Seven part 1

[The Rogue]

Simply put, this piece of gold was nearly a burden. The prestige that I had earned seemed to be targeted by someone who had won a single match. Albeit, it was a triple threat match, besting two opponents that could have won the match without involving him in the decision, but still. Micky O’Reilly has me shaken. Twice he had my number. Twice I had been taken down by him. Feeling the wrath of Murphy’s Law. In England, we don’t say Murphy’s Law. We say sod’s law. That’s how I felt. Like a damn sod. A fish out of water. Out of my depths. Sure, I was the undefeated FGA Heavyweight Champion after six wins, three in one night. But at what price? The target on my back burned a hole through my subconscious. Not just O’Reilly, but Jared James clearly wasn’t happy with me, despite the fact that I beat him clean. And Blaine Harrison was impressing everyone, while breathing down my neck. And now throw Chandler Scott into the mix. The guy that has reason to be annoyed. The man that Timmy Brown screwed out of a Title match, potentially. Though I had to put that out of my mind. I had to believe he wouldn’t have taken me out with the Harvard Hammer. I had to believe the Straight A Stud was not match for me if I plan to keep my dream alive. It was nearly a burden… Nearly.

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When I awoke to Jessica, sleeping comfortably beside me in our latest hotel room, I breathed a sigh of relief. Since the events that have recently transpired, waking up has been a fear of mine. It wasn’t too long ago that I awoke in a pile of trash, in New York City. Drugged and beaten. I still didn’t have a clue how that had happened, so I have become paranoid. Waiting for the moment where I find the snake in my boot. Waiting for the moment when I see the syringe holes in my milk bottle. Yet it had not come. I was weary though. Pain I could take. Punishment, mental or physical, I could withstand. The waiting was killing me. I sat up in my bed, rubbing my eyes for good measure. It was still dark outside, but at 4am, that was expected. After preparing my gym bag, I headed down to the reception area to check my messages. The receptionist was asleep at the desk, surely an offence, but it didn’t bother me. I would hate to do those kind of hours. Gently, I nudged her and she sleepily handed me a couple of envelopes before rocking back in her chair. I looked at the first, the FRONTIER logo unmistakable. I assumed this was my match card for the week. The Champion doesn’t get a night off, after all. I tore it open quickly, reading the list and being caught by surprise already. O’Reilly had the match before the main event. Already. After one match. Perhaps beating on me was his way of making his voice heard. Fighting Blaine Harrison. That would be interesting. Hopefully Blaine would do the job for me, so I wouldn’t have to. But if he wins, then he is one match away from being a contender. Now that would be interesting. A real threat to my Title before I had even defended it. Sure I rated Jared James, but I had beaten him. Blaine Harrison, another man I respected. But he has lost to two guys that I have beaten. Three including the tag team match during the last combat show. My eyes then fell on the main event. Chandler Scott. Now that would be interesting.

I shook the feeling off, looking to the second envelope. This wasn’t from FRONTIER, which was strange. I didn’t think anyone else knew we were here. I opened it slowly, trying to think before I pulled the letter out to read.

Champ,
Your days are numbered. People have beaten on you left right and centre but somehow you still come back strong. You have prevailed over five different opponents in six matches, but soon it will end. I know the only way you will be hurt is by losing that Championship, so you can bet that will happen. And you can check you milk all you want, I got you once, I can get you again. And you won’t see it coming. Good luck in your match next week. And keep looking over your shoulder, for all the good it will do you.
Regards
J.S.

Mike: What the hell? “J.S?” I don’t know anyone with those initials…

I quickly pocketed both letters. It was a warning. They knew we were here. We had to move. Someone has tried to play with me, get inside my head and they had succeeded. Now they know where to find us. It’s not safe. I rushed upstairs to wake Jessica, who grudgingly responded after several shakes.

Mike: They know we’re here. We have to go, now.

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I nervously entered the fray at the Fitness Factory gym, contemplating a quick work out so as not to spend too long in public. It was a risk, but having no longer any access to a private gym, seeing as I hadn’t heard from Tim in weeks, I had no choice. After I had fully exerted myself in the shortest session I could allow myself, I hit the showers. In there, someone was exceptionally chatty with me, something I didn’t appreciate, especially while naked. His questions started off small. “Have you got any spare shower gel” “Did you watch the Giants beat the Patriots?” Small talk. After we were dried off, and changed he politely extended a hand to me, which I found odd.

Man: Pleased to meet you.

Mike: Yeah?

I left his hand hanging there, which he seemed to ignore, though he looked slightly put off.

Man: This is the part where you introduce yourself.

Mike: I’m taken, but flattered.

Man: I’m straight. Married too.

Mike: I don’t get it.

Man: What’s not to get, we chatted, so I’m saying hi.

Mike: You chatted. I didn’t really say much.

Man: The name’s John, John Smith.

Mike: Yeah well my name’s not, not intere….. What did you say your name was?

John: John Smith.

Then it clicked. Why he had been talking to me. Why he seemed so determined. “J.S.” Was John Smith. Immediately, before I knew what was doing I felt my fist connect with his face and I was on top of him, shouting into his face.

Mike: WHAT THE HELL IS YOUR PROBLEM?! WHY ARE YOU TOYING WITH ME?! ANSWER ME!![/b]

John: Look man, I was only trying to be friendly!

Mike: DON’T GIVE ME THAT SHIT, JOHN! WHY DRUG ME?! WHY SEND ME A THREATENING LETTER?![/b]

John: What? What are you talking about, I don’t know anything.

I hit him again as I felt a couple of guys pulling me off. I turned round and thumped one of them before I was wrestled to the ground by several more people. Eventually I calmed down. Someone else spoke to a very disturbed and distressed John Smith. It turned out that wasn’t even his name. Someone had paid him a hundred dollars to strike conversation with me and introduce himself as John Smith. Now, Samuel Davis, John Smith’s real name, had every right to press charges. Given the circumstances, a few of the more sympathetic roid-heads talked him out of it. The bastard had got me again. My mind had once again been taken off of where it should be. On the prize. On defending my undefeated streak against one half of the Harvard Connection, Chandler Scott.

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The motel was dark and dingy but it would do for now. It wouldn’t be long until Wednesday Combat, so I could make do until then. Anywhere off of the map was good. Jess was sat on the dirty looking bed, wearing a disgusted expression, but doing her best to smile. Sort of. She looked at me, watching me pace back and forth, trying to get some form of idea of where I was and where I should be.

Mike: They’re in my head, Jess. They’re playing mind games with me and at this point in time they are winning. How am I meant to concentrate on Chandler Scott when there are more pressing matters at hand, like my own personal safety? I don’t know what to do.

Jessica sat in silence for a full minute, contemplating what I had said. Her face contorted into a pain filled expression, before she spoke.

Jess: Mike, maybe we should just call Grace. Explain to her everything that is going on and ask to go back to Uncle Tim’s. Given the circumstances, it might at least put your mind at ease.

Mike: Are you serious? For all I know it’s them pulling all the strings here. Drugging me. Setting that rabid Irish animal on me week after week. I can’t trust Tim further than I can throw him, and he’s got like thirty pounds on me, Jess. And as far as she’s concerned…. You know what I think of her. Especially now.

Jess: Alright. Forget that then. Either way, you’re the Champion. You’re going to be targeted so you need to deal with it as best you can. Focus on one thing at a time. Like right now, you’re match with Chandler Scott. To get in the mind set, you are going to have to shoot a promo. They always get you in the mood. And you are good at them, last week being the exception.

Mike: To be fair, last week I was still feeling the effects of the narcotics someone had introduced into my system. You know, the same someone causing me to attack innocent strangers in the gym.

Jess: Hardly innocent. Thus why he’s not pressing charges. He took money to incite you to violence. No questions, just probe at you until you reacted. It’s his own fault for being a moron.

Mike: Still, if those guys hadn’t talked him out of it, I could be in trouble.

Jess: But you’re not. Get your head back in the match.

Mike: Alright. I’ll say something to Chandler, but then we have to get some of this sorted, Jess. I can’t carry on like this.

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A dark motel room. Standing against a severely stained wall, is the FGA Heavyweight Champion, Michael Tomkins. His suit is black, his hair is neat and he is much cleaner than the area around him. He flashes his fresh cocky grin, before he bends over to pick up his Championship Belt, carefully resting it over his right shoulder.

Mike: Hello, Chandler. So we meet again. This time in a Main Event something that either Timmy Brown or myself, possibly both, prevented you from reaching at the A New Odyssey Supershow. But here you are with another chance, this time facing the Champion instead of some English rookie. But I am the same guy, so you have every chance you did before. Possibly more now that Timmy is out of the picture. I know you are thinking that you had me beat before. It really is a good thought to linger on. You came the closest, in reality, to besting the man now at the top of the totem. So well done to you for that. The Straight A Stud sure proved his metal in that match. And now you have recorded your third win, you have as much right as anyone else to challenge for my Title. If you beat me at the next combat show, more so. And after everything I said about the Harvard Connection, I bet you are just aching to say something to me now. Well go ahead, say what you will. It won’t stop me from being the Champion for another week. Even if you miraculously end the hottest thing going in the FGA, I wouldn’t count your graces that you could beat me twice in a row. Not when you couldn’t get the job done last time. No one has defeated me yet. You have tried. Scott Reave tried twice. Jared James tried. Last week, Jacques Mercier tried. Jack Flener tried before he disappeared from our company, with his tail between his legs. With all the high quality competition here in FRONTIER, one man still stands head and shoulders above the rest. Michael “The Rogue” Tomkins.

He pauses for a second, before smirking in a mischievous way.

Mike: More pressing at this time, Chandler, is who the number one contender to my Title will be and when they will be challenging. It might be you. I have considered this but after I dispose of you, my path to the real challenger will be set. Blaine Harrison or Jared James. Both men great, but both men humbled. Jared James was humbled by me. Blaine Harrison by Scott Reave and by Jared James. And Jared seems to be completely in the wrong mind set since the Supershow, isn’t he. I mean the Harvard Connection were finally able to defeat him thanks to my humbling him. Now as much as I respect him, his actions last week and all his far too polite words regarding my Title reign, I would like to shut him up once and for all. His disrespect for me and his arrogance while partnered with Blaine Harrison are inexcusable acts for someone who calls himself Mr. Nice Guy. If Jared is my opponent, I dare say, bring it on. I’ll only make him relive what happened at 2012: A New Odyssey. But this time, he’ll have no excuses. He won’t be able to say he undervalued his opponent, or that it was unexpected. He won’t be caught off guard. He’ll see it all coming. And to add insult to injury, if it is Jared James, well I will bring his memory back by nailing him with the Finishing touch. It will be a moment of pure poetry.

Once again he pauses, the mischievous grin being replaced by his normal cocky expression.

Mike: If, however Blaine Harrison is my first official Title defense I will be excited. I have never stepped foot in the ring with Blaine before. Our paths haven’t crossed and I have to say I respect the hell out of him. He’s great in the ring and despite not having won all of his matches like I have, he always puts on one hell of a show. I will give him credit for that. He’s a great wrestler and I can’t wait to face him. I can’t wait to see everything he has got. And after all is said and done I can’t wait for him to know what you and Jared already know. That it takes three seconds to win a match, just three. And do you remember who they belong to Chandler? What about you Jared? Blaine, I don’t think they are going to want to answer, so I will have to tell you myself. Me Blaine. Those three seconds belong to me. Six times I have put that statement on the line and six times I have proven it. And on the Next Wednesday Showdown card, I will add another notch to the bed post as I put down Chandler Scott one more time, this time without the help of “The Electric” Timmy Brown.

Stopping for breath, Mike removes the Title Belt from his shoulder before showing it to the camera.

Mike: That’s my FRONTIER Grappling Arts Heavyweight Championship, Chandler.

Mike then lowers it to the ground before standing up straight once more, with a teasing smile.

Mike: But you don’t have a look in yet. Our match, though a Main Event match, is a non Title match. Now you have constantly been talked about for causing trouble. For losing against Jared James. For winning a Tag Team match against James and Harrison. Cool, whatever. But you have yet to earn yourself that shot at my gold. So you face me, yes. You get your chance to try and earn some measure of revenge, like you did with Jared. But not for the Championship that you were so desperate to claim for the Harvard Connection. I would say sorry but at this point I am beyond caring. I am tired of getting jumped. I am tired of having people say that I don’t deserve my Title. I will take whatever jokes you are going to lay on me, for I know you are just dying to say something, and I will remember them. And for every quip, every jibe, and every snidey remark, I will be the one getting a measure of revenge. I have every intention of maintaining my perfect score, Scott. And I will go into this match strong and raring to go, knowing that Preston and Madison will try and get me back for Timmy’s actions. See if I care. It won’t matter. Even with outside distractions and interferences, the Raise-The-Bar-Superstar will prove himself once more. So when you’re dazed and confused, out on your back, staring up at the lights. Make no mistake in knowing that the man standing over you, with his arms raised in victory, is me. Michael Tomkins. You may laugh now. But when I am seven and O, I doubt you’ll be laughing. At least until after the match when you all stomp the shit out of me, but what good will that do? It’s been done already guys, and it will get you nowhere.

Michael Tomkins bows, before once again picking up his FGA Heavyweight Championship.

Mike: On Wednesday, I’ll be all about business. I will look to find out who it is that will face me for my Title. I will try and resolve this issue with Micky O’Reilly before is really escalates. And I will succeed in my match against you, remaining undefeated. Take that how you will. It’s three promises made by the Champion. And so far I have proven that my word is bond. I always keep my promises.

Mike flashes one last confident grin before the FGA logo appears and the dark motel room fades to nothingness…

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