The Fall Of The Mentor Part 1

[The Rogue]

It was as if it had only happened yesterday. Every wound still fresh in his head. If I had have known… Well, what could I have done? Something… Anything… Would it have made a difference? I can’t go back and erase what happened over a decade ago. Can I? He’ll never forget all the anguish that made him what he is. Fallen away from everything he loved. No more Marvin. No more Grace. No more wrestling. Tim Brown. “The Electric” Tim Brown. Gone. Lost forever in a haze of drugs and alcohol. Lost in his pit of misery. But that’s perhaps not my story to tell. How did he get here? See for yourself.

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January 2001:

He smiles widely, taking in every word that came out of her mouth, and loving every one of them, not just because he is happy to hear them but because he loves any word that comes from her mouth. She is a vision of beauty, the love of his life. The mere talk about their future together fills him with emotion as his eyes begin to water, but not so much as to cause a tear to run down his face.

Tim: This really is the greatest thing to have ever happened to me. It just completes everything in my life. My wrestling career is really going places, what with me running with the OWF; the greatest company in the business and getting to compete for the biggest prize in the industry. Against people like Jesse Williams and Angle for crying out loud. Obviously I am being appreciated for the first time in my career and finally getting paid, in full, for working my ass off. This really is getting the respect I have worked so hard for. I have my best friend living near us again, your brother; our brother, which means the world to me. And to top all that off, the woman of my dreams married me. For the first time in my life, I am a made man.

Upon finishing talking he holds her close to himself, tightly, to which she responds by doing the same to him and they simply bask in his feeling, for a few moments, as she clings to his chest. The phone then begins to ring, causing them to look at each other. Timmy Brown then winks at her and releases his hold, which she again copies allowing him to get up and answer it. He holds it up to his ear.

Tim: OH, hi Michelle, how are you…? Oh my God, you’re crying… What’s up hun…? Your brother…? Yeah, Marvin did get beat up quite bad and that was a nasty lump on his head… Yeah… Wait, what are you getting at?

A look of disbelief immediately passes over his face, with his mouth hanging open. He drops the phone on the floor and falls down, burying his face in his arms and quivering violently. Grace is up quickly and she runs to the phone, crouching down to pick it up and then place her free arm over him to comfort him.

Grace: What’s wrong, Michelle…? Oh God! No!

Her voice squeaked out the last word as a different sort of tear forms in her eyes, filled with pain and anguish. Timmy is now whimpering loudly, his body fully defining the thought of emotional agony as he curls up in a tight twisted position, still shaking violently. Grace places the phone down due to the crying on the other end being so loud it can be heard from afar. Despite being so hurt herself, she manages to hold herself together, leaning down next to her lover and holding him tightly.

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December 1996:

He stops, savoring the moment as he knew the longer he took to get his speech finished the more impact the words he delivers would have, and the more worked up and impatient his best friend would grow during the duration of his words. A wide smile is visible on Timmy’s face, which has been there the whole time.

Marvin: Carry on, man. Stop holding it off and just say it.

“The Electric” Timmy Brown’s smirk grows wider, for he knows his little game with his friend is playing into effect, and every little pause he takes will make Marvin’s impatience grow, meaning when the final message hits him, it will take him by a large surprise and have a greater effect.

Tim: Calm down, Marv, I’m getting there. Keep your hair on, dude, sheesh!

Timmy raises the menu up to cloak the distortion the moment’s hilarity has grown in him, reaching the surface momentarily causing a silent snicker to leave his mouth. Once he has managed to control himself he lowers it, though keeping his eyes on the menu’s contents as if to show an interest in what he wants to eat.

Tim: The one normality is you. We have been friends for a long time, I mean, Seventeen years from the age of five; that’s a life long friendship there. If I had to go through everything I have gone through without you being there, well, I guess I probably wouldn’t be where I am today.

Marvin has a flushed sort of look come onto his face, clearly not feeling the importance of the situation and also a little embarrassed by the high regard in which his friend is holding him.

Marvin: What are you talking about? You would have gotten along fine.

Timmy smiles rather than smirks for an instance, truly feeling the moment’s comedy has vanished, so he continues to talk in a more meaningful manner, allowing every word to sink in by the slow speed of his speech.

Tim: No I wouldn’t, Marvin. You were always like my safety net. Forget my parent’s money and my trust fund, if you weren’t there I would have fallen on my way to where I am now, fallen and probably stayed on the ground. You never let that happen, helping me with exams, pretty much carrying me onto the wrestling team back when I was worth nothing; you even helped me train and get to the standard that I am at now, and for what? No personal gain. You had nothing to gain, you were always better than me but felt the need to show me exactly what I could be. I owe everything to you.

Marvin’s cheeks are red, obviously feeling his embarrassment grow to the point where his cheeks are nearly on fire. He lowers his face to hide behind his own menu, clearly not being able to take everything that has been said to him.

Tim.: You even managed to get me my first professional contract, using me as the basis for your main marketing project at your college. Seriously, I owe everything to you. You have just been there for me, always. I don’t know what I’d do without you being the one to carry the ring for me.

Marvin twitches behind his menu, before raising his head from behind it at an achingly slow pace, so after several seconds his eyes are revealed, followed by his open mouth.

Marvin: What does that mean?

Timmy smiles, with his teeth gleaming from behind his lips.

Tim: I am saying that I want you to be my best man when Grace and I tie the knot at the beginning of February.

Timmy watches happily as his friend’s eyes open widely, his jaw nearly dropping to the ground. A look of amazement hangs for a good five seconds before his expressions change to where he is extremely pleased and has no idea what to say.

Marvin: You… You have a date? She’s said yes? You want me… You want me to be your…

A laugh comes from the Timmy’s mouth, as his right hand drops hold of his menu and reaches over to touch his friend’s shoulder.

Tim: She hasn’t said yes to the date yet, she doesn’t even know about it. I know it will happen, I have the church booked out and everyone invited, so now all I need is the best friend, who I have known and loved for my entire life, to just agree to take his rightful place as the best man at my wedding. No one else will do.

Marvin’s lip quivers for a second before he leans forward and throws both arms around his best friend, with a massive smile spreading across his face, and his eyes filled with indescribable joy.

Marvin: It would be an honor![/center][/i][/color]

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January 2001:

A graduation on a television screen. There is a banner reading “Dymchurch High School Class of 1986”, behind a much younger Timmy Brown. The screen freezes, as the 32 year old Tim holds the VCR remote up, his eyes now rolling with silent tears as he sits in the darkness. Raw emotion just churning from his silent tears and his still body refuses to even move or show any other signs of life. After a few silent seconds, it is broken by the sound of a ringing telephone coming from somewhere behind him, in the room. After six rings, each one visually cutting through Timmy in their high pitched tone, tearing through the silence violently, a beep follows. After the beep a voice is heard, leaving a message on the answer phone which we hear out loud.

Voice: Hey, Tim, it’s your Dad… I just… I wanted to say sorry for what has happened. I know you and Marvin where close and… I just wanted to say sorry. Your mother and I are here if there is anything you want to talk about, and we tried to speak to his parents but they were not up to speak. Michelle is round there, she says they are holding up well considering… I don’t know… Well, you have a match tomorrow night in OWF… He would want you to go out and act like normal, win the Title and all. I…

The cord is ripped from the wall by someone in the darkness. Timmy sits there, in silent agony, not being able to control anything but his stance. The emotional pain is like a vice on him, not allowing him to move or speak. Gentle steps approach him from behind followed by a slow moving feminine hand to rest on his shoulder. [/center][/i]

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Tim woke up in a start. Since the break in he had been crashing on the sofa, seemingly afraid of his own bed. Or the front door. Something had awoken in him. Some paranoia of old. Sweat glistened his forehead. His eyes took their time coming in to focus, before he saw me at the kitchen table, with my cup of coffee in hand and my gym bag beside me. He stared at me in confusion, as if he had almost forgotten who I was. It must be the stress of the Pay Per View weighing in on him. I couldn’t really tell. Either way, I had to get him up and ready. I looked up at the clock. We were already behind schedule for the day. Tim finally seemed to come back to his senses, as he gave me a rough nod and rubbed the sleep from his eyes aggressively.

Tim: You could have gone without me, you know?

This took me by surprise. As strange as his behavior had been, this didn’t sit too well with me. Tim was as strict as a drill sergeant usually when it came to my training. Never let up. Always made me pick up the slack even when I wasn’t at 100%. Yet now he was suggesting I could have gone on my own. I was sure if I had have done, I would not have heard the end of it when I got back in. Still, I nodded politely out of respect, before I answered carefully.

Mike: I figured I’d wait for you. Wouldn’t be the same without you. Don’t think I would be as motivated.

Tim: Alright, you don’t have to kiss my ass.

I knew I had him won. It wasn’t long after that until he was up and ready for the days action, so I was relieved when we finally arrived at his gym. His gym was in a private warehouse, on the outskirts of town. Why we couldn’t use a public gym, I had no real idea. He always said it was the element of surprise but I had my doubts. Like the apartment that he paid for, out of his own pocket, was in my name. He lived with me when he didn’t have to. Sometimes I would have preferred it. To have some alone time with Jessica would be like heaven. I guess I was glad that he hadn’t mentioned anything. Either noise didn’t carry through the walls or it didn’t carry through his drunken ears. It seemed like he was afraid to be found. And despite his best efforts, last week he, or at least I, was found. By who and for what reason we still hadn’t found out.

We focused on the normal routine as soon as we stepped foot into the weight room. After we had finished another testing set, he seemed rather distant again. I didn’t ask, but began heading for the pool; alone. The two miles seemed to take forever, but when I eventually finished I was satisfied with myself. Time for a little sparring session. I chucked on my shorts and vest quickly and tied up my sneakers. Hurrying into the room, I was not surprised when I saw that it wasn’t Tim standing before me. It was Jessica? That part was surprising. However, she was not dressed for sparring. Her casual clothes were picked specifically to exaggerate her curves. A look of distress was visible on her face. If I had have looked up, before I checked out her body, I would have been able to say something before she did.

Jess: Where’s Tim?

Mike: I figured he’d be in here. You’re guess is as good as mine.

Jess: I’m worried, Mikey.

Mike: I can see that. You’re trembling.

I drop my gym bag and approach her, raising my right hand to gently stroke her face. She was silent for a moment. Lost for an explanation to why she seemed so fragile. My eyes followed the soft worry lines, faintly drawn across her forehead. She was paler than normal; her olive skin nearly seeming the same shade as mine.

Mike: Jessica. What’s wrong?

Jess: Someone’s playing with us. I don’t know why, but they are.

Mike: Who? What do you mean? I’m lost, here, babe.

Jess: When I went back to the apartment after my appointment, there was a lipstick mark on the door.

Mike: Lipstick? That doesn’t make any sense. Why…

She cut me off, her voice becoming more and more unsteady as she speaks.

Jess: I don’t know, but I’m worried, Mikey. But who else knows where we live? What if this isn’t about you? What if…

This time it was my turn. I needed to calm her down, even if I was worried.

Mike: Sshhh, calm down, Jess. There’s nothing to worry about. Now, let me ask you; did you wash it off of the door before you came here?

Jess: Of course I did. If Uncle Tim came back and saw that, he’d only assume the worst. But how long have you two been separated? How do you know he didn’t?

Mike: Why would he have gone home? He had no reason to. Everything was settled for the day before we left. We have food, all the mediocrities of suburban life are handled. There was no reason.

Jess: You don’t know him when he’s like this. Mum said…

Mike: Jess, you are over reacting. There isn’t a problem if he hasn’t found out. And what are the odds of him finding out now that you have gotten rid of the evidence?

Jess: Michael. Tim is prone to sinking really deep when he’s faced with things he can’t deal with. Mum said, when everything went to hell for him, he didn’t ever come to terms with it. He bottles it up and tries to bury it deep within himself. But everything that has happened might cause the lid to fall off and all the contents of that bottle to bubble up to the surface. If that’s the case…

Mike: Jess, darling. Trust me. That’s not going to happen. He is focused on helping me to be ready for this tournament. Our training schedule is more intensive than ever. Our strategies are all he is focused on. He wants me to win. He’s giving me his all.

Jess: What if you are wrong?

Mike: I’m not.

I don’t know if I made her feel any better. Hell, did I? Did I believe any of the things I was saying. He had been distant. I knew this. His behavior was becoming more and more unhinged with every passing day. His drinking had increased. I didn’t know if he was taking anything else. I hadn’t seen him, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t. No, I was sure he wouldn’t. Almost. But this was his dream. His comeback would bring him back to the real world. He’d passed on everything he could to me because it was what Marvin would have done. He had found some way of bringing his old friend’s ethics to life, even with his own sadistic twist. There was no way he’d throw it all away now. Not for anything. Instead of going home, with Jess for company. I needed to burn away some of this frustration, so I headed for the weight room once again. Before I’d even started my set, I heard “Welcome to the Jungle” by Guns ‘N’ Roses blare out of my bag. I quickly unzipped it, fumbling around for my phone before I held it to my ear to speak. The number was withheld but that didn’t phase me.

Mike: Hello?

Female voice: You know he lied, don’t you?

Mike: What? Who is this? What are you talking about?

Female Voice: “The Electric” Timmy Brown lied. He distracted the referee in your last match to stop Jack Flener beating you. You wouldn’t have won if it weren’t for him.

Mike: You’re lying. He told me…

Female Voice: No, he lied. Watch the video. The coverage is on the Frontier website if you don’t believe me. He lied to you before and after the match.

Mike: If you’re lying to me…

But the phone cut off. I was annoyed. Naturally. Someone had phoned me up to stir things. I didn’t know who it was; didn’t care. It was all linked, though. That much I knew. The break in, the lipstick and now the phone call. Someone was trying to come between Tim, Jessica and I. The tapes were to expose me, try to make me look like I was more pathetic than I am so that no one would take me seriously. The lipstick? Possibly to insinuate that I was having an affair? Why someone would want to do that, I couldn’t figure out. What did Jessica have to do with any of this? Now the phone call. That was simple. Make me lose faith in Tim. Sever my relationship with the man that had gotten me this far. Without Tim, I would possibly be a sitting duck. But who? Who would go through this much effort just to get in the head of the underdog rookie? Was I that much of a threat? Surely no one would think I was worth this much trouble. Unless? No. It couldn’t be about Tim. I wouldn’t believe it. Giving up on the weight session, feeling I needed answers now more than anything, I headed back to the apartment. I had to see for myself.

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I couldn’t believe what I had just seen. Timmy did indeed distract the referee, causing Jack Flener to be temporarily distracted. I watched as Jack came back and I somehow managed to strike out and hit my “Defector” finisher. At least my presence there was impressive enough. I liked how I managed to catch him by surprise and hit him with my most devastating move.

Cruz: Here is your winner, MICHAEL TOMKINS!

Roberts: Michael Tomkins just stole the win thanks to his mentor, Timmy Brown! But he doesn’t even seem to know anything happened! That was his second big…

I hit the pause button on the video. I’d heard enough. So he had lied. Tim gave me his word that he wouldn’t interfere and then after the match he looked me in the eyes and denied anything had happened, with the whole world watching! What the hell was he even playing at? How could he have possibly thought that I wouldn’t find out? I hated him, at that moment. For a few days I had the idea that I had somehow defied the odds and defeated the legendary Jack Flener by myself. I thought that it was through a mixture of hard work, heart and technical finesse… Now I knew differently. Cheating. Underhanded tactics. Timmy Brown. I had “ridden on his coattails” as some people had put it. And now that I have had two chances to prove that I could do it all on my own… He had taken it from me. I would rather have taken a loss than those cheap victories. I didn’t care what his reasoning was. I don’t think I could hear it right now. The biggest night of my career is less than a week away and I am not anywhere near ready. The only thing I could do is possibly get him banned from ringside. See if I can make it on my own. See if the management will get him banned from the building even? Would that be fair to him? He is on the roster. His name is on the payroll. Would they even do it? They’d have to. He was costing me my integrity. He was a blatant cheater. And now, he was also possibly unhinged. Well, I had to do this on my own. I can’t take any risks and I certainly can’t afford to have him win me any of my matches. I quickly checked my wrist watch. The thought crossed my mind that this expensive Rolex was bought by him as my 18th birthday present. I shuddered and took it off, leaving it on the desk in front of the laptop. Either way, Jess and I would have to leave; at least until after the Supershow. But I had time to cut one last promo in the sanctity of his camera room, with the familiar FGA backdrop. I’d make the most of it. I had to leave a lasting impression on all of my opponents.

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The camera comes in to focus in the room where Michael Tomkins stands, in his wrestling attire, with his trademark cocky smile. He flexes his shoulders and chest muscles, allowing his pectoral muscles to bounce a few times, before relaxing.

Mike: So it’s finally here, guys. The Supershow card is set and with it, a tournament to crown the first ever FGA Wrestling Heavyweight Champion. Exciting stuff, right? And yours truly has been named as one of the eight competitors after only two matches. But two of the most significant matches Frontier has had. Am I not right? Indy superstar, the submission specialist Scott Reave. My debut, where I was the first guy to taint his record in the company. Touché Mr. Mercier. I see you have added insult to injury. Well done. And then Jack Flener. Three Time World Heavyweight Champion. Four time World Tag Team Champion. The guy that has seen and done it all, and been put down by me for the one… Two… Three. So, with that said, it’s a no brainer why I was added to the line up for this one. They knew, win or lose that I will be the wildcard in this one. I will add that air of uncertainty where the favorites will question just how likely the underdog will be of being lucky three times in a row, or four, or five. After the fifth, if it happens. Well, it’s hard to call the Champion an underdog, isn’t it? I will have well and truly proved myself. My name will be synonymous with the Belt even after I lose it. Because like the slogan has said, there can only ever be one “first.” Now I’m trying to focus on the line up and see who I am most likely going to face if I get out of the starting blocks. Jacques Mercier against Chandler Scott. My money’s on Mercier continuing his run. And if I beat him? Well, That’s really a tough one. I have no doubt that Jared James will do what he does best and shut the mouth of a Harvard Connection member one more time. Jack Flener against Blaine Harrison? That’s a lot more tough to call. Who knows. And then either of those men facing Jared James? Again, hard to call. So what to do? I could run through these guys in alphabetical order once I deal with Reave, Mercier and Scott. That sounds like a plan.

Michael pauses, allowing his pecs to pop up a few more times, before he taps the FGA signs behind him, either for luck or for concern.

Mike: Scott Reave. How the mighty have fallen. Before I came here you were not only beating your opponents, you were nasty. You set yourself out to cause devastation where ever you went. And you succeeded. Blaine was lucky to get away with his arm still attached. You were mean and intimidating. No one wanted to face you. Yet everyone wanted to shut you up. What was it you said? You’ll be the Big Bad Wolf. Well I proved I wasn’t Grandma, didn’t I? I wasn’t there to get swallowed up by the wolf. I took everything you could give me and I did not give up. And seeing as submission is your specialty, and I’m a “never say die” sort of guy, how do you expect to beat me now? And after Mercier well and truly handed your ass to you? Wow. I have to say I enjoyed watching that match. Really, I did. Two underdogs, two weeks in a row. That has really got to sting you. Are you steaming mad, now? Are you prepared to huff and puff Mr. Wolf? Will it even have an effect? Not by the hair on my chinny chin chin Mr. Wolf.

Michael raises his hand to stroke his freshly shaven chin, before cracking a cheesy smile.

Mike: That line would have gone down better if I hadn’t shaved this morning. Oh well. Your fire, Scott, seems to have gone out. Now, I believe that you are a competitor of the highest level. I don’t doubt what you are capable of. Having said that, your recent run of form speaks for itself really. Your killer instinct has been missing for two weeks. And with no preparation before you face off against the first guy to beat you in the FGA, I have to ask; How the hell are you going to get that fire back? We’ve covered stereotypes before, so need I remind you that English guys are tough? I grew up by West Ham, constantly having run ins with Millwall fans… And they are some tough, violent bastards. But I am still here. I can take a great kicking and still come back for more. If you don’t have a knockout blow ready and waiting for me, or you’re not prepared to kill me, I will come at you. Even if I am crawling on my hands and knees, I will keep coming at you. That’s one thing you can bet on, Scott. I don’t know how to give up. I really don’t. So next Friday, give me everything you have got, Mr. Reave. It won’t be enough. That is something I am sure of. Every dog has it’s day. But every underdog, they are set up to lose so they are more likely to surprise you. At least with you it won’t be a surprise. You’ve had “A Taste Of Greatness” before. You know exactly what it’s like when my left foot connects with your jaw. There’s nothing after that except the three count.

The confident, cocky smile reappears on his face, as he seems to mark off on his hand the first of seven digits.

Mike: Chandler Scott, you snidey arrogant knob. To be honest I do not know what you have done IN WRESTLING that makes you think you are better than the likes of Jared James and Blaine Harrison. Both of those guys step foot in that ring week in and week out and put on a hell of a show. Aside from lay down CHEAP insults and try to cheat your way to victory, what are you even doing here? You have done nothing to prove yourself except attack people after the bell and oh, yeah, get beaten by Jared James. Why are you even in this tournament? I am trying to work that much out. Did you buy your way into it? Is that why you and your equally irritating and talentless friend are competing against better men? Because in truth, that’s the only thing I can think of. So unless a miracle happens where Jacques Mercier is cheated out of victory, or if he dies on the way to the arena or a piece of lighting equipment falls on his head, you and I will not even step foot in that ring with each other. So what’s the point in addressing you? Well, just so I can say I told you so afterwards, I guess. Then maybe you two cretins will drop your pompous bigheaded attitudes and pursue an avenue in life that actually suits you. I don’t know. Something like a career in law, where you will be permanently used to the fact that no one likes you. I mean, you’re used to that anyway, right? So it makes sense. Then we can change the old joke to; how do you stop Chandler Scott from drowning? Take your foot off of his head!

Mike stops to laugh, holding his gut despite the fact that his joke wasn’t actually funny. When he has had enough of milking it, for literally everything that it is worth, if not more, he straightens up, returning to his cocky self.

Mike: So if Mercier drops the ball, and you do miraculously face me in the semi-finals, what chance do you really have? Whether it’s “the Defector,” “A Taste of Greatness,” or the “Finishing Touch,” You will be put down. And if it is you that I face, however you managed to sneak your way past Jacques, believe me I will pretty much have a by into the finals. And not your style of “buy,” Chandler, my dear friend. Unfortunately for you, even if you did flash the cash to buy your way into the company and the tournament, the Championship is not for sale. All the money in the world can not stop you from being introduced to my left boot. Does that make you sad? Does that make you want to grab your Harvard “H” engraved handkerchief and blow away all your troubles? It’s about time. And a friendly reminder, chap. When you constantly put your nose at us “inferior” people, we can always see what’s up there. That’s almost as disgusting as your behavior. Seriously. Clean up a bit before you do such things. And that’s where I will leave you. I shall not waste any more time in talking about you. There’s almost no chance that you’ll make it to fight me, so why bother discussing it further?

His eyebrows raise, as he counts off another digit on his hand. That makes two, so the question as he takes a moment to pause is, who is next? Mike smiles, with just the left side of his mouth, before he resumes wearing his normal cocky expression.

Mike: Jacques, my friend. It looks like you and I have a match next Friday. I know we will face. And this is the first real hurdle that I fear may stop me in my tracks and take me out of the race. You’re exactly like me, in the fact that you too are an after thought. We’re both rookies. We both defeated Scott Reave in our debuts. We’re both underdogs. That’s almost where the similarities end. The crowd likes you too. They want to root for you because you have bucket loads of charisma. You’re full of energy, which they respond to with great enthusiasm. I like you, I’ll admit it. I have a lot of time for someone who works as hard as I do to be the best that he can be. And you do things your own way, which isn’t my own choice of doing things, but at least you aren’t a coward like some people in this thing are. You step up to the plate and you take a big swing. The question at 2012: A New Odyssey is will that big swing connect? Will the cards read out well for you this time, or is God or fate or whatever other forces might be at work in this world smiling down on me? I’m just itching to find out. I really am. It will be the opposite of the clash of the titans yet it will undoubtedly be the best of the two semi final matches. Maybe even the best match of the night unless the final shapes up in a way I can respect. We’ll still have half a tank left which means the match will be full of high spots and energy. So I look forward to seeing what you have got for me.

He pauses for a moment, thoughtfully collecting his breath, before resuming.

Mike: But let’s get one thing straight, Jacques. Like I have said to Scott Reave and to Jack Flener before I faced them, I knew I could beat them. Same goes here. I can beat you. I aim to beat you. Call me arrogant, call me a dreamer, but Friday night will come and go and if I give it my all, I will be in that Title match. Do you know why? Because I don’t plan on stopping for anyone. I am undefeated in two matches, three by the time we face and that just isn’t enough for me. I am going to prove myself, to everyone watching, that one day I will be someone amazing. The world will know my name, and they will all point back to here and say, “that’s where the kid really started.” They’ll say, “He made an impact there.” Hell, they might even say “that’s where he became the first FGA Heavyweight Champion.” Who knows? I don’t think that I can allow it to end before the tournament itself does. I refuse to be an early exit so I will throw down like no one you have ever gotten into the ring with. “The Rogue” will catch you off guard, take the wind out of you and bypass you into the final. It won’t be easy. I don’t count you out as someone I will defeat in less than a minute or anything like that. It will take a whirlwind of energy and grit to best you. But like I said, I have to do it. I just have to. I can’t exactly call my finisher, “A Taste Of Greatness” and not live up to the name. Just like Timmy only ever lost a handful of times in the ASW, don’t count on me looking to add a notch to the tally now. Not this week.

His hand is raised once more as he ticks of a third digit from his hand, where his smile seems to grow louder.

Mike: Let’s assume I am correct in saying Jacques will be my fourth victim in Frontier. Just for a few minutes. Then I will be in the Main Event. The FGA Heavyweight Championship match. I’ll smell the gold, knowing full well that it’s now within my reach. And one of four men will be in exactly the same boat, having fought the same number of matches against at least one equally good opponent. Blaine Harrison. I’ll address you first. Your path is possibly the hardest to reach me, and to the gold it will become that much harder. First off the three time World Champion. A tough cookie to crack, but obviously not undefeatable. He’s good, I’ll give him that. And you have to jump over his battered body only to fight Jared James. If you manage to overcome those odds, I will be thoroughly impressed with you. I am already fairly impressed after some solid performances so far. You’re good in the ring, there really is no denying it. But I have seen the weakness that I plan to exploit. If you and I face for that strap on Friday, the match will only end one way. Your weakness just happens to be my strength. I, unlike you, don’t give up. You have seen that. So I will attack your arm or your leg, whichever the easiest target is, and you will tap out. “The Electric Leg Lock” is a fantastic variation of the single leg Boston crab which Timmy experimented with when he wrestled back in England. By the time he had entered the ASW it was one of his favorite weapons and you would have seen him take down a lot of names with it. I will admit, I am no Timmy Brown. Nor do I claim to be. But he has focused on training me to the full extent of his abilities, and that move is in my arsenal. So given the opportunity, we will see just how good a student I am. And when the move is tied in, how long do you think you can last after two grueling matches already? By this point in the tournament, I will be the only undefeated guy left. I will be gritting my teeth and making damn sure that I put a stop to whoever is in front of me. If it’s you, Blaine, I know where my target is. I know I can make you submit. Again, I want to stress the fact that it will not be easy. I know this. Nothing is easy in the wrestling business, save a couple of guys that are more interested in their parents bank accounts than what they do in the ring, so this won’t be any different.

Once more, Michael pauses, choosing to leave Blaine Harrison hanging for a moment.

Mike: But I don’t plan on taking the easy road. My mentor may have other ideas, as you will no doubt have noticed. But my eyes are on the prize and the pride that comes with it. I’m a very proud man. I do things my way and I will give everything inside of me to get things done. I want that Title. And it could happen. If the two of us get this far, I say you’re damn right it could happen. I won’t settle for a “could have” scenario here. I refuse to let my fingers dangle with everything I want just out of reach. Why? Because it’s in reach of me. I have been given a way to become the Champion and I will find a way of getting there. I’m a warrior until the end. A fighter. A survivor. All my life I have found a fight, and most of the time throughout it I have won. Nothing changes when we come of age except the object of our lifetime desires gets closer to us. My focus for the past four years has been wrestling and I have made myself get this far. One more match. Do you think when I get this far that I will accept failure? Do you think I am capable of dropping the ball now? No chance. I will be in it until the very end. Will you?

The fourth finger is signaled. Michael spins around with his arms stretched out to either side. When he turns back, he stares into the camera, focused and intent.

Mike: Jack Flener… That name rings a bell. Aren’t you the guy that sold the Frontier a lot of hype when you first signed on? The living legend that is the three time World Champion. Mr. Wrestling himself. Devin Copeland. Jack Flener. I’m still getting massive de ja vous. Like, possibly I might have fought you before some time. You know what? I have just remembered. You’re the same guy that I hit with the “Defector” last week before watching the ref count to three. That was you, right? See this tells me that you are beatable, Jack. Because I have beaten you myself. Get used to it. The venue is different, and the show might be bigger, but “the Rogue” is the same. He’s the same guy that defected your hopes of winning last time, and if you make it past Blaine and make it past Jared, then you will fall down at the feet of the new FGA Heavyweight Champion. Not only do I want to face you in this match, I almost need it. I want you to come so close to winning that you taste it. Finger tips scraping against the gold. Why? Because I want it to haunt you. I want you to know firsthand what a failure you have become. That’s why you are here, isn’t it? That’s why you dropped to the Indy’s. Because you could no longer hack it where the big boys play. So now you want to come here and ruin the good name of this company with your antics. You anger the fans with insults. You try to verbally bury everyone on the roster, as if they are nothing. The only problem with that is that if you win, it means nothing. You beat someone you have described as trash, well then no one actually cares. It’s not big deal. They’ll all forget about it. But when that trash gets one over on you, well then you are on that level. You have been beaten by trash. That’s something that everyone will remember. See, last week when your promo hit and you came out and started hyping yourself up, all you did was embarrass yourself, man. The “Epitome of Excellence” that got bested by a rookie. The “Harbinger of Greatness” that lost to an inexperienced kid. What does that say about you?

Mike lightens up. He becomes cocky again. His arms sway from side to side, appearing quite relaxed.

Mike: It says that you have fallen from grace. It says you are no longer the man. You’re just one of us. Just like all of the has beens and the never was’. Only lower. You’re lower because you still cling on to the fact that you are better than everyone. I have already proven you’re not. I proved to the world last week that the brand name doesn’t mean the merchandise is worth buying. Just as I said last week, if you and I face, I will win. I refuse to let this company be at your mercy. It can not happen. Not if I have anything to say about it. You’re in my world now, Jack. You’ll be in the ring with the Raise-The-Bar-Superstar. Only this time you won’t be defeated by a rookie kid. You’ll have lost to the Frontier Grappling Arts Heavyweight Champion. The new face of the company. I think I am ready to be that guy. I think the company will like the fresh face that will forever be synonymous with their Title. I can carry the FGA on my shoulders because I have my whole future in front of me. And yours is behind you. You’re like something that was great, that has rotted in the sea and washed up feeble on a beach somewhere so little children can smirk and poke at it with sticks. That’s all you’re good for now. You’re a sideshow, Jack. Any time you want me to prove it, be my guest. But you know that I will always be there to stop you. I can not let you thrive in this company. I’ll make it so that your finisher is renamed “the Downfall of Me.”

Mike laughs, before marking off another number on his hand. Five down.

Mike: Jared James. If we face each other this week, you’ll still be undefeated. The amount of momentum you will have going into this match will be astronomical. Your name is already being chanted all over the place, wherever we go. You’re impressive for someone so anti every-stereotype-a-wrestler-usually-has. You’re small, unorthodox and nice. How weird is that? Yet no one has been able to pin you. I don’t know whether it’s because you can literally find wiggle room from any situation or if indeed you are that damn good… But Jared. So am I. I’m that good. I’m the new kid in the company. The underdog in this tournament. You have built your career on being the underdog that pulls off the mightiest of wins against all odds. Your whole reputation is built on that. You have lived up to it all in the FGA. And now you are closer than ever to obtaining your first major Title. But in that final match, Michael Tomkins will be standing in your way. He’ll get his second wind of life. And then he’ll come at you with everything he has. Maybe you’ll do what you always seem to do and win anyway. But when you’re no longer the underdog and the element of surprise is gone, will you be able to beat someone also on a hot streak? Will someone this good be beatable after two grueling matches? I’m not like the Harvard Connection. I’m not completely full of hot air and bullshit. I’m the guy that “The Electric” Timmy Brown invested so much time in. I’m the guy who has had a lifetime of training for this very moment. I was a young kid when I started training in various forms of combat. All I know is fighting. And I’m great at it.

He stops for a moment, pausing for longer this time. His eyebrows raise briefly, dropping just as quickly.

Mike: I’m not counting you out though, “Mr. Nice Guy.” That, I fear, will be my downfall. Like everyone else that you have faced. They all put you down saying you couldn’t do anything. And then you shut them up… Except the Harvard Connection refuse to pipe down regardless of what happens to them. They are men of words. I am a man of action… And words. A fine mix. But just like Scott Reave, just like Jack Flener and just like Jacques Mercier… you will know I am the guy that can end any hot streak. I can snuff out any legend. Frontier is my home. Mine. And when we’re living under my roof, only one guy can be called the Champion. So when you’re dazed and confused, out on your back, staring up at the lights. Make no mistake about it, Jared. The name announced as the First Ever Frontier Grappling Arts Heavyweight Champion is mine. The man you’ll see being handed the Gold is me. Michael Tomkins. The rookie kid. The “Rogue.” The Champ.

He ticks of the sixth name, before scoffing.

Mike: Now talking about you, Preston, after everyone else is about as anticlimactic as it would be on the night if you were the one to face me in the Title match. That would be one hell of a shock. One that might give you of all people the edge if it were to happen. I might just die, right then and there of a heart attack, earning you the Title based on a forfeit. That would be something to write home about. But that event is unlikely, because even if it did happen and I was dying in the middle of the ring, there is one thing you will forget. It takes just three seconds to win a match, Preston. Just three. And who do you think they belong to?

Michael shrugs, smiling cheekily at the camera as the FGA logo appears and this screen fades to nothing.

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With that out of the way, it didn’t take me long at all to gather everything Jessica and I would need for the next week. A single change of clothes and all of my bank things. Card. Cheque book. Statements. I grabbed up the last of our toiletries into my gym bag, and headed for the door. As I opened it, I froze.

Grace: Hello, Michael. We haven’t officially met. I’m Grace Adams.

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