We cut backstage to see Robbie Bourbon where we can usually expect him postmatch; in front of a medic. His personal doctor is there with him, also attending to the shattered nose. His eyebrows furrow as he scratches his big bushy beard, and in his thick French accent he addresses Robbie.

You're a wreck, Robbie, I know not spiritually, but physically, mentally, and emotionally. Your body seems to have gone through a lot of shock by jetting back and forth to that video game place. Take it easy, you as your doctor I think you should take the night off.

Bourbon looks at his doctor, an eyebrow raised, giving him the inquisitive stink eye.

Are you saying I'm not medically cleared to fight?

His doctor sighs.

Never. I am just saying that I've been stitching you up since you were in elementary school. I've never seen you like this.

Then fix me up.

Robbie, what you need is time, time to heal your wounds. Rebuild your dojo. Reflect on your brother.

What I need isn't important anymore. It's what they need.

Alright, alright, who am I to argue with an unhealthy patient who wants to be healed. At least take your poor girlfriend out somewhere nice, she's been good to you.

Bourbon looks down for a moment.

Do you think she's ashamed of me?

Never. You're misguided, Robbie, not a bad man.

Bourbon looks at his Doctor.

What do you know about the Black Hand?

Oh? That was before my time, even. They were responsible for starting World War I.

Over a century ago?

Yes.