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Finn Kühn · (08-05-2017)

"The only true wisdom is in knowing you know nothing."

~ Socrates

Present Day
Mansion of Carter Williams
Hollywood, CA

"ONE THOUSAND! NINE-NINETY FOUR! ONE THOUSAND! NINE-NINETY FIVE!"

The pained voice of Finn Kühn can be heard echoing throughout the garage as he continued to do push-ups well into the middle of the night. Maverick- still at Finn's house from the last promo - can be seen sitting on a nearby steel chair, watching Finn's struggle.

"You're doing good, you're almost there, keep it up," Maverick encouraged.

"O-ONE THOUSAND! N-NINE-NINETY S-S-SIX!" Finn's forehead was caked in sweat, his muscles screaming in agony. Everything in his body was telling him to stop, except for his soul. No, Finn's soul forced him to continue pressing on. Finn knew the road to superstardom was paved with hardship, blood, sweat and tears. For every Vinnie Lane, Sid Feder and Theo Pryce that stepped through those doors, there existed a Drezdin, a Doctor Psycho, a Ghost Tank. Nobodies that ultimately gave their lives to try and chase the dream.

Finn was determined to not be like them. Not fall into the pitfall of mediocrity. Not be another failure that tried to make it big. Not be like Ja-

Finn mentally slapped himself, reminding himself that memories about him were to be put behind, and never opened again. Regardless, he kept on with the excruciating task of completing two thousand push-ups in one sitting. That was, until, Jon Williams, Finn Kühn's best friend opened the door.

"Jesus Christ, Finn, you're still doing push-ups?" Jon shook his head. "Anyway, Gerald made dinner, it's really fucking good."

"Oh? What's on the menu?" Maverick asked, turning his attention to Jon and raising an eyebrow.

"Good ol' buttermilk-style fried chicken. Gerald made sure to fry them extra crispy." Speaking of fried chicken, the smell wafted into the room, and Finn could smell the greasy goodness. He could feel his stomach growling as his two pitbulls were fighting over a steak in there. He could feel his mouth watering, almost tasting the chicken.

If it wasn't evident enough, Finn was starving. Training extensively throughout the day in an attempt to get ready for a fight against Neville Sinclair for the Television Championship happened to do that to people.

Somehow able to resist the intoxicating scent, Maverick scrunched up his nose and shook his head. "No thank you," he politely declined, "I'm a man with a more... exquisite palette. Escargot, that sort of thing."

"Oh," Jon said. "Wait, what's escargot?"

"Buttered - snails!" Finn gasped out in between deep breaths. "ONE THOUSAND! Nineninetyseven..." Finn said the last bit in a huff, his body colliding with the floor as his shoulders were beginning to get unable to withstand the excruciating punishment. Finn tried to collect his breath with deep breathing as Jon and Mav continued to talk.

"What he said," Maverick said, moving his head towards Finn's direction. Then, he shouted to Finn, "Come on, push yourself harder! You're not finished yet, are you? Don't puss out on me now!"

"Oooooooh," Jon responded. Then, his nose scrunched up once Finn's words hit him. "Dude, that's nasty! How can you like that shit over fried chicken?"

Maverick shrugged. "Like I said. Exquisite. Palette."

"I guess I'll take your word for it," Jon sighed. Then, suddenly, his phone buzzed. Turning it on, he was greeted with a text message from his uncle, Carter who graciously allowed Finn and Jon to borrow his home while they seeked to gain enough cash to purchase a house in Hollywood - which considering Finn had a bi-weekly paycheck of $300,000 at just an entry level, that wouldn't take long.

Carter: hey, they just finished the first screening. the boys wanted to get a few drinks before they headed back, i should be back by monday or so

"If you don't mind me asking, who's that?" Maverick questioned, motioning to Jon's phone.

"Oh!" Jon exclaimed. "Sorry for moving my attention, my uncle just texted me. This really is his house, me and Finn are borrowing it for the time being. He's an actor, just went out of state to attend a premier for a movie he's in--"

"What movie?" Maverick raised an eyebrow once more.

Jon shuddered. "The Emoji Movie."

Maverick seemed taken aback and almost insulted, which Jon understood. "How the hell can he consider that an achievement?"

"That's essentially how me and Finn acted. The dude didn't even know what an emoji was, and I had to painfully explain it to him over text."

"That must have been a nightmar--"

"ONE THOUSAND! NINE-NINETY EIGHT! ONE THOUSAND! NINE-NINETY NINE!" Finn's cries filled the garage again as he was getting ever closer to the coveted two thousand.

"Ah, apologies, I have to keep an eye on Finn and make sure he doesn't slack off anymore. Be sure to have Gerald have a plate ready for Finn, he looks like he'll need it."

Jon saluted, saying "Aye, aye," before moving back into the kitchen.

Maverick pulled himself up, and then proceeded to step on Finn's back, taking away what little breath he had left. "COME ON FINN!" Maverick shouted. "SHOW ME YOU WANT THIS! SHOW ME YOU WANT TO BEAT NEVILLE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE RING AND WIN THAT TELEVISION CHAMPIONSHIP!"

Silence. Nothing from Finn, who laid motionless aside from shallowly gasping for air.

"Are you dying? Because that seriously wouldn't be preferable."

Still nothing. Maverick carefully used his right foot to prod the back of Finn's head to see if he was still well, however Maverick was greeted with loud snores in response. Finn had fallen asleep, literally, due to the pain.

"Oh, for fuck's sake..."

Earlier Today

"Let me see your trash game in action," Maverick said.

Finn snorted. "Do I really need to grace that fucker Sinclair with another response? I deconstructed nearly every argument that

had to offer."

"That may be so, but allow me to give you another lesson on how to be a champion in this industry. Wrestling is split into two portions nowadays. In-ring... and mind games. If you win the war of words beforehand, firmly encase yourself in your opponent's mind... you've won half the battle already. All it comes down to from there is claiming your victory in-ring. The best wrestlers from both our eras were skilled in-ring and skilled on the mic. If you want to become a true champion, you need to make Neville Sinclair wish he wasn't born, only verbally instead of physically here."

"Fair enough," Finn said, clearing his voice. "Neville Sinclair, you're the opposite of what you claim to be. You claim to be a cultured, intelligent individual, hell-bent on teaching this federation brains and literacy. Instead, what I see is just a shell of that statement- an unintelligent, moronic asshole that doesn't know anything at all. You claim I'm immature, you claim I play the victim card, but that's just not true. Not true at all."

"See, the way I see things Neville, you're a joke. You can't string a competent argument together because no matter what you may come up with, you'll just end up contradicting yourself by the end of it. Since you like handing out 'lessons' to everyone, allow me to give you a taste of your own medicine." Finn holds up one finger.

"Lesson One: If You're Going to Play a Persona, At Least Stick to It."

"Most people here in the XWF like to have a gimmick, a facade, if you will, to hide their true selves behind. I, however, am not one of those. When I say I'm the greatest thing to happen to this federation, I mean it. When I say I'm going to achieve the top prize this federation has to offer in the Universal Championship, I mean it."

"You, on the other hand, hide behind the gimmick of teaching others your so-called smarts. You can't even do that right, because you see Neville, when you prove that you don't know what the word 'fluke' means despite actually giving a full definition, any 'knowledge' you spout off is just bound to go in one ear, and out the other. With every word you spout, you damage your credibility of teaching smarts more and more. It's downright irritating. You claim to want to hurt me, and I wonder how much that can be matched, because right now the only thing I want to see is you writhing in pain on that mat. Come Savage, I'm going to live up to the moniker I set for myself. You're going to be mauled, you're going to be maimed. There is a zero percent chance you're walking out of Savage still champion." Finn holds up two fingers now, signaling he's ready to go onto the next 'lesson.'

"Lesson Two: Before You Try and Talk Shit About Your Opponent, Be Sure to Do Some Fucking Research."

"You showed your complete and utter lack of experience with my promos last time you talked, insulting me for something Jon did, even though, again, I had no say in what was going on. I can't claim to know Jon's mind. I don't have E.S.P. But my friend had a plan, and I executed it. Even though myself and Mav got into it when he first arrived, we quickly smoothed things out, and now I know things your dumb ass wouldn't even begin to know about being a champion."

"You know nothing about me if you say I need to separate myself from the pack. I already have. In all three shows I've been on, I go out there and I steal the show. I make the fans always get a rise out of seeing me. Even if I don't win my match - see Jack Cain, I always make sure to give it 110%. I make sure that they remember who I am: The Young Lion. When I said I'm the greatest thing to happen to this federation, I meant it, unlike every other wrestler who goes through those doors to make a name for themselves and ultimately end up as opening card acts." Finn looks to Maverick. "Do I even need to bother with a third lesson?"

Silence. Maverick seemed lost in his thoughts again, though he quickly snapped out of it when Finn snapped right in front of his face. "Mmm? Oh yes, I think you're good. Good shit on display, even if it was essentially repeating yourself, you repeated all the right things. Good work. Now, let's continue training."

Current Time

It was time for Maverick to leave.

Jon and Gerald were quietly talking to the side, Jon trying to make sure Gerald sent over the recipe for his delicious fried chicken once they got back to Maverick's mansion at Battle Creek.

Finn and Maverick shook hands, a bond forged between the new and old eras of the XWF. An up-and-comer from the Lane Era and an alumni from the

Era forging a friendship.

"Ultimately, one day wasn't enough to get enough training in. However, hopefully you take what I said to heart. You have a natural talent, and it'd be a shame to waste it like I did in my younger days."

Finn chuckled. "It's funny you mention younger days, are you even thirty yet?"

Maverick rolled his eyes affectionately. "Yes, yes, laugh at my early retirement age now," he said, "but between my father's life insurance, investing and the money accrued from XWF shows, I have more money than Neville Sinclair could ever dream of."

"Hah! I can imagine!" Finn chuckled.

The two stopped shaking hands and locked eyes. "Good luck," Maverick said. "When I first came in, I wanted to stop at nothing to claim that Television Championship. I grew past that however, and I couldn't be happier. I still had a storied career here, no matter what the haters may say. And now, it's your time."

"Have to ask-- are you going to pop in from out of nowhere again to train me?" Finn snickered.

Maverick chuckled in response. "Perhaps. Though, I was hoping when we meet again, we would be more like equals, rather than student and pupil."

Finn smiled. "Consider it done."

Maverick and Finn wished each other well, and as Maverick and Gerald hopped into their car, Maverick looked directly into the camera, saying, "Oh, and Neville? So sorry if I disappointed you as the reveal, though I wouldn't worry much about me, and instead worry more about Finn. Good luck, you're gonna need it."

As Maverick's car hummed to life, backing out of the driveway and getting on the road, the camera fades to black.

~FIN~

Threaded Mode \| Linear Mode Act IV: "Championship"-Class Training - Part 3 of 3
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