Beep. Beep. Beep.
The lights flashed. A pod opened.
It was Maxx Thornton. Another vet. Another safe pair of hands.
The match had a rhythm. It was violent, yes, my back was already stinging from the grate, my mouth tasted like copper, but it was controlled chaos.
Then, the lights flashed again.
Another pod opened.
Rico Martinez.
He didn’t look like a professional. He looked like a man possessed. He stormed out of the pod, ignoring the pacing, ignoring the story we were telling. He made a beeline for me.
“Come on, Reed!” Rico screamed, his face twisted in a snarl. “Let’s finish what you started!”
He swung a kendo stick. It wasn’t a working swing. He aimed for my head.
I ducked just in time, the wood cracking against the turnbuckle behind me.
“What the fuck, Rico?” I hissed.
He didn’t answer. He charged. He caught me with a stiff knee to the gut that doubled me over for real. He grabbed my hair, yanking my head back, and slammed my face into the canvas.
“You’re nothing!” he spat, dropping his weight onto my back. “You broke my uncle’s back, you piece of shit. You think you get to just walk back in here and be the hero?”
This wasn’t scripted. He was shooting. He was trying to hurt me.
I scrambled up the chain wall, hanging above the ring like a spider, trying to get distance.
“Get down here and fight!” Rico yelled, throwing a steel chair at the wall. It clanged loudly inches from my hand.
I looked down. Through the mesh, I could see the announce table. Cal was half out of his seat, his hands gripping the table so hard the knuckles were white. He was shouting something at the match producer next to him. He was seconds away from ripping the cage doors off to beat the hell out of Rico.
Don’t do it, Cal,I thought, panic flaring in my chest.Don’t break kayfabe. I got this.
I looked down at Rico. He was waiting for me to fall. He wanted me to botch again. He wanted history to repeat itself.
Fuck you.
I launched.
I didn’t do a Shooting Star. I didn’t try to be fancy. I hit a Coffin Drop, a trust fall, back first, eyes closed, putting my body on the line.
I plummeted. The air rushed past my ears.
Wham!
I landed perfectly across Rico’s chest. The impact knocked the wind out of me, snapping my head back, but I held on. My weight crushed him, knocking the breath out of his lungs and the fight out of his eyes.
One. Two. Three.
“Rico Martinez has been eliminated!”
The crowd exploded.
I rolled off, gasping for air, clutching my ribs. The rest of the match was a blur of pain and adrenaline. It came down to me and Maxx. We went back and forth, hitting our spots, telling the story of resilience.
