just knows how to control a wrestling match, probably someone like me - Hi! - only for them to, completely against the run of play, connect their finishing move on the veteran, but instead of from a standing position, pull it off AT A SPRINT despite never having the audacity to even consider such a thing in a training session. Their reason? “Oh, I thought I could make it!”

Mark puts both hands on his head in exasperation.

Seems pretty idiotic right? And yet, the guy that’s dropped the ball here the most, is me. You see there’s nothing wrong with what these young guys do, it’s all part of the learning process. Me, with my wealth of experience can sit in the audience and judge all I want, and I’m probably right too...but the volatility of an inexperienced competitor makes them try things that I wouldn’t dare, because I’ve been there and seen it go tits up. It’s unpredictability that gets them wins against big names and puts them on the map. Strong Style, boxing, jiu-jitsu, taekwondo, sudoku (to keep the brain sharp), I spend my time preparing myself for every single eventuality…and yet I don’t expect every eventuality. I think that’s what you call shifting your brain into neutral, don’t you?

Mark stepped closer to the camera.

Jack - For once I’ve watched far less of your matches than I normally would, and while granted, a big reason for that being I can’t FIND enough matches to watch the normal amount, this is a little change in approach for me. Plus, with the amount of times I’ve made Caleb Storms look bad in the past twelve months, there’s very little I can glean from that footage. By the way, it also means that win carries very little weight when you step in against the likes of me. Your unpredictability? I raise you versatility. Your three match win-streak? I’ve exceeded that numerous times. I take your ‘I wonder if this’ll work’ and I raise you ‘I know it won’t’ as I respond to it and you eat canvas. Your youthful exuberance...I call you with just plain exuberance...oh and that shadow you live under, with the Russow name? I raise you the shadow I cast over the guys in the locker room that fail week in, week out, to try and match my abilities. I don’t dislike you Jack, far from it. I want you to do well, and I look forward to raising the roof off of arenas with you in the future, but not now. Not here, in my home city. Not now, as I chase victory in Blast from the Past, and not while your opponents to this point would be lucky to score one win in ten against me. It’s a strange state of affairs that a Sin City Wrestling step up in class involves putting you in against a wrestler from it’s Development territory, but as I said about Evie earlier - Class is permanent, right? There will be a time Jack, where you’ll stand toe-to-toe with me. It’s just a case of when. Sunday night? A month’s time? A year? I look forward to watching you get there, and when that time comes, I’ll be waiting to put on a hell of a show with you.

With a single nod, The Dragon exits stage right, and the scene fades.

Part 3 - Worn Out Old Things

Canterbury, Kent held a special place in Mark's heart. He was born there, went to school there, it was where he played his tennis, soccer, cricket and later American Football, and we all know where that led, but he hadn't properly lived there before, only nearby. It didn't help that the two bedroomed apartment he’d bought cost more than a whole house would have done at their last stop in York - Before the NFL, there’s no way he could have afforded it,

He sat on the black leather couch, feet up, strumming away on a 1972 Gibson SG that had been abused by a previous owner, the back having lost all of it’s red stain, and with a poorly cut chunk of wood missing where they’d tried to widen a cavity for a larger pickup. Mark had been keen to rescue it before heading south. He heard the knock he had been expecting.

The Dragon: It's open!

The sound of the door opening, then closing can be heard. A few moments later, the doorway is filled with the grizzled Leon “Octane” McKane. His salt-and-pepper buzz cut hair had become even more salt than pepper since his days as an on-screen regular alongside Mark in Galveston Island Wrestling a few years back.

Octane: Damn man, what is THAT mess?

The Dragon: 72 SG. Needs a little TLC but it plays great. Have a go.

Mark offered the guitar up in one hand, a yellow Dunlop Tortex pick in the other.

Octane: You know I’m not very…

The Dragon: Go on, play Wonderwall on it.

Octane took it, dropping onto the opposite couch. Within a few moments, he’s strumming away playing some simple chords, the kind that would get you by in a campfire sing-a-long if nothing else.

Octane: Damn, that’s really comfortable.

The Dragon: It’s got a twisted neck - As soon as you put that on a sales listing it sends the price through the floor, but if it twists the right way then it works well with the shape of your hand and wrist. It’s why I managed to get such a good deal I think. Anyway, what was so urgent that you wanted to meet before the show anyway?

As Octane began, his tone solemn, he propped the guitar up next to him.

Octane:I know we’ve never been good at talking about serious stuff, it’s always been this obstacle between us and that’s fine man, it really is...but I wanted to finally talk about Russia…

The Dragon: Not this, not now…

Mark suddenly sat upright, hands locked tightly together in front of him. The white spots around his knuckles signified the strength he was clenching them.

Octane: Do you still think about it?

The Dragon: What...the horror movie that was The Institute, except I was living in it that one time? Yeah, that place still haunts my dreams.. Oh, and I don’t have anyone to stroke my hair and tell me it’ll be OK anymore either, makes it extra fun.

Octane: Still finding it rough without Amanda huh?

The Dragon: Of course, I fucking miss her. She was in my life well before wrestling was, or you. Now before you bring up any more painful subjects - What about Russia?

Octane: Well two reasons really, the first is just to tell you that, had we known…

The Dragon: Oh COME ON!

Mark’s hand slammed hard on the coffee table, causing his empty coffee mug to catch a moment of air time as it leapt in the air. Octane remained unflinched. He was aware of Mark’s sudden bouts of anger, but wasn’t scared by them.

The Dragon: Don’t come wandering in here telling me ten years later that you didn’t know. How could you not know? You and Andy saw the dollar signs and suddenly you forgot to check what you were walking me into?

Octane: Man, it wasn’t all about dollars, they didn’t tell us about…

The Dragon: They didn’t HAVE to tell you. It was right in front of your face for one simple subscription fee. I watched every episode. I knew EXACTLY what you’d signed me up for.

Octane: Then...why did you go, man?

The Dragon: I was a professional athlete, Octane. I still am to this day. I was in my mid-twenties living in this sweet house in an expensive part of Miami, I had cash in the bank. How grounded did you think I was back then exactly? I’d not long played in a Superbowl. My own arrogance told me I could walk in and out of there in one piece. Plus, you’d told me about your old gambling debts, Andy told me about the risks he’d taken leaving a well paying City job to work in the sports industry, I knew the money was more of a necessity for you two rather than greed. I wanted to do my bit. Now what I really don’t believe is that you guys didn’t have the first clue you might have been signing my death warrant, so tell me Octane, are you still sticking with your “you didn’t know” line?

His voice drops to a near whisper, but his head doesn’t.

Octane: Maybe I didn’t want to ask too many questions.

The Dragon: There we go - That sounds a little closer to the truth now doesn’t it?  What’s the second thing?

Octane: I got some news last week man...Andy went back to Russia a few weeks later, see? It was eating him up too much inside, he had to do something...and he was really worried you’d killed that dude, we both were...so he goes on back there, starts making calls, finds out these patients had got lost in the system somehow, they were pumping them full of a crazy cocktail of drugs and sending them in against guys like you. Some of them got messed up real bad. Andy managed to track down the family, you know, of that guy you fought, they got him outta there, straightened him out, even fixed his teeth…

Mark blinked a few times, or twenty, trying to process the information.

The Dragon: ...why are you telling me this?

Octane: He got married, his wife gave birth to their first child...I’m not good with technology so I got Andy to print a picture they sent…

Octane pulled a photograph out of the pocket of his coat. The camera captures a glimpse of the two parents, smiling in hospital, the tiny baby in their arms.

Octane: I know you left Russia only thinking about yourself, I don’t blame you man -  It’s just that...you seem to be drawn to old broken things that you can set straight man, if it has six strings on it anyway...thought seeing the human side might help with those sleepless nights, you know?

Mark reached across to take the photo from his old coach's hand. He studied it, other hand cupped over his mouth as he recognises the eyes that were mere centimetres away as he lay motionless on the ground some ten years previous. He said nothing, and his eyes don’t break from the image.

Octane: I’m gonna go man...good luck on Sunday, I’ve got my ticket.

The Dragon: Uhhh yeah sure, let's...grab a beer before Sunday though yeah?

Octane: OK man, look forward to it.

Mark’s eyes didn’t leave the photograph during the exchange, nor as Octane pushed himself up from the couch, or as he made his exit from the room, or the apartment. They remained transfixed as the scene faded to black.