bmph. bmph. bmph, bmph bmph.

As he jostles back and forth, warming up his legs to keep himself active and, quite literally, on his toes, Smoke punches the scarlet red punching bag, causing it to sway back and forth, rolling around only for another bout of relentless punches. He mimics dodging punches and uppercuts, like a heavyweight boxer. Occasionally, he dodges and sidesteps around the bag, pretending to get behind an opponent.

bmph bmph bmph. bmph. bmphbmphbmph, ba-bmph

Ever since coming back from Boston, following his defeat at the recent Monday Madness, all Smoke wanted to do is practice ahead of next weeks pay-per-view, finally getting a match against Liz Hathaway... albeit with odd stipulations.

As a result of his defeat, tapping out to Jessie's own armbar, Liz - who had been his partner that night - had stamped his arm onto the verge of severe injury. But despite that injury, he still wanted to work. In about a week's time there will be nothing in between him and Liz, and he wants as much of an advantage that he can get.

ba-bmp-bmph, bmph bmph, bmph.

Smoke thinks that the damage to him arm is not that serious, otherwise he'd still be in Boston to recover. However, he still has to wear a form of a bandage. Medical had issued him a sling, but he can't exactly practice in that, can he? He can't lie, though. His arm is aching from the unneeded stress.

No pain, no gain.

Smoke closes his fists as he punches.

ba-dun, domph, bamph!

That last punch swung the sandbag around in a large circle with a giant clap, a tremendous amount of power sent into it by Smoke to make the chains shackle and the bag spin around after impact.

But he hit it with his injured arm, and he grabs it with a yelp of pain, clutching to it with his other hand and balling his hand to try and tame it, but it's not succeeding in doing so.

He walks over to his training bag and pulls out his sling, gingerly putting it over his shoulder and under his forearm, breathing in a sigh of relief as he releases his control over the arm, breathing in and out as he sits on the bench, pouring water down his throat to cool down, feeling he doesn't have enough time to actually put his shirt back on.

As Smoke puts his head against the wall, he looks up at the ceiling, but is quickly pulled away from daydreaming by someone suddenly entering the room. Smoke looks over to see a small, sniveling body, one that can only belong to Steve Sayors. Smoke sighs and stands up, walking over to Steve with his hands on his hips, towering the man he had last thrown out of a ring.

Unless you're here to have another beating Steve, I'd probably suggest leaving now.

It's only then Smoke realises that there is no camera crew with Steve, and is instead just him.

What? Have you come to tell me it was you or something.

Steve avoids looking Smoke in the eye, instead inspecting the tiles on the floor.

L-look. I'm not here for that... w-well I guess I am but... okay um...

For God's sake, spit it out, man!

R-right well, you see, um... I didn't burn your apartment down.

Smoke sighs impatiently.

I got that far.

But I may know something about it... Something I thought you should... know. Something I need to tell you.

Smoke is taken aback by this.

...What? What is it?

Steve looks around anxiously.

Look, I can't just... tell you. Right off. Otherwise they'll know...

Steve stares up at a security camera in the gym, that appears to be looking at the two talking.

And what they would do to me would be... I-it would be worse than anything that you could do to me.

Smoke looks at Steve with a puzzled look in his eye, more intrigued than annoyed.

They? Who are... 'they'?

Steve whimpers a little, twitching his fingers and wrists, not being able to stand in one place. With a shaky hand, he pulls out a blank, scrap piece of paper from his pocket, as well as a pen. Leaning against the wall, he quickly scrawls something then hands it to Smoke, making sure that Smoke covers it with both hands.

Don't let any camera see this, don't read it aloud. A-a-at all... They-they-th-th... they already know I'm involved. Please... stop them...

Steve looks over his shoulder and scurries away. Smoke is only able to watch him go, perplexed by the whole event. He unravels the piece of paper and reads the jagged handwriting, which resembled that of a madman.

Smoke turns and looks in the lens of the camera, which seems like it's looking right back at him. It seems like he's unraveling an even bigger mystery...