Danny glanced over at the back of Jackson, helping Jack Cain up the ramp and through the curtain. He shook his head in confusion, glancing back towards the crowd cheering his efforts, he forced out a pained smile.

He raises his hand, waving to fans and mouthing the words, “Thank you.” He goes to the barrier, clapping the hands of fans and taking pictures with them.

He doesn’t even look at Thomas Nixon, clutching his reclaimed title in the middle of the ring and getting the real reaction from the crowd.

Danny kisses the cheek of a fan, probably in her mid-twenties. She swoons, quickly whipping out her phone to tweet about it.

Danny, unable to stay standing for much longer, starts to stumble up the ramp himself. His torso is still bandaged after the beating he received from Main and Graves on Warfare last week and today’s match didn’t help his injuries at all.

Danny uses his hand to shift the curtain, walking through it as he finally registers that Nixon’s music is the one still blaring through the stadium.

As he passes through the curtains, he stumbles, hand resting on the wall to keep him standing. One of the backstage crew rushes to his side, inserting himself under Danny’s arm to support him. Danny tries to swat him away, rejecting the help but is too weak to do so.

Danny blinks a few times, black spots having blocked out most of his vision. The faint sound of the aide shouting for the medical team registers in his ears.

Danny is overwhelmed by a falling sensation as a flash of red flutters past his hazy vision. A familiar, soft voice registers in his head right as he blacks out.

Danny regains consciousness for the third time in just a few days. This time he’s in the XWF medical facility, with an IV drip in his hand and still in his ring gear. His boots have been taken off, but he can still smell the painstaking smell of defeat emanating from his body.

He raises his body off the bed slowly, having learnt from his mistakes. A groan escapes him as his body fights back by sending pain pangs all through him, culminating in his frontal lobe. Jackson is seated in a nearby armchair, and he looks up with Danny’s movement.

Danny’s face scrunches up in a questioning look. She? And then he remembers the soft voice he’d heard right before blacking out.

Danny opens his mouth in shock.

Danny is seated on the floor of his bedroom. The room is covered with scrawls and scribbles across the blackboard walls. The lights have been dimmed to compensate for his blinding headache and the low chimes of Mozart can be heard through the room.

Danny himself is huddled, arms wrapped around his knees which are brought close to his chest. He rocks back and forth on his butt, staring dead ahead and muttering to himself.

Danny’s head jerks up as the XWF drove beeps as it moves in from his door. An odd, half-smile, half-frown forces its way onto Danny’s face. Reaching both arms out and off his knees, he beckons the drove closer.

The drone beeps closer to him, hovering about two meters away from him.

As the drone focuses on Danny’s face and brightens up the feed a little, his painted face is revealed. With cracks in some areas and a visible line down one of his cheeks, clearly caused by a running tear, it looks a little haphazard compared to his usual work.

Danny giggles to himself, biting his lower lip to muffle the sound.

Danny grins at the lens, tilting his head to one side, eyes wide and crazed.

Danny’s face shakes with every word, the paint on his lips cracked and flaking.

Danny pants heavily, grabbing at the drone with his clammy hands. His hair has fallen onto his face, covering his eyes and his muscles are taut.

Danny lets go of the drone, throwing it into the air away from him and letting it zoom back to whoever’s controlling it. He lets out a feral scream into the air as his hands run through his long hair.