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Clickity.

Clickity.

Clickity.

The clicks of a mouse can be heard as the camera fades into exsistance, coming into the room of Maverick. We see that he's on a laptop, silently browsing through YouTube, trying to find something that would be worth his while.

Nothing met his eye that was worth watching. With a sigh of dejection, he exited the tab that held YouTube, and went over to the official XWF website, trying to find something from his five opponents at Relentless.

TJ Wallace.

Ginger Snaps.

Peter Gilmour.

Todd Moschitti.

John Black.

It seemed as though none of the five tried to see him as a real threat, one who could potentially win the match, much to the anger of Mav. He detested being underestimated, though it's not like his track record did give him much of a reason to let his opponents perceive him to be a real opponent...

Of course, if there was one advantage he had over the others, it is probably the fact that Maverick literally had a copy of his father inside his mind, ready to give him advice at his beck and call. Perhaps training for the Hart title match was needed. Mental training.

Such action was required now, Maverick decided. He needed to get back into shape. He needed to let his opponents know mid- match they should not have underestimated him. He needed to win. And he was going to get ready to do that.

A sharp exhale left Mav's chest, before he decided to go into the wastelands of his mind. He was focusing, trying to contact the only other soul in his head besides, well, himself.

So... uh, hey, Pops. You around?

Oh. Yeah. Hey.

Silence was what was uttered out of him throughout the majority of the week. But Mav needed him most now, especially since he was about to enter one of the biggest matches of his career.

'Hey' yourself. What have you been doing this past week?

Oh, nothing much, to be quite honest. I've just been trying to stack up your odds of winning against the other five.

Oh come on, it shouldn't take that long. You KNOW I can perform well under high- stress situations. Take the match against Gator and Sane, for example.

Note that Sane was hardly trying, AND you had Scully to assist you. This time, you'll be facing off, alone, against five men who want this title equally, or more, than you. And note, all of them, except Todd and maybe Black, have accomplished more than you.

Impossible. TJ never held a belt, where as I held the Tag Titles, however brief that reign may have been. And there will never be a person who wants that Hart title more than I do. I want to be taken seriously. I want to be able to hang with the big dogs. I want to let the world know that this year, my second year in the XWF, shall be the year of Maverick. No matter how few matches I'll actually be competing in, everyone will know that when I do compete, I mean fucking business.

Fair enough. And I take it the Hart title match is the reason you called me?

Exactly. I need you to open a mental training room for me. I need a challenge so large that I cannot overcome. I need to reach, and therefore, break my limits.

Hm. Very well. Since this is the first time you want to go through a mental training session while awake, I'll need you to sleep.

Another sharp exhale escaped Maverick.

Sleep.

A near- foreign concept to him as of late. Usually, he'd stay up far into the night ever since he re- signed to the XWF, analyzing matches with the three real competitors in this match, Ginger Snaps, TJ Wallace, and Peter Gilmour. Frequently, he'd find himself passed out, waking up drooling on himself. Gross.

As such, Mav was out like a light as soon as he closed his eyes. He was waiting to be in the world of his mind, in the world of his dreams. He knew that potentially an unconquerable challenge awaited him. But he needed to pass it. He needed to smash through his limits. He needed to be the next Hart Champion.

And if he doesn't succeed here, his efforts may just be for naught.

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A light breeze danced across the nose of Maverick, jolting him awake.

"GUAH!" he shouted as he rose to a sitting position.

What Maverick expected when he woke up was along the lines of a death trap. Lava, spikes, the works.

But instead, what greeted him was just a basic wrestling mat, out in the fields of nowhere.

"I- is this some kind of joke?!" Mav cried as he forced himself to his feet.

"You say that like I did you the exact opposite of a favor," a familiar voice rang out behind him.

"AAGH!" Mav shouted as he stepped back about a mile a minute, all while turning around.

And no, that was a figure of speech. Gawds, the mental capacity of you people.

"I'd really appreciate it if you stop shouting. Works wonders for the ole' eardrums," Mav's mind- father said.

"Oh, uh, right," Mav said as he returned to normal, finished with his freakout. "But why are we here, of all places? Not what I exactly think of when 'a challenge I cannot overcome,' I wouldn't think of just a wrestling mat out in nowhere. Unless if I have to move the mat. DO I have to move the mat?"

"No, no, you don't. But, you have to get used to fighting in matches again. And what better way to do that then in a 1- on- 1 match against your old pop?"

"... I hate you so much sometimes."

"I know you do. Now, step inside the ring." A commanding point given by the man formerly known as Robert Solomon forced Maverick to slowly saunter into the ring.

Stepping in between the ropes, Maverick had no idea what awaite him once the 'bell' would be rung. How ruthless would his father be? Would he go harder or lighter than the last time Mav faced off against him? If it was the latter, how on Earth would Maverick escape with a win?

"Right," Robert said, taking note of Maverick's idle stance, before snapping his fingers. Multiple steel chairs rose out of the ground, nameless spectators cheering right on top of them. How much was there? 50? 75? 100 at the most, but that's beside the point.

A Drew Archyle also popped out of the ground, wearing a referee shirt.

"Really? Drew Archyle?" Maverick questioned, while Robert responded with a shrug. One more finger snap later, and yet another steel chair was raised, this time empty. A bell was sitting next to it. Another Drew Archlye was spawned with yet another snap. He slowly sat down into the chair, drinking in the sight that was Maverick being tortured in there. A small grin was able to be seen on his face as he rang the bell.

DING!

DING!

DING!

Robert and Mav slowly circled around the ring. Since they already faced off before, this was likely going to continue right where they left off. They charged to the middle and met in a collar- and- elbow tie- up, Robert easily winning it and pushing Mav into a corner of the ring.

After a few seconds of keeping his son confined in a corner, Mind- Archyle got involved and moved Robert away from Mav. Mav was about to charge after his father, but Robert moved Mind- Archyle out of the way and thumbed his son in the eye. Maverick immediately recoiled, clutching his eye. The crowd hissed at Robert's low display.

"What you lack is a killer instinct," Robert ridiculed as he seemed to charge in and get a surprise roll- up off of Mav, only to change it to a leg lock at the last second. "How can you expect to beat Gilmour with those kinds of instincts? Or how about Ginger? Weakness is the only thing you're showing right now, m'boy-- FIGHT IT!"

Maverick was crying out in pain, the unexpectedness and pure strength of the leg lock working wonders. Slowly but surely, Mav began to crawl to the bottom ring ropes, trying to claw his way there.

"Yes, yes, that's it!" Robert encouraged. "Keep fighting back!"

Finally, Maverick reached the ropes. Having no choice, Archyle steps in and forces Robert to break the hold. After giving off a soft sigh, Robert released the hold, allowing Maverick to get back to his feet-- but it was clear he was hobbled. Maverick had to rely on the leg that wasn't locked in Robert's leg lock for strength.

Robert waited until Mav was back on both feet before charging in again.

"You have to cover your weaknesses, Joshua!" Robert shouted as he gave Mav a kick right where his injured leg was. Being called by his real name and the harshness of Robert's tone was bad enough, but being hurt right in your injured area was even worse. "You'll be on the big stage, in the lion's den! You expect your opponents to show you any mercy?! Then you'll be eaten alive!"

Robert fired off another leg kick this time, which Mav managed to deflect with his hand, but that led him to be open, with an open- palmed slap from Robert. Mav immediately recoiled, though he charged back into the fray with a Lou Thesz Press. From there, Mav took control of one of his father's arms, and expertly applied an armbar. Taken off guard by the sudden burst of offense, Robert waited for a moment for his mind to catch up. Then, he elbowed Mav's injured leg, which immediately forced him to relinquish all strength in his hold.

From there, it was an easy escape from Mav's hold for Robert. Taking advantage of his son's downed state, he went for the pin.

1...



2.......



Thr- kickout! Mav just managed to power out!

Robert grimaced, then returned to his slow, but agonizing torture.

It wasn't a match. It was a massacre. For every move the injured Mav managed to pull off, Robert managed to pull off three more.

But, very occassionally, Mav managed to show signs of life, even to the point of hitting a Lights Out Spinebuster on his own father once, though afterward, Robert capitalized once more on his son's injury, and kick him right on his thigh after playing possum for a bit.

However, Mav still refused to give in. Not once did he allow himself to get pinned, and there were times where a face painted with genuine surprise was found on Robert.

After what seemed like hours on end of this torture, the bell suddenly rang. Confusion ran through Maverick-- he didn't remember being pinned, nor did he remember submitting. What was going on?

"Ah, yes, it seemed like I forgot to tell you," Robert said. "Twenty minute time limit. Just like your Hart title match. Didn't want you getting too tuckered out."

"I'm not sure whether to thank you or to hate you," Mav managed to cry out through his pain.

"Oh, thanking me would be nice, but in your sorry state. you won't be thanking anyone for a while. Be thankful these wounds will dissapear when you wake up. Oh, and Mav?"

"Yeah?"

"Considering that was the hardest I've ever went on for any man in any match, and you still refused to allow yourself to be pinned, well, I'd say you did good."

"Th- thanks, Dad," Mav managed to sputter out as he went back to the world of the living.

While Mav might not have done good in the match, it was still valuable training, training that will help him out a lot during the Hart title match.

Now it's time to be a fuckin' champion.

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"So Ginger, since it seems that Peter Gilmour refuses to respond to me, and we haven't heard a peep from TJ Wallace since his promos got taken down, nor Todd and Black after their promos, it's now just you and me. One- on- one. And honestly, I'm fine with this matchup."

"And no, before you accuse me of being sexist, it's nothing like that, Your only big win that you can truly strut about is Vinnie Lane, and like we covered earlier, he was just a worn down, husk of a man."

"Believe it or not, I got my first title win off a match by beating two husks with my tag team partner, Scully. Yeah, we beat Sane and Gator, two of the biggest sons of bitches back in the day. But, given how bad Defiance's rough patch was at the time, they were just two worn out, emotionally bruised and battered souls."

"When I allowed Scully to get the pin, and he got the 1, 2, 3, and we were celebrating with those titles, I just felt... empty. I mean, yeah, big tag team title win, who wouldn't celebrate that? But my victory felt... hollow. I finally beat Gator, one of the people who made my life hell when I first got here, and one of the people I swore to defeat in a match, but it was obvious he wasn't at 100%. And I guess you could say, without wanting to admit it, that made be become a husk of a competitor too. Self- doubt swarmed my mind, like, would I ever be able to beat Gator when he's at 100%?"

"But, my vacation revitalized me. I'm going into this match full of bleeding hope. Try and stop me all you want, but you're just an ant, an ant that needs to be squashed. You need to wake up, smell the coffee. Maybe look back on Dim and Peter's past actions, and realize, 'hey, that's not what a perfectly normal and sane person would do!' Want proof? Look after Peter Gilmour's match when he lost to the 8- year old. He literally knocked out his entire class. And I wish I was joking."

"Whatever, act how you wanna act. I'm not gonna waste any more time on you."