Professional wrestlers are the ultimate competitors.

They have to be. It’s part of their survival. Without that competitive spirit, they risk being cast aside and ejected from the industry.

The thing is, that competitive nature extends beyond the ring, as well. It’s in all aspects of their lives. And when two professional wrestlers meet outside the ring, especially two wrestlers that are sent on a collision course against each other, they seek out that competition in an effort to gain insight into each other’s mindset.

We open at a high roller poker table in a casino, where Centurion is seated. Centurion is wearing a high priced suit and has a glass of scotch in front of him, and is seated in the middle where the seats on either side of him are empty, leaving only him, two other gamblers, and the dealer at the table. The last hand has just ended and the gambler to Centurion’s right is raking in some chips. Despite the amount of money being bet, the three gamblers at the table have blank, emotionless expressions on their faces.

Centurion tosses in his ante, as do the other two seated at the table. Before the dealer grabs the cards, however, another set of chips gets tossed onto the table.

“This seat taken?” A distinct, deep sounding Scottish voice calls out from behind Centurion as a pile of chips are lightly set down on the green felt. Centurion looks beside himself and sees Anarchy Champion Sean Parker, his opponent at March Madness and team mate at Anarchy, standing with a grin on his face. Centurion takes a deep breath as he gestures to the seat next to him, and Parker sits down. “I’ve tried to get a hold of you. Theo must have given me the wrong number.”

“No, I’ve just been ignoring you.” Centurion says in a matter of fact tone as he sips his scotch.

Sean smirks, a light snort escaping his nostrils as he takes a seat on a stool next to his tag team partner slash opponent.

“Deal me in,” he says to the dealer. Two cards are promptly distributed towards him. Sean peaks at the top corners of them but gives nothing away.

“Call,” he says, throwing the big blind’s worth of chips into the pot. He turns to Centurion.

“So, Anarchy,” Sean starts. “Seems Jett is testing the waters a bit before March Madness.”

“Something like that.” Centurion says as he taps the table, indicating that he checks the current hand. “Either that, or he’s trying to break a speedrun world record on how quickly he can piss off all of his top talents.”

The dealer burns the first card before placing three cards down in the center of the table. He flips them over, revealing a Jack of Spades, a Seven of Hearts, and a Four of Diamonds.

Sean casts his gaze over the flop of cards turned face up on the table, taking another sly glance at his own cards before throwing some chips into the pile.

“Call,” he says before turning to face Centurion, whose own eyes are also fixated on the three cards, "I don’t agree with whatever game he’s playing. With you I mean. All this jumping through hoops bullshit just to get a shot at my title. Everyone in the company knows this match between you and I is what everyone wants to see…”

Sean takes a small sip from his own drink, a Grey Goose and coke.

“...but we’ve got one more hurdle to navigate before that this week though. I gotta say, I never I thought I’d actually get the chance to team with you, let alone face you in a match."

Centurion takes the top three chips on his pile and repeatedly drops them back onto the pile, before tossing them into the center of the table.

"You got the raw end of a deal." Centurion says as he sits back in his chair, waiting for the other two gamblers to make their decision. "Jett screwing with me has turned what should be the best match in a long time for the Anarchy brand into an afterthought. I should be fighting Madison Dyson and getting my revenge on her, and you should be facing an opponent who is a lot more focused on challenging for the title than they are on acting out personal grudges. But there isn't a single bone in my body that thinks we won't be able to take care of business on Thursday. I know Jett wants to see us explode and turn on each other, but I don't have a problem with you. In fact, I like you."

One of the gamblers tosses his cards into the middle, and the dealer burns another card before turning up a Four of Hearts.


“I know we’re more than capable of beating Black and Oz, man. And whilst I’m humbled, you need to get Madison Dyson out of your head. I know you wanted revenge for what she did but she’s not worth you wasting your anger on.”


"It didn't happen to you." Centurion says in a growl as he grabs his drink. "And you weren't here when she was at her absolute worst. I've won titles. I'd venture to say I've won more than anyone. But I've never been humiliated like I have been with Madison. I can win the Anarchy Title a thousand times, but it won't close the hole in my soul that will remain if I never get another shot at her."


Sean concedes the point with an incline of his head.


“I won’t say I understand but I do know what it’s like to have her get under your skin. I mean did you see the shit she pulled against me? Doing some crazy Frankenstein shit?”


He takes another drink.


“I know you’ve got a good, what? Twenty years on me in terms of experience but even I know that holding onto hate isn’t good, Cent. My uncle? He’s probably as experienced and successful as you. He had hatred in his heart from blood feuds going back decades and it almost ruined him, almost ruined his marriage. If you hold onto that hate, you’re never going to be happy, man.”


"I know." Centurion says as the last card, the Queen of Hearts, is tossed onto the table. "Trust me, I have completely aware. Have you ever seen someone diving into a situation, and they already know it's going to end badly for them? Have you ever seen the look on their face as they know they're about to plummet into the darkness?" Centurion tosses a fair amount of chips onto the table before turning to face Sean. "Now you have."


Sean looks at the Queen of Hearts and eyes his own cards discreetly again before adding his own pile of chips to the pile too.


“Mate, I’ve pretty much done that my entire career, hell my entire life, seen some pretty dark stuff. But you know what? I’m here. Yeah, there’s arseholes out there that make me wanna kick their faces in, but I don’t let it define me, you know.”


"You're saying all the right things." Centurion says as he takes a sip of his scotch. He places it back down on the table before folding his arms in front of him. "I'll be honest, they're all things I would say if I was sitting in your shoes. If I could move on, I would. I'd love to. But if I sat here and told you I'm ready to move on and I don't think about Madison Dyson anymore, I would by lying to you. But I doubt you're here to talk about my neverending obsession with a match I'll never have again. You want to talk about the tag match." The final unnamed gambler tosses his cards to the side, leaving Sean and Cent as the only two players remaining. Centurion turns his cards over and shows a Four and Five of Spades, leaving him with three of a kind.


“It’s all clues to the puzzle, my man. Knowing something like that’s still eating at you? I dunno, I guess it humanises you. But you’re right. It’s easy for us to say this tag team match is in the bag but both of us know how fickle this sport can be. I’m sure you didn’t go into the Holiday Special thinking I was going to leave with the Anarchy Title and I sure as hell didn’t anticipate Madison costing me my match with Pariah. We just have to make sure we’re watching each other’s backs. If I’m going to retain my title at March Madness, I want you as close to one hundred percent as possible.”


Sean turns over his own two cards. Pocket Queens.


“Should’ve went all in. I guess we have Anarchy and the pay-per-view for that.”


Centurion lets out a slight smirk as he tosses his cards over toward the dealer. He takes another drink as Sean gathers his chips. "Regardless of what either of us wants, it would be a moot point if we lose to John and Oz. All of the shine will be taken away from us, which is exactly why this match was booked to begin with. So I'm focused on winning this match, even if my ultimate goal lies elsewhere. And trust me, no one will be laughing harder than Jett if we were to somehow bungle this opportunity. And I'm not about to let that happen."

Sean drains the last remnants of his drink, setting the glass down as the melting ice cubes clink against the inside of it.

“Well, I guess we better make damn sure that doesn’t happen then, hadn’t we?”

Centurion takes his stack of chips and unstacks them into three separate piles next to him, before picking the chips back up and restacking them again. He does this over and over again before tossing in an ante to play the next hand. "I make a habit out of making bad decisions, but I'm not about to let a couple of hanger-ons derail our momentum. I won't allow it.”

After the cards are dealt, Sean subtly spies what his hand contains, responding with the subtlest of eyebrow raises. A moment of silence passes before Sean scrunches his face up slightly and throws the cards nonchalantly in front of him.

Sean’s eyes cast over to his March Madness challenger. Centurion was a man he had admired from afar for years. His achievements in XWF were legendary and known all around the wrestling world. So the fact he was now in a position to be teaming up with him was still sinking in. He daren’t show any sign of that though. They had a job to do at Anarchy before their blockbuster match at March Madness.

“You and me both, man. We both know what’s at stake and you’ll be damned sure Oz and Black will be doing everything they can to spoil the party and do exactly what Jett wants. So, you have my word, man. I’ll do everything in MY power to watch your back and make sure we both go into March Madness on an equal playing field. It means too much to me.”

Sean shoves his chips towards Centurion, rising up from his seated position. He pats Centurion on the arm.

“That’s on me. See you on Thursday.”

Sean walks off leaving Centurion at the table to contemplate his final words.