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Elisha · (05-08-2013)

Eric Rex has been running for days. At least, that's what it feels like. In all actuality it's been about 2 hours since he started his morning jog. The same one he does every morning. When the clock hits 4am he wakes up, eats a plate of scrambled eggs with bacon and raspberries, gets dressed, and heads out the door. He usually does 10 miles into town and 10 miles back. He's not quite sure if he's running to or away from something this morning. He just knows he has to run. No matter the reason, he knows it's preparation. In this case, for Wednesday's battle with Rick Jones. His mind barely flickers to Jones at all, though. As his thighs begin to burn, and the sweat begins to run down his face, his mind joins his 6 year-old self. The version of himself that saw his dad come home from work every night, get drunk, and beat his mom. The version that witnessed his mom trying to ignore all the women that called the house at all hours to see if his dad was home. He's with the version of himself that found his father, in bed, with a gunshot wound to the head. He's with himself, hanging on to his mother's leg as she's placed in a squad car. His stomach tightens as he runs, just as it did when the officer pried him away. That's when he learned that family doesn't mean anything. That's when Eric Rex learned that the only family that really matters at all is the family that you choose.

Which brings his mind to his 8 year-self. He's in a foster home and he's being ignored by the entire family. A woman in her mid-30s. A man in his early 40s. Three kids all in their teens. All too occupied to care about Eric. The kids at school know about his mom. They've all heard the stories, and they stay away. He cries, but not out of sadness. If ever there were tears of pure hatred, they were the tears that streamed down this young boy's face every night. Thinking of every person that had entered his life to that point.

Eric begins to press harder. Almost sprinting now, instead of jogging. A vein is bugling near his left temple.

Then he remembers his friend. He remembers the day that Sal, Sal Valencia walked into his life. He was still 8. Eric Rex was on the playground and he saw a kid that should have been two grades ahead had pinned a scrawny kid against a wall. Eric knew him a little from class. He just sat in the back, picking his nose. He remembered him saying his father was Spanish and his mother was a Jew. So, you know, he wasn't the most popular kid in school in Birmingham, AL. Eric remembers seeing Sal squirm and this other guy with his fist held back, ready to strike. It was at that moment that Eric picked up a rock as big as his fist and bashed the kid right in the back of the head. The blood splattered on his arm...and on Sal's face.

Sal laughed.

Then he handed Eric a dollar, saying, "Thanks! This is your half."

Eric stops for morning traffic, and cracks the first smile he's had in years.
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*Sal is in his office. On his desk is a placard with his name, a stack of papers, an envelope, and Big Bad Leroy action figure. He's grinning in a way that makes anyone that see him want to strangle him with his putrid, yellow tie.*

Sal: Hi. I'm Sal.
[Image: Saul-Goodman.jpeg]

Sal Valencia: Attorney at Law. You may be aware that my client, Eric Rex has a match against the extremely juvenile 'Slick' Rick Jones on Wednesday night. You may even be aware that Mr. Jones is none too pleased with Mr. Rex and is looking to gain some sort of retribution. What you may not realize, even though you should by now, is that Eric Rex is not the sort of man one gains retribution from. Rick Jones, Eric Rex did you a favor when he dropped your neck across his shoulder. He did you a favor by leaving it at that. Believe me, I've seen him do much, much worse. The thing is, is that he had no ill feelings toward you. I can tell you, though, that one of his pet peeves is a man that gets his personal business mixed in with real business. Tomorrow night, you're going to see what he does to a man like that. And I feel sorry for you. I really do. As a matter of fact, I plan on being there to shed a tear for you at ringside. I care about you, Mr. Jones. I've even been trying to talk him out of getting into the ring with you. Don't worry, though. If he gets too rough with you, I'll talk him down. Scout's honor. Would I lie?
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Victor Gorbalsky. The man they call 'The Red Cyclone' has been in a hospital bed with his jaw wired shut for a solid week now. He's being told that he should be getting out later today. There's a lot on his mind...Will he be in a mental state to compete as he once did? Will he return to Russia and disappear? Will he still fight for the children back home and in Chechnya that he cares so much for? All of that is really in the back of his mind. What he's really been dealing with is being victimized by a man so much smaller than him. At 7ft and 414lbs, there's not many who can do what Eric Rex did to him. And even fewer that can do what he did when he came to visit. Eric Rex got into his head. He left him feeling like a broken man in ever way possible.

He had made an offer.

What was 'The Academi' that Rex spoke of? He knows Eric Rex is an evil man guided by avarice and violence. He knows that. Still, could joining Rex be the best route to take to continue to take care of those he loves?

An overweight nurse walks in to check his blood pressure. Victor does not flinch at the needle, but he does when she sets an envelope on his counter by his bed. He picks it up. It says, "To VG. From ER." He hesitates to open it. When he does, he finds $20,000. Cash. A few of the bills have blood on them and Victor gets light-headed. He stuffs it in the drawer next to him, and tries to go to sleep. Sirens on the television keep him from doing so. It's a cartoon Sal Valencia chasing an ambulance. Victor hurls his telephone into the television, then covers his face with his pillow, trying to scream, as the nurses rush in to sedate him.

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