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FLASHBACK: A Year Ago

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Physical therapy clinic, early morning. The sun still risen, and the pale light seeps through the blinds, casting a cold glow over the sterile room. Bam Miller sits slumped in a wheelchair, shoulders hunched, his face shadowed by a thick layer of stubble. He stares down at the floor, his fists clenched tightly on the armrests. His back aches all the time , a low, persistent pain that’s now as much a part of him as breathing. Today marks his first day of physical therapy, but he’s here against his will, more out of obligation than hope. He barely notices as a young woman approaches him, clipboard in hand, her eyes gentle but determined. Jessica Bailey stops in front of him, watching him with a calm patience that doesn’t waver, even as Bam continues staring at the floor, his expression closed off, almost hollow.



Jessica: Bam Miller?



Bam doesn’t look up at first, his jaw set. He eventually lifts his gaze to meet hers, his eyes hard, tinged with frustration and defeat.



Bam Miller: Yeah. That’s me. The washed-up wrestler who can’t even walk right now.



Jessica doesn’t flinch at the bitterness in his tone. She offers him a small, understanding smile instead, kneeling down to his level, her gaze meeting his directly.



Jessica: Hi, Bam. I’m Jessica. I’ll be working with you to get pass this. I know you’re not where you want to be, and I know how much this feels like it’s the last place you’d ever want to be. But I’m here to help you get back if that’s what you want.


Bam’s expression tightens as he scoffs. He looks away, blinking back a hint of frustration and resentment.



Bam Miller: Back? Back to what? You think I can just… wrestle again? Be the same guy I was before all this? One bad hit, and I’m out for good. And even if I get back, I won’t be half of what I used to be. The people out there? They’ll see me as broken. Weak.



He pauses, swallowing, the words hanging heavily in the air. It’s the first time he’s spoken these fears aloud, and they feel like admitting a kind of defeat he never wanted to face.


Jessica: I hear you, Bam. I do. And you’re right this isn’t going to be easy. It’s probably going to be the hardest thing you’ve ever done. But wrestling… the person you were in that ring… that doesn’t just go away because you’re in a wheelchair right now. You’re still Bam Miller. And the man I read about, the man who made it from the dumpster to a wrestling ring, a fighter who took down anyone in his way, doesn’t quit just because it hurts.



Bam lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head.



Bam Miller: Maybe that guy’s gone. Maybe all that’s left is this sitting in a wheelchair, feeling like half a man. Wrestling was everything to me, you know? When I didn't have anything else I could always count on wrestling to fall back on but now… I don’t even know who I am without it.



Jessica’s expression softens, and she places a hand on his arm, grounding him. She looks at him with a warmth and conviction that cuts through his bitterness like a blade.



Jessica: I know this isn’t where you want to be, Bam. And I can’t pretend to know how hard it’s been for you. But I can tell you this you’re more than just a wrestler. You’re a fighter. And right now, you’re facing a different kind of fight. You may not think you’re the same man, but that spirit? That grit? It’s still there. And if you’re willing to trust me, even just a little, we can find a way to bring that fire back.



Bam stares at her, the anger fading, replaced by a deep, vulnerable exhaustion. He looks away, clenching his jaw, and for a moment, Jessica sees the mask crack. His hands tremble slightly as he grips the armrests, his voice low, almost a whisper.



Bam Miller: Sometimes… sometimes I wonder if I even want it anymore. The pain, the fight, the constant struggle just to get up. I’ve never felt this weak… this… broken. I don’t know if I can come back from this.



Jessica leans closer, her voice gentle but resolute.



Jessica: Then let’s start small. Today, it’s not about getting back in the ring. It’s not about being Bam Miller, the wrestler. Today, it’s just about standing up. Just one step at a time. And I’ll be here with you for each one.



She extends her hand, unwavering, as if daring him to believe in her. Bam stares at it for a long moment, every muscle in his body tense, as if even this small gesture feels like an impossible risk. Slowly, he reaches out and takes her hand. As he starts to stand, his body protests, the pain sharp and relentless. He grits his teeth, nearly letting go, but Jessica’s grip is steady, anchoring him as he pushes through. He finally makes it to his feet, shaky and unsteady, but standing. He breathes heavily, sweat beading on his forehead, his hands gripping hers tightly. And for the first time in a long time, he feels something other than anger a small, flickering hope.



Jessica: See? That’s where it starts, Bam. Just one step. You may not believe in yourself right now, but I do. And I’ll keep believing until you’re ready to see it for yourself.



Bam looks at her, the smallest hint of gratitude in his eyes, though he’s too proud to let it show fully. He nods, swallowing hard, his voice thick with emotion.



Bam Miller: Alright… one step. I guess… I can try that.



As he lowers himself back into the wheelchair, there’s a slight shift in his demeanor. The bitterness hasn’t fully left, and the doubt still lingers, but Jessica’s words stay with him. For the first time, he feels a flicker of the fighter he once was. And with Jessica’s steady presence beside him, he begins to wonder if maybe just maybe he can find his way back.

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FLASHBACK: Few Months Ago

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Porcupine Mountains, early morning. The dense forest is bathed in a faint golden light, with mist hanging low over the trees, giving the landscape a hauntingly beautiful glow. Bam Miller is jogging along a narrow trail, his breaths coming out in hard, determined puffs of steam in the cold air. Sweat beads down his forehead despite the chill, his muscles straining with every step. This isn’t an easy jog—he’s pushing himself, feeling every ache, every lingering reminder of his injury. But he keeps going, his eyes focused ahead, steely with determination. He mutters to himself between breaths, almost as if the forest itself is listening.



Bam Miller: C’mon, Bam… this is what you wanted, isn’t it? To get back out here, to feel like you again. No one’s gonna hand you anything, least of all a second chance.



He clenches his jaw, pushing himself harder, his pace quickening up the steep incline. His legs burn, his lungs ache, but he relishes the pain it reminds him he’s alive, capable of fighting again. A small smirk crosses his face, a hint of the old fire returning.



Bam Miller: You’ve come too far just to let a little pain keep you down. All that work… all those days… gotta be for something, right? Back in the ring… back where you belong.



Suddenly, he stops. Just up ahead, a faint rustling catches his attention. He squints, realizing he’s stumbled upon something unusual. Near a clearing, lying among the autumn leaves, is a gray wolf. It’s injured, one leg drawn in close as it trembles, its fur matted with blood from a wound on its side. Bam takes a step forward, cautious but intrigued, his breath slowing as he takes in the animal’s state. The wolf’s eyes, fierce and unbroken despite its injury, meet his. For a moment, Bam sees a reflection of himself a creature hurt, beaten, but still unwilling to surrender. The wolf growls low, warning him to stay back, but there’s no fear in its gaze, only a raw defiance.



Bam Miller: Yeah… I know that look. You’re not ready to give up either, huh?



He crouches down a safe distance away, not daring to get too close, but unwilling to leave just yet. He studies the wolf’s wound, seeing how it breathes heavily, struggling yet refusing to lie down fully.



Bam Miller: You’re out here alone, hurt, but you’re still fighting. Everyone thinks you’re down, but you’re proving ’em wrong. It’s in your eyes, that fire, that… refusal to quit. You don’t know what giving up is, do you?



The wolf’s gaze remains locked on him, and Bam feels a strange connection, an unspoken understanding between them. He reaches down to pick up a nearby branch, twirling it absentmindedly as he speaks, almost as if confessing to himself.



Bam Miller: I had my doubts, too. Thought maybe I’d lost it, that hunger. But seeing you… it’s like looking in a damn mirror. I’m not the same guy I was, sure. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be better… stronger, even. You keep going, despite everything stacked against you. So why the hell shouldn’t I?


The wolf’s breathing slows, and it closes its eyes briefly, as if finding a moment’s peace in Bam’s presence. A soft smile crosses Bam’s face as he stands back up, feeling renewed, almost reborn by this quiet moment shared with the creature.



Bam Miller: Alright, buddy. I’ll take that as a sign. I’m gonna keep going, too. And maybe one day… we’ll both be out here, stronger than ever.



He steps back slowly, giving the wolf space. Taking one last look, he nods in silent respect, then turns to jog back down the trail, his steps quicker, lighter. The pain that once lingered in his body is now just fuel for the fire inside. With every stride, he feels his purpose solidify, a reminder that he’s not done yet that he’s far from finished. As he disappears into the trees, the wolf watches him, unblinking. And in that quiet wilderness, they both understand: survival isn’t just about healing, it’s about the relentless drive to rise again, no matter how many times you’ve been brought to your knees.

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PRESENT DAY

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A cold, early morning in the Porcupine Mountains. The camera captures Bam Miller sitting on the porch of a rugged cabin, the dense forest and fog-covered peaks stretching out behind him. He takes a slow drag on his cigar, his breath visible in the icy air. His eyes, hardened by pain and purpose, stare out over the landscape as he begins to speak.



Bam Miller: Three hundred sixty-five days… Eight thousand seven hundred sixty hours… Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes… and Thirty-one million, five hundred thirty-six thousand seconds. That’s how long it’s been since I stood in a ring. And every second, I could feel that emptiness… gnawing at me. I’ve had to sit back, watch, and wait… unable to fight, unable to be the Bam Miller I am. But this place… these mountains? They’ve been my only company through all of it. Out here, there’s no crowd, no noise just the sound of my own bones grinding as I learned to walk again. Just me… and the silence.



He flicks ash from his cigar, the smirk on his face not one of joy, but of someone who’s endured far more than he ever let on.



Bam Miller: People ask why I’d come back to wrestling by throwing myself into War Games. Why risk everything in a match like that, especially right after a back injury that nearly ended my career? They think I should ease back in… play it safe. But that’s not me. See, I don’t do ‘easy.’ I’ve never taken the safe road. And the way I see it, if I’m going to step back into that ring, I’m going straight to hell to do it. I’m walking back into that fire, because if there’s one thing I know how to do… it’s survive.



He pauses, eyes narrowing as he looks toward the mountains. He takes another drag of his cigar, exhaling a plume of smoke into the cold air.



Bam Miller: This isn’t just about me anymore. I got a family now. I’ve got someone waiting for me back home… Jessica, and our kid on the way. That changes things. Makes you see the world a little differently, makes you fight harder, for something more. When I look into my kid’s eyes one day, I want them to know that their dad is a fighter. That he didn’t back down when the world said it was over, when the doctors said ‘maybe wrestling isn’t in the cards anymore.’ I want them to know that I didn’t just survive I came back stronger, with something to prove.



Bam’s expression hardens, and he stares directly into the camera, addressing his opponents head-on.



Bam Miller: And that brings me to you, Caesar’s Army. James Raven, a legend in this business… a GOAT. You’re everything I’ve fought against my entire life. Every doubt, every sneer, every person who ever looked down on me… that’s what you represent. You’ve beaten me twice, sure. But War Games? That’s a whole different kind of battle. And this time, I’m bringing every ounce of pain I’ve endured in the past year right to you. I’m coming for that respect I’ve been chasing since day one, and it doesn’t matter if I have to break my body all over again to get it.



He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and his voice drops to a menacing tone.



Bam Miller: I’m not just walking into War Games to compete I’m stepping in to make damn sure you know I’m still the Top Guy Slayer. Axel Shaw, Charlie Nickles, Prince Adeyemi… you may have all the names and the talent, but I’ve got something you can’t beat. I’ve got nothing left to lose and everything to prove. I don’t need to be the biggest or the strongest… I just need to be the last man standing.



He rises slowly, leaving the cigar in the ashtray, his face serious as he looks out into the morning mist.



Bam Miller: So yeah, this comeback isn’t just for me. It’s for Jessica, it’s for my kid… it’s for everyone who’s ever been told they’re not good enough, that they don’t belong. I’ve bled, I’ve broken, I’ve endured more than most could even imagine just to get back here. War Games is just another mountain to climb. And come that night… when I’m standing over Caesar’s Army, blood on my knuckles, victory in my hands… they’ll know what it means to fight a man with nothing left to fear.



He looks directly into the camera one last time, his voice low and laced with conviction.



Bam Miller: I’m not just surviving anymore. I’m taking back what’s mine. And if any of you think you’re gonna stop me? You’d better bring everything you’ve got… because I’m bringing Hell with me.



He walks back into the cabin, leaving only the smoldering cigar and the echo of his words lingering in the cold mountain air.