Inaugural Impact Trophy

[thisisemerge]

Goddrick Grimm versus Kelcei Mason
Mitch Sanders versus Sundown
Gwen Blair versus Maxwell St John
Alice Redding versus Carson Caine

All rps in this thread please. Except shoots obviously

*PLEASE NOTE NEW RULES*
DEADLINE 1 - 1X 3,250 word limit RP, in whatever format you choose
FRIDAY 11TH JANUARY 2019 2359 GMT

DEADLINE 2 - 1x 750 word limit SHOOT rp, to be used in the show. This rp must be sent to the EMERGE PM box before the deadline of SUNDAY 13TH JANUARY 2019 2359 EST

[Kas]

Gwen Blair In: One Small Step, One Giant Leap.

~~~Madison, Connecticut - 1st December 2018~~~~



It’s no use pretending to be cool, calm and collected. I’ve known Dad for a few years now, and even now, he can see right through me, even if he’s only got one eye. Mom was a lot easier to fool, mostly because she was so self-absorbed that me having thoughts and feelings was an alien concept. So long as I told her everything that she wanted to hear, acted the way she wanted me to, I could get away with murder. And the least said about step-Arthur, the better.


So instead of preparing to spout my lines like a parrot, I’m shifting from foot to foot with nervous energy as I try to think of the absolute best way to phrase this so that I don’t get shot down straight away.


It’s been hard to try and find a moment to talk to Dad alone. He’s been out and about with Chris, trying to stop him from self-destructing in some way, shape or form. And now he’s off to Global Championship Wrestling, to get in the ring again himself, as well as look after Chris.


He’s going to have a fit about this, I just know it.


“Lurking behind the door ain’t going to do you much good, sweetheart,” and the sound of his voice makes me both try and shift in place, and freeze at the same time, with the net result of me falling shoulder first into the nearest wall.


“Ow.”


I rub my shoulder, feeling the sting of the impact. I’m usually a lot more graceful about things, but with this decision weighing on my mind, I feel like I’m all fingers and thumbs, and with all the grace of a day old foal. But the pain has temporarily shocked the indecision out of my mind, and since he already knows I’m here (how?), I take advantage, open the door and step inside.


Dad is in the middle of packing a suitcase, ready for his hotel stay. Well, I call it a suitcase, it’s closer to a bug-out bag. Thank god he’s driving, because the TSA would have a flaming fit if they x-rayed it. You can take a Marine out of the USMC, but you can’t take the USMC out of the Marine? Something like that.


“You alright?” he asks, looking up from counting the contents of a small box.


“Fine,” I tell him. “Got a moment?”


“As many as you need, sweetheart. What’s on your mind?” and he sets the box down and focuses directly on me with his one eye. The scars around his other are looking better today, less red and swollen. Whatever goop Lindsay cooked up must be working a treat. But focusing on my Dad’s missing eye is just my brain trying to distract me with trivia, so I try to focus.


Only I’ve forgotten the damn speech that I’m supposed to be making.


And for once, Dad doesn’t seem to be able to read my mind and pull it out of me with that disconcerting ease. He simply just watches me, and I still can’t remember the words that I wanted to say. So in the end, I settle for just blurting out the meat of the matter.


“I want to wrestle professionally again.”


You can literally see the moment that my words are processed by his brain. His face closes off, and his eye turns hard. But Dad is never one to speak his immediate mind, and his silence gives me the chance to explain.


“I’m not the naive woman I was when I went to Next Gen,” I tell him. “I watch things, and I learn. I know how...twisted, things can get. And you and Chris made sure to knock the arrogance out of me when I started to believe the hype. I’m not going to forget that in a hurry.”


I won a title when I competed in Next Gen. I thought I was the best thing since sliced bread. Dad and Chris arranged things so I honestly thought that I’d killed Chris, especially when the blood came out of his mouth. Knocked sense into me in a hurry, and I didn’t even care that it was a set up. It was the wake up call I needed, and I surely won’t be getting into that mindset again. And if ever do, I know I have good people looking out for me, ready to punch me in the ego.


“But I want another chance. I want to chance to make my own mark, to bring a little spot of brightness into somewhere. Give people a reason to cheer, a reason to feel good. And I could go to GCW with you and Chris, but I can’t be hanging onto your coattails all the way. Gotta step out of the shadows and prove myself.”


I cut myself off before all my explanations turn into babbling, and wait for his verdict.


I nearly fall over from the shock when the ice cracks, and he smiles at me.  


“Can’t say I’m happy about the thought of you stepping into a nest of vipers, but gotta say, hell of a way to make your pitch,” he sighs. “Never feel like you have to ask permission for something you’ve your heart set on. Iff’n your heart’s in this, then I’ll back you to the hilt. Just be sure that it’s what you want.”


“I’ve been thinking about this for weeks,” I confess to him, sitting on the edge of his bed now that I’m sure that I’m not going to be thrown out. “Hearing that you and Chris have signed up just set a match to the fire.”


“Picked somewhere you want to go?”


“Not yet. I was actually hoping that you and the others would help me out with that. You’re probably better suited to pick out pitfalls and problems than I am.”


He tousles my hair with a gentle hand. “We’ll give it a look,” and his accent slides seamlessly into the broad Texan that he does so well. “Reckon we’ll get you squared away.”


And at that moment, with Dad’s backing, I feel that I can do anything.


“One thing though,” he adds, and I can almost feel my blood chilling in my veins. “You get to tell the rest of the family.”


Oh.


Bugger.




~~~Madison, Connecticut - 31st December 2018~~~~


It’s times like these that I’m so glad that most of the family don’t check their Twitter accounts. I thought I had till the 2nd of January for my big reveal, when the card was released officially when Mr Schmidt took control. Only someone at EMERGE headquarters had other plans, and the cat was out of the bag, so to speak.


I'd spent most of New Years Eve as jumpy as a cat in a rocking chair factory, trying not to wince at every notification. And since it was New Years Eve, there were a lot of notifications to deal with.


On the plus side, it meant that I didn't have the braincells to focus on the fact that this was real, this was happening, and I was having my first match in EMERGE in less than a week. Otherwise I think that I would have spent the day up in the roof, or in the bathroom having a nervous breakdown.


But the Goddess must have been watching out for me, and no-one seemed to have a clue as to what I was plotting. Or at least no one was asking awkward questions. Yet.


It was about quarter to midnight, and the alcohol had been flowing freely. The lights were out,  and only the glow of the Christmas tree lit the room. Lindsay had taken up residence in the love seat next to the tree, and her shadow was lurking behind her. She'd been experimenting with making her own cocktails (which I had sampled one of and then sworn off) and was quite merry. Special occasion, she had whispered as we had passed on a bathroom break.


Dad was in the leather recliner on the other side of the tree, glass of whiskey in his hand, and a empty bottle by his feet. He had unwound enough to take his eye patch off, but had refused to wear the sparkly monstrosity of a sweater that Chris had tried to force on him.


Josh was next to Dad, helping him deplete the whiskey stock in the house. He was wearing the discarded sweater as a hat, and showed no signs of wanting to take it off.  


On Lindsay's other side was Mark, sprawled out full length on a couch, beer bottle in hand, and a bunch of empties surrounding him like a chalk outline. For once he wasn’t scowling, but his language was just as blue as ever.  


Beside Mark was Chris, ensconced flat on his back on a beanbag, with his feet up on the arm of Mark’s couch. I was fairly sure that Chris was far less drunk than he was pretending to be, but I couldn’t figure out why. Drunk or sober, he was the amicable sort.


And then there was me, completing the circle with my bottle of something sweet and pink. Non-alcoholic, and Dad had vowed wrath on anyone who thought that spiking my stash would be a funny idea (he was looking at Mark at the time.) It was nice to have someone swearing wrath on my behalf, but that was what the airhorn in my wardrobe was for.


We’d just finished watching something new, cheesy and cheerful on Netflix, had finished debating the merits of my Dad in a red leather coat instead of his usual black, and conversation had wandered off in other directions. Considering that we’d been talking about red leather, I was quite surprised that it hadn’t taken more of a dirty tone.


I let the conversation wash over me as I finished my bottle and set it down beside my seat. My family. Back when I first met them, I could never have imagined that they’d love me in the way that they did, and that I’d love them too. They’d been nothing but supportive of me as I tried to find my footing in their peculiar world, and put up with my mental earthquakes as I realised that the way that Mom treated me was not the normal. And that while they weren’t normal either, they were a great deal better that Narcissists R’Us and Step-Arthur the Enabler cum flying monkey.


I worried my bottom lip between my teeth, mentally crossing my fingers that this wasn’t going to be the biggest mistake of my life. Getting back into the ring was something that I desperately wanted to do, even if I was nervous about it. Actually getting in the ring and trying to make a career out of it was a dream that I’d not dared to confide to anyone, until now. And even with the support of my Dad, it was still hard to tell my family about my plans.


I didn’t want them to be disappointed in me.


Ten minutes to midnight, and I caught the sideways look that Dad shot at me. He made a subtle motion with his fingers, encouraging me just to come out and say whatever it was I was going to say. Easy for him. But...


I cleared my throat meaningfully, and nearly fell off my chair with nerves as every eye, drunk and sober, turned towards me.


“Before we go into the New Year, I have an announcement to make,” I started. Nice, easy, and probably too formal, but what the hell.


Chris raised his hand as if to ask a question, tilted his head in thought, and then promptly stuck his hand over his mouth.


“No, Chris, I’m not pregnant, running away with the circus, or anything else that you were going to say,” and I couldn’t help but tease him. “But I am...”


I closed my eyes for a second. “Going back into the world of professional wrestling. I’m signed.”


Silence, and I stared at the empty bottles around me, reluctant to look up and see the judgement or condemnation on the faces of my family.


At least, I stared at the bottles for about ten seconds before I was buried in a hug as Josh lurched up off the floor and wrapped his arms around me. While I was being buried in flannel, I felt another pair of arms snaking around my other side, and felt Chris press an affectionate kiss to my hair.


Everything got a little muffled after that, but I heard the tone of Dad drawling something out, and felt the arms loosen so that I could actually hear (and breathe. Flannel is comfortable, but not when it’s marinated in whiskey and sweaty man. But I never turn down hugs.)


I looked up.


Lindsay was smiling at me, her eyes warm with a hint of curiosity. Dad was stoic, but I could see the pride flashing in his grey eyes. Mark was looking curious, and had managed to sit up without dislodging his empties. Josh was still within hugging range, and his fingers were twitching as if they wanted to pull me in again. And all trace of drunkenness had vanished from Chris, and he had a broad grin on his face.


There was not a trace of disappointment to be seen, and that fact hit me in the feelings like an avalanche.


The edges of my eyes started to prickle with the threat of oncoming tears, as my chest tightened, and my heartbeat thundered in my eyes.


“So, what brought this on? Who knew? Where are you going? Who are you signed to? Have you got your first match yet?”


Thank the Goddess for Chris, and his ability to babble on without breathing. He fired off the questions like he was a machine gun, but it gave me the time to push back the tears and breathe, trying to force my brain to accept the fact that I was loved. In between the rapid fire, he winked at me, and I felt my lips curve into an answering, slightly watery, thank you.


“It’s been something that I’ve wanted to do for a while now, and when you and Dad signed to GCW, it lit a fire under me. Dad knew, probably before I even told him. I’m off to Canada, Toronto specifically, I think. And I’ve signed with EMERGE, Supreme Championship Wrestling’s developmental place. And yes. My first match was announced today,” I ticked off all the points on my fingers. “Did I miss anything?”


Lindsay’s fingers were already tapping on her phone. “Battleborn?” she said with amusement, and I felt my cheeks heating up.


“Seemed appropriate,” I told her, and she laughed.


From across the room, Dad raised his glass in a toast to me, just as the clocks started to chime with midnight, alarms on phones started to buzz, and watches began to beep. Chris was still asking questions, Josh had hugged me again, and Mark was loudly talking about how well I would do.


I couldn’t ask for a better start to 2019.

[REC]

Where to start?


I feel like I’m coming into EMERGE as a total newbie. Oh, I’ve wrestled before, in Cartel Next Gen. Admittedly it was only for a month or so, but I was there. I’ve been trained by the various members of my adopted family, and Goddess knows that I’ve watched a hell of a lot of wrestling.


But this is different. This is EMERGE, this is the developmental area of Supreme Championship Wrestling. This is a bigger step than any that I’ve taken before, and when you look at the competition, I might as well be as green as grass for all the difference my experience will make.


And in between bouts of nervousness, I absolutely can’t wait.


At the top, there’s a trophy of some sorts. Then you’ve got eight of us to be whittled down to four, then two, and then one. Looking at it like that, well, it’s enough to give anyone a severe dose of the heebie-jeebies. It’s one heck of a challenge. But instead, let’s break it down.


I have to face off against Maxwell St John.


Go on ahead, find a page that has his stats on it. I’m sure the internet has one out there.


Done that? Right, go and find a page with my stats on it. Pretty sure that one of my uncles has already got a fanpage up, bless his little cotton socks.


Scary stuff, huh?


So let’s break it down even further.


Somewhere out there, there’s a little girl. She has posters on her wall, she’s got a couple of toys that her brother lets her play with. She sees all these wrestlers. They’re smart, they’re gorgeous, they’re talented. Week after week she follows them, and she wants to be them.


But she can’t. She’s got asthma, or she’s got a tricky ankle. She’s got a birthmark on her cheek that gets her mocked. Her mom says that she should be more girly. Her brother makes fun of her. Or her own brain won’t let her believe that she can be better than she is.


And then you have me. I’m not a model. I’m not gracing covers of magazines, plastered on billboards up and down the country. I don’t have my own show, play my own music, or have books out.


My parents are divorced. My mother is a narcissist. I have health issues. I have mental health issues. My current family is about as far from normal as you can get.


I’m no one special.


And I’m not going to say that I’m going to be an inspiration to anyone. I’m not going to be the one that shows that little girl the light.  I’m not going to proclaim myself a savior, an icon, or a goddess. I’m not going to say that I’m going to be the great hope for anyone. I know that I can’t be that.


What I am going to be is a candle. A tiny little light, glowing in the darkness. A spark. A small little ray of hope. Someone that the little girl, or anyone can watch, and for an hour of their life, they can feel a little happier about things. They can get lost in our worlds.


If I lose against Maxwell St John, then I’ll still glow. I still love what I’m doing. I still want to bring that bright spark into people’s lives.


If I win against St John, then I’ll still glow. I’ll keep glowing even as I move on to face whoever the tournament throws against me.


If I lose there, I’ll glow.


If I win there, I’ll glow.


I will always be that candle in the darkness, no matter what EMERGE holds for me. A little ray of hope for people to believe in. A little spark.


I’ll be bright, I’ll be happy, and I’ll do what’s right for me. In the end, I can’t do any more.

[James Evans]

OOC: This is some of the dumbest stuff I've ever written but it cracked me up. I apologize in advance for anyone who hates this due to the nature of what is said. I went with this idea that Mitch believes all wrestling is scripted and this is what came about.

The Return of the Mitch 001

[Corner G]

For my whole life, I had been searching for something. Something fulfilling. Something gratifying. Something to fill the empty void inside my soul. I had been looking for a purpose as I pass through this world, watching those around me – those closest to me – living their wildest dreams.
 
My dear sister became an international celebrity, being celebrated for her beauty, her prowess inside of a wrestling ring, and finally her affinity for success on the silver screen. I am told the Academy Award is the biggest deal for an actress, and have no cause to doubt what I had been told. My sister had legitimately conquered her world.
 
When I sat and pondered out my own future at the behest of my family, I came to the realization that I would not be following my sister’s road in life. It had worked for her because she was truly special. She was always willing to put herself out there, to be more than she was told she could be. I knew that my path in this world would diverge from her’s. I knew that I was not going to seek greatness for myself. I would do something different. Something some would argue is greater, although that would depend on your interpretation. I decided to dedicate my life to service.
 
And in service, I sought out a Hero.
 
The term “Muse” had been used to describe me. As the sirens of old tales from Grandmother, I discovered at a young age that it takes a pretty face to snap her fingers and secure the bidding of any poor fool. It was intriguing, but would have been irresponsible to use carelessly. The best use of this particular proclivity would be sparingly, and with one who is worthy. Little did I understand at the time that I would be one being sought out to be worthy. For the man I found… the Hero that had been promised to me, was God.
 
It was through service to Him that I found purpose, and what a glorious purpose it was indeed. I had never known that such fulfillment was possible, but He has shown me the way, the truth and the light. This tale is not mine… it is His…
 
Voice: “And you are a professional wrestler?”
 
The scene opens up inside of a meeting room, where the image of the gorgeous Calliope Christos can be seen sitting across from someone negotiating deals for EMERGE. Beside her is the hulking menacing presence of Goddrick Grimm. His hair is tied back, not a single strand out of place, but it is his eyes that brought the most attention. It is impossible for the negotiator to remove his from the gaze of the man referred to as…
 
Calliope: “He is the Almighty.”
 
Man: “Uhhh… right. Well, I believe he has the tools needed to at least give him a shot inside of an EMERGE ring.”
 
Calliope smiles, looking to her charge with elation in her eyes, placing a hand onto his arm.
 
Calliope: “Did you hear that, My Lord? Soon these people… your creation… will see you for what you all, and then you can begin to cleanse them of their sin, cleanse them of the rot that jeopardizes their soul.”
 
Man: “Yeah… that. Just sign here…”
 
He slides a contract across to Goddrick, who again doesn’t shift his gaze. Calliope reviews the contract details, smiling as she does.
 
Man: “Man, she’s so devoted to you. She’s probably a dynamo in the sack.”
 
The negotiator makes a crucial mistake, first questioning the virtue of His Emissary, then by reaching out to bump fists with a man clearly uninterested. It is the expression on Calliope’s face that comes to worry him.
 
Calliope: “What are you implying?”
 
Man: “Nothing. Its just… well we’ve already got “purity” here. There’s no way you’re not putting out with how highly you…”
 
Calliope: “SILENCE!”
 
The negotiator wisely shuts up.
 
Calliope: “You would DARE question my virtue or my devotion to the Almighty?”
 
Man: “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean anything by it.”
 
Calliope: “You do not understand the journey I had been on to find The Lord. I had searched for YEARS to find Him. I took up a vow of chastity solely so I could come close to being seen as WORTHY to serve at His right hand! You denigrate me as though I were a piece of meat, passed around to feed the hungry. I am His Emissary… His voice. You do NOT disrespect me!”
 
Goddrick rises from his seat, without having signed the deal.
 
Man: “Please don’t go! I’ll do anything! Anything! I can’t blow this! Please!”
 
Goddrick stocks, looking to Calliope, who grins.
 
Calliope: “Anything, you say?”
 
Man: “Please, just sign the deal.”
 
Calliope: “Fine. We shall sign, but not because The Lord answers to you. No, I want to make perfectly clear that He does not answer to ANYBODY… not you, not the General Manager. Nobody. But you can answer to Him. You can do His bidding.”
 
Man: “Oh… okay?”
 
Calliope: “Spread the message around, from the lowest valley to the highest mountain. Tell them that you looked into the eyes of GOD and in his infinite wisdom and benevolence, He showed you mercy. Because the next time you choose to disrespect His Voice, mercy will be the LAST thing you are afforded. Do we have an understanding?”
 
Frantically, the negotiator nods his head. Calliope nods her head along, looking to Goddrick, who scrawls some undecipherable characters onto the contract: YHWH.
 
Calliope: “Very good… rejoice and be glad.”
 
The negotiator nervously laughs, attempting to show that he is rejoicing as Calliope leads Goddrick out of the office. Once the door is closed, he collapses back in his seat, exasperated, but thankful that the massive man didn’t hurt him…
 
And so, God has brought me to Emerge to spread His message. And though you feel as though this is the work of man, understand that wins and losses are so… shallow. Hollow. Empty. Only through His righteous service will you find what you are searching for. No trinkets shall ease your soul. If you rely on the trappings of personal success and glory, how can you find true fulfillment.
 
My message pertains to those who will come face to face with the Almighty through this little “Inaugural Impact” tournament. The Lord forgives your transgressions. He will forgive your aggressions against him, for your minds are too small and feeble to understand what you are facing. What Kelcai Adamson-Mason will discover first, followed by others, is that while the Lord is forgiving, he also is open to delivering penance personally. You should celebrate this and be glad, for it is through this that your soul can be cleansed and properly placed in His will.
 
You must be aware that you are not dealing with just any man. This is the living embodiment of the Almighty. The Lord, your God, is benevolent. He is wisdom.  He is love. But He will not hesitate to enact His will upon any who choose to disrespect Him. That is what you are afforded. Since He cast Adam… the ancestor of Mrs. Mason… and Eve from Paradise, He gave you free will. I implore you to use that freedom wisely, for finding yourself on the Lord’s bad side – and there is, in fact, a bad side to be found upon – will be unfortunate for you. This is your opportunity as much as it is anybody else’s, to repent, to find purpose as I found purpose, and to bask in His eternal light and glory!
 
Halleluiah! He is come!

[AliceRedding]

Origins Of a Spitfire

[Sundown]

Anything with the “REC” on it is Viewable to the Public.

The Views Expressed By Sundown & Tombstone Do Not Reflect Those of the Publisher. VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

HE WHO IS WITHOUT SIN

(Click Title)

[Simple77]

Here goes nothing, best of luck!

https://wordpress.com/post/someoneelsesd...ess.com/25

[Spencer Pryce]

Starting Over

Reed's Gym
Atlantic City, NJ
February 2018

Weights clang against the floor, even through the mat as Carson Caine releases the bar – 350 pounds hitting the ground from roughly three feet up isn't quiet. He's just finished his set for the day, and steps over the bar, grabs a towel from the bench, and wipes his shaved head free of sweat. Shirtless and in fighter-style shorts, Carson then sits and grabs a water bottle from under the bench. Downing half of it, he hears a familiar voice from behind.

“Hey man, you done?”

Carson turns and sees his trainer Glen Brown approaching from the door. He nods and twists the cap back on the water bottle. “Yeah, just finished. Didn't know you were coming here tonight, what's up?”

Glen walks past Carson and pulls over a folding chair to sit across from him, spinning it around backwards to straddle it. “I wasn't planning on it. But I just got an interesting phone call from out west. I figured it was best if I came down here to talk to you about it face to face. CJ here?”

Carson shakes his head. “Nah man, he's out with some friends cruising the mall. You know teenagers.”

Glen laughs. “Yeah yeah.... I remember all to well being fourteen. More likely cruising for chicks.”

“Probably more accurate. Like father, like son, right?” Carson grins, and Glen shakes his head at the joke. Carson Caine is many things, but a skirt chaser is not one of them.

“Yeah, right. You at fourteen I'm sure was nothing like now.”

“Don't come at me with that logic, man.” Both men laugh. Carson shakes his head and moves his hand in a 'hurry up' motion. “Ok so what about this phone call?”

“Yeah, that. Listen.... I know its been a while since your last fight.”

“I'd say six months is a while.”

“Exactly. So I put some feelers out, outside of the area. Since, well... you've kinda dried this one out.”

Carson scoffs. “You mean kicked everyone's ass.”

“That too. So, okay. I thought maybe we'd expand your horizons, so to speak. I didn't think my feelers woulda stretched the way to Vegas, but here we are.”

“Vegas?” Carson tilts his head with a brow peaked.

“Yeah. Vegas. Some grunt from UFC. Well, not really a grunt. A bit higher up. With authority to toss around contract offers.”

“You shitting me, man? Fucking UFC did not call you to offer me a contract. I'm too old to get started with those boys man. Stop playing.”

“Dead serious bro. Look.” Glen pulls out his phone and taps the screen a few times, then hands it over. Carson looks, and it's an email app. Glen points at the screen, prompting him to read. Carson looks back down and does. It's headed with the UFC logo, and addressed to them both. Still not really believing it, he just skims the words until his eyes find numbers. At that point he busts out laughing and tosses the phone back at Glen.

“Get outta here man, you recording this? You know better than to try to prank me.”

“I told you man, dead serious. I talked to the guy while reading this. According to this guy, Mark something, they've been aware of you for a while, but since you never left the northeast to fight they didn't think you'd be interested. They got word I was looking for something a little farther out for you and bam! Phone call and that email.”

Carson rubs one hand over the top of his shaved head with a heavy breath. “I'll be damned. You're not making shit up. You know I can tell.” Glen just nods. The two friends had a habit of trying to 'get' each other with jokes and pranks, and Glen was pretty bad at it, because he had no poker face to speak of. “So that number there is real? For how long?”

“Their contracts work different, it's not time, its a number of fights. This one is six. You see their scheduling man, that could be four, five, six years. Oh and that number? Per fight guarantee. That's not counting bonuses.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

“That's why they're the big boys. All you gotta do is agree to a few minor terms and scribble your name.”

“Minor terms?” That sounded sketchy to Carson, and the way Glen's demeanor changed at the question told him he probably wasn't off base.

“Well, obviously since you've been on their radar, they know all about your record. It's not often a fighter comes around that's got an almost spotless record over nineteen fights and they haven't promoted him yet. So, they'd basically treat you like the second coming of GSP or some shit.”

Carson scoffs. “Yeah, except I ain't no damn welterweight.”

Glen waves his hand. “Shuddup, you know what I mean. Anyway. So they'd make you a big deal, right? Promote the fuck out of you versus... I don't know, they didn't say yet. Get the whole country questioning where you been hiding all this time, and can their guy beat this nearly undefeated newbie. And then... well, uh... they want, um...”

“Spit it the fuck out man!” Carson hated when Glen stammered like that. One, it was annoying. And two? It usually  meant whatever he was about to say was something Carson wouldn't like.

“Okay, well... I'm about to confirm some pretty rampant rumors for you, so you can't say nothing. But they, well... want you to take the dive in the first fight. You'd get this under-the-table bonus and-”

Carson stands up and glares, his hand in the air ready to throw a backhand. “Get the fuck out of here with that shit!” He'd never actually hit Glen when they weren't sparring for training, but sometimes his temper gets the better of him and he comes close. Glen backs away in the chair, flinching. Damn, Carson thinks, he must have come closer to throwing that swing than he thought.

“Hear me out bro, this is a whole fuckton of money! You and CJ would be set for life! For what? Six fights and one fixed loss? What's one L when-”

“What's one L? Are you fuckin' kidding me? They don't want to make some kind of star outta me man! Get the dollar signs out of your eyes and look at this. You said I been on their radar, right?” Glen nods. “Then they know damn good and well why you're looking out of the northeast for fights, cause no one around here wants to step in the cage with me anymore. No one wants to book a sure loss. Yeah, they'll promote the fuck outta me, find footage of my past fights, build up this huge main event and for what? So their hand-picked guy, the person they really want to make into their star, can get the drop on me, make me look like a damn fool, and their guy can say they beat a man who ain't lost in ten years! Not no, Glen... but Fuck. No. I ain't signing nothing to be anyone's pawn.”

Glen looks up at Carson while he ranted, and when he's done,Glen takes a deep breath, running his fingers through his shaggy blonde hair. “Damn man. You think so? I never thought of it like that.”

Carson sits back down and leans forward, his anger gone as suddenly as it appeared. “Glen... you and me been doing this for, what... ten, eleven years now? You know I'm thankful every day that you pulled me out of those petty street fights and trained me for real. When it comes to that cage and what people can do inside of it, you're probably the smartest motherfucker I know. But business? People's motivations for money? Willingness to fuck anyone over for an extra dollar? Man, you couldn't see through clean glass. It's fucking obvious man! They think we're reaching out cause we're desperate. That I'm desperate. If they really wanted to do something with me, they would have called before now, since they've been paying all this attention. Nah man, they're only throwing bait now cause they see an opportunity and they think I'm either desperate or stupid enough to bite. I'm neither one.”

Glen looks down at the floor a bit, taking everything in. He looks at  the email on his phone again, reading. Carson can see the comprehension fall over his face just before he nods and locks the phone screen. Looking up, Glen sighs roughly. “So that's a hard no, then?”

“You fucking heard me. Don't ask me again.”

“Alright. I'll call the guy back in the morning.”

“Damn right you will. I don't give a shit that they're fixing fights here and there, but fuck if I'm gonna be a part of it. Did you really think I was gonna go for that shit?”

Glen grins a bit, shaking his head. “Honestly, not really. But I had to throw it at you. It's too much money to not talk about.”

“No amount of money is worth my honor. If I wanted to get into that fixed fight bullshit just for money, I'd have jumped to boxing years ago.”

Glen laughs at that, and Carson shakes his head. He'd always suspected that the larger MMA companies did similar things, fixed certain fights, created “stories” for the media to get more attention on certain fights which in turn drew more PPV buys. He thought all of that was just bullshit and an insult to the sport that dug him out of a pretty deep hole as a teenager and young man. He was a hardass and take-no-shit kinda guy, but he also had a code. No fucking around, straight talker, straight fighter. Games were for boys.

====================

Home
Atlantic City, NJ
April 2018

“Hey Dad, come see this!”

Carson was in the kitchen finishing up dinner, while his son CJ (Carson, Jr) was in the living room watching TV. Carson could hear the TV from in the kitchen, mostly crowd noise, but he couldn't tell what the teen was watching. He dries his hands on a towel and walks out into the living room of their two bedroom apartment.

“What am I looking at?”

“This guy on this wrestling show. He's effin huge and this chick just kicked his ass.”

Carson looks at the screen and sees a woman walking around a wrestling ring, as a man much bigger than her lays prone on the mat. “The hell did she do to him?” Carson was obviously aware wrestling existed, it's a combat sport just like what he does, but it never really held too much of his interest.

“Like... some kind of crazy heel kick or something. Right in the temple and he went down like a sack of bricks. If she can do  that to that guy, what you think you'd do to him?”

“In a wrestling ring? Come on man, you know wrestling was never my strong game.”

“Yeah I know Dad, but it could be. Look, none of the fighters around here wanna take you on anymore. I'm fifteen but I ain't dumb. The purse from your last fight isn't gonna last us forever. Do you really want to go back to that shitty construction job you had when I was a kid?”

“That shit sucked and you know it.” There was no accounting for language in the Caine household, clearly. Carson allowed his son to speak mostly freely at home, as long as he knew to keep it clean everywhere else.

“Exactly. I've been watching this stuff a few months now, you can totally do this shit.”

“You think so? And what happens the first time someone who actually went to wrestling school gets me tied up in something I don't know how to evade and beats me?”

“What happens? You get up and fight them again a month later. Losses aren't make or break for these guys. Haven't you ever even thought about it?”

“Not really. Glen kept trying to get me better at some of the technical stuff, but you've seen me. Ground and pound, I ain't a grappler.”

CJ smirks up at his dad. “You're not to ignorant to learn, are you?”

“Did.... did you just quote Coal Miner's Daughter at me?”

“Maybe.”

“That's almost disgusting.” Carson is fighting a smirk though.

“You didn't answer me.”

Carson shrugs. “Never too ignorant or old to learn, I guess. Maybe I just never wanted to before. Got nothing else going for me, right?”

“Exactly! Come watch the rest of this show with me, you'll see. You can totally do this and beat all these bitches asses.”

Carson looks at the TV again, and the show cuts to a commercial as the woman in the ring is having her hand raised in victory. “Alright. Go get your food before it comes back on.”

CJ smiles and jumps up to get dinner. Carson leans his hands on the back of the couch. Sometimes the best ideas come from kids. Maybe it wasn't all that crazy, and he wouldn't have to sell out, agree to a fixed loss, just to make money.