Brayden Hilton was not the challenge I was hoping for, but he certainly lived up to my every expectation. The runner, the complainer, the cheat. Any excuse to try and take a shortcut, cut a corner, score a cheap win.

I told him you can’t buy hard work, and I put up the proof in no uncertain terms.

Of course…we all knew he was never on my level.

Most who step into the ring aren’t on my level, because let’s all take a moment to remember what that level is. A former World champion. Top of the tree, the best of the best, and in the grand scheme of things, none of it happened all that long ago.

This isn’t living in the past, riding on former glories…I don’t need to tell you what I am, or what I was. All you have to do is look at my work in the ring. Judge for yourselves, tell me if you think I’ve lost a step.

I don’t think there’s many in the back you’d rather put your money on over me.

I am the safe bet.


Part 0.5 - Losing Pages
SSgt David Ainsworth (Former US Marine Corp)
October 2021

It feels like a tear in my heart
Like a part of me missing
And I just can't feel it
I've tried and I've tried
And I've tried…

Her favourite song, she’d set it as my ringtone when she realised how bad I'd gotten about answering my phone. Most of the time I just let it ring through to voicemail, not even looking to see who might be calling, if it might be an emergency…or if it might just be her, wanting to hear about my day. Being near unreachable was the kind of reputation I wanted for myself, I’d been working hard to chisel that out. It wasn’t essential, but it helped.

Hers was one call I would never ignore. She made sure of it.

“Hey baby how-”

“Mr. Ashworth - It’s about your wife…”

That was not the bubbly, ever-enthusiastic voice of my happily ever after, that much was obvious. This man was strictly business, a little hitch in his voice at the mere prospect of delivering the bad news that he’d already set himself up for. Some paper pushing desk jockey, clearly not equipped for field work, safe in the knowledge that nobody would ever be making a call like this to his significant others. Not unless his office block was bombed anyway.

Not unlike my wife, when we first met…only she blossomed into the role over time.

Tears on my face I can't take it
If lonely is a taste then it's all that I'm tasting
Do you hear my cry?
I cry, oh…

“Her cover was blown, we’ve lost contact…”

His words rang around on repeat in my head even hours after the fact, more of an annoying rattle as I clung to the NASA shirt she loved so much, the letters faded, the logo carrying a few extra 'stars' where chunks of the blue had flaked and chipped away from years of abuse at the laundromat, revealing the bobbling white cotton underneath. She was gonna wear through the fabric soon, I could tell.

Holding it to my face, drawing in the sweet scent of her and that perfume she always liked to spritz herself with. Same one, every time. She knows what she likes and she sticks to it.

They can't have lost her. I can't have lost her.

Just wrap me in your arms, in your arms
I don't wanna be nowhere else
Take me from the dark, from the dark
I ain't gonna make it myself…

"You need…to get…her back."

“Sir, we’re doing everything we can to get her b-”

“Like HELL you are! Fucking CIA…"

This was one of the perils of the job. We knew that much. Every deployment for me, every field assignment for her. We were used to parting ways, knowing that it might be the last time we saw each other. It was an impossible thing to completely make peace with, but as time went on, we’d gotten better and better at it. The goodbyes got easier, the reunions became far less dramatic affairs. They just became a normal part of us, business as usual.

As for the cursing, though? Well - This was on them. Those incompetent fucks.

She was too careful, too thorough, too meticulous to slip up, to just blow her own cover. Someone screwed up, and we all knew they wouldn’t go in all guns blazing to save one of their own if it compromised their mission. It was laughable, calling agents undercover an ‘asset’ since they were so damn expendable. It would be her blood on the hands of the Agency if she didn’t come back to me, and if I ever found out who was responsible? I’d snap their neck with my own bare hands.

It was the least she deserved.

Put your arms around me
Put your arms around me
Let your love surround me
I am lost
I am lost

There was one thing in our home that she managed to keep tidy and organised. One single thing, her bookcase, holding her prides and joy, and you could always guarantee, if you needed to find her? She’d be curled up somewhere, hair in a bun, wrapped up in some imaginary adventure getting lost in the words and the pages.

Probably sitting around the mess of clothes and towels that she never seemed to find the motivation to clear away.

In my frustration I pulled it down, ripped the damn thing off its wall bracket, took half the drywall along with it as the contents spilled all over the floor, each one had been separated by genre, then in alphabetical order by the surname of the author. Limited editions, first printings, autographed copies, tattered old things she’d kept with her since she was a kid, all of them came raining down, one by one by one, falling into a haphazard pile on the floor before I brought the bookcase down on top of it all in a cloud of dust.

So much dust.

Every single argument…about how much money she spent on her books…how she never bothered to clean anything, or put her things away where they belonged…all those times we ate takeaway after she tried to cook and just messed it all up…

How meaningless they all felt now.

“I’ll find you myself if I have to…if it’s the last thing I do Dylan…I’ll find out what happened to you…”

My hand wipes the tears from my cheeks as I sit amongst the chaos I had created, my back resting against the couch. Our couch. A place where no matter how crazy things in our lives, or in our careers could get? All was calm, quiet. We could throw on a movie, grab a few snacks, and just be husband and wife for a while.

A place when things could feel normal, even if it was for a few hours at most.

“I swear to fucking God I will…”

Feel like it's just me, like it's just me
What it gon' take?
What it gon' be?
I don't even know, I don't even know
But I'm lonely, lonely…


Part 1.0 - The Cradlesnatcher?
Mark “The Dragon” Cross
April 2022

Out of all of the islands on the Greece Lightning Tour so far, Crete is not only the largest in size, but also seemingly the most tourist-friendly of all. The country as a whole worships travel and tourism, one of the linchpins of their very economy, and with COVID-19 measures reducing, holidaymakers were flocking in droves, welcomed with open arms by the locals. While our intrepid pair would never degrade anyone’s urge to get away, after all they were beginning their own quest to conquer the world, but sometimes there was a need to escape from the maddening crowd. Tender moments together were often not meant to be shared with others after all. After much research, with the sun setting in the distance, one such place that fitted the bill was Frangokastello beach.

The town is home of an old Venetian castle built in the 14th century, and the beach itself provides two views…allowing you to sit and look out to sea, or if you turn your chairs around, take in that imposing castle sits right behind you, as if looking down upon you, ready for archers to launch flaming arrows in your direction if you tried to steal the last doughnut with sprinkles from your significant other.

One former World Champion attempted such a thing on this very beach, and nearly lost a hand…not ideal ahead of his next Climax Control appearance.

While the location is certainly known to tourists, its remote nature has meant that the town has remained largely undeveloped, at least compared to some of the more popular areas of the island, and unless you'd hired a car, was the type of place that the average tourist might just not get to.

That was their advantage.

It was there that Mark and Dylan found a spot that was quiet, and as the sun went down and the air grew a little chilly, it was where they were finally alone, bundled up in hoodies, wrapped up in a blanket they’d acquired from a local shop, and spent some time laying out on the sand, fingers running through hair as the girl slept soundly on her lover's chest, listening to the slow, steady thump of a contented, full heart…

 What do you say to someone who can’t remember a thing about their past?

Someone who spent two years or more trying to chase down who they were, to put those missing pieces back together, to solve the puzzle of what was their whole entire existence up to that point?

Do you hold your hands up, say it's too much and walk away? Do you offer to help in the quest, a problem shared is a problem halved, even if that problem is finding a needle in a haystack? Or do you tell them to forget about the past and worry about creating the best future for yourself that you can?

Look forward, never back.

In this business we often live and die on our pasts, what we’ve done, who we’ve beaten, what we’ve achieved. It’s what gets us in the door. It’s what earns us opportunities…it can get us on a card in a new location, and those past accolades can get us right up to the point of a free title shot in some cases…if we don’t want to put in the work and earn it the hard way, but me, that's never the be-all-and-end-all. I’ve always been more forward-thinking.

I never miss a step in my preparation, because I know the next battle is right around the corner.

“Maybe you need to start thinking about your future? Living your life, seeing the world, making new memories in the place of those you’ve lost.”

That was how my 2022 started, the words I spoke to her…and now months later? Here we were, laying on the beach, keeping her warm and safe, living for the future, the next adventure, with not a care in the world, all while breathing new life into me.

While she was re-learning, I was re-vitalising, and somewhere driving across Florida, we’d fallen head over heels for each other. It was organic, it was perfect, and I felt more like ‘me’ than I’d felt in years.

I wanted to live in this bubble together forever and I whole-heartedly believe that we can…but…

I couldn’t help but wonder…what had her life been like before she washed up, that one fateful night. Those memories that she’d never been able to recover, what did they contain? What were her interests, was she still a space nut? What were her hobbies, did she devour vampire fantasy novels like they were going out of style, or was that a new obsession? Did she have the same taste in music, would “Can You Hold Me” still be our song? Where did she live, and with who? Who, if anybody, did she love?

Was anyone missing her?

Looking for her?

Was it selfish of me not to keep trying to help her unpick her former self? Especially if it means reuniting her with someone who thought she was long gone…who’d mourned for her loss…

…or should I take that smile that’s plastered on her face every single day and tell myself that no matter what her life was before, it’ll never be as incredible as what I vow to give her?

I think that’s all I can do. Be the best. Show her the best. Give her the world, make sure she is never unhappy again.

She would get it, too. She was bringing me back to my best. It’s horrible when you lose purpose. Now I know that sounds bizarre coming from someone like me…how can you lose purpose? You’re at the top of your game, doing something you love, travelling the world, what could you possibly have to lose purpose over what the fuck-

Look I get it, I completely, whole-heartedly agree with you.

It’s why the thought of retirement is so goddamn scary for competitors like us. We live and breathe something, for so many years…and there’s no choice but to…you don’t get longevity in professional sport by slacking off, by cruising, by not giving it your all. You’ll get found out, or you’ll get hurt so badly you can’t get back in even if you want to. It’s a decade of eating, sleeping and dreaming something, ingraining habits, embedding neural pathways, discipline on discipline, routines on top of routines…all for it to be taken away one day when you utter the words 'I'm done'. It all just ends. Dead stop. Over.

When you hang up those boots, you have no commitments, literally no reason to get up in the morning, and the only thing you can think to fill it with is wrestl-

Oh…fuck. I can’t.

Now I haven’t lost my purpose, period. I just started to feel like I was losing one of my purposes, one of the things that people either love or hate about this thing we do.

The will to travel, to explore.

One of the single best things about this job is that it can take you to all the far-flung places of the world. New city, new timezone, new adventure…and at the end of being a tourist you get to do something you love in front of some of the most passionate fans in pro sport. It was the thing I LOVED the most.

Past tense.

Until I found myself visiting the same places over and over again. I got sick of cookie-cutter hotels so I started booking AirBnBs. Then you start to realise that while the homely feel is unique, eventually even the ornaments start to become same or similar. Another Cracker Barrel side table. Great. If I’d been to a city before…I’d book somewhere in the next city over, see what that has to offer and commute over for the show. I’d stayed in virtually every hotel, motel, AirBnB, penthouse…and even crashed at co-workers’ condos the quite literal hundreds of times I flew into Las Vegas for Sin City matches, shows when I wasn’t booked, public appearances, creative meetings, media commitments, photoshoots…you fucking name it and you know what? Sometimes that gets a little stale.

In fact, you know the one singular thing about this business that doesn’t ever get stale?

Winning fucking wrestling matches. My hand held aloft as the fans chanted my name. I could do that shit a hundred million times over and the hairs on my arm would still stand on end the way they always do.

Everything else can, and does, get repetitive after a while, and you know why Florida doesn’t? Because I chose to live there. It’s quite literally my home. Who doesn’t want to work from home for a while?

See - I was all set to stay there…and then Dylan arrived…and pressed my reset button.

The truth is I’ve always been pretty solitary. I love my own company, the peace and the quiet, the complete control over the road trip playlist. Call it selfishness, call it narcissism, call it just being happy and content in my own skin…I think at times they all apply…but I’ve always taken my journey as a professional sportsman as riding solo, call me Jason Derulo. Partners have come and gone, both Amanda, my wife…and Amber…who was once slated to be my wife, would both join me as much as they could and vice versa, I’d join them in their ventures as much as possible too, but there was a thick black line between both of them. While we would rush to be with each other at every opportunity, doing so was not the be-all-and-end-all, it was never in spite of our own individual work.

Dylan was different. She was the first significant other in my life who would form an integral part of the whole journey. She was the reason I wasn’t laying down heavy tree-trunk sized roots in Florida, because she has the whole world she needs to explore, like I did.

She was the reason we were here.

She likes to refer to herself as being two years old a lot. It wasn’t mental age, or physical age as such but more…memory age, and with that came a lot of learning how the world worked all over again too. Simple things I took for granted. The phrase made sense of course, but I had to try not to think too hard about it. Makes me sound like a damn cradle snatcher.

I had to make sure I wasn’t taking advantage.

All I knew? It felt real. Loving her warmed my heart like never before. Protecting her felt like priority number one, above all else. The way she always wanted to be touching me, when we walked, when we sat, when we flew, when we slept…surely that was real to her…not some Stockholm Syndrome kind of situation I’d created without realising…right?

I had to admit that knowing who she was before, as much as we both agree it wasn’t important, might put some of these feelings of doubt to bed.

I remember Dylan telling me about her journal. Her old journal, that was. A collection of thoughts, feelings, scraps of old memories, not that there were many of those even two years down the line, pictures both taken and drawn. Filling that book became an obsession, an idea from the third therapist she’d spoken to, the only one who seemed to ‘get it’ in the end…but it had become a fruitless exercise, a frustration, an attempt to look backwards when there was no clue to what horrors lay behind.

The kind that got you left for dead, found washed up on a shoreline, a stab wound in your side.

As I run that thought around and around in my head, the guilt soon fades away. My grip around her slender figure tightens, and I realise that while far from typical, this was the right thing.

She needed me, and I needed her.

Now her missing pages will be filled with joy…happiness…love, adoration, respect, safety, protection, the chance to experience anything she could possibly want, visit anywhere she could think of, possess whatever material things that may have been out of reach for her before…within reason.

The fact I can take a few names in a ring along the way? Well that’s just a bonus.

Hold my time away from THIS ring against me all you want, it’s irrelevant. The truth of it is, where I put my work in doesn’t actually matter, the only thing that matters is I’ve still been putting it in. The only requirement is that I produce HERE when the bell rings. The same thing I’ve always done, even when I didn’t ‘belong’ there. My time away hasn’t made me soft, or weak…it’s only bought back my hunger. I never hate being in a ring. I was starting to hate being in Vegas. Now my presence in the halls of Sin City Wrestling all over again is part of an ongoing journey…

…and the longer I keep this going, the more pages we can fill up.

Don’t count on my next disappearing act as some kind of a blessing, because I’ll pop up as and when I’m needed.

Usually…because someone needs bringing into line badly enough…


The World Heavyweight title. An accolade that used to mean something. The best of the best, against the second-best of the best, forged in the heat of battle, their right to that opportunity undisputed. Earning that opportunity? It used to come from months of work, facing every challenge head-on, scaling every precipice.

This business is nefarious at times. There’s a lot of darkness alongside the light, and a lot of things can be begged, borrowed, or stolen. Far too much, in my mind…but I’m realistic. That’s how this business is, that’s how it’s always been. After all, there’s not much around here you can’t buy.

The World title is supposed to be the one thing that can’t. The one true paragon.

This joke of a situation is one big fuck-you to it all.

The champion doesn’t want to act like one, fine, only…the reward is low, the risk is high in this case. If you take the easy path, and you lose? You turn yourself into a laughing stock.

In showing Matthew where that bar is? It increases the chances of this blowing up in the champ’s face and you know what? I’ll be the first one in line to point out what a dumb fuck he’s made himself out to be.

The damage to the division? Well that will take a lot longer to patch up.

The truth is, at the end of the road, when we all hang it up? We are little more than the things we achieve, and the memories we make. We are words on a page. We are a former this, we are an ex that.

When I say I am building a legacy, I mean it. I want my time here to count for something. Otherwise…it feels like a waste. I have my own memories, sure…but my time is finite. In this business, on this earth.

What is a legacy when the only place it holds any value is in my own head?

I don’t like my achievements being belittled because of Mac’s lack of respect for the thing he once earned on merit. The thing you’re supposed to stand for. A joke title held by a joke champion where anyone can jump the queue, as long as they rattle your cage enough.

I was fine with staying away, honestly. Only trouble is I might need to put some credibility back on those past achievements when all this is said and done.


Part 1.5 - Forgetting
Dylan Cross
December 2021

The first few journal entries contain the word fuck a lot. I tear them in half, then in half again. The wind carries the squares of paper out of my hands before I even have a chance to outstretch my arm. I watched those weeks of my life get swept away over the water and disappear into the trees.

I flicked through the next few pages of the journal. A lot of them are tear-stained. I don't believe in wiping tears away, I believe in letting them fall. What's the point of crying otherwise? Looking through these pages, I realised how much I wrote, despite my initial feelings. I wrote almost every day, most of the time here at the cliff. It isn't just words that fill these pages; there are pictures I drew, photos I'd taken, useless things I'd found and kept. Beautiful, painful and tragic. And now, all of it has to go.

My efforts made me breathless, so I stopped for a moment. The birds chattered noisily in the trees around me. I find the noise peaceful. The birds, like the waterfall, never stop.

I turn my attention back to the journal and continue tearing out the pages until I reach a photo. That's how I know that I've come to the beginning. It's in a news clipping from the day I was found. My fingers gripped a handful of pages and pulled them taut. I wish I could slip into the pages of my journal and rewrite everything that happened that night. But there was nothing I could do.

My hold on the journal tightens. It's better to erase that part of my life, pretend that it never happened. I tear the pages into the smallest pieces possible. The wind carries them away like ashes. As I watched them lift higher and higher, I remember the first thing I saw on that night.

The water’s edge lapped at my fingertips. Unable to move, unable to breathe.

It would be around 9 o'clock now. People will start arriving soon with their towels and picnics. I need to finish this. There are only a few pages left clinging to the spine of the exercise book. There are a few recent entries, followed by a couple of crisp white, lined pages.

This year can be different. It has to be different, because if it's not, then what sort of future will I have? I shake my head. I don't want to think about it right now. All I want to think about is forgetting the past, starting over.

In one chunk, I rip out those final pages, rip them up and, like that, they're gone, dancing through the air. I feel I should say something to mark this moment, but everything I think of sounds stupid in my head. The word that comes out of my mouth surprises me.

“Jump.”

I stand up and move forward until my toes touch the edge. I look at the still water below.

“Don't think, just jump,” I say.

But I can't make my feet move any more than I can make myself remember.

I will take the leap, see where it goes
Cause if I never try I’ll never know
This could be the greatest story told
But if I never try I’ll never know


Part 2 - Prove Your Worth
Mark “The Dragon” Cross
April 2022

I don’t think The Raven’s incapable, I just don’t think he’s proved he belongs here.

I’ve been through it once myself. As Sin City Underground’s top champion, I carried a grand total of…you guessed it…zero draft stock here. SCU guys shouldn’t be around here, they’re not fit to lace up our boots, the kind of elitist bullshit from guys a little too comfortable, and doing too little looking over their own shoulder for who’s coming up next.

Gatekeepers - Every single one of them. Victims, who fell on my sword on my one-man quest to get to the top. I did, and I had to vanquish a lot of “BIG” names to get it done.

Matthew’s shot is given, not earned. He knows it. He even acknowledges it as the poisoned chalice that it is. An unwanted distraction in his personal vendetta with our esteemed champion.

In one breath, I am just another one of those gatekeepers. In another, I am the human embodiment of another way. A better way. Earning every chance you get.

Two titles elsewhere? They count for nothing here.

After this week…we’ll find out if the choice was the right one…or should it have been me instead?


Casa Delfino…a pure throwback to Venetian Chania, right in the heart of the Old Town. As I walked along the colourful passages and cobblestoned alleys of Topanas, the whole place was like walking through a time tunnel. In late 2021, I can imagine a place like this would have been ‘just another tourist trap’ that I would have despised but now it was popping with vivid, vibrant colours only matched by my choice of Hawaiian shirt. Yes - I was always willing to play up to the Brit abroad act.

Time for a little walk-and-talk. We have plenty of material to cover.

You know what you rarely expect to see in wrestling? When the champion himself has to come out and DEFEND their challenger ahead of a title shot. Two situations where that makes sense, they’re a genuinely nice guy who respects the talent of every opponent they face…or talking of faces? They’re trying to save their own.

It makes the talk of maturity all that more hilarious, when it comes in a little foot-stomping tirade in the middle of a ring…I don’t care what you think Dad, you shouldn’t question me, you're dragging me down, I’m gonna do what I want! Waaaaah waaaaah waaaaah you’re being mean to me!

Welcome to the top of the tree, Champ. We’re not all going to fall into line and respect your decision just because it’s you. You have to prove your worth just like the rest of us.

Just take a look at those three names you’ve had in your mouth this past week.

Fenris…Ben…me…three men who have been where you’ve been. Three men who earned their chances. Three men who took them with both hands. Three men who know what the World championship means.

Or at least…used to mean up until recently.

This business is full of many many names trapped below a glass ceiling, looking up to the position you’re in and you know what? They may throw shade, in some “NOTICE ME SENPAI” act of desperation so they might garner your attention and get the chance to come and play with the older kids.

The three of us stepped through that barrier a long time ago. We’re already swimming in that same pond you are.

The problem, Mac…is BS like this fucks over all that work we did. Fucks over yours too, honestly, if you de-value that belt enough by ‘doing what you want’ then the fans, the roster, the whole industry will care even less about what you once were, what you once did.

Every day of that reign, whether it lasts another month or another year? Could wind up being worth absolutely nothing, a whole bunch of putting your body through hell for something that honestly? Nobody has a fuck to give about.

You may hope that throwing Matthew under the bus is diverting the attention away from you but no - We’ve all seen what you’re doing. There’s a very clear vote of no-confidence in your champion status and it will be taken from you.

I may even have to do it myself.

You can make whatever point you want about my ‘part-time’ status as that’s about all you seem to have on me but you know what? Whole thing’s irrelevant. Take away that I’m still training every day. Remove the fact that I am still VERY much actively wrestling…even if it’s not here…and let’s dig down into what REALLY bothers you about this issue, as I see all the way through it.

You don’t like the fact that I don’t have to be shoving myself in the face of every SCW fan, competitor or member of the management team…week in, week out…in that quest to make anyone care about you.

I can go off and work somewhere else for 6…7…8 months and you know what?

People still care.

People still chant my name.

People still want to secure me on a longer-term contract.

People still fear seeing my name opposite them on a show card.

People still consider me MORE than worthy to be in the picture for that shiny accessory of yours.

People still remember that I’ve pinned you more times than you’ve pinned me.

Now…either I’m the biggest con artist in the history of professional wrestling? Or I’ve delivered the kind of impact our poor World Heavyweight champion could only dream of, in a fraction of the time. I mean…make your own judgement, but out of the three of us…it was my name in your mouth longest of all.

Guess I’ve gotten you rattled, huh?

Now…does that make me your next pick? Who knows…maybe we should talk about the current one for a while.

Matthew…to be fair you make a lot of the right noises. I think you’ve handled this whole thing pretty well - The raven who makes bird calls occasionally, who would have thought it? Just like the dragon who breathes fire when you step into his domain.

Of course, I’m not all that surprised. After all it’s an interesting thing, arrogance. Your arrogance, specifically, since it comes with your very own seal of…approval…acceptance? Who knows. Arrogance interests me in that it doesn’t have to be intrinsically linked to results, good or bad ones. I think in time I’ve even been able to fly under the radar BECAUSE of results…oh Cross isn’t arrogant, he’s just self-confident, look at who he’s beaten, how he blurred the skill gap between SCW and SCU, look at him doing what nobody else has in Blast from Past.

You don’t need results to be arrogant, and in fact it maybe washes even less if you get them. That brings me to your domination. A dominance that we have yet to see here.

People ‘skip queues’ in this business all the time. Truth is this is a combat sport and you know what? If someone has proven time-and-time again that they belong at a certain level, they maybe should take those opportunities when they arise. After all, put in a guy who can’t hang, rightful contender or not, and they get hurt? Well that’s a booking problem for weeks, months until they can come back…

…but that’s a business decision, and here’s the problem.

You are a champion elsewhere, and therefore you know that you’re in the business of proving that’s why you are, and nothing more. The rest can be left to the guys in suits. You can see the reaction, and what you do elsewhere? Well that carries very little weight here.

For me, this is the chance to book win number 25 on the main brand. Add it to a near 5 month reign as Underground champion, two SCU tag title reigns, and of course the hard work it took to earn those opportunities in the first place. I have that record that you’re lacking, the legitimacy to your claim for this chance that lies before you and there’s a reason why. I have to Apollo-gise for all the Greek puns but you just need to look behind those a little.

The truth is I don’t take myself too seriously a lot of the time. I don’t take life all that seriously because what’s the point, we all pay taxes and we die eventually right? A couple of life’s certainties…but there’s one exception, I take wrestling really fucking seriously.

I accept - You have a point. Record is not everything, skill most certainly is and while it may not necessarily have come out this way, I don’t call your skill into question. I meticulously prepare for every opponent and I know exactly, to the letter of what you’re capable of. I’ve seen what you can do…have done…and that’s great. This contest should be a lot closer than at least the numbers HERE suggest.

On one hand…I feel like in a lot of ways we might end up aligning. It’s the black and white that runs through all the grey…cuts through that trademark wordiness of yours…when you do, on occasion get right to the heart of the matter. It all sounds mechanical, mind you, as you tear back the curtain…oh you cut the same promo…oh he’s a jobber…all these colloquialisms that we usually save for behind the camera. It’s like you see through the BS of this business so clearly that sometimes you don’t care if you play your part in destroying the illusion. It’s not too dissimilar to how selling tickets and peddling merch is one of the necessary evils of this business in my eyes, but gotta do what we gotta do, right?

So I wonder…what happened at Blaze of Glory?

See you are something of a walking oxymoron. Through all this ‘clarity’ of yours…you stood back and watched as Jack choked the life from Ken…and you let it happen, regardless of the effect it would have on the result, or on your own title aspirations. It makes me question where…exactly, is your head at? Where does your real motivation lie, and why does it not necessarily align with improving that record of yours? The very reason you don’t get the respect here that I figure, secretly or not so, you feel like you deserve.

I remember you called your journey to Sin City as being part of a labour of love and that’s a really interesting concept. I’m not sure you planned on having quite the opposite effect as while a win against Mac is great for you, World title strap to add to the tally? It’s rather bad for business…a point that we’ve maybe gone over and over since the guy picked up a microphone…and I have to ask why. 

The opportunity, right there in front of you, all you have to do is step in.

And yet…you stand aside, like it’s all part of your grand plan.

Let me tell you…and I can guarantee you this…over hundreds of matches and a decade or longer career…I have NEVER looked at a situation where someone else gets their hand raised in victory over me and thought ‘Yeah you know what I’m cool with this. This is fine.’

Wins and losses in all promotions…pure wrestling ability…you and I could well be a good match…

…but in terms of winning, at all costs? Doing everything that has to be done, to add another strike in the positive column, whatever the consequences? Well you have proved, already, in a Sin City Wrestling ring that you do NOT have that same desire. It has to suit you, it has to write itself into your narrative, whatever that happens to be.

I’m no different, granted…except my narrative is victory, every single time I lace up my boots.

If I’m not doing that? I may as well phone this whole damn sport in.

Let me try and sum this all up for you…this whole big no-win situation that’s been created for you here…because I think in my mind’s eye, I can predict where this is headed…and the beautiful thing is you can just sit back, feet up, and play your part. It’s the people who sit behind desks, wear suits and occasionally ties…and conduct their most important business meetings in Hooters who have to pick apart all this bullshit…

I don’t doubt you have the ability to go all the way, to become World champion.

In terms of skill, it’s a stroke of genius.

In respect of record, it’s a PR disaster.

This week you face someone who has gone one better. Who has the edge in a couple more areas than you do, the skill AND the record and you know what? From where I stand, the better mindset as well. The only thing I hate more than losing is not winning…and I hate sharing the limelight, always been a little vain like that. Guaranteed if I see an opponent choking the life out of another opponent? I’m walking over and choking the life out of BOTH of them for stealing my thunder, and then I’m getting the win, over whoever taps out or passes out first.

You, and Mac? You can deny it all you want - I am your acid test.

I am every single piece, part-and-parcel a champion of Sin City Wrestling.

Everything except that little “C” in brackets next to my name.

Prove it to me. Prove it to us. Here is your real opportunity.

Before long, a win over me? Is going to be worth more than a score over Mac any day. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if it already is…

By the time I was done talking-and-walking I’d made my way all the way through to the Turkish quarter…Splantzia…where all those last hints of tourism fade away to the most authentic, most immersive of Crete experiences. It was here where I stood out…a man with an accent, a loud shirt, and a camera following his every move. It was here where I felt unplugged, disconnected. It was here I would find a cafe, drink a coffee alone, and clear my mind.

By the time I made it back to the hotel, my Dylan would be awake, no doubt, and I would bask in the feeling of completeness, all because of of having her back by my side.

We had some exploring to do, and time was ticking.


I think I’m starting to accept what my role is around here - Keeping people honest.

I always prove the doubters wrong.

I always put people in their place.

I always achieve what I set out to achieve.

And I don’t have to be in the building every single week to do it.

Everything happens in their own time. Everything happens for a reason. Every appearance has a purpose.

This time? It’s about showing you what the GOLD standard looks like, and how a competitor with the true spirit of a champion goes about their work.

I’m not always here for a long time…but when I am? It’s always a good one.

The Rapture was nothing more than an illusion, a tall tale that should remain in the Bible where it belongs. Masque de Lune is, unfortunately, little more than a work of fiction. There are places where valiant crusades can play out, run their course. A wrestling ring is not one of them.

Part 1 - Superbowl Sunday

“Fourth and 1…Morris calling the defence…Donald right there…they’ll go from the ‘gun…Perine in the backfield…Burrow, trying to KEEP IT GOING gets spun around GETS IT AWAY and incomplete...looks like Perine might have had a shot to make the grab but the Rams now running down to celebrate with the defensive play…”
Al Michaels - Super Bowl LVI

As my Los Angeles Rams capture their first Superbowl win since the Greatest Show on Turf in 2001…I’m resigned to watching the game backstage on my iPad. It was Climax Control night, and night of my first Blast from the Past match to boot. I made do with what I had. Grabbing two cans of White Claw in celebration, I smash them together hard until the low-calorie alcoholic beverage fizzes out of the now decimated cans, pouring them both into my mouth in one swoop.

A little unnecessary in a locker room I was alone in…apart from the man in the suit who’d come bursting in, just to rain on my parade.

SUIT: Copyright infringement, we'll see you in court.

The manila folder smacks against the bench next to me as I throw my hands up in the air, splashing the remaining dregs of White Claw everywhere.

CROSS: What?! It's not beer OR milk c'mon!

SUIT: It’s still in a can and alcoholic - That won’t fly with Steve’s people…

CROSS: AND I didn't say got milk?

SUIT: Now you did. Why do you drink that stuff anyway?

CROSS: It’s low calorie…booze doesn’t melt off my hips like it did 10 years ago, must be my metabolism slowing down or something…I’m in the middle of a Blast from the Past run, gotta keep myself trim to win at all times!

SUIT: Right. Hey listen…I’m not much of a wrestling fan, but you were in the league, right? Got any cool football stories?

CROSS: Dude you just served me a-

SUIT: Make it good and I might be able to get them to drop the legal action.

CROSS: Okay, fine. Extortion. I see how this is. How about the time I thought my career in the league was back on? It was…

…19th August 2019
Miami, FL

The ringing of a cell phone pierces through the large kitchen/dining area of my party mansion in Coconut Grove, Miami. I answer it. I think it was after two rings. It might have been three. I didn’t recognise the number.

SUIT: Are you really going to be that det-

CROSS: No interrupting, I’ve got a phone call. Go for The Dragon?

GIES: Mr. Cross? This is Kurt Gies, head of Social Media for the St. Louis Rams.

Holy shit…is it finally happening? Ten years later?

CROSS: Hello Mr Gies, how can I help you?

GIES: We understand you’re a fan of the team and we’d like to offer you the chance to take a tour of the facilities and maybe catch a few snaps with our practice squad. We want to get more celebrities-

He’d lost me at ‘few snaps with’ as the pretty blonde making a coffee across the kitchen heard the pounding footsteps, turned, suddenly looking terrified as I ran at her at full pelt, scooping her up in my arms and spinning her around and around like a top.

CROSS: AMBS I MADE IT! A TRYOUT WITH THE RAMS! A TRYOUT WITH THE RAMS!

GIES: Mr. Cross? Hello? No…no it’s not a tryout…

I was across the room squeezing the stuffing out of Amber, my wife-to-be at the time. I was too busy, and too far away to hear the words of warning.

AMBER: Mark…I…I’m so happy for you but I can’t breathe…

Of course, I put her down. After a few more seconds of spinning and squeezing.

GIES: If you can hear me? It’s NOT a tryout. NOT. I’ll email you the details.

The words THIS IS NOT A TRYOUT were in block capitals, bold and underlined. Plus highlighted in red on my email. If Kurt Gies could have double-underlined, I’m sure he would.

Of course, I wasn’t put off. This wasn’t an all-you-can-eat buffet after all…which meant those words were definitely a challenge, not a suggestion.

“At least I beat you for the World title…” and in one Tweet we see Mac’s position for what it really is. I rarely go back 7,8,9 years when I’m researching an opponent as you know what? Times change. We get wiser, sure. We old dogs learn a few new tricks, but we also lose a step or two. There’s a reason why I’m ear-marking 40 as the beginning of the end for me and yet, Mac is a little beyond that.

He can make whatever statements he wants, but he’s not evergreen.

I think you have to look at consistency in times like this. We’ve faced each other three times before. Each one has ended in a G2S.

He just found it in him to kick out of the last one…because it’s a World title? Is that what we’re saying? Well I guess I’m fucked then huh, they put his TITLE on the line.

I guess we’re going to find out if Mac only rolls back the years with the strap on the line, or if that ‘new-old-stock’ level of performance. was a one-and-done kind of deal. Even if history repeats, he doesn’t have a winning record against me. It’s still not done, and it doesn’t matter what the setting is, or what is or isn’t on the line.

To me…every win is still important.

The human body is incredible. You could chisel it into exactly what you needed for the situation, and then mould it into something else over time, as the environment changed. With the move away from football, I didn’t need thigh muscles bigger than the average human waist, for example. Plus, it meant I could fit in jeans right off the rack again. Levi 502s? Yes please.

The transition into wrestling meant more of a holistic approach. I may not be as well-attuned to the rigours of football but I’m a better athlete now than I was then. More well-rounded. I didn’t dismiss everything I’d learned here about conditioning, far from it, but I picked the parts most relevant to what I do now.

Jogging out to join the huddle, head-to-toe in all of my old NFL equipment, including one of my old game-worn Raiders jerseys…I was amazed most of it still fit…or at least, could be made to fit. A little tightening of a belt here, a little pushing there…oh, and a little helpful information to help this make sense to you guys all-around:

A Glossary of Terms (for the judge who still calls soccer it’s correct term - Football)

Coach - The guy I want to impress
QB - Quarterback. Calls the plays. Throws the ball. The guy who takes the blame.
Gridiron - Football field.
Huddle - Where we stand and talk tactics for a bit.
Play-calls - …Don’t worry about it…
Linebacker - Big dudes who play defence and hit you damn hard.
Mike - Middle linebacker. The biggest, hardest hitting of all the linebackers.
Cart - Stretcher on wheels.[/i]

COACH: Hey - I thought this guy was a Rams fan?

GIES: He is - Why?

COACH: He’s wearing a Raiders helmet? And jersey?

GIES: Oh - He insisted on wearing his old stuff, and didn't want to borrow ours.

COACH: From the Raiders? He was in the League?

GIES: Four years. Starter. Really solid numbers.

COACH: I thought this was some powder puff celebrity. I told the guys to go easy. He knows it’s not a tryout right?

GIES: I made it super clear in the email…

COACH: Well shit.

Football was one of my first loves, as the Rams were my first real team. The first one that stuck anyway…I remember seven year old me running around in my Tottenham Hotspur kit, but thankfully I grew some sense as I got a little older. It didn’t matter that I picked them because yellow and blue were my favourite colours, I picked a team. I stuck with them, through thick and thin, all the way into adulthood, and while most kids my age dreamed of scoring a goal for England, I imagined being Superbowl MVP for my beloved Rams, a young Mark, not even a teenager, lifting the Lombardi trophy, the #12 emblazoned on my chest.

Much like the path my life eventually took, pro football came before any interest in pro wrestling. It taught me how to train like an athlete. It taught me how to handle pressure, to be tough. My Dad taught me my work ethic, sure…but the NFL shaped and chiselled that into being more productive, making every second count. Working smarter AND harder.

Without football? I wouldn’t be a two-time Blast from the Past winner. I probably wouldn’t have made wrestling stick, period.

I owed a lot to this game, and you know what? Even if the Rams never called me again? I got to lay it all out on the gridiron one last time. I was taking full advantage.

CROSS: Hey…how about 0 HALF 62 UTAH F CAFE FLARE?

It was merely a suggestion. My stomach was in knots, I wanted a touch of the ball early to settle the nerves, my voice picked up by the mic built into the Quarterback’s helmet, his way of communicating with Coach on the sideline.

COACH: How the fuck does he know the playbook? Okay run it.

I got in hours early, swiped it from someone’s gym bag, and set about learning it. That was how. #Committed.

QB: On one. Readyyyy?

HUDDLE: BREAK!

Here it was…my first snap with the practice squad. My first time on an NFL training field in over a decade. The first time lining up WITH my beloved Rams instead of against them. Good snap. Left arm over right. Back to my first love, my first obsession, my first time under bright lights. BANG, he slams the ball right on the numbers, my arms wrap around it securing the pigskin. The ring was my sanctuary now, but the gridiron felt like home, good push from the O-line, opening up a seam.

Opening up a chasm. I was through, I was in an open field. The linebacker in front of me? I was giving up maybe 4-5 inches in height, a good 50 pounds in weight, I should try and use speed to my advantage, get around him…but something was different…in the league they’d be stalking me, closing me down, using that momentum to wrap me up and lift me clean out of the turf, stop me from keeping those legs pumping…but he was almost stationary, waiting for me to come to him. Advantage me.

My legs were like a piston engine, pounding the turf, it was an NFL facility, well funded, perfectly flat, but I was picking up speed like I was running downhill, shoulder dropping-

CRACK - The sound of pad-on pad was like a thunder clap when you got it just right and it was perfect, so sweet, the big guy tumbling to the turf as my legs stumbled, my feet wobbled, my gloved hand maybe half an inch from touching grass but not now, not today, I would not be down by contact. I kept moving forward…

The 30…the 20…the 10…touchdown Rams. Touchdown Cross.

COACH: Well Kurt, you just lost your PR opportunity.

GIES: Why?

COACH: They’re gonna be gunning for him now. It’s gonna be like P.O.D. up in here…

GIES: P.O.D?

Pass protect…no blitz coming…man-to-man downfield…leak out to the right…take the screen pass-

BOOM! Here comes the Boom!

The second the ball touches my hands it’s fair game as I get hit by a runaway STEAM TRAIN from the guy who’d come for me. Hold on, just. That was gonna leave a bruise.

Ready or not, here comes the boys from the South

Routine slant route…get past the line…cut into the centre of the field…hands out in front and-

BOOM! Here comes the Boom!

The guy I’d pancaked earlier gets his revenge, coming in low at my knees, feeling every millimetre and every kilo of that size difference as up-up-up and away, spinning faster than I’d span Amber when I found out about this opportunity, the ball squirting out of my hands and flying off to fuck-knows-where. Pass incomplete.

How you like me now?

Take the hand-off…quick cut through the seam…break through the line of scrimmage, in the open field…all three linebackers back in cover and SCREAMING for me now…if I can beat the outside guys to the ‘Mike’ and barrel right through him I’m home clear…

Is that all you got?

…or this is gonna hurt like a motherfucker…sprinting like my life depended on it…dropping my shoulder ready to cha-

-and I’m falling…lifted high in the air, legs flailing wildly as those two linebackers I so desperately needed to beat catch me at the same time. The middle guy…my target…the very same I’d flattened in play number one was still coming…jumping onto the pile…700 pounds of muscle sending me down to the deck…

I'll take your best shot.

Number one rule of receiving in the NFL - It’s going to hurt like a bitch anyway. Hold on to the ball. Wind knocked out of me, shooting pain along my spine, burning pain in the area of…my whole ribcage…the ball still clutched against the #12 on my chest. Nice try guys, I’m not coughing it up.

The biggest of the three had some choice words for me as they took their turns to roll away.

MIKE: Welcome back to the NFL BITCH.

CROSS: Well that was uncalled for...ugh…

Well that one fucking hurt, had to admit. It didn’t matter, I was back on my feet, jogging back to the huddle, to safety, don’t let them know you were in trouble until you were in there with your teammates…then you could double over in agony, at least for a few moments, until you had to get back on the line.

A few claps of sympathy on my back as I bring it in…please no…no touching…

QB: You okay champ?

CROSS: Totally fine…

QB: Okay guys bring it in...WHAM 22-

Doubling over, trying to suck oxygen into my lungs and finding nothing but searing pain…broken ribs…more than one…had to be…and while adrenaline had kept me going to the huddle, it wasn’t going to keep me standing as the realisation set in…then the pain…and down I go…

QB: Uhh…Can we get a cart out here?

CROSS: It’s fine guys…I'm...just gonna lay right here...for a minute...

My day with the Rams organisation? It ended more than a little prematurely, leaving the facility on wheels, with nothing more than a few passing words as the field began to disappear into the distance.

CROSS: COACH! Coachcoachcoach - You’ve got my number right?

COACH: I’ll get it from Kurt. Good hustle out there champ.

CROSS: Thanks Coach!

Of course, Coach never called. Neither did Kurt Gies. Neither did anyone else from the Rams organisation…at least when they figured out they weren’t going to catch a lawsuit off my ass, and like it hadn’t for a decade or more, my phone went back to never ringing for football related matters. Ever.

At least…not unless it was the CFL…and nobody wants to play ball in Canada. Even I’m not that desperate.

As we come back to present day, I’m sitting alone again, in an empty locker room, the smell of overly sweetened alcoholic cocktail in the air.

CROSS: Dude? Hello? Oh…well at least he took his folder, guess it means I’m not going to court this time…”

Another lawsuit avoided with a great story.

Or a really boring one.

All in a day’s work for The Dragon. Two time BFTP winner. World Champion. Snake-in-suit charmer.


Mikky Mouse isn’t as ditzy as she looks, unfortunately for us. Or sounds…for that matter…and when I want to be REALLY grating and annoying? I will still mimic her voice as best I can. You know when the Mikah impressions come out, I’m desperate to get under someone’s skin.

No - She’s smart enough to know that this is as tough as it gets, that the A-game is needed, but I don't think we're necessarily going to see it from Mikah. Why?

She's the least motivated. I want to three-peat Blast from the Past. Mac wants to defend his crown. Kat wants to get one over on one of the biggest names in SCW history. Mikah-langelo wants to shut up the annoying one and get back to Hawaii, or start doing things with Kris again.

Who's the odd one out here? And does that make her the weakest link?

An under-inspired Mikah is still scary as hell...but she's definitely not unbeatable with her min elsewhere.


Part 2 - I Shot A Man In Reno…Just to watch him die…

(If you haven’t checked out Kat’s awesome work yet - Now’s a great time!)

Well - That was predictable. Feed Bill Barnhart to the Dragon and his bones will be used as a toothpick in twenty minutes or less. Our esteemed champion, everybody, out in the first round, handed his third straight defeat at my hand. It seems third straights are starting to become a theme for 2022, let’s hope it continues.

I could have told you it was going to happen. Hell - HE told you it was going to happen, he recited the fucking Primer almost word for word, the figures told us how that was going to go. It was only fitting that I got left to dispatch him and unfortunately for him? Third time was definitely not the charm. Oh well - On to the next one.

I guess the question now is, how can the Final match up, when a Quarter Final of this quality is in the offing? At least we know the bosses aren't wangling the bracket behind the scenes as I know what match-up I'd want at the Supershow…more than any other contest in the tournament.

This one.

Win out here, send the toughest test home. It makes the next two rounds seem like a cakewalk. Wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened. Hey, is that the US National anthem I can hear?

The US National Anthem begins to play softly in the background.

VOTE MAC BANE FOR PRESIDENT, because he sure knows how to give a political answer, we know that much. Some call it political, I call it dodging the question? A couple of weeks ago I asked you if you’ve got another performance like that in you, like our World title fight. I mean…how many years DID you roll back to reach that kind of performance level, I’m thinking 7…maybe 8? That was no mean feat, damn. Getting up from the thing that’d put you down in our two previous encounters was an impressive show of resilience to say the least.

I’m thinking you dodged the question because you don’t even know the answer.

I bet you’re hoping your body’s got one more of those in you, but you don’t know.

I bet you’re thinking about that half-second that was the difference between a win for me or my eventual loss, trying to work out if you can beat it out, but I doubt you can really guarantee.

I’ve seen how this plays out before. You try to side-step and swerve. Flip the script and try to turn it into your favour but there’s your truth, there’s my truth, and somewhere in the middle lies the facts. Let’s talk about facts for a moment.

The two losses were in tag matches…but it’s Sin City Wrestling…no intergender contact…Nobody else laid a finger on you but me. If anything, it gave you time on the sidelines to catch your breath from the relentless assault. I’m sure if Mikah pins Kat…you’ll still claim it as 2-2…except for me? It’s all about me holding your shoulders on the canvas. I don’t live on double-standards. I live on things that make me able to look at myself in the mirror the next morning.

A Blast from the Past final, or the chance to Main Event Summer XXXtreme? Not as big of an occasion as a World title shot? Going to claim you’re keeping that extra gear for moments such as this, and this only? I see an issue with the ‘top of the pile’ choosing what is and isn’t worthy of their full attention.

I know you may accuse me of buying into my own hype, but if you believe that title is the only thing around here that’s relevant? Well I’m not the only one drinking their own Kool-Aid here.

The thing is Mac...you've lost your fear factor, not that you ever really had it in the first place with me but I understand why your name might carry some weight with others. Look at all he's achieved! Look at who he's beaten! Look at all his Hall of Fame inductions! Look at his size, wow, he's a monster…

…a monster who lost to me, at the first two times of asking…who will try and claim his heart wasn’t really in it, or it wasn’t legitimate, or wasn’t worthy.

What disrespect.

I know what you’re going to try and say of course, I can predict how this is going to go. You’re going to make some comment about me leaving. Flip the script on me. Let’s address it now.

A title isn’t everything. It doesn’t define you. It can, of course. Your wife has done an incredible job of making it her own…but it takes twelve defences to get to that level.

Right now? It’s just your most expensive-looking accessory.

I had better things to do than achieve for the sake of padding a stat column, because the truth of it is, a title is only ever as worthy as the competition that comes in to fight for it. Opportunities that are earned. An opportunity I plan to earn the best way I know how. I’m back for a worthy cause, and that, in this case, is triumph in Blast from the Past. For Kat, and for me. The title would be a nice bonus, but I know by winning it, the work is only just beginning..

See - I don’t care about circling the drain with the same old faces. What do you want to happen, trade blows with me, with Jack, with Alex? Throw in the odd pity shot for one of the ‘lesser’ champions for good measure, all while we play hot potato with the World title because NONE of us have proven we can make this last, Mac. None of those names I mentioned. Not you. Not me.

That isn’t fun for me. Look at us, all of us, from this time last year. Not one of us can claim to be worthy of that title. We haven’t done it justice. We haven’t made it our own. You holding it? Doesn’t automatically make you great. I don’t chase titles for the sake of it. I build legacies.

The truth is anyone can win the World title. Anyone can catch a broken-down champion, overworked, overtrained, struggling with the weight of media commitments on match commitments and EVERYONE trying their damndest to kick lumps out of you for the sole reason you’re World champion, you’re the big man.

Guys who think it’s a stepping-stone to prove their worth, even when they don’t put in the work day-to-day.

I'm rested. I'm refreshed. I walked out of that World title match under my own power and I sat on a beach for a while, sure. Did losing the title make me mad? Of course it did. Was I tempted to get back right in the ring and demand that imaginary rematch clause be triggered? Too right I did, but for what? Honestly for what, to probably take it right back off you? What does that prove? I already have the edge over you. The best you can do this week is restore the equilibrium. Something shiny doesn’t add an extra plus one to your win column.

I could have kept going, or I could have recovered, come back stronger. I chose option two. I wonder, Mac, are you still feeling the effects of that match, did you ever get the chance to properly heal? Only...taking big tackles? That's my life's work. It's why I kept getting back up, it's what they taught me in the league. It’s ingrained in my psyche. My body takes a big hit? It gets back up…ready to torch the defence next time, karma, for hitting me so hard.

Three-time Blast from the Past champion, something never done before. Two consecutive wins, something I’ve already achieved, that nobody’s done before. The first World champion to retain for 400 consecutive days, that one’s still in the works. The fact is I chase things that’ll be talked about for years to come. I’m achieving things that will live on, be talked about for years and years, long after we’re both old and grey.

A few 50-60 day title reigns? Yeah…if you left right now, you’d be a distant memory within a year Mac, I’m sorry to say. On the other hand, everyone knows what I’m about. The result is predicted, before the tournament even begins.

I know you want to be where I am right now, honestly, standing on the edge of greatness all over again. We can’t switch places…but we can definitely switch titles, if you want?

Now to your partner, to Mikah…I do have a few words for you, and yes, I'm using your real name. I'm going to be serious for a minute.

You don't want this.

I know you don't.

You've said in the past you have nothing left to prove, and you're completely right. You are, without doubt, one of the greatest to ever do it in Sin City.

You do, however, have a lot to lose.

Let's face it. The winner in Reno is favourite to take the whole thing.

That means you. One-on-one, for the World Bombshell title. The thing you used to want more than anything. The place you used to belong.

Kat's hungry…she's got all that fight and fire that made you incredible…and I want to write my name in the annals of history. You…don't actually want what comes next.

Honestly? …in just a few short weeks you could be the number one contender to face Amber Ryan for her World Bombshell title.

I know this is all just one big play to make Mark Ward finally declare you his favourite. I mean…worthy cause…much tougher thing to achieve than your partner’s latest World title triumph…Alex Jones, fuck me…why didn’t I ever get it that easy? But anyway…that, if you pulled it off, would certainly be an achievement…

The truth is…I don’t care about the World title right now. I’d rather earn the damn thing the hard way, through the tournament they’ll be practically naming after me if I carry on at this pace.

Do yourself a favour, and avoid the embarrassment. Do your partner a favour, and let him hold on to his precious belt for a few weeks longer. Do Kat a favour, let her get one over on a Sin City legend. You probably see a lot of your old self in her after all.

Take the loss. I might let you get revenge on me in the near future. You can have Kris in your corner and everything, optimal conditions for our little legend. Shut me up while you’re in your comfort zone…no need to step out of it for the sake of a silly little tournament…

Our opponents this week - “Mr. King of the Schoolyard” and “Little Miss Only in it for the LOLs.”

And people say I’M going soft? Fuck me…can I face someone who actually wants to be in this tournament, just once?


Aside from a little pre-game talk over breakfast, Kat and I have gone back to training individually this week. I've literally seen everything Mac can throw at me in our last three contests...and Mikah’s 80-something career matches leave plenty of material.

The partnership works. We just have to get prepared for potentially our toughest outing of the whole tournament, and doing that in our own facilities made the most sense.

Kitty-Kat can hold her own, I know that much.

In the eyes of some of the more narrow-sighted in this business…’Kat beat Alex Jones defending her WWH World title and Alex beat Mac for his World title so Kat is better than Mac LOL’ and by that dumb-fuck logic? Well - If she can handle Mac, she can handle Mikah.

Of course - I can do better than that. Kat reminds me in a way of Japanese steel, the raw material for some of the sharpest, most deadly swords in military history. The harder you work it, the tougher it becomes. Kat bends, but she does not break. She can get put through hell, her body showing all the signs of wear and yet…she comes out forged stronger than all of us. A mind like a sabre.

The challenges don’t stop coming, it’s what makes Blast from the Past so special. It’s why winning it is so tough. It’s why winning it twice is near impossible. Three times? Well…I’ll tell you in a few weeks. Would I swap, honestly? Kat and Mikah? Not. A. Chance.

Why have the winning-ist…when I can have the one who wants it the most?

Part 1 - The Callup

The scene opens to a property in Coconut Grove, Miami, Florida - The home of former SCW World Heavyweight champion Mark “The Dragon'' Cross. A small portable speaker at poolside is blasting out Gabrielle Aplin as the aforementioned two-time Blast From The Past winner floats around in the pool on a giant inflatable pink flamingo, Ray Ban Wayfarers shielding his eyes from the sun, a smile plastered on his face as for once, he has no flights booked, has no travel case packed, ready to head out at a moment’s notice, and nobody demanding his time or attention. From out of the corner of the shot, a butler-for-hire, complete with tuxedo t-shirt and black shorts with white stripe, attire fitting for the 90-plus degree heat and 90-percent plus humidity of the sunshine state appears, holding out a phone.

Butler: Christian Underwood for you, Mr Cross.

The Dragon lazily paddles himself over to the edge of the pool, accepting the phone.

The Dragon: Ahoy hoy? Christian!! How’s it going fella? Yuh-huh I’m still in Florida...yuh-huh I’m taking bookings...you bet I’m still in the gym every day...nuh-uh I’m still not leaving the state...oh, Disney? You mean Orlando Disney? Yeah that’s still in Florida, I can do that...alright...put me in coach...now remember though, unless you’re gonna relocate and call it Sunshine State Wrestling this is a one time deal alright? I’m starting to remember what owning a swimming pool feels like. Okay, cool, see you in Orlando!

Hanging up the phone, he passes it back to the butler, kicking his feet against the side, sending himself floating back into the middle of the pool.

Butler: Another beer Mr Cross?

The Dragon: Nah - Too many calories, turns out I’ve got a match next Sunday, better make it a hard seltzer.

Heading over to the poolside bar, he opens the fridge, pulling out a can.

Butler: Sir, can you float closer please?

The Dragon: Just throw it over!

Mark holds one arm up in the air, ready to receive.

Butler: Are you sure you can-

The Dragon: Skill position player in the NFL, four years in the league - I’ve got it bud.

Butler: Well...okay…

Looking more than a little anxious about his throwing ability, the butler pulls back and heaves the can in the direction of The Dragon...who for the first time since the scene opened...looked alert, wide awake. That throw was terrible, too high, a little wide, the kind where a ball-hawk opposition safety would have come after it, eyes like two saucers, licking their lips as they get ready to chow down on a pick-six combo meal...unless Mark pulled off a miracle. Paddling back a couple of times, launching himself up in the air as he juggles the can once...twice...three times...closes his hands around it finally...the brief airtime sending him clear of the flamingo and straight into the water, goes straight under.

Butler: Mr Cross!! Mr Cross are you okay!?!

Floating back up to the surface, a can of White Claw held triumphantly up in the air...Mark “The Dragon” Cross emerges with another completed catch to add to his stats. Any NFL scouts watching should consider themselves impressed. Reaching around in the water with his spare hand, he retrieves his slowly sinking Ray Bans, restoring them to his face.

The Dragon: Next time, leave the can, I’ll float over and get it, deal?

Butler: Deal. Hey - Mr Cross...can I ask you something?

The Dragon: Sure you can...

Cracking open his White Claw as he treads water in the pool, deciding trying to climb back on the flamingo was only going to dump him back in the drink, and undoubtedly mean spilling his beverage all at the same time.

Butler: So I’m a big fan of Demon of Durango…

The Dragon: You want an autograph or something?

Butler: No...I’m okay thank you...unless...do you still speak to Kenzie?

The Dragon: Yes I do - What was your question?

Butler: No umm...autograph from Sable then? Okay you’re looking at me like you’re gonna kill me here so I’m just gonna ask my question…

The Dragon: Great plan kid...

Butler: Did you actually set yourself on fire?

The Dragon: Well...that was an interesting day...

Part 2 - Kerosene and Making a Killing

I stand opposite a slender brunette, outside of a row of trailers, looking a lot like one of those stereotypical backstages areas of film sets you’d see on TV and in the movies. Dressed in his best Western garb, hair and beard grown out, wide brimmed cowboy hat atop his head, complete with a matching dark overcoat...maybe my favourite part of all for this gig was the outfits. This was definitely right up my alley.

Kayla: You’re going to let them set you on fire?

The Dragon: Technically I’m going to set myself on fire…

Kayla: ...You know they have a stuntman right?

The Dragon: I do know th-

Kayla: He’s in the trailer right across from yours if you wanna back out…

My hands fall down on her shoulders as I step closer to her.

The Dragon: Kayla.

Kayla: Mark?

The Dragon: Stop panicking.

This was it, my final scene, after this my work here was done, and I, as well as my character, was going up in a blaze of glory, quite literally. I was for-real going to pour real kerosene on myself, and for-real set myself on fire, all in the name of small-screen entertainment.

I loved wrestling as a kid...that didn’t necessarily mean I wanted to be one when I grew up. I just kind of...fell into it. By the same token, I loved movies, and binge-watching series...I still do now...that didn’t necessarily mean I wanted to be an actor. I was just another in a line of wrestlers who, since we’re experts in playing up to a narrative, firing up the crowd, getting them to cheer for the heroes and boo the bad guys...all in the hope of peddling tickets, merch, and securing pay-per-view sales...figure we’re basically just glorified actors anyway, so how hard could it be, right??

I didn’t want to sit waiting for the phone to ring when my contract with the Raiders came to an end, so I tried wrestling, more as an excuse to get out of bed in the morning and stay fit. It worked out great, but I didn’t plan on wrestling for the rest of my life...in fact I had this image that I’d be done by the time I’d hit age 40. That milestone was just a few short years away from me now, so when I had the opportunity to try acting, even in a minor role...I didn’t care...I did my usual...grabbed hold of it with both hands, said yes now, asked questions never, and I took that chance and went along with it. Turns out I enjoyed it enough that I wanted to try again, to keep at it, to explore that potential new career path and take on a few more auditions.

The truth was...much like wrestling in the early days...the first couple of years of my in-ring career really...I felt like a bit of a fraud. Maybe I was playing up to my ex pro football gimmick because that’s all I really had.. Maybe that’s why turning myself into a human torch was my way of ‘proving myself’ to my peers in this new facet of my life. I managed my own wrestling affairs from day one, but acting? I was completely out of my depth, and unlike wrestling, it wasn’t my full-time commitment, not yet anyway. I needed someone to make the connections, secure the auditions, tell me where to be and when, and most importantly, stop me from royally screwing it up.

That’s where Kayla came in...my agent...who looked as white as a sheet as she learned of what I was just about to do. By choice.

The truth was…this wasn’t the concern of someone who needed me to pay their rent. Kayla didn’t need me as a client. She was busy enough, and I was hardly a golden ticket even if she wasn’t...but shortly after my divorced was finalised, we’d ended up engaged in a bit of a whirlwind romance that...when it all boiled down to it, was little more than a pure physical attraction, mutually agreed but...by the same token, I still felt more comfortable having her in my corner than anyone else...maybe something that extended a little more than professional trust...and she didn’t want to see me burned to a crisp if it all went wrong...maybe a little beyond concern for the safety of a client. It was maybe...at this moment...that I might have realised our relationship was a little more complicated than either of us wanted it to be...or expected it to be...if I wasn’t so nervous about what was due to happen that the thought didn’t even cross my mind. Looking back on it now...maybe it was time we talked about parting ways.

This was the second time I’d filmed with Splat! Media...think Netflix or Amazon Prime on a much smaller scale, and back with the company that had given me that first break, playing Dick Grayson (AKA Nightwing) in “Orphan”. It was a small, very limited role...but it gave me something to add to my acting resume, other than a demo tape of talking trash about an upcoming opponent...then kicking them in the face a bunch of times, claiming I could do my own stunts. That might have helped get me into a Jackie Chan movie or something...but then again I didn’t look very Chinese, so my options were very limited without a proper showreel…

...but back to the point. We were on the set of Demon of Durango, shooting episode 4 of a 7 part opening season. My character, Doc Banner, was the town’s local physician, who had one day shown up in town, built a clinic, and stayed around to help the population of Durango. The clinic was all just a front of course, a way to fund his research, his experiments...as some years prior, he’d seen one...a demon. He was the only witness, the only man not slaughtered as he ducked for cover while the townsfolk fought to take it down. Something that had been talked about in whispers, rumours, considered an old wive’s tale, a legend, nothing more...to the point that few believed the Doc’s stories of their existence, few indulged in his delusions, even Sable...his own daughter…was more than a little skeptical.

There was even talk of the Doc continuing, an eccentric, obsessive character, making it through into a second season...but after debating it for a long while, the creators decided to kill him off instead, leaving Sable to continue on her father’s legacy, thinking that was a more appealing storyline and to be honest? I had to agree, it made a lot more sense that way.

Producer: Okay so Mark...when you hit the ground and start to roll? Count to three seconds...the camera will cut to Kenzie...then roll all the way over to us and we’ll put you out.

The Dragon: Got it.

Producer: Now with the kerosene? Your clothes and hat are fire-resistant...ish...your hair is not, so be careful where you splash that stuff alright? Although you’ve gotta make it look like you don’t care about your own safety...and still act drunk...

The Dragon: I’ll...try my best?

My eyes narrow to Kenzie Garrett, who’d been killing it in her role as Sable, and from this moment forward was tasked with carrying on the Banner craziness in the Doc’s stead.

The Dragon: You got this in one take right?

A firm nod comes back in my direction, along with...if I didn’t know any better...a hint of a smirk. Yeah you go ahead and smirk...you’re not going to be able to light the Olympic flame with your own body hair in a few moments...

The Dragon: Alright…

Picking up the can of kerosene, the book of matches, looking down at them, examining them, shaking the can to hear the liquid sloshing around in it...this was all very real...taking one last deep breath of air into my lungs as I psych myself up.

The Dragon: Okay...let’s do this.

Director: Aaaaaaaaand ACTION!

The whiskey started to flow frequently in the doc, and one could almost find him every day seated at the bar in the saloon or staggering down the street with a bottle in his hand. There were no drunken and disorderly laws then, so there wasn’t much the sheriff could do unless things got violent.

In the evenings, Doc would be seen staggering around town “preaching” about his discovery of demons. Sable and Sebastian would have to come out and ease him back to the hospital, where he would eventually pass out and sleep until morning, when it would all start again.

And then, one evening, in a drunken stupor, he proclaimed his life an excess one. After dousing himself in kerosene, he lit himself on fire in front of his daughter, and she sobbed as she watched him die before her very eyes engulfed in flames.
Credit @wearesplat - https://wearesplat.com/demon-of-durango-5

SPOILER ALERT - I didn’t finish up lightly toasted. Sorry to disappoint.

Part 3 - Orlando Magic

The scene opens to an annoying British guy who wrestles occasionally...standing in front of a blank white screen.

Hey - I’m Mark Cross, AKA The Dragon, and your FORMER World heavyweight champion here to officially welcome you, the Sin City Wrestling fans to Floridaaaaaaaa! Now if you hadn’t heard already, I’ve chosen to spend a lot more time here in Florida for a while, and a lot less time on the road...and since then maybe the biggest question I’ve been asked...is why do you like Florida so much? Well let me tell you why!

We cut to a golf course. The Dragon, dressed in flat-cap, chino shorts and brightly coloured polo shirt covered in flamingos, steps up to his ball, makes a couple of practice backswings, and shanks his shot into the trees, hearing the sound of it ricocheting off virtually every trunk in the forest of them on the way through.

Exquisite golf courses!

We cut to The Dragon, in the same attire, driving away in a golf cart, screaming like a little girl as he watches over his shoulder. The camera cuts again, showing his cart being chased down by a pretty giant Florida gator, who doesn’t seem to be giving up in his pursuit of a midday snack.

Exotic wildlife!

We cut to The Dragon, laying face-down on the towel in the middle of the sand, reading a book. From out of shot, a bucket of sand gets dumped on top of him, followed by the sound of giggling kids as he scrambles up to give chase.

Beautiful beaches!

We’re taken to a boardwalk next to the beach. The Dragon is unfolding something steaming hot, wrapped in foil, looking about ready to chow down, licking his lips at the thought, until he is bumped in the back by a dude on rollerblades from behind, making him lose his grip and drop his lunch on the decking, looking down at it sadly

Incredible Cuban sandwiches!

We cut to a gym, to a treadmill. The Dragon is deep into a workout, his face flushed red, his shirt soaked with sweat. Really starting to feel the heat, he grabs his water bottle, unscrews the top and dumps the whole contents over his head, freshly squeezed orange juice, complete with juicy bits, going all over him, the machine, and the belt he’s running on.

The best OJ!

We cut to Disney World...a character in an Eeyore costume is walking, when he is stopped in his tracks by The Dragon, who hugs his second favourite Disney character (apparently Stitch was on vacation or something), the pair high five, and then Mark poses for a selfie

Disney! Aaaaaaaand the most magical place on Earth! *Clicks fingers*

With a bit of that Disney magic, Mark teleports himself in front of the Cinderella Castle, walking slowly along as the camera pans around, taking in some of the sights and sounds as he talks away.

Well hey...guess who's back for one night only, huh? Yup, you guessed it, me. If you’re here early for the show I highly recommend checking out Universal Studios as well as Disney, and if you guessed right - 10 points to Gryffindor...or whatever other bullshit house that isn't the ALMIGHTY Slytherin, that you might happen to belong to. Look at me choosing violence right outta the gate huh? Anyone would think I had a point to prove around here or something? Well you know what...maybe I do…

See the last time I showed my face around Sin City I was talking about joining the 400 club...becoming 'the best to ever do it'...THE greatest male singles competitor in the rich history of this company...adding the longest reign on top of my achievements, including three Sin City Underground championships and two straight Blast from the Past wins...an accolade I hoped I COULDN'T defend, because I planned on already holding the damn title we were fighting for...and with Hall of Fame season right around the corner, I was on track to cement my place for next year if nothing else, as I broke record after record...yet instead I’m here, making a one-off appearance as the former champion, reflecting again on what happened a few short months ago. And why. I’ve thought about it a lot, of course. One thing in particular that sticks with me - In the lead-up to my defence, I get accused of buying into my own hype, drinking my own Kool-Aid…and that’s an interesting thought...

...but it turns out it was Mac doing his best “OH NO...OH NO...OH YEAAAAAAAAH” act that night, as The Bar needed to come out three damn times to get me outta there. Three times. The same thing that usually? Splits a man in two at the first time of asking. That was one hell of a match, I can tell you that much. My recovery programme is pretty well thought out by now, a decade down the line, but even for me, I was still feeling that a week later. Matches like that...they can change certain individuals...I know more than a few who wouldn’t quite be the same again. I’m glad I’d won the right for it to be the Main Event a couple of weeks before, as no offence to Amber and Myra...but that war would have been a pretty tough act to follow, I figure.

Now in my time away, or more officially, my time at home...I figured it out. Let me tell you the REAL problem, okay guys? Now unfortunately, that loss? It means you need two hands now, to count every name that's managed to defeat me one-on-one in an SCW ring. Six names, six matches, line them up, look at the opponent. Every one a former champion. Every one hall of fame caliber, past or future, here or elsewhere. Every one, a name you'd hate to see opposite you when the card goes up backstage, a little warning that come Sunday, regardless of result, you’re not going to be in for a fun time.

Every single one...I dragged through hell and back before they finally got me outta there. I think, from memory, every one needed more than one finishing move before finally...I couldn’t fight on any longer.

No...Mac was wrong...it's not me just buying into my own hype, not completely. It's my opponents buying into it too, because they’re seeing the very real facts in front of their face. If they want to defeat me they need their best. I’m an A-game or bust kind of opponent. They need to roll back the years and find that peak performance from when they were in their prime, if they’re not there already. They need to hit me with everything, unleash the kind of offense that'd make a great wrestler crumble and fall...and while they watch me climb to my feet and dust myself off, knowing they have to go and do it all over again. And again. And again. And even then...may find it just isn’t quite enough.

No win against me is cheap, or easy. No win against me is meaningless...and you know what happens? I don’t get a cheap, or easy win in return. Every single one has to be ground out, fought for, as my opponent knows they have to step their game up or be sent packing. I know it’s probably considered ‘old-fashioned’ these days but I scout my opponents. I watch a ton of their matches and you know what I notice? The things I see in the ring a lot of the time? I have to dig deep into the archives to find them raising their game to that kind of level. Sometimes I don’t see it at all.

Fact of the matter - I bring out the best in people. And that’s different to just being the man at the top. That brings a lot more heat on top of me.

Clicking his fingers again, Mark teleports to New Orleans Square, walking through the middle of the street as visitors mill around him.

Become the champion, especially the World champion, you get a target painted on your back, I get it. That’s the standard, everyone wants a shot at you after all, and I’m not gonna complain about that...like I said...I wanted to rack up as many defences as I could to reach 400 days, I wanted to be busy...but you know what holding that accolade normally means? A few overconfident guys, buoyed by a few wins in a couple of matches against mid-tier opponents, to put their name forward for a shot. They get fed to the wolves in that situation too because...you know what...you need to put the champ in some matches...get the star attraction in as many shows as you can...all while genuine contenders shuffle, put themselves in position, prepare, give themselves the best chance to take a legitimate run at that belt, at a Supershow, where it really counts...and where we really want to see a title change hands.

And this...my friends...is how Caleb Storms keeps getting title shots. A stop-gap, a placeholder. A title match to put bums on seats at a Climax Control and make it more interesting. A chance for the champion to say he’s defending, put a couple of notches under his name, keep the momentum rolling...until one of two things happens.

You’re me...who’s a little too good for that...and you get SCW Hall of Famer Goth...multi-time champion Senor Vinnie...multi-time champion Austin James Mercer...and multi-time Hall of Famer Mac Bane...

...or you get so complacent, so lacklustre, that at the very next time of asking, you lose to Alex Jones.

Now I’m going to wrap this around to my opponent this week in just a second but let me just close this point up real quick. They say don’t disrespect someone you haven’t faced but Alex started this with me a long time ago. Sin City Underground wrestlers aren’t even fit to share a ring with main roster guys, according to him. Well hey I did, and I do, and I got myself all the way to the top...so it’s safe to say I’ve already done my bit to disprove that one...and now it’s my turn...because I can tell you for a FACT that the Mac Bane who faced me at Summer XXXtreme doesn’t lose to Alex Jones. The Mark Cross at Summer XXXtreme doesn’t lose to Alex Jones. Neither...to be honest...does the Mark Cross who turns up to Climax Control this week.

Mac raised the bar to take that belt from me. He let it slip down to the level of his next opponent...just a little bit too low...thinking he could coast his way to victory, take it easier compared to the blood and thunder that we threw at each other and that...given his experience...was a bit of a rookie error. We both know he should still be holding that title belt but...as the champion, you’ve gotta deliver.

Hey look...I don’t have to hang around here every week anymore, let’s not mince words? And let’s finally turn our sights on our boy Agostino. Spin in how you want, winning a title? Sure...big achievement...but there's a tier system. Like most things in life, it doesn’t matter you’re a champion, it matters what you’re a champion OF, and where. It matters even less what you WERE. The truth is...and anyone making their first cuts in the wrestling business won’t thank me for saying this...but anyone can win the Internet title. String a few wins together, stroll right in, ask for a shot...you’re golden. Honestly...been around a long time, not doing so hot? Fall back on your loyalty to the company or whatever, probably snag your shot that way. Turn up, be the best man or woman on the night? Hey Mom...look at me, I did it! I won a title! Wrestler or gambler, you can hit a little hot streak, it can make you look and feel like a baller for a while, like you belong…

Until you walk into the boss’s office...and ask for a shot at the World Heavyweight title...and whether they’re nice and subtle about it or not...they laugh you out of the damn building…

And trust me it’s for your own good. Now for a lot of time in Sin City, I enjoyed my underdog status. I started in the Underground brand, I won two tag titles, held their top singles belt for almost half a year and depending on who you ask, that was still a great achievement for sure...but that still didn’t make me fit to even lace the boots of anyone on the main roster in the eyes of our esteemed new champion, and while there were plenty that gave me the respect I deserved, maybe at times a little too much...I think it’s safe to say I’ve got nowhere left to hide anymore, not from anyone. What I’m capable of is out there in plain sight.

Agostino - You’re walking into the ring with the real deal. You’re facing an opponent that can beat the very best in the company, past, present, or future. You’re standing opposite a guy that, just a few short months ago, strapped a belt around his waist that proved he, in that moment in time, was standing at the very top of the pyramid. There was no big ‘fall from grace’ as I figure, there’s not that many who actually believed I belonged there in the first place, am I right? I’m not broken physically, my pride isn’t hurt, I’m not licking wounds. I made a man, with a career as decorated as anyone who’s walked into that six-sided ring, bring out one of the single best performances I’ve seen from him in a decade...and trust me I watched a lot of his matches in preparation...to beat me. Performances like that? They come a few times in a lifetime and you know what, if that’s what it took to get me outta there well fine, I can concede that title, I can leave with my head held high.

Now I’m as prepared for you, as I was then. I haven’t had anywhere to be other than home, where my gym is, where I can train even more often than when I was travelling out to Vegas. So think...Agostino Romano...as you sit there in your dragon outfit or whatever comedic bullshit you’re going to pull this time around...to your BEST EVER performance. When everything clicked, when you were completely and totally dialled in...in a match, in training, whatever...and you ask yourself...is it enough? Could you...on your best day...defeat someone as tough, as experienced, as well-rounded, as confident as me? Could you defend and adapt as I throw plan A, plan B, plan C...you get the picture...and come at you from all angles? Could you keep yourself out of harm’s way long enough, when you know all I really need is one or two big blows to put you away? If you answer yes...think about it again. Work out where that’s coming from. Is it a place of knowing, or is it just pure overconfidence? Do you know what it’s even like to face the best? Have you ever been in the ring against it?

There’s a reason you face the same opponents every week, Agostino...because there’s an upper deck to the locker room. We fish in a different pond. It’s a place that’s not filled by joke wrestlers who love their joke matches and dicking around out there. I may have my fun backstage but when I throw back that curtain and a bell rings the real work starts. It’s serious business. This top deck? It’s filled with winners, champions, leaders. It’s occupied by guys who wave down at you as we watch you hit your glass ceiling. Maybe you should have kept your lip zipped because let me tell you...when I say 50% of my wrestling career is kicking people hard in the face? That’s not ironic. That’s what I do. Trust me it hurts like hell. Trust me it’s not FUN. Going to war with Mac over the World title, that wasn’t FUN. It wasn’t FUN for Mac in the slightest and he won the fucking thing. Safe to say he was still feeling the effects going into Violent Conduct. Going through an exploding table isn’t FUN. There are people protecting you. There are guardian angels wanting you to keep that child-like spirit, while they put you in matches with known opponents, keeping you down at your level, because they know someone like me? Could break your spirit into tiny pieces in ten minutes or less.

This isn’t a fucking board game, and it’s not dateline. You’re not going to earn 200 bucks for passing GO and I’m not going to help you find a girlfriend either. What I am going to do is seriously hurt you if you underestimate me and you know what Romano? I don’t actually want to. I don’t go out to purposely injure anyone, it’s not malicious, it’s what I’m paid to do, and in a business like this, we have to hurt someone enough that they stay down for one...two...three. At this stage it feels like kicking a little lost puppy around in a crate just WRESTLING you, not even coming out to target you, to do damage just because. You know what...I’m sure you’ll make it exciting. You’ll flip-flop around...buzz around like some annoying little bug I can’t squash, get the crowd all on your side and then BOOM I’ll lay my hands on you. I’ll get that little moment of control, and that’s when the fun stops.

But I won’t stop. Not until my hand’s held up in the air, and once again we remember why I was this company’s World fucking champion.

The truth is Agostino...you’re everything that’s “right” in this industry...but so wrong in my own head. People like you - They think you’re cute, and funny, and adorable, and entertaining, and they love watching you fly around the ring, be a little showman you know? Throw yourself around on a bike on a weekday and then throw yourself a ring on a Sunday. Win, lose or draw, people will pay to see you out there doing some kinda stuff. Maybe...sadly...more than seeing a puroresu display from yours truly. Look we all get how this goes, the business is a bit of a popularity contest and more often than not, it’s that that keeps you in a job for the long-term but sad fact for some? You still have to win wrestling matches occasionally...and there are some of us who are still very much in the business of winning wrestling matches.

Including me. Rumours of my impending retirement have been very much blown out of proportion.

Snapping his fingers again, Mark teleports in front of Disney’s Hollywood Studios, hanging out by the red sign of the entrance.

It’s been more than a little change of scenery, to start wrestling back in Florida, that’s for sure, and I’m surprised by how much my own attitude has changed in just a few short years. For example, it's been maybe 5 years since I last had a permanent deal in my home state...right here in Miami in fact...when I signed for ECWF. Now as far as scale goes? Some of the biggest crowds I’ve ever worked in front of, week in, week out. I never planned on making it all the way to the top, let’s face it no matter how capable I may be in the ring I’ve never had that ‘star power’ so it was my very real chance of something big...for a company with their own, permanent, purpose-built arena...so close I could leave my house 30 minutes before I was due to walk through the curtain, if I wanted, and still have time to go through a full stretching regime before it was go-time.

The thing is...when I lived out of a suitcase? It felt like work. I didn’t have my creature comforts all around me. I had some cookie-cutter hotels that, as nice as they could be, they were two-a-penny. Usually with a little gym in the basement, nothing more than an afterthought, or failing that, a whole stack load of stairs, so I’d never miss getting in some kind of workout...and as much as I loved exploring new cities, I was a guest, a tourist, nothing more. I was there to do a job and turn around and go back home, or head straight on to the next place. It shares more similarities with the good ole 9-5 than you think it would, what we do...and don’t think I’m complaining about it but...when you travel? You go out, you do your job, you hide out in your hotel until it’s time to leave...mostly. I mean sure you can go out, live the rock and roll lifestyle for a while but you know what? That...isn’t sustainable.

Unless you live driving distance from the arena.

My house here in Miami? It’s my dream home, in my dream neighbourhood. Four bedrooms, good size swimming pool, hot-tub, two fully functioning bars, one in the kitchen, one poolside and yet, at most there’s only been two people living here. Even with Amber and I here practically all the time, it feels kind of empty...kind of quiet, because let’s face it I bought a party mansion. Suddenly, I could party to my heart’s content...I could train, work, and sleep, all within a little triangle you could cover in 30 minutes or less in the car. The company was big enough and ugly enough to tie people to permanent, exclusive deals and for me? I only take extra bookings to keep busy more than anything, or see a city I hadn’t been before, so that suited me down to the ground.

For a time...my home became the number one afterparty destination, the free AirBnB for wrestlers and staff who came in from out of town, or out of state...the place where the odd fan with a backstage pass and positive vibes got the chance to party with their favourite competitors, not just shake their hands in an arena...and where I could turn off my 6am hit the gym alarm right away...because I hadn’t even found my way to bed yet...

My work suffered, of course. Is anyone really surprised? For the first two years of my career I was taking literally every booking I could, I needed that in-ring experience, to learn everything I possibly could as quickly as possible. I was a long way short of where I needed to be. Then, to Japan, where pure wrestling mixed with a toughness that we quite literally beat into one another. I came back from there a completely different wrestler, a competitive wrestler, a wrestler who could win titles, compete with the best. I was beyond disciplined. Awake to train at 6am without fail. Strict diet, strict nutrition, strict early night’s sleep the day before a show...and if I did stay out later, go for a few drinks? I vowed never to get myself in a state where I couldn’t train at 6am the next day.

If I did, I forced myself to learn the hard way.

Taking a job in my home city? It gave me an excuse to almost...act like a college kid away from home the first time, even if I was in my thirties before I really let loose. I may have skipped too many sessions to nurse hangovers, I may have not always been in tip-top condition when I turned up to compete...but the memories...agreeing to spar with Bailey Archer and the two of us getting too competitive and leaving battered and bruised...Lacey Cohen telling me to shut up within three sentences of any conversation we ever had. The affair-that-wasn’t with the owner, Sarah Moss...and getting Starbucks with Porshe, the Russian ring announcer...and watch all the awful attempts at spelling her name wrong. Sarah Hartley...who to this day...is still annoyed by me retweeting possum pictures all the time...

I regret not taking that opportunity to show my full potential at such a high level, but I wouldn’t change the memories. Times have changed though, I know that much. My priorities have shifted, as sitting here at home, waiting for me to come back is someone so special to me that they’re wearing a ring on their finger, a promise to be mine from now until forever. I’m no longer putting myself first. I’m nowhere near as selfish...so this? This isn't a party for me. This is purely and strictly business. This is an hour or so on a plane, turn up, catch up with a few friends backstage, go out and get the win, climb back on the plane, and have my girl back in my arms before the night is out. One thing you can expect from me is an entirely professional job - Proof, once again, of why I’m a former Underground, and former World Heavyweight champion squaring off against a boy, a Moto GP rider playing at being a wrestler, clinging to his two Internet title reigns like they mean something...with no Candy around to protect him anymore.

That’s going to take more than a Disney miracle to overcome. The fact is I may have other interests, other concerns...but it's been a very long time since wrestling has been anything other than priority one. This one’s going to be a walk in the park. Let’s hope you guys at least get something to cheer for out there...before the inevitable happens…

The scene fades to black...with the outline of Mickey Mouse ears slowly appearing in white...

Part 1 - Bitcoin’d out of his mind…

We are taken to the backstage area of The Foundry, in Las Vegas, Nevada. It isn’t a show day, with backstage crew and the occasional Sin City roster member milling around in plain clothes. It could easily be some kind of dry-run, or dress rehearsal ahead of this week’s Climax Control. Mark “The Dragon” Cross walks through, fresh from a press appearance, where he’s stopped in his tracks by one of the ring techs who flags him down for a word.

Declan: Hey Dragon, you’re into your investments right?

The Dragon: Sure, why?

Declan: Just trying to teach Zach here about where to park his money. Holding any cryptos?

Mark pulls himself up a chair.

The Dragon: I got on the Bitcoin train years ago but to be honest it’s all gone a little over my head, with things like that I just end up falling down a rabbit hole if I start looking into it, so they end up sitting around.

Declan: How many have you got?

The Dragon: Bitcoin? Two hundred and-

Declan: Dude, what the fuck?

Zach: Yeah what the fuck dude?

Declan: You know Bitcoin’s at like…$60,000 a coin right? And you’re sitting there with 200 plus?

Zach: You’ve gotta sell man, it’s gonna crash any day now!

The Dragon: Ah fuck, really? I mean like I say I don’t really keep up on this stuff, hang on…

In a panic Mark whips his phone out of his pocket, and begins to tap away furiously at it. His phone is protected by a Dragon and the Wolfe phone case, still available for a limited time in the SCW shop, since it’ll be another 350+ days before he could challenge for a Mixed Tag title, if all goes to plan.

The Dragon: Done. Sold. I hope you guys haven’t stiffed me on this, I was hearing it was about to break $100k.

Zach: Seriously man, look it up, all over the news, a big crash is coming. So wait...you just made 12 million dollars, right then and there?

The Dragon: I mean yeah, less fees...

Declan: What are you going to do with all your new-found wealth?

The Dragon: Hmm...good question...

As the camera zooms in on Mark’s face, the sound of a harp being strummed appears in the background, along with swirling white clouds beginning to bloom around the edges of the frame until suddenly, he seems to snap back to reality.

The Dragon: Guysguysguys I’ve got it...let’s go and get coffee!!

Zach: YEAAAAAAAH!

Declan: Wait what?

The scene cuts. The three guys find themselves outside Starbucks, where Mark holds the door open for the other two, before following in himself. The cafe is pretty busy, with a line of people queuing to order, and a number of the tables occupied. Out of nowhere, a British accent booms out across the coffee shop.

The Dragon: IS IT MOULIN ROUGE UP IN HERE CAUSE THERE’S FREE MOCHACHOCOLATTES FOR EVERYONE!!

He throws a wad of cash up in the air, making it rain, as the cafe erupts in a cheer, and time moves in slow motion as he walks around, shaking hands, hugging, and high fiving the patrons. After making a circuit he heads for the exit, and time returns to normal...in more ways than one. With the Dragon and his entourage none-the-wiser on the outside, the cafe very quickly descends into a scramble of disgruntled customers who wanted free coffee, and a physical fight over the stacks of cash that’d gotten flung into the sky.

The Dragon: That was really cool!

Zach: Yeah man, what now?

The Dragon: We need fur coats.

Zach: We’re in the desert...though…

The Dragon: It’ll be fine, let’s go!!

The camera cuts to a large, red, glass-fronted building. Bold white lettering above the shop front reveals the name of the store - Faux Fur Emporium. The camera takes us inside, the shop teeming with every variety of fake fur coats, hats, scarves, and all the gloves that you could possibly imagine. It’s any wonder they manage to stay in business, since it seems a bit of a niche market to be holding this much stock.

In the centre of the shop, the three stooges are dressed to the nines in thick, flamboyant fur coats. Mark’s ensemble is being topped off by a matching fur hat.

The Dragon: You didn’t think I meant real fur right? That’s cruel.

Declan: I mean...they’re not very expensive…

Zach: Yeah!

The Dragon: Oh trust me, they can be. Watch this shit.

Mark pulls out a stack of cash from the coat pocket, slapping it down on the counter.

The Dragon: KEEP THE CHANGE!

With that, he turns on his heels, strutting out of the shop, leaving the other two standing, looking at each other, a little confused.

Declan: This guy’s a fucking idiot.

Zach: Shut up, he might buy us some stuff we actually want soon! Try and talk to him about sports cars or something.

Declan: I’m going out in a fur coat in the middle of the fucking Nevada desert…

Zach: Shoulda bought Bitcoin earlier man! You can't win the lottery if you don’t have a ticket! You coulda been him right now!

Declan: This is bullshit...

The scene switches again, to a street in Las Vegas. Out of the corner of the shot, giving it a full shoulder-wiggling strut as he walks into view, appears The Dragon. His outfit has been jazzed up by giant sunglasses, gold Cuban link chain, iced-out Rolex on his wrist, and a cigar held between his teeth.

Zach: We look like pimps.

The Dragon: We do not look like pimps, it’s totally fine. Hey guys, what’s in there?

Declan: SUPER exclusive club, members only. Owned by some Russian billionaire I think.

The Dragon: Perfect.

Zach: Whoa wait wait wait...I hear they’ve got connections to like...the Japanese mafia or something...you know, the guys with half a finger?

The Dragon: Oh, Yakuza-schmooza, I need a drink. These furs were a fucking mistake by the way, why didn’t you guys talk me outta this?

Declan: I mean it’s your mon-

The Dragon: Coulda gone and bought cars or something.

Zach: Man I told you!

Declan: Oh man here he goes…

Shoulders swinging wildly from side-to-side, we follow as Mark “The Big Pimp Dragon” Cross swaggers his way towards the door, paying zero attention to the man guarding it, who tries to step in his path.

Doorman: Sir, you can’t come in here. Sir? SIR!

Declan: Really sorry about him, he’s Bitcoined out of his mind…

Doorman: Wha...What does that even mean? SECURITY!?

The pair catch up to Mark at the bar, where he has taken a seat, and is ordering himself a drink, instructing the bartender in the level of olive brine required to meet his exacting standards.

The Dragon: More dirty...more dirty...c’mon more dirty! Oh wait that’s too dirty.

Bartender: Did you want me to, uh, make it again or?

The Dragon: Nah it’s fine just give it to me.

Mark snatches the glass out of the bartender’s hand, smacking his lips together loudly as he takes a sip, following it up with an obnoxious “aaaaah” as he slaps a healthy tip on the bar.

The Dragon: I take it back, that’s a fucking MARVELLOUS dirty martini!

Declan: Dragon?

The Dragon: Yo! Grab a seat, get a drink, this bartender’s fucking magical!

Declan: We really should go dude, that guy at the door looked pissed.

The Dragon: It’ll be fine, we’re paying customers! Look at that tip I just left!

Zach: I wouldn’t be too sure.

Zach and Declan’s eyes are both drawn to a figure moving somewhere behind Mark’s back

The Dragon: Guys you just need to stop…

From out of nowhere, a GIANT forearm appears around Mark’s neck.

The Dragon: That’s not g-

The scene cuts again, suddenly, to a rooftop. Mark “The Dragon” Cross, whose matching faux fur hat got lost somewhere in the scuffle, is still attempting to fight himself free from the giant Russian security guard, who seems to have at least a foot of height advantage, and around 200kgs in one-rep-max on him in virtually all areas of the gym. The security guard makes very light work of manhandling him around as he drags the World Heavyweight champion to the edge and, with one swift swing, launches the Brit clean off the roof to the ground below.

The Dragon: YEEEEEEEEEEEEEETTTTTT-

The camera cuts to the alleyway below. Just as soon as a falling figure comes into view, Mark finds himself back in the corridor, shaking the cobwebs out of his head as he tries to figure out what that was, and where he was now. That got weird for a second.

The Dragon: Oh I don’t know, probably stick to what I know, invest in property...maybe the holiday home market or something, that kind of thing, tourism is going to be back on the rise after COVID, maybe I can get ahead of the curve.

Zach: Cool man, cool.

A phone rings. Mark slides it out of his pocket, examining the caller.

The Dragon: Oh look...it’s the girl who packed a bag and left me a few weeks back...bet she wants to talk about picking up the rest of her stuff. Listen to how sad she’s going to be when she finds out how much richer I am without her.

Mark answers the call, putting it on speakerphone.

The Dragon: Hello, this is STILL your World Heavyweight Champion speaking, how may I be of assistance?

Amber: Mark - Stop showing off in front of your wrestling friends.

The pair start to ‘OHHHHH’ quietly, smacking each other as Mark’s face suddenly turns ashen, making a throat-cutting sign to try and make them cut it out before she heard.

Amber: I’m just calling to tell you I’m coming back. I’ll be with you by the end of the week.

The Dragon: Ohkaaaay...OK cool. Text me your flight details, I’ll pick you up at the airport.

Amber: Thanks. See you soon.

He cuts the call.

Declan: I like her already.

The Dragon: Most people do. She’s one of the few people who doesn’t put up with my bullshit. I think that’s why I need her, to keep me in line. Catch you guys later...I need to go and make that college girl gets out of my house before the end of the week…

Zach: Oh NICE! Really?

The Dragon: No...not really...I think I started to realise just how much I missed Amber after she left...the house hasn’t been the same without her...some slutty college girl was never gonna fix that, even if she did want to go again in the morning...Anyway...bye guys…

Head bowed, Mark heads off down the corridor, hands stuffed into his jeans. It had certainly been a weird morning so far...but it wouldn’t be long before he’d have his girl back...and he felt like that was going to make everything alright.

Declan: He’s got it bad huh?

Zach: Yeah man...hey...think we can find what his girl looks like on the socials?

The camera snaps back to Mark as he walks away down the corridor, hands still in his pockets. From back where he came from, he hears an “OH NICE BRO!” that was way too loud.

Guess they found her picture…


Part 2 - Class is Permanent...but not everything…

We are taken to what looks like a loading dock, at the back of a building. All looks quiet, aside from Mark “The Dragon” Cross perching on the side, his legs swinging into the wall below him.

Now I’m going to tell you a little story, it’s about a friend of mine. Now this friend, she just stumbled into a new relationship, which is great, right? Dating during COVID hasn’t always been one of the easiest things to do BUT there’s a problem. I mean...opinions are like arseholes, everybody has one, and relationships follow the same pattern as most things in life, it’s virtually impossible to please everyone. I’ve been there and done that myself. You think everyone liked Amber? No...but we’ve been together for over a year, and I know one thing for sure, I do. We’ve had our ups and downs, who doesn’t? ...but not a single one was because of what anyone thought of me, or her, or us. It isn’t something that even registers for me. It’s something I became desensitised to, since I think an issue that’s even more divisive right now, do you think everyone’s happy having me as World Heavyweight champion? Absolutely. Fucking. Not. Far from it.

I bring this up because there are two ways of looking at these people, those who take a negative view on you, or what you’re doing in your life. Do you know what this friend is most concerned about? Other people’s opinions, the negative comments, the indirect tweets, the snide remarks but you know what? Very few people’s slates are totally clean. Very few are universally liked, all of our Teflon coating has gotten chipped away to some extent, no matter how small. That’s life. I mean...very few have gone through life without having royally fucked over a former partner at some point in their lives. Probably while they were young and stupid...and if it was a guy, probably because they couldn’t keep it in their pants, nothing more sinister than that. Unfortunately for us humans, at times anyway, we’re blighted with pretty good long term memories. Grudges run deep. Mistakes can sometimes be forgiven, but they’re never forgotten. Woe is me, why can’t everyone be happy for us? Because some people won’t like you. Some people won’t like your partner. Someone probably remembers that thing you said to them when you were drunk, even if you don’t. Some might remember how you bullied them in kindergarten. Some may like one or both of you individually, but can’t stand the way you ram it down people’s throats, because of that sickly sweet lovey-dovey new couple stuff that, even if you’ve been through it in your own relationships before, makes you want to throw up after a while. Guilty as charged by the way, Amber and I went through some of our first messages to each other and FUCK MY LIFE were they sappy. I’m just as bad...but maybe...just maybe...these friends of yours? They don’t give enough of a fuck to even acknowledge it, let alone reach out and give you a congratulations because you both found someone that wants to screw the other on a regular basis, not just a one-and-done kind of deal. It’s what humans do, it’s not groundbreaking. It’s that kind of attitude, expecting others to validate you, that poses the problem and you’ll be pleased to know...my point.

You know what a true relationship is? You and them against the world, ride or die. My life has always, from day one in the NFL, been pretty full-on, pretty hectic, all eyes on me, but you know what? I’ve been lucky enough to be in more than one relationship where the door to our hotel, house, AirBnB, whatever, could close, and all that went away. It was just me and her. Yeah social media still exists, but the great thing about phones? They have power buttons. The fact is if you can hide away from everything, together, where nobody else knows where you are, or what the two of you mean to each other, and that isn’t enough for you? Your relationship isn’t that strong in the first place. It doesn’t DESERVE to be validated for a start, and for second, it’s not my job. It’s not the job of your ex partners, your friends, your family, ANYONE but yourself to make your relationship, your work, your life feel worthy. The sooner you realise that, the more successful, the more fulfilling, your life will become, and that loops around to me, my life, my situation.

I fully, and whole-heartedly accept, even as one of the more popular guys in the back...and this is despite how annoying I can be...that very few people WANT me to be champion. Wrestlers, fans, the guys who the build the ring for us, how many of them are truly on my side? Like...would truly go in to bat for me against someone who didn’t feel the same. Plenty of my friends have come forward, congratulating me, telling me it was deserved, sure, that’s great, while some have told me that a title of this magnitude is wasted on me...like it’s literally taking money out of Sin City Wrestling’s pockets because they have to put me front-and-centre on a lot of the posters, throw me into the main events by default, in the place of someone with appeal, real selling power. I mean cheers pal, thanks a lot for your support there and everything...but really, I value honesty even more than I value the pats on the back, the proverbial high fives. Maybe they have a point too...but I take it on the chin, I move on, I don’t let it phase me, because that isn’t productive, and at the end of the day, it’s all irrelevant.

The moment I start to put my energy into any of this stuff, give it the slightest bit of credence? It takes that energy, thought, and effort away from getting better, from doing better. It’s a waste. Nobody else put me here, I put me here. I didn’t NEED a huge fan outcry to get the shot I deserved. I didn’t NEED someone on the management team to decide I was worthy to get a second crack. I didn’t NEED to bribe anyone with front row seats to the ball game. I earned my World title shots the hard way, in Blast from the Past, in, you guessed it, a wrestling ring. The ultimate proving ground because you know what? As long as this stays a combat sport, as long as you have to fuck someone up enough that they can’t come back at you? I will always have a seat at the table in this business if I want it, sorry to disappoint.

I’ve talked a lot about how it’s a shame, the number of prospective young wrestlers who may never get their shot...maybe they don’t have the look, the contacts or whatever...but how about pure in-ring ability? How many, one-on-one, straight up, take out all the flourish and the fanfare, could actually beat me on ability alone? Not many, and I guess, maybe, THAT is one of the reasons they fall by the wayside. Want guaranteed success in a sport? Don’t stop winning, until they can’t deny you anymore. I don’t have the killer instinct of a Jack Washington, the boyish charms of a Cassian Reed, the flamboyance of a Teddy Warren, I can’t take my plates of meat up the apples and pears like a Cockney King. I don’t have the washboard abs of an Austin James Mercer, the marketing prowess of a Mac Bane, or the sheer size and power of a Senor Vinnie but yet...I am the champion. There is one great leveller in this business, it’s called a ring, and it’s where I do all my best work. I don’t have the bank balance of a J2H...but I can make his achievements look insignificant. I can do what nobody has ever done before and really, was I wrong, for not being marketable? Or were they wrong, for selling the wrong product?

If taking out the ‘King’ at Climax Control a couple of weeks ago wasn’t proof enough - I’m not the catalyst for anyone’s comeback trail, I’m not a stepping stone, and I’m not a jumping on point. We have to honour the achievements of Vinnie, and we all have to respect the career of Goth as well, of course, that goes without saying...but it isn’t 2013 anymore. I know in every sport, there’s these discussions about when the ‘golden’ generation was. How would George Best have fared in the modern Premier League...would ‘Pistol’ Pete Sampras stand a chance against Djokovic or Nadal if they were all in their prime? Would the Great Bambino have been so great fighting off high-and-in cutters at 102mph in the modern day MLB? In wrestling, the times move much faster, it’s a high impact sport, careers can start and end within 10 years and really, that’s not a bad period for comparison...so I guess the question is...how would the first ever winner of the Triple Crown stack up against the current generation? I mean in theory, I’m in for a tough ride...

...but that’s only theoretical. Now...I completely understand the saying that ‘class is permanent’ and to be honest I have to agree. I defend this belt a couple of times, hold it long enough that it can’t be considered a fluke and hey...when I finally am defeated, I could disappear, stay out of the ring for a while, come back in 7 or 8 years and yeah, on paper, I have the pedigree to win that title again. That makes sense, right? My name is already well and truly etched on Sin City Wrestling history, new fans will have seen my name on the website against titles, against tournament wins, against broken records, and will have wondered what it was like to see me work, if they weren’t finding them on YouTube, and probably would have expected big things from that year 2028 comeback. That makes sense...but class alone doesn’t win wrestling matches.

Class isn’t the be-all-and-end-all. Class doesn’t always win me matches now. Class doesn’t stand up when a guy really wants to fight dirty, keep it down in the trenches, standing on the inside and brawling with you. Sometimes you have to play their own game a little so you can get that separation that you need. Class doesn’t stand up when you’re rusty, when you’re unfit, when you’re not used to taking the blows and rolling with the punches. It doesn’t always win through when your sides are burning every time you hammer off the ropes, when that doubt’s in your mind as you realise you’re a good half a step or more behind your opponent. Class doesn’t make you faster, in mind or in body. Class doesn’t make you meaner. Class doesn’t make you get up when you’ve taken all you can. Class doesn’t give you a Plan B when nothing is going quite the way you wanted. Class is not going to win Goth this match and really, that’s all he has on his side.

A win against Caleb Storms is not a win at all...A win against Caleb Storms is not a win at all...that thought just keeps going around and around in my mind as I think...who would I most like to face, first time back in a ring in years? I mean Caleb’s won titles, on paper he’s no pushover but in reality? His head is never really in the game, always distracted, onto the next adventure, it’s like teasing a cat with a laser pointer, you can soon get them away from whatever toy, box, scratching post or bowl of food, just wave something shiny in front of Caleb and you’ve lost him. Sometimes it’s a title. Sometimes it’s a surfing spot. Sometimes it’s a vacation. More to the point the kid is, from the last time I checked, so scared of Fenris he’s still cautious about coming into the building. Teddy...Caleb...Bill...faced them all multiple times, beaten them all multiple times. They’re all capable in their own rights, sure, but some of us are different gravy, we move in higher circles. We have more stuff, we use it more effectively, and more consistently. Caleb is no slouch, sure, but he’s no fucking world beater right now...and that’s no small difference now, is it? No small step up in class.

Everything I’ve talked about so far, pretty much? It’s all been about 400 days as champion, achieving something that’s never been achieved before...putting myself in contention for being one of, if not THE greatest World Heavyweight champion in the history of this company and yet...let’s talk about some numbers that have already become reality. 596 days since I last lost in a singles competition on Climax Control. Over 14,000 hours since someone made me give up. 85 weeks since I got knocked down and couldn’t get back up. More than 51 million seconds since somebody took me out on the weekly show. I’m sure it’s been said that I like to choke on the big stage. Maybe at one point, that would have been true...but look at that shiny prize on my shoulder, I’ve finally defeated those demons. The Climax Control thing? Little on the line, no title, no big rivalry? It’s so easy to take your foot off the gas in those situations, cruise, take it easy. Why have I gone undefeated so long? Well...any setting...I don’t have anything other than top gear. I’m in the same mode in an alley with no spectators as I am in front of a capacity crowd, fighting for my title belt. There is no ‘big match’ for me. Every match is just as important. Every W is just as big. Every time I can prove I’m the best man on the night is what I live for.

Look at those few losses on my record - Fenris, Ben Jordan, Griffin Hawkins, some Battle Royal where some other guy goes and gets himself pinned instead of me. That’s the sum total list of my defeats. Man of the Year. The first ever unified World Heavyweight and Underground Champion. A multi-time champion in his own right, and one of the most popular names in the business, and results that were, in some ways, outside of my control. It’s a pretty short list, and it’s an impressive list. Three opponents who could absolutely put up a stern test, and teach me some serious lessons along the way too. That’s the kind of level you need to be to compete with me, in any ring, any where. Doesn’t matter if the title is on the line or not. The bar is set, and every day I step in the gym, I raise that bar a little bit higher.

It doesn't matter who you put in front of me, honestly. I know it's a non-title match, but if Goth does take me out? Give him my belt. Give him my Blast from the Past wins. Give him my fucking Aston Martin for all I care but with the greatest respect? I doubt Triple Crown winning Goth of 2012-13 could turn that record around on Sunday night. I doubt even more that the mid-forties, out-of-practice, Dad of the Year contender has it in him, not that it’s a bad thing. He prioritizes his family, his son, over this sport and in fact, I respect that immensely in him, to be honest that’s exactly what it should be. Thanks to my parents I have nothing but happy memories of my childhood, they gave me all the tools I needed to be a winner, to make a success of my life...to be here...but this belt, this list of achievements...it’s a culmination of over a decade of putting wrestling first. Being in the gym every day, for hours on end. I’m top of my game, right now. Everything is dialled in, right now. All the momentum is on my side, right now. I’m not the work in progress guy. I’m not the ‘it’ll come together eventually’ guy. I’m the complete package, and anyone who steps in the ring, that isn’t in the same boat? They’re getting turned around and sent straight back up the ramp, so quickly that I’m going to be left hungry for more.

This is one for the posters, one for the marketing team, that’s all. Champion versus champion, legend versus legend...in theory. Two of the best to ever go at it...on paper. The clash of the titans...on a video game. It writes great copy. After all...imagine when you tell your kids that you were there when Mark “The Dragon” Cross vs Goth happened ON A WEEKLY SHOW when they were too young to watch wrestling. Imagine the amazed look on their face as they hold the ticket in their hands and imagine. At the end of the day, all that gets written in the history books is the result. Mark “The Dragon” Cross wins by pinfall. You can leave it to their overactive young imaginations to run wild. They don’t have to know the match was all one-way traffic, and it didn’t live up to the hype. If it wasn’t the Internet generation, you could absolutely get away with that too.

I had a similar moment a couple of years back, when I was back in England visiting Mum. One for the old school boxing fans. She was sorting out some old boxes and she found this programme for Chris Eubank vs Michael Watson, the first fight, before tragedy struck in the rematch. My Dad always liked to buy a programme, keep his ticket stub as well, like a keepsake. I’ve got boxes of Gillingham Football Club programmes from when we used to go every week, every single one with a ticket stapled to the front...but I’m getting off topic a little, sounds like me. I bring it up, because I remember Dad saying to me that the first fight wasn’t very fun to watch, when he was still alive. I found it on YouTube, he was totally right. It didn’t live up to the hype in the slightest but yet...I could treasure it anyway. I cracked open a beer, put it up on my projector, and it’s kind of like I lived in that moment, imagined him going up in the car, spending £25 on his ticket, which was a fair amount of money in 1991, and pretended I was sitting there alongside him, watching it too.

To Goth...I guess final word on this. Putting your son first, listen, that's admirable and to be honest, this comeback? I think if you can involve him in it somehow, let him share the experience with you, it’ll be great for both of you. I won’t go out of my way to deliberately injure you...that’s not really how I do business...he says as around 50% of what he does involves kneeing people in the face BUT I have a job to do. You’re in my way. It’s as professional as that. This was not the match for you. This was not the time, but I hope you stick around. I hope you do rekindle some of that old magic, I hope we get to go again sometime, I hope we get to make it not just a classic on paper, but a match for the ages. Maybe not now...but maybe soon. I guess...from me...that’s all. I’ve got someone very important to meet at the airport…

Mark hops himself from the loading dock, disappearing out of shot, and the scene fades to black.


In other news, Northern Ohio Championship Wrestling (NOCW) have announced the signing of Faith “The Future” Simpson from Sin City Wrestling from Las Vegas, Nevada. The 19-year old, who most recently wrestled for the Vegas outfit as the mysterious “Royal Purple '' removed the mask at their last major event, revealing her true identity after a near four-month run as their Bombshell Roulette champion came to an end.

The title was the teenager’s fourth in an already impressive four-year career, all that despite suffering a double leg break around eighteen months ago. Simpson has signed a three-year deal with the company, with her first appearance due to be in a couple of weeks time.

Faith began her career training with the Dragon’s Lair gym, owned by fellow roster member and current Sin City Wrestling World Champion Mark “The Dragon” Cross. She made her debut at just fifteen years old for Galveston Island Wrestling out of Texas, eventually capturing the Legacy belt for her first taste of title gold.

We caught up with Faith to get her take on the announcement.

“This has all been so hard for me, ya know? I had to come clean about so much stuff, the alcohol, the drugs...some people tore up the contracts right in front of me, told me I’d never work for them, ever...but most of the people I spoke to were so lovely and so understanding, it broke my heart a little to tell them I was going to sign elsewhere, that was the toughest thing of all...but now more than ever I’ve gotta do what’s right for me now. I don’t deserve this, any of this, for how I acted. If I wasn’t still winning title matches at my worst, under the mask, I might have found it way harder to come back, but here I am I guess! Thank you to everyone who stood by me, thanks to my team, to Sin City Wrestling, for putting up with all my s**t this past year, and thanks to anyone who was willing to give me a chance regardless. I’m ready to right a few wrongs, and win a few titles over these next three years!! Still #2fast4u, Faith x”

We also got a word with her coach and mentor Mark “The Dragon” Cross:

“A number of offers were on the table for Faith, including one that would have kept her close to the Lair and still within Florida, and we as a team worked night and day to cover all of the angles to make sure the best possible packages were being put out...but at the end of the day the choice was all hers to make. We knew there’d be some big numbers flying around for her services, but NOCW ticked the most boxes in terms of what she wanted from her new home. Money talks, no doubt, but that was far from the only factor in her mind. I will forever be immensely proud of my star pupil, and I know it’ll only be a matter of time before she collects her fifth strap and more in Cleveland.”

Part 1 - Act A Fool

Mark had been in attendance for the first Climax Control back from Blaze of Glory, keeping up the trend of attending Sin City Wrestling shows, even though he wasn’t actively involved. He was an almost constant presence around the locker room, not so much out of necessity up until now, when number one contender to the World Heavyweight crown meant a lot of eyes were suddenly on him, but out of his own feeling of duty. If a company had you under contract, it seemed important to him that he was around, present, keeping himself up-to-date with goings on first-hand, and being there to impart his experience on some of the younger members of the roster as and when they needed it.

He mixed up his accommodation from week-to-week, occasionally he’d stay with another member of the roster, or a friend who lived nearby, or he’d arrange himself an AirBnB, finding it a much more interesting experience than another cookie-cutter hotel, which he’d seen quite literally hundreds of over the course of his career in the business, but today he’d opted for the Saxon hotel. Brooke’s family had been instrumental in their support during the pandemic, allowing the doors to stay open and for business to continue while maintaining a secure bubble around the wrestling staff, and the least he could do was pay full price for a room occasionally.

Plus, their gym was well equipped, and their breakfast was top-drawer.

The Dragon: Whole gym to myself, love it.

The ‘wake up at 6am to train’ habit that he’d gotten into right at the start of his wrestling career had still stuck to this day. There was no real need for it, if it wasn’t a travel day or a show day, he had quite literally the whole day to train...but it was a routine that anchored him, kept his feet on the ground. Besides, it also meant he was free by lunchtime, with the rest of the day to himself, and except for the most die-hard of gym rats, he usually didn’t have to fight anyone for the equipment he needed.

Mark made his way to the squat rack first, loading the bar up with weight. With his white-and-gold Beats Studio headphones already placed over his ears, it was just as well that he was in the gym alone. The sound leaked out of the things so badly that half a train carriage could sing along to your music with you, if they wanted...but they looked incredible when you wore them, which was motivation enough. Plus, they were bassy af (a technical sound engineer term) which was exactly what you needed when it came to getting pumped for a workout.

Checking they were paired to his phone, he flipped across to Spotify, ready to make his all-important music selection. Mark was starting to make a few choices as far as life and career went recently, and to be honest had it not been for Blast from the Past, his time in Sin City Wrestling could well have been over, at least for the time being. He was enjoying being home in Miami more and more, and the house that had for a time felt empty and devoid of life since his divorce a couple of years back, was now firmly back to what it had been all along. His dream house, a four-bedroomed party mansion in Coconut Grove.

As such, the ink was still wet on his contract with 5 Boroughs Wrestling, which felt like a better fit. His new partner, who’d moved to Miami with him a few months back, still had friends and her old apartment in NYC, and usually travelled back there a couple of times a month with Mark in toe. It seemed to make sense for him to tie their two wrestling shows a month in with those trips, kill two birds with one stone, and despite him tearing the initial contract up in front of their faces when his second shot at Blast from the Past 2021 rolled around, they’d been gracious enough to welcome him back.

Mark was two matches, and two victories deep in his new promotion, normal service resuming. The company’s top champion was the infamous Samantha Tolson, who’d probably not accepted the legitimacy of an opponent since maybe 2014. After thirteen defences of the title and counting, it was clear that it was an approach that worked well for her. Mark got on well with Sam, and when the Golden Ring Casino was quiet, her place was always a good spot for a party, a BBQ and free beer, especially if there was football on. Of course he was hiding in plain sight, planning to dismantle every opponent in his way until there was nobody else left other than the champion. He’d arrive with all of the momentum, with a title shot he’d earned the long way, the hard way, the right way. No doubt in anyone’s mind. He was working his own little Blast from the Past scenario in pastures new, and where he went, success often followed.

Yet...we’re not here to talk about other promotions, other battles, other title challenges...but it was topical when it came to Mark’s music choice. 5BW had a long-running music series, where fighters would put together their own Spotify playlists for the fans. He was working through the latest batch for his workout anthems, and this time around it was the turn of Brittani Helms. First track up as he pressed shuffle play, Ludacris - Act a Fool.

The Dragon: Oh NICE! I’m 2 fast for ya’ll man! Royal Purple should use this as her new entrance music…

As he began the exercise, Mark surprised himself by how much of the track he still remembered, rapping along as he concentrated on perfect form for his warm-up set.

The pot holes in the street just bentcha rims
Tell me whatcha gonna do? Act a fool
Man, that ain't sticky, that's just sticks and steams
Boy whatcha gonna do? Act a fool
Catch a man with another bitch up in ya bed
Ladies whatcha gonna do? Act a fool
If the bottles all gone and your eyes are red
Boy whatcha gonna do? Act a fool
2 fast, 2 furious
2 fa-OHH…
 
After racking the bar, not breaking stride in his performance, he span around to find a small group of early risers, along with his first Blast from the Past partner Krystal Wolfe, standing by as they watched him and his little cameo. He ripped the headphones off his head as he waited for the ground to swallow him up. Unfortunately, the universe didn’t deliver.
 
The Dragon: Ahem...morning everyone…
 
He coughed awkwardly as he span back around, face feeling hot to the touch as he racked up more weights, hoping to feel the eyes burning into the back of his head dissipate. The sound of movement and clunking gym equipment brought sweet relief, as he figured he could get in at least one more set before he had to turn away from the wall...
 
Part 2 - Tooling Up
 
While still far, far behind Krystal when it came to subscribers, followers and views, his occasional rants about opponents and occasional streaming of Football Manager was slowly but surely increasing his presence on Twitch. He’d enjoyed gaming from the moment he had a Sega Saturn as a kid, and with more time at home, it meant more opportunity to sit and just sink his teeth into a game during his downtime. Plus, it was a perfect opportunity to engage directly with his fanbase, away from the ring, or the cameras. It was something he was enjoying a lot.
 
Following his announcement, he was seated and ready, pressing “LIVE” on OBS as he sat back in his chair, ready to get started.

Austin James Mercer...so good they named him twice, huh? Well at least I’ve been handed a real challenge, a good test to tool up and get ready for attempt number two at the big one. You know they say there’s not too many who have gone to war with Fenris and come out the other side. Austin, check. Me, check. Ben Jordan, my opponent the last time I won this opportunity, check. By live to fight another day, I pretty much mean all limbs intact, as one thing is for sure, win lose or draw, it’s going to be a painful experience.

...and that puts Austin in a pretty exclusive group. Someone who can hold his own against that level of brutality, and a man who has reached the very top of the tree here in Sin City Wrestling. Respect is not automatically given in a combat sport such as ours, and Austin absolutely deserves mine. Of course, that doesn’t mean he isn’t standing in my way, and that doesn’t make him safe by any stretch. After all, the perfect analysis looks at four factors. Strengths. Weaknesses. Opportunities. Tactics. There was an old phrase that stuck in my mind when I started wrapping my brain around this match-up, and in wrestling, and in life to be honest, possession is nine tenths of the law.

My number one contendership for the World Heavyweight championship, in reality, worth about as much as Austin’s reign as champion was. Taking that old adage, oversimplified or not, it’s only worth about 10 percent. In practice, it deserves around 10 percent of my focus, the rest should be on the here, the now...but in reality, are they connected somehow, in this instance? The great thing is, we don’t have to just scratch the surface. The bad news, you’re stuck listening to me pick it apart for you, so uhh...apologies in advance I guess. Hope you got yourself a coffee.

Now I know I’ve levelled criticism at some of my fellow professionals before, usually pretty generalistically to be honest, and I accept the point one of my opponents made during Blast from the Past this year, I’m not the only one working hard around here. That’s completely true...and I also have to accept, as much as I hate to admit it, there’s a lot of guys and girls in full-time wrestling who DON’T aspire to be in the position I’m in right now, challenging for the belt that makes me THE GUY around this building. The guy that won the big one, the guy who finds himself in the most sets of crosshairs, and if you’ve heard me talk about this before, well you know...that...leaves me conflicted.

It leaves me conflicted, because I think back to all those people who don’t have the look, or the skills, or the contact to get them a bit of a foot in the door, who’d quite literally do anything to live their dream of becoming a pro in this business. Part of me says if you’re not going to swing for the fences, why are you even here in the first place? But, I have to be fair as well. I know how that goes. Take your pick, wrestling is all they’ve ever known. Wrestling gives them a reason to get out of bed in the morning. Wrestling fuels their drink and drug habit. Wrestling stops them from turning to drink and drugs in the first place. Wrestling is the only career they’ve ever been able to make work, because they’ve failed at everything else. Wrestling is how they support their family. Wrestling is how they’re going to pay for their family’s financial future for years to come. Maybe, in extreme cases? Wrestling is what kept them alive during some of their darkest days and as I think about it, I absolutely cannot stand here and say you don’t belong here, you’ve gotta get out, they’re all perfectly valid reasons to keep going, in some way, shape or form. They need it just as much, sometimes more, and are they able to keep their spots? Well - Possession is nine tenths of the law right?

You might ask how I know, and see the thing is...you walk around the locker room...and not only does this apply here, it applies practically anywhere, and the guys and the girls in the back talk, ya know? It’s a lot like boxing, we trash each other in the build-up, we put each other through hell in the ring, hopefully, if it’s a fair fight, then it’s all handshakes and respect when it’s all over. We may not see eye-to-eye on the regular, and to be honest in every friendship group, there are some links that are tighter than others...but this life we live is hard. It’s incredible and it’s quite literally living the dream every single day, that isn’t taken for granted...but sometimes it helps to air things out around people that understand what we’re all going through...and it soon becomes clear who’s shooting for the moon and who’s just punching their card for a little while...

And this, in what is definitely a long way round even by my standards, loops around to my opponent, to Austin James Mercer, and to Wolfslair...because when you don’t have your eyes on the top prize, there has to come a certain level of damage limitation. Otherwise you lose face, any kind of threat you once posed begins to fade away, and it becomes blatantly fucking obvious that you’re going through the motions if you’re not dropping some good soundbites out there. The people that pick up on this the most? The guys who negotiate your next contract. Example number one Austin lost to Fenris...and with it he comes straight out to admit there’s no shame in losing to someone in the top 1% of the roster...okay fine...but let’s think about that for a second, about how quickly that unravels…

As if you put Fenris in the top 1%, where does that leave Jack Washington, the man wearing the crown? That’s assuming you believe the World Heavyweight title is worth its salt of course, and that remains to be seen. Is he in there too, I mean he is supposed to be standing on the pinnacle? How about me, the number one contender, winning my way through a tough tournament to put myself just one more rung away from the very top, at the summit. Where does that put me, top 1% too? Top 5%, top 10%? Is a defeat against the White Wolf easier to swallow than a loss to me, the man who could be king in just a few short weeks? I’m interested to know how that works in your head.

You know what the great thing is, when you try and put numbers on something that can’t be quantified? You can bend and manipulate them to fit YOUR narrative, the story you’re looking to tell. In reality, Jack, man in possession, me, next in line, Fenris, putting former champions to the sword in the squared circle, what’s probably more accurate is to say we’re in the top 25% of the guys in the locker room, just to be realistic about it. Anyone can be beaten on their day, sure, but we’d probably fall into a similar bracket. Austin World Champion Mercer would absolutely have been right up in there with us. No doubt about it, but what’s different between you and him? Well maybe that’s the root of this whole point I’m trying to make here.

What makes up a man who goes on to win the highest accolade in a wrestling promotion, and hold onto that title belt with a death grip for over seven months? Ability, sure, no doubt. Work ethic, check. I know for a FACT you’re not going to give me an easy ride on either count out there, it’s why this is perfect practice for me. Resilience, everyone’s looking at you, waiting for you to slip up, ripping their pound of flesh out of you when they get the chance, it takes real toughness, and a laser focus to look past that and stick to the job at hand. Passion, an unrelenting desire to continue to be the best, to remain undefeated, to build a legacy for you, your family, your stablemates, and last of all that ability to reach down deep, summon something extra, to dig you out of trouble when you think it could all be over, and extra few percent buried deep within your soul because nobody is going to take your title today, and nothing less than a win will do.

For the Austin of today? He’ll accept a few losses, as long as he respects the opponent enough. That’s okay, in his mind. Well that’s absolutely not fucking okay in mine. I think that’s why I am where I am, waving goodbye to him as I glide past to bigger and better things.

You know what a loss means to me, guys? It means I wasn’t good enough. It means there’s more work to be done. It means I need to step my game up. There is no sitting back to lick my wounds and think about how tough my opponent was, and how good of a showing I put up because it wasn’t enough. Of course it was a good showing, we’re wrestlers, we’re SUPPOSED to give a good showing, it’s quite literally the thing we get paid to do. I had it thrown at me before, I act like I’m the only one around here that trains hard and yeah, I get it, the vast majority of us do. Also, the vast majority give it everything we can out there on every single night, win lose or draw. That’s a given, that’s basic stuff...but how many demand more from themselves when they come up short? Not enough. That’s what defines my top 25%, or Austin’s top 1% I guess. The number doesn’t matter, the practice is the same.

Now it may seem like a negative mindset, like I’m beating up on myself when I say this about those performances, but there’s nowhere to hide. It wasn’t my hand being held high in victory, and that tells you everything you need to know. There’s the negative, and I look at that when I analyse. It’s not all doom-and-gloom, it’s part of the whole picture, the negative and the positive, the rough with the smooth. I’ve been at this over ten years, and there’s been very few lights-out “perfect” performances. I can count them on one hand. There is always room for improvement, even in victory, and while the result is by far the most important thing, so is learning, so is growing. In growth, in development, we create more opportunities for more wins, and the cycle begins again.

To look at your faults? To face them head on and try and tackle them? That’s not negative at all. It’s tough, sure. It’s hard to swallow, even after you think you’ve prepared as well as you possibly could, covered every base...but it happens. I accept an opponent bettered me on the night but I won’t accept defeat. All I accept is my own failure, and it’s on to the next one.

After all, when it comes to knocking down two-pointers, matches where there’s no title on the line, my record is pretty unmatched around here, straight up, one-on-one. In fact, it’s a record I figure a lot of the guys in the back would swap with me in a heartbeat. It’s something that, in isolation, I could go away and be pretty proud of all-in-all...but yet I can’t take the lid off the basket when it comes to shooting those threes, closing in on that title gold. I’ve had a year of that thought chipping away at me, I’ve had a year of building everything back up stronger. I’ve had another Blast from the Past victory to gather up momentum and I’ve got a legitimate challenge ahead of me to help me get up a head of steam before the big test. I just need to go one better this time, one step further. There’s nobody standing in my way but Austin, but Jack, and most of all - Me.

I know I’ve given Wolfslair a hard time too, my comments have thrown up some raised eyebrows in that camp as on the face of it, much like my overall singles record, it doesn’t make bad reading. There are a lot of names in that group that know how to win championships. They’ve proved it time and again too, fair play to them...but really, what good is any of that? Johanna let a GRIME star with a drinking problem walk in and capture the title in her dream scenario, a submission match. Lachlan not only couldn’t halt my progress in Blast from the Past, but he got the beers in afterwards and you Austin, maybe the greatest hope of another World title for you guys, readily accepting that the best guys are working above your level. Let’s not forget that, if you take Alex Jones’ word for it, you’re standing on the edge of a loss to a former Sin City Underground guy who, technically, isn’t even under a long-term contract right now. Forget that this outsider was Underground champion for half a year, forget who he’s beaten, the two tournaments he fought through to earn his stripes here and just remember - He’s supposed to be an outsider too. He’s taken up the mantle, flown the flag, celebrated his underdog status. You should have taken great pride in taking me down a peg or two...yet I feel like you’re going to let me breeze right by too.

Please save us Austin, you’re our best hope! Come on - Give me a break. If I listen to you guys talk, it’s like Wolfslair should be the dominant force and you know what, on paper, you guys SHOULD be dominant. You should have a stranglehold on every title, every division, strength in numbers, until you’re having to knock seven bells out of EACH OTHER just to keep these belts contested. This should be you in my spot, but you aren’t. It should be YOU beating ME, but you can’t. You’re second best in every situation because you ACCEPT second best. You accept losing to Fenris. You’ll accept losing to me, because he’s the number one contender, he was better than most of the main roster guys when he was leading SCU from the front, he’s the only wrestler in Sin City history to win Blast from the Past back-to-back. I’d have loved to come flying out of this match with much fanfare...but as capable as you are Austin...it almost feels like you’re making up the numbers.

I hope we get to do this again, some other time in the future. I hope you get back some of that fire that put you as the main figure on the Supershow flyers. I hope you’re posters on people’s walls because of what you’re doing in the ring, not because of how great your abs look on glossy paper. I hope we fight at a time when defeat to me is an outcome that would just stick in your throat when you tried to swallow it...I hope you won’t give me too much respect. Oh, and I hope it’s for my World Heavyweight title too, main event, in one of the biggest shows on the calendar. Now that? That could be explosive, but now? I think I’ve just caught you in the middle of a bit of a crisis of confidence. Austin - I’ll see you out there mate. This is the first chapter, but I feel like it isn’t the end of the story. Cheers guys.

As Mark leans forward to unclick the live button on the stream, the screen moves back to his Twitch channel’s “Offline” graphic, and the scene fades to black.


Part 3 - Mistake Number One…

"Ugh...seriously..."

For the fifth straight time, the phone ringing away in my bag went to voicemail. If I had my Aston Martin back home in Miami, or if I was in a rental, it'd have Bluetooth, and the call would have connected straight away. Whether you saw it as a good thing or not, life in the 21st century meant you were usually always connected, but not tonight. Tonight I was driving my freshly restored (by me) and freshly painted (by someone else, my skills only went so far) 1974 Ford Mustang, and I was driving with no real plan or destination in mind, just for the love of driving. It was why the phone was stuffed away in a bag in the back, out of sight, out of mind.

No matter how much I turned up Bruce Springsteen on the tape deck however, and however much I roared the V8 Boss 302 engine into life, I couldn't get that annoying noise out of my head, and for whatever reason, someone really REALLY wanted to get hold of me at, what was it, nearly 5am? I hadn’t gotten around to fixing the clock in the car yet.

I pulled the car off the road, the glistening of metallic purple paint in the street lights fading away as I drove into the unlit run-off area, skidding to a halt in the dirt. More than a few people had tried to talk me out of the non-OEM colour choice, but there was no stopping me, and as the end product came out of the booth, I think we all decided it was the right choice in the end. I reached over and started immediately hunting through my bag for the source of the noise, distracting me to the point that I didn’t even notice the van parked up alongside.

"Kayla, this better be important..."

I climbed out of the car to stretch my legs. As a wrestler, I'd always managed my own bookings, and the phone never stopped ringing with opportunities, that was the beauty of over a decade in the business. With my acting career, only just getting off the ground? Less so. I needed someone with the experience, the contacts. I needed an agent. That person was Kayla. And the call was definitely important in her mind.

She sat bolt upright in her converted motorhome, the money from the divorce going more than some way to kit it out into her own sort of rolling hotel, complete with double bed, bathroom, a small kitchen, and even a working mini-fridge, the whole nine yards. It almost felt like home even in the cold and the dark, but the screech of tyres in the wee hours of the morning was a reminder that even keeping constantly on the move, she was far from safe.

This couldn’t be another nightmare could it, so soon? She thought to herself as she rooted around in the dark, her hands reaching out for anything, keys, a flashlight, that Louisville Slugger bat she kept around to give her at least some form of protection. Surely he hadn’t managed to track her down already? The heavy bruising on her legs and around her ribs, some of them probably cracked or broken, made moving around without wanting to yelp in pain difficult, but if her assailant thought they had the element of surprise, she wanted to keep them under that illusion for as long as humanly possible.

She threw a robe over herself, hands eventually finding two of the three things she wanted, the flashlight and bat. That was plenty, she’d have to come out of the van to reach the cab anyway, so the keys weren’t much use. Genuine fear for her life sent her adrenaline sky high as she flung open the rear doors, bat primed and ready to strike as she shone her flashlight directly into the eyes of a man...a man she didn’t recognise...fuck, had he sent someone else to finish the job!?!

“Who the fuck are you? Has Caleb sent you!?!”

Something about performing in front of large crowds for over a decade, and being more than used to having cameras shoved in my face at a moment’s notice, meant very little phased me these days. It was like I had ice running through my veins or something. Besides, bat or not, a professional athlete should be able to overpower someone over half a foot shorter, and probably half my weight. I didn’t feel an immediate threat.

“Hey Kayla...I’m gonna call you back, someone’s about to cave my head in with a bat…”

I’d moved to Miami maybe 14, 15 years ago, but I was still very much in possession of my British accent, and my equally British dry sense of humour, with a heavy dose of sarcasm as I held a hand up to my face, shielding my eyes somewhat from the glare of the flashlight as I tried to get a view of who the woman was...as well as see the impending attack coming if there was one.

So much for a nice, quiet, soul-searching drive on my own at 5am. The night was going to get a whole lot weirder…

To be continued...

14th October 2018
Louisville, Kentucky

The clattering of metal did a surprisingly good job of drowning out my cry of anguish as the top-rope elbow drop made short work of mangling my right arm, the very same arm that had been sandwiched between the two parts of the ring steps as I was held in place. Number one contendership battle royales or not, putting stablemates in the same ring always spelled trouble, and when it came to targeting one of the biggest threats, it didn’t take much for them to pull in a third accomplice into their scheme.

The medical staff, to their credit, knew right then and there that I was done, their immediate presence on the scene saving me from any further punishment. I walked out under my own power of course, both of my legs were working, and at that moment I was almost relieved. I was working a lighter schedule, I had other things on my mind, being put out of action wasn’t on the agenda. It soon passed, the relief I mean. The Doctor met me just behind the curtain, knowing I’d want to carry on if I could. As he began his diagnosis, I took calm, deep breaths, finding my centre…

Did I fuck. The rage was building with every passing second, as it all clicked into place. Not only did they want to take me out of the match, they wanted to take me out of the game for months while I recovered. Why? Because I was a threat. It wasn’t malicious, I hadn’t stolen anyone’s girlfriend, or run over anyone’s cat, or even really said much bad about any of my opponents in the build-up. Had I done any of those things? Well hey maybe I deserved that broken arm, it’s like a receipt, we give them all the time, but they were scared of me. A brutal act of violence sure, stemming from a feeling of pure cowardice.

Doctor: Well, it’s not broken, although that arm is gonna be dead for half an hour or so.

The Doc had been squeezing and poking it for the last couple of minutes, I figured if anything was broken, I’d have been screaming like a little girl on contact. I could look forward to some gnarly bruising though, and another conversation with my (now ex) wife about whether I should still be doing this. Payback would be swift and unrelenting.

The Dragon: I’m going back in then.

Doctor: Dragon you'll be fighting with one hand I've gotta pul-

The Dragon: Nope.

Doctor: Hey!

With one solid shove with my good arm, the Doc was sent staggering backwards and out of my way as I burst back through the curtain to cheers from the crowd. I was relatively new here, still trying to win some of the fans over, but a man out for revenge usually made for spicy viewing.

Talbot: Is that Cross coming back out to ringside?

If it was any consolation, I'm left-handed, so if I was going to try anything too wrestling-related out there, at least my dominant arm was still working. The first to see me coming was the poor kid that’d been roped into holding my arm a couple of minutes before, and to his credit, he did come running to try and shut me down. Straight into a big left hand.

Bates: And Cross now lining up the SUPERKICK, sending Anderson flying over the barrier and into the fans!

Talbot: It doesn’t look like he’s moving down there either, he could be out!

I was an advocate of Japanese Strong Style and predominantly, the approach involved powerful, technical suplexes and throws that could change the course of an encounter in one swift move. Given my condition, that was pretty much out of the question. Luckily, there was another prominent feature of Strong Style. Kicking people in the face. Hard.

The two stablemates responsible for the arm now dangling limply by my side were facing mixed fortunes. One was taking a beating inside the ring by the company’s former World champion, on his comeback trail from injury, the other doing the damage on the outside. The recipient of the abuse floor side finally managed to wriggle free, heading for the safety of the ramp, and right into my path. My one good arm was all I needed to hold him in place for a crushing knee to the face.

Bates: Cross just CLEANED HIS CLOCK with that knee!

Talbot: Brutal stuff from the Dragon, and now he comes face-to-face with one of the 99Damage boys, both of squaring up now.

I didn’t pay any attention to what he said, I was too stuck in my own thoughts of revenge, anger, frustration all at once. Pain probably would have snapped me out of it, but I had none. I was blissfully unaware of how much was coming when the feeling started coming back into my arm, but that wouldn’t be until my job was already done. My own reflexes surprised me though as he swung.

Bates: Cross just plucked that punch outta mid air!

I needed to work quickly, having little means to defend myself from another punch or kick. I dug my heels in, pulling back like I was in a tug o’ war, angling myself around the corner of the ring. Before he was able to react, my opponent found himself off-balance, brought onto his toes and as his speed picked up, he came face-to-face with the ring post. Three down.

Bates: Namen Hammer looks about ready to launch his man all the way to Cincinnati!

The big Bulgarian had been the company’s top star, until a broken ankle halted his reign as World champion, and was now on the comeback trail. At 6’7” he was rangey and powerful, but he lacked a lot of technical ability. Around these parts, he had the number on most, making him the favourite to become number one contender and win back his title. I could have made him look ordinary of course, having worked at higher levels where good technical grounding was almost a must, but I was on a part-time schedule, my full attention on the development of Fa...Royal Purple...and had little interest in a title run. Of course, most everyone involved in the business knew that too.

Talbot: He’s cleared the ring with that Gorilla Press.

Bates: But here comes Cross!

A heavy boot to the back of his knee sent the big man tumbling, a cheap-shot from behind, but I was running on limited options. Hammer dropped to one knee, his scream of victory quickly turning to a cry of pain as I wasted no time, hitting the ropes in front of him, leaping up into a…

Bates: SHINING WIZARD! Dragon’s laid him out!

Talbot: Going for the cover! One, two, THREE! CROSS WINS!

Announcer: Here is your winner, and number one contender for the World Heavyweight Championship, Mark...The Dragonnnnn....Cross!

Sometimes in this business, all you need is the right motivation. Why is it that wrestlers who go on to become champions, usually become multi-time champions? Why are Twitter biographies too small to contain all their achievements? Capability. It takes a special kind of person to win a tournament like Blast from the Past, to bring it week in, week out, at the highest level. It takes a different sort to defend a title for three months or more. It requires a certain calibre of competitor to step in against five other guys and gals with your arm held up in the air at the end. Someone like...me.

We never lose it. Even in this tournament, look at Evie last year, Despy this year, it doesn’t matter how long you’re away, clutching up when we need it most is what we do.

I didn’t want a World title shot. I didn’t want a World title run. I had other priorities back then, I was a “bigger name” in a developing company, there to mentor some of the younger guys, sell tickets, and keep my ring sharpness up for as-and-when I needed it...like jumping in with my protege if she needed a tag partner, that kind of thing. I made a conscious choice to throttle back for a while...and that’s totally allowed.

It’s okay to take a breather. Going full-throttle every week for years on end takes a toll on your body, your mind, and your spirit. It’s what burns you out. If you had the skills before, it’s there. If you honed your craft, your muscles will remember what to do. Just gotta push the right buttons. Deliberately going out of their way to hurt me? Those fans got to see a side to me that *they* hadn’t seen before, even if thousands of wrestling fans had in the past. Tournaments like Blast from the Past? They’re taken down by people who can quite literally win matches with one arm tied behind their back. People with character. People with class.

Time to prove I belong one more time.

28th February 2021
New York City, New York

The scene opens to a small conference room, virtually all of the space taken up by a wooden desk planted in the centre. Mark “The Dragon” Cross sits on one side, dressed in shorts and jeans, opposite two representatives in suits and open collars, no ties. Sitting in front of Cross is a small stack of papers, a contract.

The Dragon: Yeah I’m going to end up spending time in New York more regularly, it makes sense to work more matches here. Flying to Vegas and back every week gets kinda draining after a while.

Rep 1: Well it’ll be great to have some more experience on the ros-

A phone ringtone echoes around the room. Don Henley’s “Boys of Summer.”

The Dragon: Sorry guys, let me just get rid of them.

He slips the Samsung Galaxy out of his pocket and slides to accept the call.

The Dragon: Hey Chris, listen I’m gonna have to be quick...uh huh...no I’m not busy…yup...

As the conversation continues, the two suited representatives look at each other, their faces an equal blend of surprise and frustration at the audacity of the Brit in front of them..

The Dragon: Put me in coach! I’ll see you at the show on Sunday.

He hangs up the phone, slipping it back into his pocket.

The Dragon: Sorry guys, something’s come up. I’m going to have to sign this in a couple of weeks.

Mark picks up the contract, ripping it down the middle in one swift movement, before flinging it on the table.

Rep 2: You could have just...signed it and started with us in a couple of weeks...

The Dragon: Ah...fuck. Has anyone got any tape...or anything…

Rep 1: Uhh...

The Dragon: ...some staples or?

Rep 2: We’ll print another one, look, when you’re ready to work, call us okay?

The Dragon: Sorry for wasting your time guys, I will, for sure.

Rep 1: Well, to be honest you were the one that flew into NYC for this. We were already here.

The Dragon: Good point.

Rep 2: Have a nice flight!

As Mark reaches out to shake hands with the two representatives in turn, the scene fades to black.

Monday 1st March 2021
Saxon Hotel, Las Vegas, Nevada

The scene opens to Mark “The Dragon” Cross, perched on the edge of his bed at the Saxon Hotel. He would have stayed anywhere else if he could (no offense Brooke!) but after being cooped up there in quarantine for a time, it reminded him of the claustrophobia...or cabin fever, he guessed they were much the same. Still, his arrival was short notice, and at that point he’d take whatever he could get.

The Lord works in mysterious ways. One minute you're in NYC, putting pen to paper on the deal that'd allow me to travel with my partner and keep working at the same, the next you’re tearing up that contract in front of their very eyes and getting another shot at glory. It’s been a voyage of discovery for me, seeing the choices I was making, the way they made me feel. I began to understand how my priorities were starting to shift, and finally, where it all went wrong.

You know, up until now? I never really understood why my marriage fell apart. I mean, it was the perfect arrangement right, we both had our own careers, we both travelled a lot, neither one of us ever really left at home with the fear of missing out. We had our own separate lives, we understood how important work was to us both, and it was great, it never caused an argument, and we cherished the moments we were able to spend together, always making it a special time, like an occasion.

Yet, there I was, I'm sitting in an office, about to ink the deal. My new partner kept her New York apartment, so she could see friends, and family. My next career move meant shows near to my partner's apartment, so when she travelled back, I could tag along. That was the difference, so subtle, but so pivotal. I was making a career fit around our lives, not making our lives work around our careers like I did in our marriage. They were still priority one and priority two, but their places switched.

We were happy, to the point where we let ourselves drift apart slowly over a decade or more until suddenly, Amanda didn’t need our relationship anymore. It was like she didn’t care if I was in it or not, and of course I was completely oblivious. I’m sure none of you want to hear about my relationship issues though, so let’s get on topic for a while.

Wrestling is all about motivation, of some sort. Nobody wants to live out of a suitcase, or sleep in a car, or be away from loved ones for weeks, months on end, train every day until your muscles burn and get thrown around like a ragdoll every night you compete. NOBODY wants to put themselves in a situation where they’ll get hurt. Not without a payoff. Even those that seem to crave pain...it’s usually only because it’s an escape. The pain helps take them away from something in their mind is far, far worse. We all work for something. Fame, fortune, to be successful, all three. Or maybe, to defend your crown.

Let’s address the elephant in the room right now. The Dragon and the Wolfe lost, bounced out in round one, and yet here I am, back with a second bite of the cherry. It’s true, I’ve never been pinned in five Blast from the Past matches, and it’s super tempting to hold on to that fact for dear life. I’m sure that’s exactly what my opponents are expecting of me too...so no, not today. There’s a theme to this week, admitting I was wrong, and I made a mistake.

One person can’t put a whole team on their back and carry Blast from the Past. That’s a statement I’ve agreed with in the past. In fact, the words have probably come out of my own mouth on occasion too. I don’t disagree, but yet…

Climax Control #262
York, England

Simone: It looks like Travis is looking to end it.

Evie smirks and starts to walk up the ramp, but Cross wiggles out, he spins Travis around, kicks him in the gut. He hooks up both Travis arms before dropping him with the Tiger Driver 91!

Simone: Ketteiteki Desaki

Adams: Erm.... That move he does!

Cross hooks the leg and Jasmine drops down for the pin.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

DING DING DING!

Evie smirks as she walks up the ramp.

Justin: Here are your winners.... Mark Cross and Evie Jordan!

Evie face changes as she looks back at the ring, but Mark Cross says something to Justin.

Justin: Correction, Here are your winners, Fire Dragons 2.0![/i]

One person can’t carry Blast from the Past, but they can take the brunt of it every now and then. I should have looked at that rookie in my corner, trying maybe a little too hard to force that first win, maybe not terrified of Amber by the time we got out, but certainly still a little scared, and said “let me handle this one”

Despayre...I get it. The unpredictability, the creativity, the kind of flair that you appreciate watching from afar, but respect the hell out of when you see it up close. The kind where you think that hey, this dude is the real deal. He is, he’s still sharp, he still has it, as we continue that long-running theme of the day. I hoped for rust, I wasn’t surprised when I didn’t see it. He tested me, I tested him right back, high-octane, entertaining wrestling, thinking on-the fly and adapting. Despy’s record around here is pretty breathtaking, and having seen him work first-hand? I hope I get the chance to blemish it sometime, one-on-one. Maybe I can bribe the right people and make it happen. That’s the kind of contest that could blow the lid off a packed arena.

So yeah - I let Krystal down. I stood toe-to-toe with one of the best to ever step in a six-sided ring, and I knew I had a fair shake of beating him, but I was selfish. I wanted to prove myself to be the great mentor as well as the tough competitor, to prove that in just a few short weeks of Skype calls and WhatsApp messages, I’d turned a flailing rookie into a winner. That was probably my biggest claim of all, I wanted that to come true even more than I wanted to advance in the tournament. Just like how Evie pulling on a Fire Dragons 2.0 shirt meant even more to me than the win itself. Ridiculous, right? Well, like I said, everyone has the things that motivate them to step in the ring. Working a show to score their cocaine for the week could be pretty ridiculous, it depends on who you ask. It’s not my place to judge.

Same problem with Ruby, right? Another rookie, why is the result going to change? Do I feel more confident with her in my corner? Yeah, I do. She already has a few ‘dubs under her belt. Getting that monkey off your back early is a real weight lifted. It clears your mind, raises your confidence, something she certainly isn’t lacking. Plus, stylistically? Krystal’s more well-rounded, even more than Amber Ryan to be fair...but being technical relies on execution. Ruby’s quickness? That can be enough to keep even the best on their toes, Mikah’s gotta catch her first. Plus, you know what my favourite thing of all is, about speed demons? Back them in a corner, they just might find a way to slip away. My hand will definitely be there, waiting.

Real champions scrap like wounded bears, fight tooth and nail to defend their title, protect their legacy, and when they take a loss? It throws fresh fuel on their fire, they come back hitting harder, hungrier for blood than ever before. Winning the title and calling it a job well done? Well I’m sure Wolfslair are more than happy to take on new members if that’s your game and now we get to welcome Lachlan Kane, the man of few words, and one of their newest recruits, to the hot seat.

Team Eggplant should have changed its name to Team Self Doubt a long time ago. I thought opposites attract, but it seems like you and Sierra like to copy from each other’s scripts with a piece of tracing paper. It’s always a “what if” or a “but” with you two, constantly on the look-out for some kind of validation, some pat on the head, and since wrestlers aren’t known to be the most sensitive of souls, you’re probably not gonna get it from your peers.

Lachlan you don’t dip your toe into Blast from the Past. You don’t use this as a trial run, and you don’t treat it like an experiment. Hey, a World title shot at the end of it if everything goes well, that’d be nice! I swear to fucking God you’d better just struggle to convey your emotions or something, as your build-up to match number one was ridiculous. I would have hoped all sixteen slots would have gone to guys chomping at the bit for a chance. The opportunity to beat some of the biggest names in the company’s history, and carry that momentum forward into a shot at the grand prize. Instead it looks like we’ve gotten a “yeah alright I’ll have a go”. I guess my wife won something so I should too. Fuck me, how about a bit of charisma?

I’ve seen you in action in title matches before, of course. On a boat, above a swimming pool, where you and your brother were too busy kicking lumps out of each other to care about the match, no less. I’ve seen how you react when there’s a title on the line, you don’t care enough. You distract yourself with some other agenda, or have something else on your mind, or to see if you want to come back to Sin City Wrestling full-time, and we all have to play along while you work all this stuff out.

Big problem there buddy. Let me give you a demonstration. So this is me, sitting at my level right now…

Mark tilts the camera up, until he is out of shot.

Now as you can see, above me? You’re not there. You’re not going to get there either, by thinking it’d be nice to win Blast from the Past. Someone bringing me a coffee right now, that would be nice, but this opportunity is something guys work years for, sleep in the backs of vans, seedy motels or even on locker room benches, and would give their right arm for just to walk through those ropes. You’re not motivated enough for this. It’s in your voice. It’s in the things you say, the way you behave, and if I sound a little irritated by you, you’re right. It’s a little disrespectful to be honest. You could be great Lachlan. Hell, you’ve been great, in this very ring, more than once. You and Sierra made one heck of a team, and it’s a shame the original Fire Dragons didn’t get to take you guys on as champions, when you were really flying. That would have been a battle, one worth turning up for.

So I guess the question really is...am I worth turning up for? Am I worthy of your full attention, long-standing Underground champion, two-time tag champion, former Blast from the Past winner, or is this match another thing you just have to mosey on through until your next thing comes along? I’m fine if the answer’s no. I’m quite happy to leave Mikah on the sidelines, she’s been looking for an opportunity to shut me up for over a year, and I figure she knows in the ring is where I’ll feel it the most.

I want you to bring it Lach, to live up for your name and scrap for it, but I feel like you’re going to disappoint me. Let’s move on.

Mikah...well I’m gonna enjoy this one at least. Let me give you the summary of what Mikah’s going to say about this next match, so you can save having that screechy little voice in your eardrums. I’m one of the best to ever do it. My record is second to none. I’m a Hall of Famer. In the ring I’m better than every single one of you put together, look at me, nobody can do what I do. Cross is annoying. Ruby can also be annoying, sometimes. Maybe as often as I’m nice to Kris, maybe more, whatever. They kind of suit each other honestly. Her mentor is uhh...me...so she’s already gonna be really good and stuff but she’ll probably never be as good as I am right now. Oh and Lachlan don’t mess it up for me please. I’ve just saved you ten minutes of your life, you’re welcome.

I’m bored now. I’m actually bored of it. When I came to Sin City for my first interview I spoke to a few people, asked around, got a feel for the place, and I wanted to know about who really lights it up on camera around here. A couple of people said Mikah and you know what, the first few times, I maybe would have agreed, she knows how to dig into people, but it’s the same rinse/repeat level garbage every week. It’s tired, it’s predictable, it’s lame, and it’s stating the obvious. It doesn’t count as winning the war of the words when the opponents are beating THEMSELVES up before they even step in the ring.

Despayre - Oh no. Mikah - Ah fuck. Mark “The Dragon” Cross - Help me Jesus. Amber Ryan - She’s in HOW MANY Hall of Fames? Four names that have earned their reputations around these parts, all still a part of this tournament. Four names that, when you see they’re on the opposite side of the draw, you’re already starting to fear for your chances, and in the case of Amber especially, fear for your life. Despy? I don’t have a clue what he’s talking about most of the time. Mikah? Broken record. Me? I’m boring and annoying. Amber? If the only thing she had to do on-camera was kick people in the face, she’d be happy. So...why are we all opponents you’d rather avoid?

In ring ability. I’m not stupid enough to discount Mikah’s capabilities under the bright lights. Is she one of the best female wrestlers I’ve ever come across? Probably. Should that command respect? Absolutely. It already does, and that’s what annoys me about her the most. Most everybody knows what she’s done. We can read it. Most everyone knows how good she is. We can watch it. Most everyone knows you need your partner to help you out in a tag match. We’ve wrestled in them. The few that don’t, well that’s going to backfire in the worst of ways, it won’t end well. Mikah is incredible, she’s gonna never let me live it down for saying it, but what does her telling us that every week do exactly, reinforce it? Nope. It just tells us what we already knew.

Anyone that walks in the ring against Mikah full of fear of what she does, and what she’s done in this company, and in this business as a whole? They don’t need to hear her voice, or read her Tweets. They’re already expecting to lose. It isn’t because of what she says now, it’s because of what she’s done in the past. She can take that to the bank for as long as she keeps winning, and she doesn’t have to say a single word. In fact, we’d almost rather she didn’t.

See Mikah and I - We cancel each other out. We’re both better inside a ring than we are out of it. We both, if you go on results, experience, and recent form, have the edge over our respective opponents. The real battle here is Ruby and Lachlan, even though they won’t even lay a single hand on each other. Which of them wants it more, which one is hungry for taking their career to the next level, which one is more confident, which one is more slippery. Honestly? I only see one winner, and they sure ain’t Irish.

Real champions have bouncebackability. Boing. The defending champion crashing out in round one was a colossal failure, hold my hands up for that, but remember what this is. Random partnerships. A random draw. Lots of new faces. The format is the same, sure, but the complexion is so completely different to 2020. Does it suck, hell yes it does, but let me tell you there is NOBODY more deserving of another try, and nobody more capable of proving exactly why. Semi-Finals - Here I come.

The screen fades to black, but the scene continues, with the sound of a ringing phone.

Your call has been forwarded to an automated voice messaging system. *BEEP* is not available. At the tone, please record your message.

Hey Amanda? It's Mark. Listen...I know we haven't spoken since you left for Utah, and I get it. I get everything, finally, after all this time it dawned on me. I'm sorry you had to go to the dance, I should have made it come to you. I'm sorry I didn't make wrestling around Miami work, I know I was always more focussed on the road, but I should have changed my mindset.  You still never told me why you asked for the divorce but...I figured it out...and you were right. I always put myself first. I always have. I would have quit wrestling in a heartbeat if you'd asked me to, but you'd never want to put me in that position, probably thought it would have broken my heart, which it wouldn’t, but you never should have had to. This isn’t some come back to me plea by the way, and you don’t have to call back. I just wanted you to know that you were right. Again. As always. Do one last thing for me, be happy. You deserve it.

Part 1 - Pep Talk

A defeated Royal Purple slumps onto the first locker room bench she finds, her head bouncing softly back against one of the metal doors as she reflects on what had just happened in the ring, and even more so the sorry condition she’d shown up to the arena in a few hours earlier.

From out of sight, the locker room door squeaks open. A figure approaches, lowering themselves onto the same bench a little distance away. Royal Purple doesn’t turn to see who it is. The figure seems calm, composed, deliberate despite the circumstances.

Royal Purple: You're not going to shout at me, are you?

The Dragon: Nope - I saw what you did to the last coach who tried that. Why, would that make this easier for you?

Royal Purple: Than your disappointed Dad thing? Uh...yeah!

The Dragon: Sorry for knowing what gets through that thick head of yours sometimes.

Royal Purple: Why aren’t they scared of me?

The Dragon: Who?

Royal Purple: Fans? Wrestlers? Crew? It’s like I’m some joke to them.

The Dragon: You're an angry teenager with a drinking problem to them, what the fuck is there to be scared of? That’s just a phase they expect you to grow out of. You had one good match here and you’ve looked ‘alright’ on some GRIME shows, that’s all you got. If they’re not avoiding you completely, all you’re really going to draw is pity.

Royal Purple: I hate it when you make sense…

The Dragon: That’s most of the t-

Royal Purple: Why did you let it get this far?

The Dragon: You mean why did you get yourself this far?

Royal Purple: Yeah! No...maybe...

The Dragon: Well look - You let it get this far, nobody else you can blame. You’re four years into this business now, and yeah I’ll still fly around the world with you and watch you night in, night out, but you don’t need me. You know that, I know that, we can go through the match on YouTube the next day and talk it though, I’m just a sounding board for you now. You controlled your own destiny from the moment you took a chair to the head of the guy your parents picked in your place, so you don’t put it on me when I’m not holding your hand 24/7 anymore. How many times have we seen it, guys strung up on alcohol, drugs, prescription painkillers...steroids...wrestling is so full of it all, there’s always temptation. You remember how you used to worry about how unpredictable, how desperate they seemed sometimes? Now you’re going down the same path.

Royal Purple: You drink all the time why have you never gone there?

The Dragon: Well...Why do I drink, *beep*?

Royal Purple: We’re doing real names again now?

The Dragon: Someone’ll beep it out.

Royal Purple: HA! You’ve said that before.

The Dragon: Stop stalling - Answer the question.

Royal Purple: I don’t know. To feel good?

The Dragon: Do you feel good when you drink?

Royal Purple: I feel less shitty about things for a while? Then I feel more shitty the next day I guess?

The Dragon: So no then.

Royal Purple: It did at the start. Can you like...get to the point? Why do you drink?

The Dragon: To fit in.

Royal Purple: You’re fucking kidding right?

The Dragon: Nope. Drinking, or worse, is just like a means to an end for me you know? If I stay and have one more drink, it gives me an excuse to be social for longer. Someone pops a pill, hell yeah I’ll have one of those too, I’m all in tonight, with you guys for the long haul. Difference is I don’t have an addictive personality, I know I can sink a few beers one night and not touch one again for a few weeks after. If I’m on my own, I stick to coffee, or water. All I need. Plus, most things don’t affect me as much as they do other people. You know how I know?

Royal Purple: You experimented?

The Dragon: I experimented. And there’s nothing wrong with that.

Royal Purple: I’m experimenting too…right now...

The Dragon: You’ve experimented. You boarded a runaway fucking train set for rock bottom, you don’t know how to get off, so you tried going even harder at it, and now Royal Purple’s royally fucked.

Royal Purple: How do I get off then?

The Dragon: Go to your meetings for a start, they’re meant to help!! But seriously the way I see it, you have two choices. Take the mask off, do it before your next match, sit back and watch the bidding war when other companies see who Sin City have had languishing in stealth mode in their development territory. SCW will quite happily cash in on their little resident alcoholic and you can get outta here on a big pay day, fresh start, fresh faces, fresh company in whatever city came out the highest bidder. We put the old band back together, me, Devinee, Octane, we’ll all uproot ourselves from our own lives to try and glue you back together while you get a bunch of opportunities fed to you on a plate…

Royal Purple: Sucks for you guys. Or?

The Dragon: You REALLY embrace this Royal Purple thing and become something they truly fear. Outside the ring sure, but inside the ring even more so. I’m talking full-send nasty bitch level embracing though, not just knocking my coffee outta my hand and calling yourself a badass.

Royal Purple: What would you pick?

The Dragon: Well I’m enjoying spending weekdays in Miami too much to give it up right now, so option 2. Look - If you truly believe this whole GRIME thing can help you get a few things out of your system, some pent-up anger and aggression or something, and as long as nobody gets hurt permanently, I can wait to get my superstar student back. Besides, I figure I’ve got a few months until Amber gets bored of having me around the house all the time too, so have at it.

Royal Purple: Thanks, coach. How bad was I out there? Gimme it straight.

The Dragon: Considering how...erm...underprepared you were, it wasn’t a terrible match. Trying to force a Twist of *beep* twice was a little amateur hour, don’t think I’ve ever seen that kind of desperation from you...but then again the kid kicked out of one of your finishers in her debut, I wouldn't be too disheartened. Even cats only have 9 lives, you’ll get revenge on her at some point.

Royal Purple: So I guess I still need this mask huh?

The Dragon: Yup. The purple hair suits you anyways. Oh, and I might be able to defend my Blast from the Past crown with you sticking around! Bonus. See you around Royal Purple!

Royal Purple: Wait - Wanna grab dinner with me or something? Waffle House?

The Dragon: There’s no Waffle House in Vegas.

Royal Purple: You’re kidding!?!

The Dragon: Nope - I was heartbroken, nearest one’s in Phoenix. Gonna take a rain check though I’ve gotta fly. My queen’s waiting for me in Florida.

The Dragon pushes himself off the bench, making his way for the exit.

Royal Purple: Hey Mark?

The Dragon: Yeah?

Royal Purple: How far is Phoenix?

The Dragon: About 300 miles. And you’re definitely still over the limit. Get a taxi, order room service, pretend it’s Waffle House hash browns, it’ll be fine...


The Good

We are taken to Royal Purple’s apartment where she is joined by Katie, her girlfr...some girl that hangs out at her apartment sometimes...as they pile empty beer and vodka bottles into a bin. The pair high five as the camera shifts to the kitchen area, where they are both pouring away half-filled bottles of spirits into the sink. Royal Purple hesitates holding a bottle of Crown Royal whiskey, hovers it above the sink in a shaky hand, before she attempts to pull the bottle towards her mouth. Realising in time, Katie takes hold of her wrist with both hands and the pair begin to struggle with each other, the bottle eventually falling and breaking in the sink as Royal Purple screams for her fallen comrade.

The scene snaps outdoors. Royal Purple appears in shot, strolling along the sidewalk with the camera leading in front. As she passes an old lady waiting to cross the street, Royal Purple stops, doubles back, and approaches the lady slowly. The scene skips forward in time, as we watch Royal Purple help the lady across to the other side as the lights change. The pair exchange a hug.

The scene snaps again, this time to a church hall. A group of people sat around on chairs can be seen as Royal Purple, occupying one of the seats, stands up to address the group.

Royal Purple: Hi, I’m Royal Purple, and I’m an alcoholic.

Group: Hi Royal Purple![/i]

Part 2 - GRIME’s Best Bombshell

The scene opens to Royal Purple’s apartment, where she perches on her couch in the middle of the space. Sitting on the bed in the background, out of focus is Katie, Royal Purple’s...well...we don’t really know what she is. The apartment is empty of all evidence of alcohol, and actually looks tidy and clean.

Royal Purple: Sooooo I guess you figured out who my superstar coach was huh? Mark “The Dragon” Cross. You weren’t supposed to find out about that by the way, not now, not ever, and I’d have stayed under this mask completely anonymous if I could, slipped away under my terms, and somewhere down the line Royal Purple would never have been seen again. Probably burned the mask on the beach in some kinda ritual or whatever as I got over my issues, and you know what? Maybe that’ll happen one day still, but whatever, the secret’s basically outta the bag. Now hey I’m not the only student of Mark’s that he’s shipped off to Japan but who am I kidding, it’s narrowed the list down to like four people. I’m sure you can figure it out who’s hiding out under here if you wanted to. I just don’t think many people care. They’re not longing to be free of the constant torment that Royal Purple brings, cause she isn’t doing her job well enough. They don’t care about facing me in the ring and maybe that’s where it went wrong most of all. I just haven’t fucked up enough people’s days for them to be glad to see the back of that damn mask, and that means I have unfinished business. Ya know I thought I had this perfect plan, where I could get on the GRIME bandwagon and give myself a little breather ya know? Step out of the limelight, so I have a few chances to screw up without it being a big deal or anything and hey, I went and I screwed THAT up too. I became the girl everyone felt sorry for when I wanted to be someone to fear. Then just to make it worse? I sit and complain about that too. Almost begged you all to please, please hate me. What. A. Letdown.

She shakes her head at herself.

Royal Purple: I think Japan...like this all fell apart when I got out to Japan...I think it would have been easier if it was just me, ya know? The only English speaker out there. I mean sure it would have been hard, especially at first, but I guess wrestling is kinda a universal language right? I probably woulda just gone to training, gone to my hotel afterwards, watched tape on my opponents, watched Netflix, spent four months bored outta my skull unless I was in the dojo, or in the ring. After all, it was the life I’d known since the age of fifteen, when I walked into a wrestling gym to see what my Dad and Grandpa went through in their careers, and it turned out I had this like...natural ability or something. I trained, I studied, I travelled to shows when I didn’t have school, or I wrestled locally when I did. Maybe it all happened too soon or something, I was so like...I didn’t have time to be a kid, or act like a teenager, cause I didn’t have the kinda job where I could just phone it in if I didn’t feel like it, and look at who I had teaching me I mean the fucking work ethic on that guy! It makes me sick sometimes ya know? I had a rare chance to let my hair down, a little group of English speaking girls in a foreign country who vowed to stick together, help each other, and have a lot of fun on the way...and boy did I let that hair allllllll the way down. All the way down to the bottom of the barrel, or the bottle, or the can, whatever.

She holds out her arm, spinning around to indicate the much tidier apartment.

Royal Purple: I’m done with that now, I get that. I was looking in the wrong places, when actually I had it right that first time, when I spoke to Dev. Why do people choose not to mess with Mark Cross too much? Because they’re scared he’ll make them look bad in the ring. The end. He lets his wrestling do the talking and honestly for that guy it’s all he needs to make a career, cause we all know he’s not funny, right? Like, at all. Ever. The girl under this mask? She was likeable, even loveable, no crazy gimmicks, no big hangups, just an ordinary girl with an extraordinary skill, or something. Oh and she won a whole bunch of matches too. She was faster than everyone else. She had better instincts than everyone else. She was probably training harder than most too, ‘cause that’s the way her gym taught everyone how to train. She was a winner, a champion, a shining star, and it was fucking awesome to be her most of the time.

She stares down at her feet for a moment, letting that sink in.

Royal Purple: Wow, so I guess I miss it more than I thought I did...huh…

She takes another few seconds, a few audibly deep breaths, before pressing on.

Royal Purple: So I guess I’m starting “Dry January” after all, and at Climax Control I get the chance to qualify for the Bombshell title, my one shot at redemption...OMG I didn’t even mean that, ha! I thought this was a chance to lose myself, be someone, anyone other than what I was before, even if it was just for a while. I chose to stagger a new, drunken path and see where it leads...when all I really needed to do was find a way back to me. Maybe the drunken path was leading back to me all along, it was just gonna take longer...and I don’t wanna wait for THAT whole scenario to play its course, so I’m staging my own intervention. With help, of course. It’s gonna be hard, but it’s gotta be done, and this is where we’re at now. Pulling myself up from the bottom...and it’s strange, kinda funny actually, when you’re clawing yourself up on the way back, and you find yourself passing someone on the way, and we fall quite nicely to Alice Knight - It’s rare when even I can take the moral high ground, but when stealing packets of ketchup to feed yourse-

Katie: She’s not poor anymore.

Royal Purple: Huh?

Katie: Alice Knight has money now.

Royal Purple: Motherf-

The scene cuts suddenly. The image reappears a moment later, showing Royal Purple again.

Royal Purple: Hey guys, Royal Purple here, sliiiiiight technical difficulties, but we back, so nobody panic! Alice Knight...found your way into money somehow huh? It’s gotta be a complete fluke right? There’s no way it’s gonna be a sound investment strategy from a girl who tried to hug her hedge funds and es-grow plants in the woods for her and her animal friends or something, that’s for damn sure. I mean...it’s a miracle...but I guess I owe you an apology Alice, ‘cause I hope you didn’t lose too much in hazard pay for that musician that took a steel chair in the face in your service cause lawsuits...yeah those get EXPENSIVE right?

A fresh angle of the Alice Knight attack appears on screen, in slow motion. We’re able to see the first strike on Alice, then on the musician, which had previously been out of shot.

Royal Purple: I never really talked about that night, so maybe we can now instead. You wanna know why I came after you, Alice? Because you...like...legit scare me, honestly. I mean, I get it, I’m not exactly Stable McStableson right now, and after a few months of hanging around with some of the guys and gals in GRIME...like some of them REALLY need Jesus or something in their lives...but I can kind of...connect with them on a level too. We all wear our masks for...reasons. Some of us may have the same or similar reasons, some might be off the complete other end of the spectrum, but it’s kind of like we can all relate to each other on some kinda level. We may not understand, but we respect, and the whole thing just kinda works in a weird brotherhood kinda way. Plus, look how many times I can say kinda! Yaaaaaay! Oh...but then we have...well...you.

The scene returns back to the couch.

Royal Purple: You, who takes a solid chair shot while you’re already on the floor, and hoots at me. Fucking hoots away like we’re all having a good time, that’s just messed up. No judgement or anything, struggles with mental health is no joke, but people that shriek in public, or make animal noises, or actually enjoy pain? Like you guys freak me the eff out, that kind of unpredictability? I just...don’t wanna be near it. So I go after it with a chair, try and stamp it out, drive it outta town. Make that particular brand of crazy realise that coming back here was a bad idea after all. There’s having issues to work through, and there’s just plain...unhinged. Please, go ahead and live your best life...just...not here please.

Royal Purple makes a shoo’ing motion.

Royal Purple: Get out Alice, go back from whence you came, because it’s not the boogeyman, the babadook, the monster under the bed that haunts me, I’m faster than all of those guys put together, good luck catching me, but it’s people like you, honestly. I can’t tell if you’re gonna sing at me hug me attack me laugh at something and not tell me what you’re laughing at hack my Instagram or start some kinda demonic ritual on the floor of my apartment. I just can’t read you when you’re like that. It makes me uneasy, it makes my skin crawl. I can’t predict you, but I can control you. And Owl be watching you…

Katie chuckles at the awful pun in the background.

Royal Purple: You know what baffles me most about owls? They’re always portrayed as old, wise creatures in cartoons and storybooks and hey, the whole thing was just a lie. We got lied to as children, didn’t we? As it turns out owls are dumb fuckers. Owls, who go out in the rain get wet, can’t fly ‘cause their wings are too heavy, can’t hunt ‘cause they can’t fly, and starve to death. Darwin’s theory on display. The very human embodiment of this “magnificent” creature, your next Bombshell champion, Alice Knight everybody!! Can you believe that? I sure can’t. It isn’t going to happen Alice, this is a glimpse of your future. Start up another sing-song in the corridors and I’ll be there, with my chair. Try and bring any of your old hobo friends around the arena and I’ll be around, with my hands bound. Whenever you go crazy, I won’t be lazy, and when that bell rings, I’m gonna make it sting. Inside or outside of the ring Alice, I have your number, and by the time Sunday night ends I’ll have proved it to you in all ways. You seem like a free-spirited kinda gal, not the type to be shackled or held down. So please, do yourself, do me, do everyone a favour and disappear alright? Before I have to lock this little birdy everyone loves so much in a cage. Thaaaaaanks!

The Bad

From her vantage point, Royal Purple pushes herself up to her feet and approaches the ring, reaching into the pocket of her hoodie. She retrieves a shiny metal tool as she makes a bee-line for the ring post the tech had just finished working on. She matches her rhythm to the tech, masking the sound as she undoes his good work on the rope he’d just attached there. A few moments later, as he moves to check the tension on the rope to his right, the left side of it drops.

Royal Purple: Oops.

We are taken to the backstage area of a Sin City show, where a small collection of fans with VIP backstage passes can be seen milling around. One in particular, who looks around thirteen or fourteen and sporting a GRIME shirt, seems to spot one of his favourite wrestlers approaching as his face lights up.

Fan: Royal Purple can I get an auto-

A wave of liquid from Royal Purple’s cup splashes in the face of the fan as she passes.

Fan: -graph…

The scene switches to two fans in the same backstage area, excitedly discussing their predictions for the night’s matches as they try to find a bin for their food wrappers and drinks bottles. They spot one and make their owner, the braver of the two lifting the lid.

Royal Purple: OH HEEEEEEEEY!

Royal Purple springs up from out of the bin, causing the two fans to turn tail and run. Royal Purple laughs away to herself hysterically, so hard that she has to lean on the side of the bin with her full weight to try and compose herself.

Royal Purple: Oh fuck!

The shift in weight causes the bin to tip, leaving Royal Purple no time to react as it hits the deck, spilling her out of it as she continues to find the whole thing hilarious.
[/i]


Royal Purple: I swear it’d be a miracle if Alice actually does disappear, and hey from one miracle to another, Lord have mercy on our souls, Mercedes Vargas is somehow still here, held together with paperclips and bubblegum and who knows what else I reckon, but at least she still gives it a good go, right?. She’s like that dependable piece of furniture where you can just stick bits right back on when they fall off, and you put up with it because they’re just so comfortable and worn in and flawed but in that just perfect way that you like, ya know? The kind where they’re so beaten down that they’ll do whatever you want without any arguments? Absolute management dream that is. Hey Mercedes, wanna go into a number one contender match with some wrestlers that belong there now, like you used to be able to a few years back? Yeaaah you do! Good girl! Head pats for youuuuu!

Royal Purple yawns under the mask.

Royal Purple: Ya know I looked it up, prize fighters, in boxing? They average maybe 80-100 matches in their careers and you know what? They just get punched in the face, and after their head bounces off the canvas a coupla times? The referee is waving his arms around like he’s trying to bring a plane in to land or something trying to call it off. Wrestlers, we get punched in the face, kicked in the face, dropped on our head a lot, choked out by boots, arms, ropes, chains, all that fifty shades kinda BS...and hey if you’re into that then try wrestling my friend, it’s the sport for you! But seriously, Five. Hundred. Plus. Matches. I just...I can’t even…

She shakes her head, trying to comprehend, but she can’t even...

Royal Purple: Mercedes Vargas is washed up, gonna just say it. Wait, I already did, but yeah, she’s gotta be ya know? Wanna tell me that 12 years on, 45 matches a year every year, that she rolls outta bed with anywhere near the same pep in her step as she used to? Wanna pretend like this is still fun for her? Like she still stares at all her spreadsheets, dreams of what records she can break next, what victims she can add to her list and cross off? I mean...fucking nerdhousery of the year award to her for all that as well right? Spends half of her free time writing up all her stats in coloured pens, and spends the other half looking for discount codes so she can get some different coloured pens and REALLY start spicing things up? Unbelievable. You’d think after like...550 matches or whatever she’s up to now, Mercedes might have already seen it all...but she hasn’t seen anything like me before. To be honest? She probably won’t see anything like me even when we’re out there, just flashes of purple glow and purple hair moving too fast for her poor battle-worn body to be able to react to in time. She’ll be like that husky that tried to catch fog once, missing me, getting close...kinda...but never making it stick.

She stretches out her back, feeling it click, so satisfying.

Royal Purple: Every day’s a school day Mercedes, even for you, and I’ll let you have this one for free. Sit back and look at what the future holds for this business when you see me go to work. Take all of those matches under your belt, all that experience, and figure out how you can stop the tenacity, the velocity, the unrelenting assault, the escapability that I bring down to the ring with me. At Climax Control we both have distractions, decoys, lucky for you...but one day it might just be you and me. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, no escape. I’m too fast for you, too hot to handle, too much potential, too high of a ceiling. Sunday night, some other Sunday night, some Supershow, if you somehow manage to scam another title reign. I will take you down. Watch. And. Learn.

Royal Purple glances at her watch, suddenly realising that she doesn’t own a watch.

Royal Purple: One more to go huh? And g’day mate it’s that sheila Krystal Wolfe mate?

Katie: Oh my God that accent!

Royal Purple: Nailed it right?

Katie:  No! You suck at it!

Royal Purple: Wow, thanks for the support.

Katie: C’mon hurry up I don’t wanna spend ages editing this!

Royal Purple: Well just leave it in! Besides I’m nearly done, ‘cause I just can’t...I can’t waste any time talking about Krystal Wolfe when she’s sooooooo worried about Ruby, who isn’t even in the damn match! Hello? Krystal? You know what Roulette rules are right? A big wheel gets spun before we start, we get some random stipulation just before we go out there, ya know, that we can’t prepare ourselves for, strategise for and shit? We’re gonna all walk out, this giant bell is gonna ring, and suddenly you’re in this crazy new situation with three women, who you’re not worried so much about, who are ready to kick your damn HEAD off, you understand?  Me, faster than all three of you combined. Alice, crazy. Just downright crazy and Mercedes...I mean she was good once. She was REAL good once, ya know? Mercedes 300 matches ago coulda messed us aaaaaaall up I tell you, and she might roll back the clock and show out like the good old days, maybe she has a couple of those in the tank, buried real low like right at the bottom, where you’ve gotta get your arm right in there…

Katie: Now who’s wasting time?

Royal Purple: Shut uuuuup I’m getting to the point! Krystal, let me tell you about Ruby. She’s just come off the back of her first ever wrestling match ever. We knew absolutely NOTHING about the girl, zero film to watch, no study material, nothing. Turns out she’s pretty fast, and all amped up on adrenaline she scraped a victory against me when I wasn’t at my best, clap clap, big achievement. Maybe in six months she might be relevant...but she’s a CHILD that WON ONE MATCH. I was a CHILD when I won MY FIRST MATCH and you know what I couldn’t do? Walk around fucking up other people’s title shots. I’d have been gone, black-listed, and my career ruined before I even got started because in wrestling you earn your stripes. That’s just how this business works. Merit. Wins. Titles. The fact that you don’t realise one win against a budget brand’s resident drunk is so meaningless? It makes me take note of just how out of your depth you really are. You’re not focussing on what really matters, the people that can hurt you in just a few days time, that’s a scary thing...for you. I get it, Cyberpunk 2077 came out, Assassin’s Creed Valhalla is grindy af, I’m sure your Twitch Prime subscribers are wanting more and more content from you or whatever, that’s fine. Just...don’t make me laugh talking about insignificant wastes of oxygen over me, or Alice, or Mercedes. Honestly? We don’t care! Spend your whole time looking over your shoulder while we take the opportunity that’s right in front of our faces, we’re all really happy to do that, and save you the burden. Just...please...don’t try and talk like you belong, like you’re on the same level. Three of us are thinking about titles. Your head is still stuck in the minor leagues. Sounds like a no contest to me.

Royal Purple yawns again.

Royal Purple: OK I’m getting tired, so imma just call it here. I...probably don’t deserve this honestly. I get it, I’m not worthy, Royal Purple hasn’t done enough to get this chance...but that’s just one side to me. There’s a side that you don’t see, the side that exists when I pull this mask off, and I know her. I know she’s capable enough to destroy all three competitors in any format, earn her shot, and take the strap. Right now she isn’t feeling strong enough to step out into the light completely, she knows how much is expected of her, the weight her name carries, and she doesn’t feel like she can live up to that right now…but she is in there. She wants to come back. I...want her to come back. Maybe we can help each other. Maybe we can win a title. That sounds like something she would do. We’d all have faith in her, I think.

The scene fades to black.

The Ugly

We are taken to a backstage area, a frantic Candy pacing the corridors.

Candy: FLUFFY? Has anyone seen my dog?

The camera begins to move at speed through the corridors of the arena, before passing through a closed door. The image eventually focusses on Fluffy, who is back against the wall, whimpering softly. The camera backs away, revealing the back of a figure, distinctive purple hair falling back over a black hoodie. The camera moves down to her hand, revealing an unfurled cutthroat razor that hangs menacingly as she surveys the small animal.

We cut to the next scene. A ring tech lays with his face planted firmly against the concrete, Royal Purple’s weight pressed down on him. Royal Purple has a drill, complete with the longest drillbit she could find, pressed to his temple.

Ring Tech: Please! I have a daughter…

Royal Purple: Well you know what you need to do then don’t you?

Ring Tech: O-OK...yeah…

Royal Purple: SAY IT!

Ring Tech: When I tighten the top rope...give it a few extra cranks…

Royal Purple: Exactly. High flyer’s fucking PARADISE out there, got it?

Ring Tech: Y-yeah sure!

Royal Purple: Now listen...you screw me on this, next time I’m plugging the drill in.

Ring Tech: Huh?

It’s not a cordless you dumb fuck! The plug was bouncing on the ground the whole time I was chasing you down the corridor!

Royal Purple releases her grip and removes the drill, climbing to her feet as the tech crawls away from her at speed. Royal Purple swings the unattached cable around in a circle, proving her point. The girl laughs away to herself as she turns to leave.[/i]

*Please note that no puppers were harmed in the making of this content*

Part 1 - Dreams Coming True
Several weeks ago…


The scene opens to a gym. The kind of run-down, falling apart kind of gym that looked like even the poorest of the poor could afford to train there and, by the condition of the place, looks like they did. And didn’t shower afterwards. It was also the kind of place that seemed to breed the plucky underdogs that would somehow go on to take on the world, become a champion one day, and hail their humble upbringings for getting them there. They seemed to learn a different kind of toughness in places like this. What is lacking in modern conveniences, it more than made up for in blood, sweat and hard work.

We are brought to the ring, placed smack bang in the centre, which was in an equal state of disrepair, complete with a large rip in the canvas that looked like a very real trip hazard for anyone who dared step into it. Royal Purple can be seen in full black tracksuit, hanging lazily on one of the aprons, glancing down at Dev Khatri, the only backstage interviewer she'd managed to talk into coming along for the ride.

Royal Purple: So which Make a Wish kid am I blessing with my presence again?

Dev: It’s an experience day for up-and-coming young wrestlers to get in the ring with full-time pros, no Make a Wish anything!

Royal Purple: Same thing. Ugh - Cross.

The loud creak of the double doors leading onto the gym floor signifies the entrance of Mark "The Dragon" Cross, who was next to work in with one of the trainees. He finds himself a near-empty corner of the gym, and kicks off his stretching regime as he chats away with one of the coaches.

Dev: On his way back from injury I guess, get some light work in.

Royal Purple: I was enjoying the peace and quiet...so what's the deal with this again?

Dev: Make them look good in there for 10 minutes or so, then finish it off. Make her feel good about the whole thing.

Royal Purple: What was that, don't let them touch me for 10 minutes?

Dev: That’s not what I said.

Royal Purple: It’s what you meant though right?

While Dev and Royal Purple go backwards and forwards, her opponent steps in through the ropes, dressed in full tracksuit of her own, and sneakers. They looked to be in an even poorer state than the ring. To the camera she looks equal parts excited and nervous at the prospect of getting a few shots in at the GRIME star. The masked wrestler looks across at her nonchalantly, then pushes herself out of the corner

Royal Purple: Alright let's get this over with.

As the coach who was on referee duty waves them together, the girl walks forward and offers up her hand for a Roman test of strength. Royal Purple eyes her hand for a moment, seeming to think about taking it. Instead, she winds up with a roundhouse kick at blistering speed, catching her opponent in the jaw and sending her flying.  To her credit, the rookie is quick to her feet but already she’s shaking her head - She definitely didn’t see it coming. Seemingly, nor did the coach, who realises just how close it was to taking his nose off.

Royal Purple at least shows enough restraint not to go on the offensive straight away, and instead goads her opponent on, keeping her hands down by her sides as she head-weaves away from punches, checks kicks with her own legs, and even sidesteps a running clothesline like a matador. Any attempts to grapple, Royal Purple just pushes away, or steps back from. It’s almost like watching a predator play with their meal, making them think they have half a chance...except the poor prey doesn’t know they’re a snack yet.

Royal Purple: How long Dev?

Dev: Six minutes gone.

Royal Purple: Ugh.

A loud SLAP rings out across the gym floor. The onlookers ooh. Cross seems to find it laugh-out-loud funny. With Royal Purple turning her attention to the SCU interviewer it allowed her opponent to connect, with an open palmed slap that landed flush. The GRIME star clutches her masked face for a second, taking stock, exacting out her plan for revenge no doubt as her cheek stings even with it’s layer of protection. One stiff kick to the midsection, followed by the hooking of both arms, straight into a Kettle...Kitty Takki...THAT MOVE THAT CROSS DOES to seal the deal.

Royal Purple stares intently in the direction of Mark “The Dragon” Cross, who had definitely seen, as she places one boot on the chest of the downed trainee. One middle finger held in his direction as the coach slaps the mat for one, two, three. Proudly, she vaults the top rope and drops to the gym floor to meet up with Dev, not even glancing back for a second to check the condition of her opponent.

Dev: Well that’s one way to send a message. You know you guys could easily get booked against each other on an SCU show?

As the pair begin to move away from the ring, we see Cross make his way to the ring, along with a much taller young competitor with a clear size avantage. We guess those two are up next.

Royal Purple: And?

Dev: That’s a strange fight to pick don’t you think?

Royal Purple: Why? I mean like...Dev - Why does nobody really mess with Cross anyway?

Dev: He's a nice guy?

Royal Purple: HAAAAA! That's BS and you know it. Kate and Teddy? He went after their PARENTING skills dude, to try and help him win Blast from the Past. Mikah, Evie, Tally, Alex Jones, Father Gerald. Big D, the Fire Dragons terrorised you backstage right? And even after all that even VALENTINA can’t stand him now, and we all thought they were...well...you know...for months right? So why does he get a free ride?

Dev: They're...scared?

Royal Purple: Scared of losing maybe. Mad props to the guy his Strong Style is that Batman Begins Ra's al Ghul Liam Neeson level shit, not this watered down everyone’s a Strong Styler now cause it’s cool kinda thing we get now. How many times has he been behind, getting laid into by his opponent and suddenly one, two moves and the match is his. The guy could be World champ. He isn't yet, but he could, right?. He could fuck your day up, in the ring, in front of all your biggest fans, all while flying the flag for SCU. He’s supposed to be part of the inferior product, right? All the risk when you face him, no reward...

The pair turn to watch the action in the ring, which had started unfolding almost as soon as they’d cleared out of it. Mark “The Dragon” Cross has been far from in the driving seat against Travis, one of the more promising rookies in the school from some of the whispered conversations around the building. The teenager seemed to have got on top of the action early, and was using his size and strength advantage to keep Cross on the canvas and out-of-breath.

Royal Purple: LET’S GO TRAVIS LET’S GO! KICK HIS ASS! WOO!

We can see Travis’ head drawn to the cheer across the gym as he picks Cross up momentarily, knowing not to give him a single inch, putting him straight back down with a fallaway slam that seems to further knock the wind from the sails of the former Blast from the Past winner. Travis raises both fists in the air, parading around the ring like he’d just won the Superbowl as he soaked in the cheers of his fellow rookies, who gradually seem to grow in confidence that he may be able to scalp a win here.

Royal Purple: Here we gooooooo...

The taunting seems to be the final straw for Cross, who was now done with giving this rookie the limelight. It was a switch that flipped the second his showboating started. He sweeps the legs of Travis out from underneath him, springing off his feet and hitting the ropes hard as the kid sits up right into a SHINING WIZARD that leaves him seeing stars. Not done, Cross lifts the dazed fighter to his shoulder with relative ease, even with his larger frame and lets him drop, bringing knee to falling face with a Go 2 Sleep that seems to spell the end.

Dev: How did you know?

Royal Purple: Cross is predictable, picks his spots. He let this kid have his fun, but all it took was the showboating to leave him a window. He’s dangerous as hell, but it’s not from his complete work, it’s those few killer moves right when he’s looking to finish you off. I study everyone Dev. I learn from everyone. ESPECIALLY the people I dislike, the people I provoke. I want to be ready to shut them down.

Cross looks at his downed opponent for a few seconds, knowing that a pinfall victory was inevitable right then and there, but he seems to be calculating something else, the top turnbuckle, which he climbs up to in two quick strides.

Coach: Damn, he has a lot of faith in himself.

Royal Purple: Really dude?

Coach: Huh, what did I say?

From the top, Cross takes one look behind before propelling himself into the air, executing a perfect corkscrew 630 senton to his stricken opponent, connecting, and collecting the pinfall victory. He stands, eyes locked on Royal Purple as he holds two middle fingers in her direction, smiling broadly. 

The camera swings, focussing on the mask of Royal Purple, her matching purple hair below it shaking slightly, the only show of an emotional reaction. We see her hand shoot out to the side, followed by the metallic thud of a locker door from out of shot.

Dev: Uh...RoyalPurpleRoyalPurple...agh…

The camera moves along the path of the masked wrestler's arm, finding it sandwiching Dev Khatri's face between her hand and the bank of lockers. Thankfully, he is released a moment later, and to his credit gives chase as the girl makes her swift exit out of the gym and onto the sidewalk.

Dev: Royal Purple...wait up...

Royal Purple: I HATE that fucking guy!

Dev: What was that about?

Royal Purple: AAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Royal Purple’s scream of anguish reminds us a little of a teenage girl that wasn’t getting everything all her own way…maybe a sign of the person behind the mask. To really hammer it home, she stamps her foot a couple of times too.

Royal Purple: Stealing finishers, at his age, really?

Dev: I mean didn't you just…

Royal Purple: This is like...childish prankster bullshit I swear! 10 year veteran, pffffft. He's been hanging around with that dumb bitch with the dog too much, the stupid is starting to rub off…

Dev: Candy? What's she done to you?

Royal Purple: Nobody is safe Dev. Nobody. They don’t deserve to be.

Dev: Main roster talent though? Cross, now Candy, you even tried messing with Evie the first week you got here...Why would you even want to be on their radar anyway?

Royal Purple: Because I'm putting myself on their radar, cause you know what’s great about this GRIME thing? Nobody knows what I am under this mask. What I've done. What I'm capable of. Who I REALLY am. Nobody but me. Just because I choose not to hang with "main roster talent" doesn't mean I can't.

Dev: You “choose” not to?

Royal Purple: You only have to look at the talent D. The number of interchangeable pieces ya know? All the brands are strong in places. Some of us are where we are because we want to uh...be around our own kind, I guess? And some of us just belong there way more than we do on any of the other brands. Lord Raab the monster that lives in the basement or whatever. Angel Kash and her new best friend’s little mean girls act. Cross and his ‘plucky underdog’ status, even though he’s wiped through half the main roster in 2020. Javi as one of the spearheads of the GRIME movement, a Blast from the Past finalist. You wanna put together a tier system and tell me everyone’s in the right spots on wrestling ability alone?

Dev: Well...uhh…

Royal Purple: Don’t worry I’ll wait.

Dev: Maybe later, but where do you fit into this?

Royal Purple: Huh?

Dev: Where does the “real” Royal Purple sit on the tier list?

Royal Purple: Oh...you’ll see.

Royal Purple sets off down the sidewalk like a girl on a mission.

Dev: Wait...that’s all your giving me?

Royal Purple: Yuppers! I’m off for ice cream byeeeeee!

Dev shakes his head for a second as he turns to face the camera one last time.

Dev: Well, hanging out with Royal Purple today sure was...interesting to say the least. In the few times I’ve been around her she’s come across as a bit of a prankster in the locker room with the odd flash of excitement in the ring, if that. Probably one of the last names that comes to mind on this GRIME roster...but today was different. She can be more focussed, more intense than that. Either she talks a big game, or she’s been holding out on us. Only time will tell if she ever gets a shot at a big name, or if she’ll fail to prove herself worthy. This is Big D, signing off.

The scene fades to black.


Part 2 - Taking out the trash
Following the release of the Climax Control 286 card

The scene opens to what looks like a small apartment, since an unmade bed can be made out in the background, along with a mess of beer cans, pizza boxes and part-filled bottles of liquor that seem to fill every available surface, including the bed itself. Seated on the couch which is front and centre of the shot, sits Royal Purple, complete with GRIME mask glowing in the dim light. Her long purple hair is flowing freely and vibrant, as if freshly dyed. For unexplained reasons, she is idly spinning a pair of scissors on her finger.

Royal Purple: Hiiiiiiiii ya’ll how’s it goin’ it’s ya girl Royal Purple coming at ya right now as I…

From the kitchen area to the right of the shot emerges a girl we haven’t seen before. She’s dressed in full wrestling gear, sparkly pink with the letters “KH” proudly in gold emblazoned on her chest, and at a guess looks to be in her early to mid-twenties, with straight blonde hair a little past shoulder length. The tips are dip-dyed with a little pink to match her outfit.

Katie: You didn’t introduce me! Hey, I’m F...Royal Purple’s girlfriend…

Royal Purple: ...You hang out at my apartment sometimeUGH

The new girl drops herself into Royal Purple’s lap unannounced, causing the involuntary noise to slip out as she absorbs the weight.

Katie: Now there’s no need to be so mean…

Royal Purple: Friends with benefits?

The girl drapes an arm around Royal Purple’s shoulders, turning herself to face the camera.

Katie: ...showing off in front of all your fans…

Royal Purple: Oh yeah speaking of you guys...I keep thinking Katie here’s hair would look better if it was shorter, maybe a little above her shoulders, how about you?

Katie: Nope. We’ve talked about this. Not doing it! Nuh-uh! But yeah anyway guys, I’m Katie, I’m a wrestler too, I’ve just come back from training in Japa-

In one swift movement, Royal Purple’s right hand moves towards Katie’s shoulder.

Royal Purple: Yeet.

There is a split second or two as it sinks in, the distinct sound of scissors cutting through human hair, the blend of natural blonde and dip-dyed pink falling into Katie’s lap as we the viewers understand what the scissors were for in the first place. Even worse, Katie, the unsuspecting victim realises that Royal Purple had taken the matter of her hair length into her own hands. In a sudden, and very understandable fit of rage, Katie throws hands wildly at Royal Purple, who dodges the crazed shots with impressive agility, at least until she runs out of couch to escape away from.

Royal Purple: Aaaack!

As Katie tries to shift her weight for more purchase, the pair end up spilling all the way off the couch. As the sound of a struggle can be heard from out of shot, a sudden knock to whatever the camera is balancing on causes the shot to tip downwards, towards the floor. A few moments later we see Katie appear, clawing away desperately at the carpet for purchase as Royal Purple seems to have turned the table, and attempts to lock in a Sharpshooter. The scene fades to black, cutting back to Royal Purple back on the couch, alone a few moments later.

Royal Purple: Hiiiiiii ya’ll it’s Royal Purple again, but this time I’ve taken out the trash and cleared the apartment of distractions too, so let’s do this thing.

She sits back, almost looking relieved to be rid of the other girl for a while.

Royal Purple: Candy Candy Candy...I mean like, wow. Do you ever feel like going in hard on Candy is like finding the smallest, fluffiest dog in the neighbourhood and kicking a 40-yard field goal with it or something? Ooh, maybe her dog. Yeah that’d work! You’ve gotta wonder how she gets through LIFE let alone manages to compete in a professional sport but hey, those are the cards we’re dealt. You know what, I even thought about going easy on her today...but I poured too much vodka into my orange juice this morning, the hangover from hell is about to kick like a MULE and I really can’t be glitter coating everything. I’ve already had enough drama and it’s not even lunchtime yet…

The sudden thought of food seems to turn Royal Purple’s stomach, and despite the mask she brings a hand up to her mouth just in case. The moment seems to pass soon enough, and with relief she brings down her hand and soldiers on.

Royal Purple: Weird sexual fantasies. Just...throwin’ it out there. Yup, I’m doing it, cause her husband must have some weird caregiver kink to subject himself to THAT on a daily basis I mean come on. Some people get turned on by some like...weird shit or something I dunno, and doting after a fully grown woman that acts like a child most of the time…I mean hey I'll bet she’s even cute to be around for a while...but every single day for the rest of your life until death do you part? Screw THAT! The temptation to grease the top of the stairs and tell her cookies are ready would be WAY strong after like... a week. If that. Humpty dumpty sat on a waaaaall!

Royal Purple breaks into a fit of cackly, almost hysterical laughter for a moment, maybe the thought of Candy bouncing down every single stair on the way to her death brought her joy somehow? Or maybe she just thought she was hilarious. It was a little tough to tell.

Royal Purple: ...that wasn't really very funny was it? Like I knew I had some issues going on right now but just how far gone am I? Need to focus up...need...to focus...up…

Royal Purple swings a hand, open-palm smacking herself in the forehead with a dull thud, the sound being deadened somewhat by the mask.

Royal Purple: Ow. Oh yeah Candy! I guess we’d better get serious for a minute here cause...otherwise imma start thinking that if I was her girl, I’d always come second to that flea ridden mongrel of hers, and it’s gonna make me sad soooooo...real wrestling talk! Let’s go! So let’s say for example...you just can’t get a win, right? Say it’s been, oh I don’t know, over six months since you’ve gone one-on-one and made a guy count one-two-three for you? Maybe you want something a little easier to break that cycle, but it’s not beating down on Jessie Salco level desperation just yet. Something needs to be done right? An easy target. Maybe...oh I don’t know, the exact position that our girl Candy is in right now? Someone decides it’s time for a shot in the arm, turn this around for her, get her back to winning ways.

As if feeling her focus magically return, Royal Purple leans forward, staring intently into the lens.

Royal Purple: Why? Business reasons. Just like any band breakups are due to creative differences, anything in wrestling is economic gains...and just as we wave hello to the most intelligent phrase I’m gonna come out with all December, Climax Control waves hello to me, Masked GRIME Member Royal Purple - Hey!

Royal Purple waves enthusiastically at the camera.

Royal Purple: I get it. This probably isn’t even Candy’s fault. I don’t think she has the brain capacity to put together ANY kind of easy victory kinda plan. I hear she puts orange juice on her cereal most mornings so hey, but the most beautiful thing of all for us adults, even if our mental ages don’t match, is we can choose. We can choose not to be a puppet. We can choose not to take the easy way out. We can say no not some GRIME mask that hasn’t done something relevant. We can say let me earn my shot. Let me work through it. Let me figure things out and do better. You know most of us, we’re able to join the dots and figure out when we’re being spoon-fed right? Let me explain.

Royal Purple rubs her hands together in front of her.

Royal Purple: Candy’s having some problems getting it done...So in comes the budget brand’s ugly sister, and they turn to little old me to save the day. This is a setup, 110%, and imma tell you why right now. GRIME has commitment, ya know, for one reason or another. Anyone that’s been in GRIME for the start wanted this. REALLY wanted this. Guys and gals that were willing to give up the safety of their old contracts for uncertainty, just so they could embrace their vision, live out their passions for pain, suffering, and for pure, unadulterated hardcore wrestling. They just wanted to get filthy, sure, but the pioneers of the GRIME movement, showing the kind of never-say-die attitudes that have turned the most unlikely men and women into champions? First in, last out kinda characters that will bleed and bleed and bleed for the cause, then bleed once more, then boast about it in the bar afterwards. People who the Sin City Wrestling main brand would be PROUD to call one of their own for their drive, their commitment, their work ethic. Their face wouldn’t fit, sure, but they’d earn their respect on merit eventually. All these names, take your pick, who could be the first to lead the invasion onto Climax Control. Instead their hopes lie entirely on the shoulders of...Royal Purple.

She raises her arms above her head and points down at herself with both fingers.

Royal Purple: Almost always late to training, if she ever shows up at all. Last in, first out when she does. May fail a random drugs test. Will definitely fail a random sobriety test. The kind of low-life bitch that would definitely fake a positive COVID test just to get 14 days off work in self isolation. No, I haven’t done it, that disease has turned so many lives upside down that really didn’t deserve it, I’m not gonna go and joke around with that...but I thought about it, that’s bad enough. I even had the number of a guy that could have hooked me up with the necessary paperwork. Even by GRIME standards, not the kind of scumbag you want representing your interests out there am I? I’m the perfect candidate to make sure we retain our lowly status. I’m set up to lose. I’m set up to fail. It’s so obvious, and if golden girl gets a little confidence burst too? Well that’s a double fucking yay for the suits now isn’t it?

The girl sits back, staring down at her hands for a second. She sees them starting to shake a little, balls them up into fists, pretends it didn’t happen, and moves on.

Royal Purple: And you know what, it nearly worked. I mean...what part of anything I’ve done since I got here made it seem like I care about me, my health, my career, the company I represent. It’s a smart, safe bet to throw me under the bus, I’m just gonna be worthless on a bigger stage, right? But it’s gonna backfire. I’m not stupid, I’m not simple, I’m not naive. I’m not my opponent, is what I’m saying. I wear this mask for...reasons, okay? Reasons that maybe got me in this mess in the first place. It's an escape, it's still fucked, but it's better, and hiding away, pretending to be someone else for a time? Not being weighed down by the expectations that the person under this mask had on them every time they lace up a pair of boots? Yeah, I'm down for that. They misjudged one thing about me, and they got it sooooooo wrong. I’m not spiraling. I’m in recovery. I’m not broken beyond repair, I’m putting myself back together, piece by piece.

Royal Purple’s two balled up fists unclench, her head drops a little, her voice lowers to something closer to a whisper.

Royal Purple: I'm trying to get myself straight I swear. Maybe three, maybe four months ago, had this chance rolled around I probably would have screwed it up. I probably wasn’t ready, but look at me now, the big show just came calling. Hey, this could just be about me, my antics riling up management enough that they think throwing me to the wolves will slap some sense into me, or slap me back down to the basic bitch brand where I came from once and for all, never to attack their precious locker room angels with chairs and unprovoked Big Gulp attacks again...yet the big problem there - Blast from the Past final? Javi and Cross. GRIME and SCU. The true ballers in Sin City seem to be the scumbags, the losers, the drunks. Ha. Turns out I belong here more than I thought. Maybe it’s time I throw my hat in the ring and get amongst them huh? This IS a chance for me. It’s not meant to be, but I see it for what it really is.

Royal Purple reaches down to the floor, picking up a notepad. She holds it up to the camera revealing detailed notes, scrawled together in a jumble of scribbles, highlights, different coloured pens, and even some scratchy drawings that even at a distance seem to resemble some of the current roster.

Royal Purple: This is gonna surprise ya but I study wrestlers a lot. I find it’s therapeutic, keeps me focussed on something productive...when I feel like I’m close to going off the rails. Preparing for a match against Candy...hmm...well I’m going to get called an idiot head a buncha times, so I can start putting up my emotional barriers now for when that sick burn comes in, and I’d better run to Walgreens for some ointment...uhh...we’re not running with GRIME rules so I don’t have to worry about glitterbombs...so I guess I just need to figure out how to beat her don’t I?

She scratches the back of her head for a moment or two, staring down at the “Candy” page of her book.

Royal Purple: My coach would definitely not be impressed with my drinking, most of all. If this little segment isn’t proof enough that maybe I need to curb it just a tiny little bit, I don’t know what is...and of course they’re right, and of course, I’ll think about it. I always think about it, even if I do it my own way in the end. Sometimes, that’s a thing, your trainer being right about something, but not always! How many great coaches have said get into your opponents head ya know, put on their shoes and walk around in them? Haaaaa, out-crazy Alice Knight? Like I'm already barely holding on to my sanity out here as it is, or even better, out-dumb Candy? I'm a natural blonde under all this purple dye and like...if the rumors are true, we don't have any spare brain cells to lose as it is, sooooooo I guess I I gotta throw in the towel on that idea and do it my own way...but what is my own way, exactly?

Royal Purple shifts her position on the couch, resting her feet up on it.

Royal Purple: Well - They call me the Speed Queen. I'm fast, faster than anyone on the roster. Put some red and white sneaks on my feet and you coulda called me Sonic Blue ya know? Was that color ever taken? Now I may have held out on you guys as ya know what's real when you're buzzed? Uh-huh, motion sickness baby. Trying to get up to full speed is a sure fire way of losing your lunch, and if you keep your lunch down well...let’s say medical ask a lot less questions, especially of the GRIME stars. Us lot have questionable motives I guess. You guys haven’t seen me at my best very often. Ever, actually. It’s my fault, it’s self inflicted, and maybe I was just holding out for the right motivation. Listen...I know you’ve heard addicts say ‘I can quit anytime’ and you’d always be like ‘uh yeah sure bro’ cause you know it’s a lie? It’s not like that for me. This is a bump in the road. Something I need to grow as a human and deal with. Something I’m already dealing with. Maybe it’s time I stop screwing around for a little while and get back to that thing I used to be great at.

Royal Purple crosses her legs over each other.

Royal Purple: Sooooo congratulations Sin City Wrestling! Congratulations Mark Ward. Congratulations Christian Underwood, you’ve done this. I don’t know if that was the master plan all along, but I figure I’m just about inspired to be out here screwing up whatever plans you had for me. Instead of keeping GRIME down, instead of helping out one of your own, you brought a new problem on yourselves. If you want to send me packing back to the shadow realm, you might have to feed me to one of your best to shut me down. Pick one. I don’t mind. I’ve got notes on all of them. Oh, and while you’re at it, send that owl girl flying my way could ya? I didn’t knock enough sanity into her. As for this Sunday...This is gonna be like taking Candy from a baby honestly. Some playground violence is about to take place on that little woman-child you’re trying to boost up at my expense, and I fully expect to be standing outside the Principal’s office when it’s all said and done. It’s time I show you what’s really going on under the mask. It’s time you see me at my best, and you’ll really, REALLY wish you hadn’t. Byeeeeeeee!

As the scene fades to black, the masked avenger waves playfully at the camera.

 With a lot of experimenting, Mark finally managed to get his GoPro balanced at the right kind of angle for what he needed, checking it as he went via the app on his phone. It wasn’t ideal, not having the usual video or sound quality, but since a film crew counted as a social gathering, it was the best he was able to do.

Tallyn was laying on the bed on her stomach playing on her phone. More than likely watch TikToks.

The Dragon: Last week was perfect. It wasn’t easy against a couple of very capable young talents, coming from one hell of a school, but they misjudged us. Washed up, over the hill? Absolutely not.

Tally: Actually sounds pretty accurate. Washed up for sure.

She tosses something at him to pelt him from where she was laying.

The Dragon: Hey can you not? Trying to focus over here!

Tally: I am sure that that is really hard for you.

The Dragon: Not...not hard...Look Evie’s been out of the ring for a year. Two matches back, she’s still getting her legs back under her...but she sure hit the ground running. Poor Tallyn didn’t see it coming!

Tallyn frowns before chucking an empty water bottle at him. Before turning the volume up on her phone as she watched the TikTok videos.

The Dragon: Didn’t hurt! Umm OK next match then... I'm not into married women Teddy. Anyone willing to still love you needs their head examined for a start, and definitely wouldn’t be in the position to keep my antics in check...

Tally:  I don't think there's anybody cut out for the task of keeping anything about you in check. I'm beginning to think you don't know what personal space is. Also, are you sure that you're even into women?

She gives him a look, raising an eyebrow.

The Dragon: I know what two metres is thank you! And yes I’m into women, I was with one before I came to the hotel! Ugh I knew I shouldn’t have done this here...Three matches, you and me, my hand raised in victory and since Sierra can’t come to help you deal with me, well this is gonna be number four. What’s different? You won a few, lost a few...I’ve won more. I’ve made improvements to my game, while we’re just waiting for you to stumble.

Tally: Correction, Evie has.

She offers him a smirk as she glances at him from her phone.

The Dragon: We both have. Teddy - Your wife got flowers before the match, the guy droppin them off says they’re from me, right there at the arena. You should have come into that all guns blazing. I would have found out the reason why eventually, but at least I would have felt something different.

Tally: You probably wouldn't have even known then.

The Dragon: I would too!! Losing streaks exist, we’ve all been there. I’ve been there. If we’re honest, as impressive as my record looks here, and in SCU, I just can’t get the lid off the basket as far as title shots go, but we’re already a dangerous partnership...

Tally: Again, Evie Jordan is impressive...

The Dragon: Now I haven't gotten Evie to sign off on Fire Dragons 2.0 yet...or any team name for that matter, but one I know we won’t be using is “The Charity Cases”.

Tally: What about Evie and the guy who is her partner?

The Dragon: Look do you wanna come up here and do this instead? You’re more than welcome!

She raises an eyebrow at him.

Tally: It would definitely get more views if I were to do it. I am definitely better looking than you.

The Dragon: Well come on then, the stage is yours!

Mark jumped up from the spot, moving to a safe distance.

The Dragon: Show me how it’s done.

She looks at him a small smirk on her face before standing up and then taking his spot. She adjusts her shirt and pulls the hair tie out of her dark brown locks.

Tally: Ahem. Look, all that matters is that Teddy Warren is the dullest tool in the toolbox and anybody...and I do mean anybody could beat him.

She winks in Mark's direction.

Tally: Plus, he's not even worth the time Mark over there is wasting on him. Talk about losing focus.

She shakes her head.

Tally: Plus, might as well lie down and take the loss, Teddy. Because it's Evie's show on Sunday and well…

She gives Mark a look.

Tally: Against Evie and that one guy, you don't stand a chance.

She walks out of the frame and lies back down on the bed, grabbing her phone.

Tally: A walk in the park. Dunno what you're complaining about.

She grabs a pillow and tosses it at him.

The Dragon: Stop throwing stuff!! It’s like babysitting a child!

Mark catches it before it falls to the ground and launches it back.

The Dragon: But thanks for recording my promo. I’m totally gonna upload that right now with no editing and not record another take or anything! You’re the best!

Tally: Really?

The Dragon: No! Take two.

 Part 1 - Hearing Voices

Mark Cross can be seen sitting at a computer screen, booking himself some flights online. An arm draped loosely across his shoulders from behind, sending with it a cascade of blonde hair that fell randomly around him.

Amanda: What's in Russia?

The Dragon: Just this show Octane and Andy got me wrestling on. We'll be there and back in a couple of days.

His hand came off the mouse to meet the arm that was embracing him, brushing it lightly.

Amanda: Aww, I was just getting used to having you home every day!

The Dragon: Same! Don't worry I won't make a habit of it...Hey not so tight…

Mark’s eyes closed for a moment or two as he felt the arm squeezing around his neck. When they reopened, his computer and desk were long gone, and had been replaced by a dimly lit, dingy room that looked more akin to a padded cell. The chair below him had been replaced by cold, hard concrete. He struggled to no avail as a male arm took the place of his wife’s much more dainty version, which was much stronger than hers. Amanda’s soft Midwestern accent faded away into the distance, replaced by the maniacal cackling of what sounded like a madman, in this case one that had been left more than a little worse for wear as he was exploited in the name of entertainment.

The Dragon: AAAAAAAAAAH!

The Underground champion sat bolt upright from his bed, a cold sweat running down from his brow as a sweet dream turned to a beautiful nightmare real quick. He made a grab for his phone.

[She poured coffee over your head literally yesterday you idiot, don’t wake her up at 4am]

The Dragon: Oh yeah…

[Remember how these nightmares were way less frequent before Russia got brought up again?]

The Dragon: Yuuuuuup. Octane you motherf-

The scene fades to black.


Part 2 - Memory Lane

The bandstand, really? Canterbury was full of iconic landmarks, the city wall, it's cobbled high streets, quirky shops and unique Roman architecture. The new Marlowe Theatre, a perfect place for a show, infamously more than £1m over budget before they finally realised they’d forgotten to put a ticket office on the plans, and of course, the majestic Canterbury Cathedral. It was a surprise when Evie suggested the thing he used to kick footballs against, which he had described it to her as too, was the place they’d deliver their message to the Sin City Wrestling fans. He just didn’t see it. Maybe it was her attempt to bring back some nostalgia for him, who knows. That was pretty thoughtful by her standards if it was.

The Dane John Gardens was walking distance from where our school was, and so it happened to be the best place in the City for a kickabout, especially in the summer. So much is taken for granted in our everyday lives, especially in the people and the places we see so regularly, and for us that bandstand was just the place where a bag and a blazer made a goal, and as long as you hadn’t left your shooting boots at home, would save you having to run a mile to retrieve it. As he thought about it some more, maybe the Aussie had seen some hidden beauty in it, who knows, but it had become their location of choice.

This meant they were speaking of course, and that was something, a coffee or two and a rough plan involving a camera crew, a bandstand, and not much else. His laid-back and casual demeanor still posed as an obstacle between them, and Mark had done his best to tone it down, but he was human, and a creature of habit, and male, and therefore not able to achieve sheer perfection, but he was trying. He thought maybe Evie was starting to recognise that too, and cutting him at least the slightest bit of slack, but he couldn’t tell. Would this small sign of progress blossom into a friendship? The jury was out - Mark wasn’t holding out much hope. The negotiations were fragile, an this definitely wasn’t the time to bring up the Fire Dragons 2.0 t-shirts, that was for damn sure.

As the pair headed up the path towards the bandstand, a football can be seen moving along with them at Mark’s feet. Not an American one, where he made his fortune, not an Aussie rules one, which seemed barbaric even by wrestling standards, but an English one. The original. The best. A long black wool overcoat swung around by his knees as he dribbled the ball along. Evie, not wanting any part in the ball games, made a bee-line for the bandstand, where she could see the camera crew getting ready to receive them. Mark on the other hand, feeling he was finally in range, knocked the ball forward onto the grass, took a short run-up, and rifled a shot in the direction of the structure.

The Dragon: Ooooooh he’s still got it!

Mark watched in delight as his free kick smacked satisfyingly against one of the metal uprights of the bandstand, once again taking a trip down memory lane for the hometown hero as it once again became target practice for smashing footballs against. The euphoria is short-lived as he followed the trajectory.

The Dragon: Nonononono…

The ball had shot from his right leg like it’d been fired out of a cannon, and even bouncing on the wet ground it was moving well. We see Mark set off towards it at a sprint, the camera revealing that the ball is heading in the direction of a running water fountain that the path through the park ran around. The ball was back to bouncing on the path now, and although Mark got close, he was only able to give himself a front row seat to witness the ball splash into the water.

He’d been here before. He’d also been IN here before. It was difficult to know what technique was best, either to stand on the edge and hook it out with your foot, or get on all fours and try to grab it. One of his friends had given Mark a helpful shove once, sending him straight into the drink. They were going to be out here a while, and it was getting cold. Getting drenched wasn’t an option, he was going to call for backup.

The Dragon: HEY SCOTT! I need to get ready - Mind grabbing my ball for me?

Scott: Sure thing Mr. Cross!

The pair cross on the way to and from the bandstand respectively, exchanging a friendly handshake on the way. Watching over his shoulder for any potential comedy moments, he sees Scott immediately adopt the on-all-fours technique, deftly scooping the ball out of the fountain without putting himself in there with it. Equal parts impressive and disappointing, he thought. While the final preparations were made, Mark chatted idly away to Scott and the cameraman, holding his dripping football gingerly out in front of him.

Cameraman: Two minutes guys, then we’ll be ready.

[[If you haven’t already, this is probably a good time to go and read Evie’s account of the evening. Trust me, it’ll be worth it!]]

Evie: Are you getting to step up and say something? Or am I going to have to carry this fucking team again?

The Dragon: Alright alright…

Mark pushed himself up from the railing he’d been resting on, sliding his coat from his shoulders as he took position centre stage. He threw the garment roughly in Evie’s direction, where it rested with a thud on the handrail. He cheered internally as it stuck, not falling limply over the edge to the muddy ground below. His partner, impressively, didn’t even flinch at the impact next to her, but less impressively, didn’t seem to share in his excitement.

The Dragon: Well that...was pretty sweary, thanks to Evie for getting this video demonetised everybody, I’ll try and tone it down, but no promises. Now you know what I miss more than being able to say what the FUCK we want online? The good old days. Remember those? I sure do. Before social media became king, you didn’t have 24/7 access to your favourite wrestlers, oh no. The time to see them was usually every morning you woke up, when you hung their poster up on your wall and once a week, on TV, as they stood in the centre of the ring and delivered a speech of epic proportions. You hung on their every word of course, and they’d turn every dial up to eleven because they knew it was the only chance they were going to get before the next show. That was where it was at. Our two opponents? That is probably the wrestling they grew up watching, getting home after school, excited about the prospect of cheering for their heroes...well let me bring back some of those memories for you Jack and Tally, I'm here to inspire you, so you can just sit back, idle and admire for a few minutes.

Mark hitched up the sleeves of his navy sweater, beginning to pace around as he addressed the camera.

The Dragon: Now I don’t know what it feels like to come through the ranks of a prestigious wrestling school like you guys did. Getting things handed to me on a plate has never really been my forte, I mean what do you learn from that, really? Take a prize-fighting boxer. They get put in against chumps first off, guys who will never, in a million years have the same level of talent. It’s a chance to get a taste of the sights and sounds of a fight night, get some rounds under their belt, little confidence boosters. A few more of these, racking up comprehensive victories, so then send in the grizzled veterans, masters of the ring, know all the tricks of the trade. It’s the same story of course, they haven’t got the speed, the power, or the stamina to *really* trouble this new superstar with their advancing years, but they’ll be awkward, unorthodox, drag the contest out longer and as it starts to get boring watching worthless opponents get destroyed, where are we now? Oh...two years into their professional career and they haven’t even seen the slightest THREAT of someone that could drop their entitled ass on the canvas. They get looked after. They get babied. They will beat anyone and everyone in the world eventually, just...don’t rush the kid alright? He’s got a lot of growing up to do. Not in wrestling. Not after Jack and Tallyn get thrown to the wolves for match number two of theirs.

The back of his hand smacks into his other palm.

The Dragon: Less than one month into their professional wrestling careers here in this company and they find themselves up against a current singles champion, not some flash-in-the-pan-can’t-defend-a-belt-to-save-his-marriage-paper-champion like Teddy whatever the hell he’s calling himself these days, but a real one, who defends his title with honour, who flies all the way to Romania to demolish a bunch of SCU rejects that call themselves GRIME, and still makes it back in time to finish off Jack Russow last week. He’s a hot prospect, old Russow, starting to make a name for myself, undefeated, until he comes up against me. I send him scurrying away, putting him back in his place. One day he’ll be great, sure, but let’s not forget that I’m great now.

Mark gives that a moment to sink in, looking out across the near deserted park as the light begins to fade.

The Dragon: Jack Washington...now there goes someone with some swagger and gusto huh? I became a champion in my first match and they had to change the game to get rid of me. They couldn’t contain you, so they closed their doors, is that what it is? How about you couldn’t SUSTAIN them huh? This is the wrestling BUSINESS first and foremost. I hate that it’s like that, I really do, but more money has to come in than there is going out. As a champion you have to represent the brand, peddle the merch, put people on seats. You seem to think that the whole charade was below you and maybe, in part, you’re right, but I can’t help but wonder if you neglected your duty to them. Blast from the Past is a team competition Jack, are you maybe the type to let people down?

He steps closer to the camera, lowering his voice to compensate.

The Dragon: Your man was right to tell you that signing with Sin City was a solid bed. Wrestling federations that stand the test of time have a few things in common. Sensible money management. Great leadership. A product the audience wants to see and talented guys in the locker room to back it up. Professional, hard-working, capable guys that know how to pack out an arena, and blow the roof off it by the end. To get in a company like this, that’s the baseline, the absolute bare minimum to even get a contract. What percentage of the losers you faced when you had that title would we even allow to build the ring here, let alone compete in it? This is not me telling you that you don't belong here by the way. Remember number two, great leadership, I'm sure they made the right choice with you...but just where do you fall in the pecking order? That’s the big question.

Mark clears his throat, stepping back from the camera once again.

The Dragon: As an outsider looking in you probably wonder why some Development territory guy like me is killing it on the main show, maybe if I can do it you can come in and clean house, and you’ve got something kid, you’ve shown that...but that doesn’t set you apart one iota from the next guy in that locker room. I succeed on the main show because I'm better than a lot of the guys on the main show. It’s not for my comedy act, nobody finds me funny, it’s not for my good looks...wait...OK it might be IN PART because of that, but I’m in that position on merit first and foremost. I'm beating guys multiple times, night in and night out, who are fighting hard to get within touching distance of my level and they’re FAILING Jack. Good guys, former champions, you name it, watching one, two, three smacks on the mat, followed by my hand raised in victory.

He takes a moment to breathe, stretching out his back.

The Dragon: Like so many who have faced me before, you’ll find that I’m on a different astral plane to you, Jack, and from where I sit right now, you don’t have anything you can touch me. Be brash, cocky, I’ll know you’ve underprepared and underestimated. Advantage me. Be coy, humble, respectful, I know that mentally you’re already admitted you’re out of your depth. Advantage me. Come out and say you have what it takes to go toe-to-toe with me, I say prove it, the ball is back in your court, oh, and then it’s all about wrestling. Think we can call that advantage me too. I have plenty of tricks up my sleeve, I have more in the locker, I have more big matches under my belt than you’ve had in total training sessions and while I know you’ve come through a great system, they can’t keep you in the gym long enough to prepare for all the weapons I have to throw at you. Eventually they have to throw you in at the deep end and let you find this out for yourself...

Amanda: Octane told me all about what he and Andy had to do in Russia by the way...what you did…

The Dragon: I didn’t do anyt-

Amanda: Other than lie to me.

The Dragon: When did I-

Amanda: I remember the exact words when I asked you how it went, tough match, good pay day.

The Dragon: Both true?

Amanda: Just decided to miss out the part where you found someone that so obviously needed help, all of those patients did, and you left them there to DIE.

Mark’s eyebrows shot up in surprise as the last word reverberated around inside his skull, bouncing off every available part of his brain. He took in a big gulp of air as he shook his head from side-to-side, as if to shake cobwebs away. Determined not to come across rattled in front of the camera, he pressed on.

The Dragon: So then we throw things over to his partner - Now in the words of the almighty Wyclef Jean, just cause she dances go-go, it don’t make her a hoe, no. He’s right. He’s absolutely right and let me get this out of the way early. I’m not going to throw someone under the bus for a career path they chose to help their family out.. Plus, too easy - that’d be like shooting fish in a barrel, like I said...not the handed to me on a plate kinda guy...but if I call up my Mama because I’m in love with a stripper, yo, it’s gonna be a cute redhead. When it comes to what Tallyn’s trying to sell...well I just ain’t buying one bit of it.

Mark reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone. He holds the back up to the camera, revealing a metallic purple case back with Prince’s symbol emblazoned on it in bright white.

The Dragon: Now it's absolutely fine to have people you look up to, we all have our idols, but there's paying homage, and then there’s writing Jurassic World by taking a Jurassic Park script and a piece of tracing paper level shit going on. The same superior attitude, no doubt developed at a young age so they could stroke their own ego, all because their parents didn’t cuddle them enough Commendable, but predictable. Same hair, same mannerisms, well HEY MIKAH, LOOKS LIKE YOU’VE GOTTEN YOUNGER, PLEASE TELL ME WHAT ANTI-AGING PRODUCT YOU’VE BEEN USING BECAUSE I WANT TO BUY A WHOLE BARREL!

Mark turned, smashing the football that had been retrieved for him with a vicious right foot that sends it sailing off the handrail and off into the distance.

The Dragon: It’s going in the fountain again isn’t it...Ah dammit...Evie, would you mind? No? Scott - Little help?

Scott: Uh yeah, sure thing Mr. Cross!

Mark’s attention returns back to the camera.

The Dragon: I almost struggle to tell the two of you apart these days I’ve gotta admit. You’ve even come to the same company where your inspiration managed to garner so much success, but Tally there’s one thing you have that Mikah doesn’t, that sets you apart - A self-confidence shortage. Second ever professional match huh, must be pretty nerve-racking. I mean Jack Washington, from what you know, he’s got some skills...but how much do you two really know about each other? He’s good and I admit that, but is he THIS good, is he me good? The turn up at a Supershow, defend my Underground title, then come up and wail on some main roster guys too because one win per night isn’t enough to keep me satisfied kind of level? If you believe that 100% then you’re lying, you’re deluded, or just plain ignorant. It might be true, but how can you know? Sucks to be you right, you’re already under sooooo much pressure since you’re so new to this, still finding out how hot studio lights can get, learning the hard way as you suffer through the blisters from that new pair of ring boots that you forgot to break in as they cut your feet to shreds...and you realise that maybe, just maybe, your partner is already in trouble, and you might have to pick up some slack out there too.

Mark indicates behind.

The Dragon: Against Evie Luna Jordan, no less. You may not have wanted this moment to come just yet but it’s here nonetheless. To get to the very top in this business you have to beat the best, and there is nobody in Blast from the Past history better than my partner out there. That's an indisputable fact unfortunately. You suspect I have your partner outgunned. You suspect you’re outgunned too. That must be a terrible realisation to come to, but let me give you the good news - You’re right. This isn’t your year, it’s too soon, you still have much to learn...but within a few days, it’ll all be over.  You have a bright future, and we’ll be sure to put on a masterclass so you can watch it back and pick up a few tips...

Amanda: Here’s the thing with you Mark - You always had a selfish streak. I loved you regardless and I was almost never on the receiving end of any coldness from you, but sometimes you can be so blind to what’s going on around you.

The Dragon: Is that why you left?

Amanda: I left because I was tired of waiting for the next phase of “us” to begin. First it was football then it was wrestling, it’s like we were in a holding pattern until you finally decided to give it all up.

The Dragon: You could have said something…

Amanda: Tell you to quit? No I couldn’t, you’d have been straight on the phone asking to terminate your contract, the second I asked.

The Dragon: Exactly my point...

Amanda: And been miserable for it. You’d have gone stir crazy in weeks. I couldn’t do that to you, and I couldn’t stick around any longer so I left, and I started the next phase on my own.

The Dragon: You couldn’t tell me what you needed...so you break my heart, disappear, end up halfway across the country and still don’t get what you need? Now that’s what I call a communication breakawfph…

His speech becomes muffled by a torrent of coffee being launched into his face from Amanda’s mug, snapping him straight back to reality.

The Dragon: You can hang lamely to whatever notion you like about her heart not being in it but I understand my partner a little better than you all think I do and here’s the thing - Evie...she thought she had everything before Blast from the Past came back into her life, she was 100% completely happy, and I get the desire to keep it that way, don’t change a winning formula, makes sense. See, I did have everything I ever wanted too. I had the perfect house, the car I’d dreamt of so many times, the chance to make a career out of something I loved, the perfect student in Faith, and the love of my life waiting for me when I came home at the end of a long day. That’s all gone, I’ve lost everything...everything but the wrestling really. The car, the house, the financial security, none of that has gone anywhere but trust me - When your heart is shattered into a million tiny pieces, no amount of money puts that back together again. If we’d met at Tallyn’s old club? Maybe a different story, but I didn’t marry a materialistic girl.

Mark’s eyes rise up from the ground where they’d dropped solemnly for a moment, coming back up to meet the camera.

The Dragon: Now this may have taken a turn but don’t...don’t pity me, not for one second. I may have tumbled off of Cloud 9 but I’m still riding high. I’m telling you this as a warning, because this is a dangerous time to stand against me. I’ve had a lot of things on my side for years, a technical ability that is the stuff of legend in modern day wrestling. Over a decade of experience, a level of self-confidence built off the back of victory after victory...but one thing held me back. Could I have given it all up? Flash back twelve months ago absolutely yes. It’s a medical miracle, my wife can have children after all, in three months a legend, my son will be born...and I’d have been done. I’d have stopped caring about Shining Wizards and put all my energy into bringing up my shining star...but that dream is over. Guys that could give it all up in a heartbeat aren’t World champion material, and so with my divorce, as one door closes, another door opens. Take wrestling away from me now and it’s like sucking the life blood from my veins. My reason for getting up in the morning would be erased, and since my biological clock is so hard-wired for 6:30am I WANT a good reason to be up at that hour. So Jack and Tally, I will be up at 6:30am every morning, preparing for you. I will think about nothing else other than how I can leave you both thinking what your next move is going to be, and whether you are actually cut out for this level of competition or not. People will tell you that you are, try and build you back up again, and a year or two down the line we’ll look back at this moment and how it showed you how steep the learning curve really is. Try and get in our way if you want. Hey, even try and make it an interesting match if you’re really feeling daring, but you are nothing more than two stepping stones on our way to a level more fitting of where we deserve to be. Watch carefully - We’ll show you how to do it for next year.


Part 3 - Melting the Ice Caps

Amanda: Well this is the worst hotel I've ever stayed in.

The Dragon: Yuuuuup. Wouldn't have had to deal with this with the Raiders huh?

Amanda: We miss you Raider nation!

We are taken to one of the worst hotels you could possibly ever stay in. We’re not treated to a full tour of the room, but the drab red bed linen, combined with a headboard that had several large chunks out of it at least gave the hint. Mark Cross is laying back on the bed, lightly running his fingers through the blonde locks of his companion, who had curled up with him, her head resting on her chest.

The Dragon: Manda?

Amanda: Yeah?

The Dragon: Don't ever leave me please.

Amanda: Awwww you little cutie! I'm not gonna leave, marriage is forever silly!

The Dragon: Haaaaaa! There's no escape!

Amanda: Nuh-uh. Say do you still remember when I came to watch you play Denver that one time?

The Dragon: Not again.

Amanda: You'd scored three rushing TDs but instead of partying with the guys all you wanted to do was come back to the hotel and lay here like this.

The Dragon: Stop…

Amanda: And then you started crying because of how much you loved me and how happy you were?

The Dragon: Dammit, you always ruin my tough guy image!!

Amanda: Ha. Tough guy.

Amanda punched him in the arm playfully. Upon impact Mark found himself springing awake. He wasn't in a horrible hotel, but in his Canterbury apartment. He was no longer stroking the hair of his professional dancer turned teacher ex-wife, but the stuffed polar bear that had been one of her Valentine's day presents one year, and had taken permanent residence at their...his...home base in the UK.

He picked up the soft toy in one hand, making moves to launch it across the room, but he stopped himself mid-motion, instead sitting it next to him, lightly stroking the fake fur.

The Dragon: Well it looks like it's just you and me huh Percy?

The bear's upbeat, open-mouthed perma-smile shone like a beacon as Poseidon, Percy for short, looked completely unburdened by life's struggles, and if anything was pleased to have the company. He'd be equally happy when Mark rolled on to the next leg of the tour, and that thought left the Underground champion wondering what life would be like if more people in it were like Percy.

The Dragon: Well I'm not feeling lonely, I know that much for sure, but it's definitely been a while since I've been this alone. It’s a good job I enjoy having my own company, my own time, and my own space, isn’t it? I guess the most important thing at a time like this is to keep myself busy, create distractions for myself. You know something that’d work great for that? Embarking on a run as World Champion I reckon. It’s my turn to lead from the front on the main brand as well as represent the Underground. It’s going to be one tough run, but I’m always game for pushing myself. Challenge accepted.

The scene fades to black.