“Sebastian! Sebastian! Can you hear me, Boss? Come on. You gotta' wake up, man!” The words float through my head dimly as I begin to slowly come around. I think it was more the tone in it than the voice itself. The deep foreboding and raw concern. The agony that she felt. It tore at my heart.

 

Some shuffling noises can be heard faintly over the woman yelling loudly in my head.

 

“Give me that glass of water, Owen!” she frantically shouts again, the sound pounding in my head like jackhammers in midday traffic in Times Square.

I know what's coming next, but my brain is disconnected. It's not in control of my body.

I'M not in control of my body.

I feel like a solid block of concrete was dropped on me from besides the throne of God himself, hurtling through the heavens and crushing my mortal frame from way up on high. I couldn't make my arms move. I couldn't force my legs to lift me up. I wished that I could halt the spinning behind my closed eye lids, but nothing was working right. The nausea was swirling up from the core of my innards, and I was struggling to keep it together.

 

SPLASH.

 

“HOLY SHIT!” I scream, my body convulsing in shock and pain, twisted up, the surge of nausea rising deep inside of me.

The ice cold chill of the glass of water from a nearby table changes my whole perspective as the freezing liquid runs down my face and onto my flawlessly chiseled chest, instantly pulling goosebumps to the surface of my perfect skin as I lay on the cold floor. My eyes fly open as best as they can in my state, the bright lights blinding me as my vision spins inside of my head, and it sends sharp stabbing pains deep into my brain. I regret immediately not being dead already.

I try to jump up from the floor as my body loses control of itself and I hurl everywhere. My insides turn right side out, and chunks of yesterdays meals fly across the thin carpet with a sickening 'splosh' as my insides reject the punishment that my stubborn arrogance landed me and dishes out some of their own home style pain wrought all onto myself.

“Boss. You don't look so good, man. You need to go see a doctor. Those bastards messed you up pretty good in there.” I can hear Owen's voice, every word dripping with concern.

I must look pretty bad. Owen and I have been in some pretty hairy messes, and the last time he sounded like that when I woke up, I had almost died. I kinda hope this time is the same. Man, that nurse in the Infir...

Oh yeah... splitting headache, spinning insides, bleeding face.

“So. How many stitches you guys think I need?” I ask comically, trying to ease their fears as they stare at me bleeding all over the floor. I try to hold my eyes open, but one of them is swollen shut, and the other is barely open at all. My insides twist again, and I choke down another bout of last nights chicken dinner instant replay as Owen and Darina look on, worry etched into their faces as I lay on the floor of my dressing room wondering if anyone got the number of that truck that hit me.

Just then, the door flies open and Charles rushes in pulling a medic behind him.

“There he is. He needs medical attention. We are going to need to get a stretcher in here and get him transported. He is going to need som....” Charlie starts to ramble on nearly panicking.

“Charlie! None of that is helping Sebastian, OK? Just calm down and let the man work?” Darina shouts at him, trying to get him under control before he loses it, but really just struggling not to lose herself in the moment too. “Sebastian isn't going to die or anything. Just... you know what? Come with me.” Darina gets up from the oddly pleasant chill of the concrete floor nearby, and walks Charlie out into the hall protesting the whole way.

“He never had a chance.” I joke with Owen after they leave the room, and immediately hate myself for laughing the slight chuckle that wracks me with unbridled pain.

“Sir, these cuts on your head are pretty bad, and they are going to need some stitches. You have a few major contusions, and some pretty bad abrasions, and a couple of fractured ribs, but all in all, after what just happened out there, you are lucky not to have suffered some more severe injuries.” the medic chimes in like he is helping my situation with his upbeat attitude.

'That is great news. And here, I thought I might actually DIE.” I quip at him sarcastically.

“Boss. It isn't his fault. You shouldn't take that out on him He is just here to help.” Owen drops his two cents on me.

 

I grumble a bit, but I keep my comments to myself as he goes to work. A couple other medics come in with some supplies, and help him get me all patched together again as the camera switches to the hallways outside of my locker room. Darina and Charlie are talking as they pace up and down the halls, concern plain on their faces.

 

“I don't understand this profession at all. Men throw themselves at each other in insanely violent fashions, risking their very livelihoods, and for what? A paycheck? A shot at some gold belt that doesn't really mean a damned thing? At least out there, in the streets, Sebastian is doing something worthwhile. The money isn't as good, but he is really making a difference. Here... he's just getting his ass kicked on a regular. I doesn't make any sense.” Charlie moans mostly to himself.

“Look. Sebastian has been through a lot worse than what he got tonight. I know that, and I know that you know that. You are right though. He does good work out there, and in here, he does seem to just take a beating. He won't quit though. You know that, right?” She asks him trying to reassure herself as well as Charles.

“I know, Rina.” he sighs. “I just wish I knew why?” he wonders out loud.

“It's a pride thing, Charlie. Maybe even a vanity thing for him. I mean, you know how he is? He can't just take a beating laying down. He won't just sit there and take it.” She starts to explain before Charlie starts in again with his questions, trying hard to ease his confusion.

 

“Some men and women are born to fight. There is something different about them, son, something in their hard wiring. They feel the pain, but it isn't the same as it is for men like you and me Charlie. It is almost a lust thing for them, and it is those men who are teetering on the brink of destruction every waking moment they breath. They thrive on it, and they need it, much like you and I need air, water, and food. Ms. Weimer knows the allure of it all, deep inside her bones, she feels the tug too. Those individuals are warriors of the first order, Charlie, and wars are fought and won on the shoulders of men and women just like them every day.” comes a voice from not far away down the deserted hallway.

 

Darina and Charlie look up simultaneously, and see a chubby, older, blonde man in a horribly ugly Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts making his way towards them slowly.

“How is he? Some bruises, and a couple of nasty cuts? A little bit of stitches and he should be fine?” the man asks as he makes his way ever closer.

“Yeah, pretty much. Who are you again?” Darina asks of the man skeptically.

“It is good to know that there are those loyal to him. You can tell a lot about a man by the men he leads in battle, and how he leads them there. He is always in the front, and always trying to protect you three from the worst of it, isn't he? It shows in how you treat him. You respect him, and not just some, but profoundly. Whatever it is that has drawn each of you to him, you feel like you owe him for everything. It is rare to see...” He begins to ramble on as Darina quickly gets to her feet and grabs the man by the neck, shoving him hard into the wall behind him, and Charlie scrambles into the dressing room to get Owen.

“I don't know who you are mister, but I swear to you, if you start looking at me like some squint, picking at my brain to find out what kind of nightmares are hiding in there, you will hate what happens to you next, you got it?” She seethes as spit rushes out between her clenched teeth.

The intensity of the woman before him, and the state of rage elicited by his prior line of questioning astounds him, and caught quite by surprise, he stammers as the dressing room door flies open and Owen charges at the pair, grabbing the man roughly by the shirt as he drags him down the hall.

“

He looks up from the hard floor, and blinks twice, before exasperation gets the better of him. “Well? Are you just going to stand there staring at me, or are you going to help me up?” He grumbles as the three of them help him to his feet.

He brushes himself off hastily, and forgets that they are there for a moment, it seems, as he keeps mumbling under his breath to himself. He parts the three of them with his hands, and makes his way back down the hall towards the dressing room where Sebastian St. Paul sits on his cold concrete floor under the supervision of the medical team nearly done now with his treatments.

 

“So. Are you ready to win yet, Mr. St. Paul?” he asks calmly as he enters the room followed by the only people left in the world that I give a damned about.. The three of them look at me on the floor as I smile to myself. The medic is cleaning up his equipment, his job done now, as Owen helps me to my feet.

“Well to be honest Mr. Bradshaw, I am not entirely sure how it is that I can help you, or, for that matter, how you can help me. What is it exactly that you need us to do to elicit this help you say you can promise?” I ask cautiously.

Victor looks at me for a moment and then at each of my crew in turn before turning his wizened gaze back to me, and looking me hard in the eyes.

“There is within you the soul of a fighter Mr. St. Paul, and while these men you fight week in and week out manage to beat you, it is not because they are better than you. It is because you have never been taught how to play the same game they do. You are not facing off against hardened criminals in that ring Mr. St. Paul. You are pitting yourself against athletes who have everything to lose and nothing to gain from this profession, very much like you.”

 

He pauses to take a deep breathe before he continues, the four of us staring at him with questions spilling into our brains by the moment.

“You find yourself in a new battle ground Sebastian, and until you decide you are going to settle for nothing less than victory, you will only taste the bitter sting of defeat. My client can help you find that fierce need to win inside of you, and he can show you how to play this game better than anyone else. He merely requires your team's particular skill sets be used towards fulfilling his agenda. It is nothing more than that, and in your position, it would seem that you have need of an employer, am I right?”

I look at him intently, boring holes into his soul as he stands before me waiting for my answer. I think about his offer, and the benefits of taking on a new private contract.

I have looked over all of the paperwork, and even had Charles go over the papers Victor's team of lawyers had sent over. His other client, the man with the master plan and more money than brains, was involved in a massive legal dispute over a company that used to be his, and he needed someone who could find things out, and ferret out the truth of a matter at the heart of the situation. I wasn't sure if we were the right crew for the job, but I was sure that after I quit FOX and left our warehouse, we needed the job. They all looked to me for direction, and it was up to me to keep them safe. I really was backed against the wall here, and Bradshaw knew it. It made me hate him in a way, but honestly, he had all the right motivators to make me take him up on the offer. Steady work, the chance to get a leash on my career here in the WGWF, and money. Boatloads of it. Up front. I really couldn't turn him down. They needed me, and I needed them.

“Alright. We're in.”

It was simple as that. Those three words would set the next stage of my life in motion. Nothing was going to be the same from this point on. I just hope that it was all worth it. I would hate to end up dong worshiping Satan for eternity. He might let Peter G touch me.

 

Why did I have to have THAT thought before the scene fades to black?

The scene fades in to a small hotel room. The lights are dim, but we can see Charles sitting at his laptop with files spread across the desk. He flips through several papers for a moment before the bathroom door opens and Victor Bradshaw steps back into the room.

“So, Charles, do you think you can track those files down? Is there any hope that we can find anything that would point from her to her real employer?” he asks as he makes his way back over to the desk beside Charles.

Charles looks over some of the paperwork and then clicks on a few tabs on his open browser. He moves the laptop so Victor can see the screen, and then points to a paragraph too small for us to make out.

“Right there is the litigation tool you need. All you have to do is prove that she was employed by another company or person, and it makes all of those power of attorney documents worthless. It is corporate espionage at it's best, and she was a great player at the game. Who is she anyway?” Charles asks of the newest member of the team.​

​

“Let's just say she has taken a man's life and thrown it away. She has committed worse crimes than stealing a multi-billion dollar international company, and yet, those are the worst of the charges that we can hope to get to stick to her. She has ruined any hope of her own redemption, and should my client find her in the streets before the courts bring her to justice, there will be little left to dole out proficient justice.” He replies dryly.

The camera swings around to peer out the window of the hotel room, and there, watching through the glass like a creepy creeper, is Sebastian St. Paul.

​

While I hope I can help, I wonder, like Charles does, if we are the right tools for the job. I mean, I can't turn down the money, and Charles does seem to have a good grasp on what Bradshaw wants him to find. Darina and Owen are more than happy to back me up, and Charles is one of the best at what he does. I was lucky to find them all, or maybe I was lucky that they all found me. Either way, I know I can't let them down, and quitting at FOX before I had another way of ensuring our survival was not the best way I could have gone about it.

I guess the WGWF pays me enough to make sure we are all well fed and have a roof over our heads, but that isn't really the life we are accustomed to. We work hard, and fight harder. We enjoy those little luxuries that make the fight all worte in the end. My crew deserves to have the very best, and these guys, whoever the hell they are really, are going to make sure that they have just that.

 

Besides, what if his client can teach me how to play this game of harsh psychology? What if he can help me achieve greater things here than just winning? What if this new begging and this new breed of man Bradshaw was telling me about is exactly what I needed to get back on my feet and find my place in the world again?