Another day, another training session. It never ends.

But Ron Wilkins takes joy in these sessions.

Sweating, grunting, the burning of lactic acid built up in his muscles. It reminded him of his days competing for that ever elusive national championship at Oklahoma State. But now there was a bigger prize in his eyes. Sure he was fighting in a meaningless tag team match this weekend, but he was inching closer to his goal. The XWF North Korean Championship and all the extra glory that belt would add to his family name, overshadowed only by the 0’s that belt would add to his bank account.

This started out as a way to provide for his family, and now it was turning into something he never thought he’d see.

He now had a chance to completely change his family tree. The ability to leave millions of dollars behind, assuming he stayed healthy long enough to earn those greenbacks.

The price for these incredible rewards wasn’t too steep in his mind.

Blood, Sweat, and Tears were things he was used to spilling in the wrestling room or the Brazilian Jiu Jitsu dojo. Their taste, not foreign to him. Working hard and sacrificing were the least of his worries.

The willingness to step in the ring with addicts like Stagger Jones and the Unknown Soldier?

That was something he’d experienced in his prior life as a Border Patrol Agent, not something he expected to do in a professional, combat sport environment.

But he didn’t have the leeway to pick his opponent, let alone his partner.

Not until that belt was around his waste at least.

Then he’d start calling the shots.

Then Ron Wilkins would roll up to the XWF head-quarters in his “way too big” Ford Super Duty, strut across the lobby, and tell management who he was going to fight.

Until that day he had to settle for drunks and meth addicts.

Ron was sitting in solitude, in the truck that he hated but had been so faithful to him for so long. He’d managed to avoid the subject of where he was fighting this weekend from Shannon, but now he knew he’d had to break. She’d been extremely receptive to this whole thing…

Especially once the bank account started getting fatter.

But he wasn’t sure how she would react to something like this.

The first wrestling event in outer space?

A fitness test with NASA tomorrow before he quite literally “Shipped off”?

Welp…time waits for no man, time to face the music.

--------------One Hour, and a shared orgasm later---------------------

That answers that question. I knew she’d come around to me after the money started rolling in, but her sex drive? It’s like we don’t have kids again.

I guess I found out the right way that my wife has groupie tendencies, towards the very group of superstars I chose to join. Thankfully I chose to treat this sport like a profession and a gift instead of treating it like a joke like some people.



^^Unknown Soldier there hasn’t gotten off with a chick he didn’t pay in rolls of nickels or tiny blue rocks in a decade. He sure as hell isn’t ready for someone like me. Someone who has dedicated himself to this sport, who brings in a wide variety of skills that turn him into the most dangerous person in this federation. He’s decided that treating his body like his mother treated the filthy, disease filled crack he fell out of was the right course of action.

I say I’m going to correct that action. I’m going to earn the respect I haven’t been given in the XWF yet. I still have detractors, for fucks sake I massacred two men at the same time in my debut match.

I beat Stagger Jones’ worthless ass so badly that he couldn’t even be pushed ten feet into the ropes. I’ve shown this whole Collective of wrestlers that if you leave an arm somewhere that it isn’t supposed to be, I will latch onto that bitch like Kim Kardashian on a successful African-American…and take that shit home with me.

Let me ask you this Unknown Soldier…I bust my ass day in and day out, lifting weights, grappling with world class talent, and doing as much cardio as possible. What the fuck do you think I’m going to do to you in reverse gravity? I’m gonna have to hold back so I don’t throw you out of the fucking airlock before I’m done with you.

Do yourself a favor you filthy fuck, duct tape your arms to your sides so I can’t snap one off and since I won’t be able to grab ahold of one of those track mark fill monuments to failure, I’ll grab ahold of your neck and do what your mother should’ve done decades ago…not let go until you stop moving.

See you in space bud.