He isn't going to let anyone know that it's eating him alive.

After all, losses happen in professional wrestling, especially when you get to the point in your career where you're running down the mountain instead of climbing up it. Centurion has gotten used to being beaten, especially by younger talent who prove themselves worthy in the ring. In fact, he thinks it's good for professional wrestling when someone like Raion Kido can beat him and become one of the most marketable figures in pro wrestling.

But that wasn't this situation. This was Michael Graves, someone who's number he has had for years. If he starts losing to people he thought himself superior to, who knows what the future has in store for him?

We open up inside the Sky 745 Hookah Lounge in East Stroudsburg, Pennsylvania. There, we see Centurion sitting in a corner booth. He has a small hookah sitting on the table in front of him, as well as a glass of liquor in a highball glass. Centurion has the hose for the hookah in his hand, and he twirls it around in the air as he looks down on his phone, scrolling through Twitter and catching up on the most recent gossip in the professional wrestling world. 

The rest of the lounge is dark and bathed in a blue light. Small groups of college students sit amongst themselves at various other tables, and the music being played is some modern hits Pandora station. Needless to say, Centurion sticks out like a sore thumb. 

Centurion takes a quick hit of the hookah and exhales the smoke, but as he look up from the table, his face drops. She slowly exhales the rest of the smoke as he looks directly in the eyes of a former adversary - a man so powerful, he once nearly took everything Centurion had.

The mysterious Mr. Blue.

Unlike Centurion, who has decided to dress more casual, Mr. Blue is in a full suit. He takes a sip of his drink as he slowly walks towards Centurion and takes a seat in front of him. 

"Tough beat." Mr. Blue says in a disappointed, sad tone. "First match back and you lose to Michael Graves? After all you said about him? And you had him right where you wanted him, too, but just one bad break, and suddenly the entire world slips out of your hands…"

"Is there something I can help you with?" Centurion snaps back, cutting Mr. Blue off in an angry tone.

"Calm down." Mr. Blue responds in his deep, smooth British accent. "Take a deep breath. This may come as a surprise to you, but I did not travel all this way to insult you, no matter how…" Mr. Blue glances at the hookah, then back over at Centurion. "...easy that may be."

"Then why are you here?!" Centurion says in a more forceful tone. 

Mr. Blue grabs the base of the hookah and turns around in his chair. He places the hookah on the table behind him before turning back around and facing Centurion. "It saddens me that you think of me as a man with such callousness. As if there is some ulterior motives to visit one of my closest friends…"

"You don't have friends." Centurion says, cutting him off. "And I know it's not a coincidence that you're here immediately following one of the most humbling defeats of my career. So why don't you save all the bullshit for someone looking to buy it, and get right down to the reason you're here, and, more importantly, why I'm not jumping over this table and strangling you."

Mr. Blue lets out a slight chuckle as he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a small metal case. He opens it, revealing four cigarettes. He pulls one out and closes the case back up. He slips the case back into his pocket and pulls out a lighter, which he uses to light his cigarette. He sets the lighter down on the table and sits back in his chair, exhaling the smoke. He twirls his cigarette in his hand as he explains. "I have made my fair share of enemies over the years."

"You?!" Centurion quips, sarcastically. "No!"

"Yes, not everyone is as charmed by my personality as you are, Mr. Cortinovis." Mr. Blue responds with a smile. "I will admit, most of these folks have ample reason to wish for my demise, much as you do. There are some, however, that make up lies and slander about me just out of pure rage and jealousy."

"Lies, huh?" Centurion says with a sarcastic smile. "Now who would ever want to make up lies about when, when there's perfectly good, true reasons to hate you."

"Quite a few folks, actually." Mr. Blue says. "One of which you are quite familiar with - a former county controller names Bartholomew Lichter."

Centurion's sarcastic demeanor quickly leaves as Mr. Blue recites the name of the man currently locked in a blood feud with Centurion. Centurion tilts his head in confusion, and Mr. Blue returns with a reassuring nod before taking another hit of his cigarette. Before he is able to explain, a waitress for the lounge approaches Mr. Blue and stands next to him.

"Sir." The barely 21 year old woman says in as strong of a tone as she possibly can. "You can't smoke cigarettes in here. Only hookah."

"Darling," Mr. Blue responds, completely unphased. "I'm sure it's against company policy to be telling prescription narcotics from behind the counter, but if you let me smoke in peace, I won't bring any attention to the fact that I saw you slipping percocets to your most recent customers."

The waitress, knowing she's been caught, slowly walks away from the table, allowing Mr. Blue to take another hit of his cigarette. Centurion, meanwhile, remains somewhat dumbfounded.

"What the hell would Lichter want with you?" Centurion says, trying to piece everything together. "Why would he even care about your existence?"

"It's all politics, love." Mr. Blue says as he taps his cigarette against the table, causing the ashes to fall onto the tabletop. "Eleven years ago, when Lichter was running for county controller, he was running against an acquaintance of mine. I didn't know the chap real well - he just did some accounting work for one of my businesses. Honestly, he was running for the position because no one else wanted to run, and he didn't think Lichter should get the job without having to work for it. Truth be told, he is a much more honorable man than I."

"That's not a bar that is set very high." Centurion snarks back.

"Be that as it may." Mr. Blue continues, unphased by Centurion's comments. "He is a man who truly cares about his community, and he was rewarded for it by being tied to me, and not just the things I do, but things I have no involvement in. I was called a pedophile. It was said that I ran a Satanic sex club. And while these accusations made by a small town politician wouldn't mean anything to me normally, it did lead to an innocent man and his family being verbally abused until they were forced to move. To say I have held a grudge would not be giving enough weight to the anger I have held in my heart all these years."

"Beautiful story." Centurion says in a sharp tone. "So I am supposed to believe that the person I'm currently feuding with just so happened to have been in a political race with someone connected to the person who was trying to take me for a hundred million dollars 15 years ago? You'll have to forgive me if I don't believe you."

"Believe whatever you wish." Mr. Blue says in a frustrated tone. "The fact is, we both have a vested interest in seeing you succeed, and after what I witnessed two weeks ago, I don't think you are in a position to do that right now."

"Glad to see you're not here to insult me." Centurion hits back as he takes a sip of his drink.

"I'm here to give you a sense of reality!" Mr. Blue responds in an elevated tone. "You and I are the last of a dying breed. The gentlemanly sport of competition has been taken over by ruthless vagabonds that could not care less about their pride. We may have always hated each other, Andy, but I always respected you, and I would much rather see someone I hate yet respect sitting at the top than see someone who shows no honor and does absolutely nothing to excite me." Centurion takes a few seconds to think about what Mr. Blue is saying, not quite following along with it. He drinks the last of his drink and sets the glass back down on the table. Mr. Blue picks the glass up and looks at it for a few seconds before holding it up next to his face. "Interesting. I'm going to assume by the aesthetics of this bar that they are not going to have your prized Glenmorangie in stock, so you would have had two choices - either suck it up and drink Johnie Walker, or…" Mr. Blue takes a quick sniff of the glass before gesturing towards the waitress. "Miss, could you bring my friend another glass of Maker's Mark please? Put it on my tab."

The waitress walks over and takes the glass out of Mr. Blue's hand. He gives a smug look over to Centurion, who does not seem impressed.

"Congratulations." Centurion says, mockingly. "That's a great party trick you have there. What was that supposed to prove, that you know so much about me?"

"That you're predictable." Mr. Blue responds, sternly. "That in 21 years, the only thing that has changed is the names on the card. Take your opponent this week, for example. Let me guess - you do not see him as on your level? You think he is a comedy character that doesn't deserve to be in the same ring as you? Am I incorrect in my assumption?"

The waitress returns with the drink and slides it over to Centurion. Centurion takes a second to pause on Mr. Blue's words, which were 100% accurate. He sips his drink and sets it back down on the table, slowly nodding. "You are not incorrect."

"And I don't engage in hand to hand combat with you." Mr. Blue states in a matter of fact tone.

Mr. Blue takes one last hit of his cigarette before standing from the table. He taps the end of the cigarette onto the tabletop, snuffing the cigarette out before taking a sip of his drink. "Wednesday night, I will be at the Velvet Rabbit immediately following Warfare. If you think I am full of bollocks, then Wednesday night, you can get into your car, head back to your hotel, go to sleep, and fly home the next day. If, however, you think I can help you, then meet me at the high stakes Baccarat table in the Lucky Rabbit. The choice is all yours."

Mr. Blue downs the rest of his drink before setting the glass down on the table. He winks at Centurion before adjusting his tie and walking out of the lounge, leaving Centurion to stare into his drink and think about all he has heard tonight.

—---Retain Focus, Or Be Left Behind—---

We reopen inside the luxury cabin of Centurion. There, we see mostly darkness. It is dark outside, and the sound of a heavy rain can be heard in the background. The darkness is broken up by the striking of a match. The match is then pressed up against two candles on either side of a marble table. The candlelight reveals Centurion, who shakes the match to put out the flame. He then sits down behind the table and the candles, and looks directly into the camera.

"It is time for us to have a conversation.

You have no idea how badly I want to bury Calypso. I want to talk about how he is not a serious competitor, has accomplished absolutely nothing in this business, and he's going to be nothing more than fodder to me on Wednesday night. This was the speech I had prepared. That is, until…"

Centurion reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a printed out photo of Michael Graves getting his hand raised by the referee following his victory over Centurion. Centurion sets the paper down flat on the table and smooths it out, so it can be as clearly seen as possible.

"I have been humbled before. Hell, I have been humbled so many times, I have lost track. But nothing prepared me for what I experienced that night. My return to an XWF, against a man I have defeated so many times before, and I am left in the middle of the ring, wondering where it all went wrong as my opponent's music plays. I'll be honest - I considered taking my boots off right then and there, and never stepping foot inside an XWF ring ever again. 

But then I had time to think about it, and the other times in my career when I was humiliated by opponents that I knew, for certain, that I was going to not only defeat, but completely demolish. 

Chasm comes to mind. I destroyed that dude 19 times, but that one match, for the Canadian Title on a random episode of Anarchy, is the only match I can remember. I was reminded about it for years after, too - from Chasm, from my opponents, from anyone who tried to discredit me. The only way I was able to silence them, and the voices of self doubt, was to win the World Title - which I finally did, two years later. 

Thebe also comes to mind. You have no idea how sure I was that he wasn't going to even come close to beating me. He was a rookie that was delivering pizzas just a few months prior. Of course I was going to beat him! Well, I didn't, and while that loss nearly sent me on a spiral that would have caused me to leave this profession, it gave me the opportunity to reevaluate my career and the direction things were going. I changed my focus, my attitude, and my work ethic...and I became UGWC World Champion at the end of the year.

What will this most recent humiliation bring me? I do not know, but I have two options - I can either be defined by this, or I can let it shape me into something much stronger."

Centurion picks the paper back up and looks at it one last time before placing one of the corners of the paper into the flame of one of the candles. The paper catches fire, and Centurion holds the burning page in front of him for a second before placing it on the marble table and the ashes of the paper dissipate into the air.

"Here is what I do know, though - this is bad news for you, Calypso. In fact, you're in for one of the worst nights of your life.

I can't take you lightly. My back is against the wall, and a defeat against you would set my career back so far, it would take years to dig out of that hole. That means I can't see you like you're some low level, do nothing competitor. I have to see you like you're the Universal Champion. So congratulations, Calypso. For one week, you are not seen as a joke. 

You were given an opportunity at greatness, Calypso. A lot of folks will praise you for your showing in the main event two weeks ago. You showed up when you were given that chance, and you were able to take the champion to the limit. Glory was at your fingertips.

And you failed.

Those opportunities don't come around all the time, especially for journeymen wrestlers who have been in the business for a long time. You have to seize those opportunities when they're in front of you."

Centurion stands up from the table and blows out the two candles, bringing the darkness back to the room. After a few seconds, Centurion flips the light switch, turning all the lights on into the room. Several of the pictures on the wall include Centurion in various moments of success - holding titles and being celebrated for his accomplishments. Centurion takes a second to scan some of the photos.

"21 years of victories and defeats. 21 years of the highest of highs and lowest of lows. Past success doesn't always guarantee future success; however, what it does do is prove to yourself and to everyone around you that you are able to seize the moment when you're put in it. For all these moments, I have a similar story of having my back against the wall, and needing that one big victory in order to survive. I have prevailed time and time again. You, Calypso? 

You haven't done that yet, and I'm going to be honest with you - I don't know if you ever will.

Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe someday I will watching XWF television, and see you holding up a championship after winning that big match. I have been wrong about these kinds of things before. You could be one massive victory away from moving beyond being the goofy bald guy with the blue bandana. But that victory does not happen this week. It does not happen against me. 

I need this, Calypso. I need to beat you more than I need anything else in the world at this particular moment. And it's a rare situation you're in, Calypso - you hold all the cards. You are in the position of power. If you lose, it's business as usual for you. You go back to whatever schedule you have, wrestling a couple of times before vanishing for months and reemerging to wrestle on a random episode of Warfare. 

But you win? Then you not only have that one big, signature victory, but you also send an XWF legend to the trash heap. You'll get another shot at a title whenever you want it, and I'll be wrestling Liam Roberts and Geri Vayden for the next six months. The pressure is on me to keep my head above water, and the pressure is on you to not fuck it up. Honestly, while you're playing with house money and I'm down to my last few chips - I'd still rather be me than be you. 

Oh, and one final thing - I know you're not the Blue Tango, but I want to make it very clear that the Blue Tango is nowhere near the level of superhero the Banana Lime Blur is. Hell, Blue Tango is nothing more than a wannabe superhero. Someone who wishes they could fight crime like the Banana Lime Blur can. I don't know why I'm telling you this, Calypso, but I wanted to get that off my chest for some reason.

It's all in front of you, Calypso. Many folks have dreamed of being in the position you're in. Will you finally be the one that sends Centurion into obscurity? Will you be a footnote into the final chapter of the book that is my career? Or will you be yet another wrestler who stepped up to me, and walked out after meeting your…