The sun shines.
And people forget.

The lights beamed down upon Steven Cooper. They held a harshness and intensity that he always experienced whenever he got into a dressing room before a big match. One of the bulbs flickered slightly, it's shine reflecting off of the championship belt around his waist. He breathed in, the general musk of spray tan and leather fresh on his nostrils. He'd been in North-East Professional Wrestling for a couple of years now and he had worked his ass off like no other and he'd finally gotten the gold a couple of months ago. Regardless of the heat emanating from the bulbs, the gold plate on his NEPW championship was icy to the touch, a cold trophy he had bled and suffered to grasp that lay against his waist now, minutes before another challenger stepped forward. His opponent was some rising star in another territory who'd agreed to a cross-promotional show, salivating at the chance to finally take out Cooper; to break the pedestal of an assured future legend. Boos reverberated throughout the backstage area, no doubt the man standing across from him tonight. He knew he should've already left the room by now, his entrance music only minutes away and the crowd's welcome praise already previewed in his mind. Steve thought for a moment what his parents might think if they saw him now, but he shrugged the notion away, content not to linger on them for any longer.

He glanced at the clock on the wall, its hands heavy as it ticked. The dressing room was overwhelmingly white, nearly blindingly so, yet it allowed for a meditative sensation. Steve always preferred to have some time with his thoughts before a match, even if that meant that the black rim of a wall clock and the red and black of his pants were the only contrast in color he'd receive for a few hours. It was getting to about that time. The boos beginning to quiet down and a likely panic for where Steven might be before his entrance music plays. Cooper stared at his reflection one final time, steeling himself for the inevitable shouting from some suit upstairs as he stepped into his world. The only world that had liberated him from his past and present. A world with a future. He practiced his smile for the crowd and nodded a silent affirmation to himself before rushing out of his dressing room.

The hallways leading up to the stage entrance were a narrow maze of white-painted brick and various recording equipment being used by a few local stations. The first few notes of his theme began to reverberate, shaking the bleached labyrinth with their vibrations. He could see interns and executives alike shouting at him, but their words simply flew past Steven, drowned out by his singular focus to make it to the entrance way. Finally making it behind the curtain, just a few seconds late despite everything, Steven closed his eyes. Adrenaline filled him as he impatiently bounced, nearly to the rhythm of his own entrance music. A sea was on the other side of that curtain, waiting for Cooper to dive in as it called his name. He ran a hand over the title belt, as if to ensure it was still there. After a few more long seconds, he heard the announcer cry out his name to the approving applause of the audience. It was time. He felt the slight brush of air as the curtain was pulled and the cries of his name rang clearer than ever. This is what he was born to do.

"COOPER!"
"COOPER!"
"COOPER!"

Steve opened his eyes.

---

Another Friday show at the high school. The lousy gym speakers played "The Trooper" as Steven posed for the meager crowd. He was greeted by scarce applause that was lost in sound of his echoed entrance theme. West Point wasn't a dump by any means, but it was no Boston Garden. Cooper adjusted his elbow pads. The few in attendance who had come to the show held a similar amount of apathy as Steve himself. It frustrated him, although he understood given the circumstances. Brookridge Wrestling Academy held fairly frequent shows around here, but this was mostly glorified sparring matches between a select few students and trainers. As he walked into the ring, he glared at the stands to see the yawning faces amongst the empty seats. The academy was a steady gig and it paid well enough, but Steve still wasn't acclimated to this whole coaching routine. Sure, he had taken a few students in the past few months, but there just wasn't any chemistry between him and any of them. They could all wrestle well enough with Coop and he'd adjust to their individual paces, but it was as if every student who he'd been paired with had an inch long passion on a mile long road. His opponent tonight wasn't any different except one of the other coaches at BWA had put up with him. The kid's name was Jake Arthur and everyone else had gone on and on about how he was their best chance for a big star in the next three years. Steven hadn't reciprocated their expectations on the boy. All he saw was an okay technician with a big mouth backstage and a big smile on stage. Classic two-faced asshole who saw management as his most effective finisher, even in the small pond of an academy. Arthur stepped into ring opposite Cooper and tried to work the invisible crowd, waving out at their surroundings. Tonight was to be a test for the boy, to see if he could a do a competitive match with a vet like Steve.

The bell rang, sounding particularly tinny as its sound dispersed in the air. Jake rushed at Steve, trying to quickly start some holds and get the other hand, but Cooper wasn't one to be overwhelmed by the basics so easily. As the minutes crawled by, the boredom that infected the audience had been transmitted to Steve, casually shrugging off and countering Arthur's offense. With every glance at the few dozen or so attendants, Steve saw another on their phone, the crown of their heads staring back at him. The kid was walking Lunesta. Steven looked over to the ref who had been struggling to pay attention herself and saw an opportunity to make tonight a little more exciting. Cooper watched the ref's gaze travel before giving a smirk to Arthur, raising a hand to the now confused young man and grabbing a hold of his head.

He then raked Jake's eyes.

Tim Fox, owner/head coach of BWA and Arthur's coach cursed and shouted at Steve as soon as he did, but the outburst caused several heads to raise, noticing Jake holding his face in agony. Steve pointed at himself, making a faux-innocent face before launching the kid neck first into the ropes. The crowd came alive, united in a newly discovered distaste for Steven Cooper. And the man couldn't be any more pleased with it.

---

Backstage, Steve celebrated his victory with a cold one he had smuggled onto the high school premises. It was wet against his fingers as he popped the cap off, enjoying that first sip of pure foam as if it were a fine scotch. He leaned back in the cheap auditorium chair with a sense of pride that could only be attained by teaching a very poignant lesson. Jake stormed past him, clearly still disoriented by the effects of the match, holding a hand over his eye. For a moment, it seemed as if Arthur might try and take the high road, but it was fairly obvious to the both of them that nothing of the sort was going to happen. Jake twisted around and yelled at Steve.

"What the fuck was that out there?!"

Cooper placed his beer on the ground next to his feet, shrugging as he answered.

"It's called a wrestling match. It's that thing you're so good at."

"Y'know, at least I'm gonna be somebody, Steve! Who the hell are you? You're just a washed up nobody who gets his kicks trying to make every prospect who actually has a chance flat-line as bad as he has! You bitter old bastard! You're gonna rot in hell, you know that?!"

"Mhm."

Before Arthur had a chance to raise his voice again, Tim Fox entered the room, likely having had a talk with some of West Point's own staff about his choice of words at ringside. Steve and Tim had known each other for years, but to describe their relationship as anything more than tenuously amicable. Cooper was fully expecting to be fired on the spot, but it was always a little difficult to know exactly what was going on in Fox's head. He took off his suit's jacket revealing a perfectly pressed shirt underneath. He kept his back turned towards the two until Jake spoke up.

"Can you get this dipshit in line, Coach?"

Fox turned around, staring daggers through Cooper before moving his head to face Arthur. His voice was blunt and deep, trading volume for the intensity of his response.

"Apologize."

Jake's lip trembled as Steven sat back smugly and picked his beer back up for another sip. There were certain attitudes and egos he just adored watching squirm and Jake was just the latest.

"He was out there fighting dirty and you want me to apologize?! This has-been, washed-up piece of shit-!"

"Cooper is Academy staff and I'm not going to have any student talk to a member of my staff that way. So you can suck it up and apologize or start finding someone else to teach you without my recommendation."

Becoming increasingly indignant, Jake punched the wall before storming out of the room without a further word.

"He'll budge. All those prima-donnas like him do," Steve chirped while raising the bottle to his lips before having it snatched out of his hand by Fox. Fox wore his anger plainly as soon as the young man had left.

"Don't you ever pull that shit again, Steve. I didn't bring you here for me. I did it so you weren't wasting away out there."

"Hey, you wanted me to test him! I just was checking if the kid could handle the real deal! He's clearly not ready and you're here dumping hopes on him like he's the next Sammartino!"

"That didn't have a damn thing to do with testing, Coop! You saw a chance to get a crowd reaction and you couldn't help yourself! You're not 24 anymore! You can't go around acting like some hotshot when your job- OUR job is to train a new line of wrestlers! One more slip up and we're done. Full stop."

Steven begrudgingly nodded, staying silent. Fox began to walk away, but turned before he closed the door.

"We have a show next week. I expect you to be there. And behave for God's sake, you're 50."

Leaning back into the thin plastic of the seat, Steve inhaled, expecting a wave of frustration to overcome him. Some sort of irritation or shame. But all of that was absent, instead leaving a whisper of chants he heard long ago ringing in his ear.

"COOPER!"
"COOPER!"
"COOPER!"

He smiled at the thought, certain that those ancient days weren't too far away from being attained again.


Steven stood aside Ned Kaye as they waited for the challenger's music to play. The atmosphere of an XWF pay-per-view was surreal to Cooper. It felt like there was more technology in the panels they'd be walking out onto than he'd ever been around before at once. The crowd held an electicity like no other. And like an old friend long go, he felt those nerves begin to rattle internally and found himself lightly bouncing on the tips of his toes. The lights, even backstage, swirled around the two as the speakers serenaded thousands in the powerful anthems of the XWF's athletes. Ned glanced at Steve, amused slightly by the old man's ritual.

"Now, what in the hell are you doing?"

"It's how I get myself ready. You can start judging when you find a better method."

Ned reached his hand over his own chest, seeming to grab for a phantom Hart Championship he could still feel draped over his arm. Their cue was coming up quickly.

"They're gonna hate us for tonight."

"Mhm."

Only a few seconds now.

"Are you ready to make history, Steve?"

Cooper chuckled, inhaling deeply.

"I was born ready."

The music began and the lights intensified. And Steven Cooper walked forward.

Forget they're hiding.

---

Steve Sayors is standing confusedly in front of a large banner with XWF logos adorning it.

"Hello, XWF Galaxy! Steve Sayors here! I was told to come here by an anonymous source, but I can't say I really know the purpose of all thi-"

He is cut off by the booming voice of Steven Cooper!

"SAYORS!"

The interviewer jumps, shocked by Cooper walking next to him in his ring gear, grabbing Sayors's hand to bring the microphone closer.

"Wh-what're you doing!?"

Steven chuckles, clapping his hands together.

"I'm making you earn those pennies they're paying you, Sayors! You're supposed to be the head backstage guy around here, yet I see these kids talking into cameras and bringing their own interviewers! We're gonna get you some stripes working with The Trooper as I tell all regarding EXP's debut match: The Tag Team Turmoil!"

"EXP? You mean yourself and Mr. Stone?"

"That's right, Sayors! See, you have been paying some attention! Stone and I some mixed-up mash of fools from outta nowhere, we are family! I have watched this man go from being clumsy with his rage and transform it into something deadly and consisent! Forget the rest of the pack, they're a laundry list of weirdos and lost causes. The fact is that TTT will belong to EXP!"

"Well, w-with all due respect, many people view this whole Avalanche faction as simply a crutch for weaker wrestlers..."

"Would you say that to APEX or Continuum? Or the Four Horsemen?"

"Uh... no."

"EXACTLY! No, you wouldn't! Of course people want to write off Avalanche. Nobody wants to believe they're facing an unstoppable alliance, so they'll put whatever useless labels on us that they need to so they feel safe in their piss-stained bedshits! The fact of the matter is that we ain't as reliant on each other as some might first think. Hell, you look at the Left Hand and their Disinterestings and they need each other for any sort of success outside of someone else's failure! You cut a digit off of a Left Hand, it loses it's grasp, Steve, but you take away a few piles of snow from the Avalanche and you're still buried alive! Besides, I can hardly come up with too much more to say that's insulting about them, considering K-Marf and Lycarnie can't get their discount asses together to have a tag team name that implies they don't think!"

"Even then, you didn't have to ally yourself with these violent young men! You could've stood alongside fellow veterans like the Dream-a-Maniacs!"

"And lost every opporitunity so someone can shove their family members or ego in whatever spot I'd take? I've been around people like Terrible Boredom and Bent Driftwood my whole damn career! Back then was cutthroat and every guy on top was just looking for a way to crush you so you couldn't sell as much merch as they did! I'd stand alongside people like them if they had ever done the same for people like me. Don't ever get fooled by these two. They're a couple of clowns who get a mime's reception, it'll be my pleasure to give them an era-appriopriate ass-kicking!"

"I don't know if I believe that kind of talk from someone who assisted in the targetting of R.L. Edgar and Demos."

"Let me get this out of the way first: we didn't target Demos because there was no point to. The man implodes on command, he's not hard to handle! Go look at him melting down as Chris Page says the most basic about him possible. You could read Demos the dictionary and he'd turn into a stumbling idiot. But R.L. Edgar is not some guy whom I take beating on lightly. No, sir, I said a month back that I wanted to drop him on his head again and I've finally got my chance to do so. Edgar's problem is that he just doesn't understand his place in the pecking order. He's the corpse. We're the vulture. Clear that up for you, R.L.?"

"I still don't see why you think Avalanche and EXP has a chance over all of these beloved and exciting-"

Cooper begins to snicker as Sayors speaks.

"...teams."

"That's rich, Sayors! Who's even left to talk about? The team that struggles to get a win on Anarchy? Or maybe the one that shows up about as often as my kids to my birthdays? This is not a packed field, it's a packed lunch and I have been starved for decades, Sayors! Stone is a man who shares not my flesh or blood, but my soul and as much as these kids and nursing hometown heroes want to try and ignore us, they're going to find that very hard when the Tag Team Titles come home! So don't touch that dial and don't adjust your set because EXP is about to be on every screen in the world and you just have the honor of being one of the first! I'll see you in a few days, Sayors!"

Cooper slaps Sayors on the back with a huge "smack" before walking away with his oiled muscles.

"Did... did he even wrestle today?"