NO, I RAN OUT OF TIME!!!

I can barely feel my legs beneath me…they're shaking, but not from the nerves. Not anymore, at least. Every step I take up the ramp feels like it belongs to someone else, because there's no way I should be able to do this on my own.

Not after what I just went through.

Still, I dance around a bit.

Put on a little show for these pissants cheering.

It may seem like it, but this praise isn't for me.

The only reason they're cheering is because Cancer Jiles lost.

I just happened to be the one to put him down.

I wish I could have seen his face when it happened.

The moment he realized he lost.

The grin on my face widens from the thought alone.

Losing to Farthington, Tsonda, or Youngblood hurts.

But I'm not on that level.

Not even close.

No, this loss stings on a much different level.

Like losing to Hayes Hanlon or Steve Harrison levels of disgust.

Ha.

After the cake walk he's taken leading up to Ultraviolence, this should have just been the icing left behind on the pan.

But I doubt he's angry.

He's too COOL for that.

What Cancer is, is annoyed.

There's a good chance he's irritated.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

I wasn't supposed to win.

Not with Crumblood around the corner.

The crowd is still cheering.

They're louder now.

Funny how that works.

For years I've been the one they hated.

The one they booed.

The one they loved to watch lose.

But against the right opponent.

Coming back from multiple Terminal Cancer's.

Beating Jiles at his own game.

Not by being a Bandit, but by simply being me.

It was the same thing when I beat Paxton Ray.

As bad as I am, there's always someone worse.

Tonight, that's Cancer.

I stop at the top of the ramp.

My ribs ache.

My jaw sore.

I hurt in places I don't even remember getting hit.

My first time in the ring against Jiles, and I have to say he his harder than I expected.

That's saying something, cause I expected a lot.

It's Jiles after all.

Mr Night Two.

One half of the night two main event at UltraViolence.

Former Universal champion.

Has challenged Cecilworth twice now for that same title.

And I just beat him.

I look back finally, not entirely sure what to expect.

He's just standing there in the center of the ring, hands on hips.

He's just staring at me.

Good.

Maybe, now, he really sees me.

Not just as Tiny Tony Two Books.

Not just as the butt of the joke.

Not just as a lackey.

Not just the Oompa Loompa to Hessian's Willy Wonka.

Once again an actual threat.

Even if just for a night.

Even if we're the only ones that think so.

I wonder what is going through his mind.

If he still thinks I'll always be half the man Hessian is.

That's what he whispered to me at the end.

Hand on my jaw.

Fingers digging into my skin.

At that moment, I knew what he was thinking.

He was sure he had me.

Already pictured the ending.

Already planning his celebration.

Already picturing the bottom of his boot connecting with my jaw.

For one second.

Maybe slightly more than a second.

I was sure he was right.

He had me.

My body was shutting down.

The lights were too bright.

The stage was too big.

I was no longer fighting.

I was barely surviving.

Thing is, you don't survive Cancer.

It's Terminal.

He shoved me away.

Pucker.

Kiss.

Goodnight.

At least, that's what should have happened.

Instead, everything slowed down.

That inner voice walked me through the next series of events.

That inner voice that usually finds a way to get me into trouble.

The one that convinces me it's okay to post the stupid shit I do on Jabber.

The one that has no problem writing checks I have insufficient funds for.

The adrenaline kicked in the moment I felt the Enziguri connect.

I wasted no time, charging forward almost immediately.

The kick came, and I rolled underneath.

Rolled him up.

One.

Two.

Three.

It felt good.

It feels good.

I'm about to turn and make my way to the back when I see it.

It's slight, but it's there.

A nod.

An acknowledgement.

No one else noticed it.

It wasn't meant for anyone else.

Welcome back.

Welcome home.

That's what he said after Squad Goals.

That's what he said when we beat Youngblood.

That's what he said right now, with a nod.

It's all he's talked about since he came back to PRIME.

You belong in the Carton.

Tony Gamble is an eGG Bandit.

I've been fighting it.

The ever faithful soldier.

Flying the Red Army flag even now.

But my name may as well be Nikita.

Because the only person Ivan has time for lately is Dawkins.

I turn around and head to the back.

Slower now.

The adrenaline is fading.

But my grin never will.

=-=-=-=-=

Olivia Henderson sat by the window of La Vida Coffee in downtown San Antonio, watching people walk past the coffee shop on their way to who knows where. The bell above the door jingled to life as another customer walked in, the hustle and bustle of the outside traffic rushing in before being muted as the door shut softly. Not that it was any quieter inside with the place in constant motion, dozens of sounds woven together to create something soothing and familiar.

The espresso machine hissed softly, as a low growl became a sharp whistle from the milk being steamed. Filters clicked into place and ice rattled into metal tumblers. Each sound rose and fell, a steady rhythm bringing the cafe to life.

“Did I lose you again,” a familiar voice pulled her attention back from her thoughts. It was the voice of her boyfriend, Travis Greipe, who just happened to be seated across from her with a cup of white chocolate mocha in his hand.

“No,” she replied with a slight shake of her head, before she turned to face him. “I just don't know how to answer you.”

“So you're thinking about it,” he asked.

“Not at all, the answer is definitely going to be no,” she responded matter of factly, a sheepish grin hidden behind pursed lips. “I just figured it would be best to find a way to break it to you gently. You being so sensitive and all.”

“You're one to talk.”

“I talk all the time,” she nodded confidently. “I am my father's daughter after all.”

“You're not that bad.”

“Hey,” she tossed a packet of sweet n low in his direction playfully.

“I'm just saying,” he grabbed the packet, which had fallen on his lap, and placed it in front of him on the table. “I hear he has a bit of a history.”

“I'm pretty sure it's all true, too.”

“That doesn't bother you?”

“He's my dad.”

“Is that really an answer though,” he tried to read her expression, but it's hard to read something that doesn't change.

“What would you do if you found out your dad was saying inappropriate things to his secretary?”

“Susan is fifty seven years old.”

“Is that really an answer though,” Olivia fired back, as she reached for another sugar packet.

“Your question is hypothetical, mine is not.”

“I didn't even know him back then,” she fidgeted with the packet.

“So it does bother you.”

“Can we talk about something else?”

“Sure,” he grabbed her hand. “let's talk about why you won't go to church with me and my family.”

=-=-=-=-=

Tony Gamble sat at the edge of the apron, elbows resting on his knees as he started across the gym. Sunlight peaked through the windows of the Minor Details Wrestling Academy, highlighting the worn canvas in the ring. The smell of sweat, blood, and years of hard work filled the room.

The last time he was here, he was preparing for his match with Cancer.

A match he won.

Before that, he was here with Big Ian Salt, teaching the kid how to stop being a giant freaking teddy bear since they had a match together against the Pop Culture Phenoms.

A match they won.

Now he was preparing for a match against The Anglo Luchador at UltraViolence, against what may be his longest actual rival in the ReVival era.

A match he wants to win.

He heard the door to the office open, hinges thirsting to be oiled screaming out over the hum of the huge industrial fan stationed in the corner.

Miguel Minorez approached him, arms folded across his chest. Fans of the National Wrestling Council may remember him as one half of the NWC Pacific tag team, Minor Details, which is where the gym got its name.

Scars were a roadmap across the exposed forearms of the man formerly addressed as Mike Minor, dark brown hair now peppered with streaks of gray. He wasn't a large man, the smaller between him and his brother Benito, but he had a way of carrying himself that made people stand a little straighter when they were in his presence.

Miguel didn't say anything at first, merely watched as Tony sat there.

“What,” Tony broke the silence.

“Are you done,” Miguel asked, though he looked like he already knew the answer before he asked the question.

“With,” Tony answered with a question of his own.

“Always have to be a smart ass, don't you.”

Tony smirked on the opposite side of his scar.

“No wonder TAL wants to beat your ass.”

His natural grin widened.

Miguel sighed.

“I genuinely don't know why he's upset,” The Grin shrugged his shoulders slightly.

“Bullshit,” Minorez replied. “You've been poking that hornet's nest for the last three months.”

“Maybe I like hornets.”

“No,” Miguel shook his head. “You like attention.”

“Well, yeah,” Gamble laughed. “Of course I do.”

“He's not the type of guy you can play around with, you're not going to trick him into making mistakes.”

“I know that.”

“Are you sure?”

If Tony's grin could fade, it would.

“From where I'm standing,” Minorez poked a finger at Tony's chest. “All you've done is make him angry.”

“That was kind of the point.” Gamble looked down at Miguel's finger.

“Well that's not always a good thing.”

Miguel stepped away from The Grin, his head tilted toward the floor. The hum from the fan is the only noise for a moment.

Tony hopped off the apron and sighed, because he knew Miguel was right. He and The Anglo Luchador had done this dance before, many a time.

The thing is, neither of them could ever be rid of the other, not completely. Like two weeds growing through the same crack in the sidewalk, one of them would need to be pulled out.

“You know what my problem with him is,” Tony asked.

“There's only one,” Miguel raised an eyebrow.

“Not really, but the main reason,” Tony looked down at his feet. “People think he's better than me.”

Miguel laughed. “Are you serious?”

“You know what I mean,” Tony's eyes rolled as he lifted his head and looked over at Miguel. “He walks around like he's a damn hero.”

“He sort of is.”

“To who?”

“No one in particular,” Miguel answered. “Which is why the people love him…”

“Yeah, well, people are idiots.”

Miguel chuckled slightly, “He represents something to them.”

“Yeah,” Gamble scoffed. “A headache.”

“No,” Miguel's tone changed, became more serious. “He represents perseverance.”

Tony shook his head as Miguel pointed at him.

“All you represent is temptation.”

“What the hell does that mean,” Tony looked confused by the comment.

“Every shortcut, cheap shot, or dirty trick that you take,” Minorez smiled. “You're always looking for the easy way out, but when the people look at him they see that hard work pays off.”

Tony must stand there quietly.

“You make them believe that it doesn't, and that scares them."

His words hung in the air for a moment.

“That doesn't make him a hero,” Tony scoffed.

“Doesn't it?”

“I need to win this match,” Tony's jaw tightened. “One of us needs to go.”