(OOC: Sorry, all. I dropped the ball on this one. I was going to do a lot more with this, but other things came up throughout the week. Sorry to Santos for not giving him any good competition.)

(Centurion was never a fetishist. All that BDSM stuff just didn’t make a lot of sense to him. Getting turned on via pain? It’s so odd.

Now, though? It makes sense. Because the pain feels so good.

We open up backstage at War Games. The crowd is shuffling out and the crew is getting ready to tear down the set and the ring. Slowly, we see the Apex Prophecy, victors of the main event, making there way down the hallway. Taking center stage is Centurion, with a giant ice pack wrapped around his knee. He isn’t walking – he is being carried. His left arm drapes over the shoulder of Roxy Nova, the only member of the team who found her way unscathed through the entire event. His right arm is over the shoulder of Universal Champion Robert Main, who put together a remarkable performance and somehow still seems ready to go for more despite being the sole survivor of the team and taking the best shot CCP had to give him. Behind them walks a slightly bloodied and battered James Raven, and Drew Archyle, who is moving a lot slower than he did earlier in the night. All of the four members of the team look worse for wear, but none of them as bad as Centurion, who is completely gassed and on one leg following a two match performance.

The crew walk into a locker room, where Roxy and Main immediately lower Centurion down onto a couch. Centurion grits his teeth in pain as he adjusts himself on the couch, and Roxy props his leg up on a pillow to take pressure of his knee.)

James: I’m going to take a shower. I think some of this blood isn’t mine.

Main: I’m going to raid concessions. Can I get you anything?

Centurion: I could go for a beer.

(Everyone turns to Centurion, who normally goes for something a little on the classier/boozier side than beer.)

Centurion: Oh, don’t act so fucking shocked. It’s really hard to choke down a glass of scotch after running a marathon. Just get me something good.

(Main and James both turn to walk out of the room, as Drew Archyle walks over to Centurion. He takes a few seconds to assess Centurion’s condition, before patting Centurion on the shoulder.)

Archyle: You did good, old man.

(Archlye walks out with James and Main, leaving Centurion and Roxy in the room alone. Centurion looks over at his gym bag before nodding over to Roxy.)

Centurion: I have a pack of cloves in my bag. Can you toss them to me?

(Roxy nods and pulls the gym bag over to her. She shuffles around a bit inside before pulling out a pack of Djarum Blacks and tossing them, as well as a lighter, over to Centurion.)

Roxy: I don’t think you’re allowed to smoke in here.

Centurion: You’re not allowed to fuck behind the concierge booth, but that didn’t stop Vinnie and Roxy Cotton.

(Roxy grimaces as Centurion pulls out one of his cigarillos and lights it. He closes his eyes and lays his head back, thinking about the night he just had. Two months ago, Centurion was sitting on his couch, watching terrible Netflix shows and feeling sorry for himself. Now, he’s burying talent that has overstayed it’s welcome, and headlining a pay per view alongside some of the greatest talents in the business today…and winning. He pushed the limits of what he thought he could possibly achieve, and he set new standards for himself.

That self reflection is quickly interrupted with a sharp pain that soars through Centurion’s knee. He quickly shoots up and places his hand on his knee before taking a long drag of his cigarillo. Nothing feels torn – he’s torn ligaments in his knee before, and he can clearly tell the difference – but the pain is still awful, and will require quite a bit of rest and relaxation for it to go back to normal. Unfortunately, he and the rest of the crew are stuck in Russia, with a long flight ahead of them. That’s not going to feel good.

Centurion leans his hand over the side of the couch and flicks the ashes onto the ground. Roxy arches her eyebrow, but Centurion responds without even looking at her.)

Centurion: It’s Russia. Anything goes.

(Roxy just shrugs her shoulders. She couldn’t care less. In fact, the fact that Roxy’s even in the building at all is a bit of a surprise given Russia is a very tough place for people like Roxy. You know…the racially questionable folk singers.

Centurion continues to rub his knee around the ice, and while the pain is rough, he can not stop smiling. He earned respect tonight. A line of naysayers wanted to line it to toss flowers into Centurion’s casket. His critics fall into two camps – those that think Centurion was good, but that there’s no way he could come back at this age and do anything special, and those that thought Centurion was over rated and just want him to go away. The first group are now silent, as he has proven his value over the past few weeks. Even if you thought Centurion’s first few wins on the roster weren’t impressive, you have to admit that his performance at the pay per view was pretty spectacular, and proves that Centurion belongs in that ring.

The second group of critics still exist, and are now louder now that Centurion is actually finding himself in high level contests. These people will continue to talk trash until Centurion finally holds gold once again. He has that opportunity in two weeks, when he takes on Tony Santos, the Hart Champion and someone who has earned ton of respect among the smart marks. He’s beaten and bruised now, and it will take a bit of time for him to rest up from the brutal battles he was just a part of, but he will be ready, and he will be better than ever.

But for now? Now he just sits back in the couch, relaxing, smoking his cigarillo, and smiling, knowing he’s already accomplished so much more than many expected him to.)

I’m