The early morning light seeps into the window open window of Daniel's apartment. He's sprawled in the bed, the quilt all over the place. He's drooling on his pillow and doing a considerable amount of snoring. Loudly. Beside his bed is a side table, on top of which is a small lamp and a small and thin phone placed face down. The alarm rings from the phone, stirring the sleepy man. He shuts it off, and after a couple of seconds, musters the strength to push himself up. He turns his body and sits on his mattress, rubbing his eyes.

Looking at his phone to observe the time, he lets out a yawn. It's the day of his big championship match. The day that, he was certain, that he would walk out champion. He pulls himself up, stumbling slightly at his uneven weight thanks to the sudden shift of position. Thankfully he keeps to his feet. He's wearing nothing but his boxers, and rubbing his eyes once more, he walks to a set of drawers, slides the top one open, and pulls out a shirt and a pair of jogging bottoms. Slipping them on over his sleeping attire, he pulls on some socks and ties on some running shoes. Grabbing a pair of headphones from the side-table, he plugs them into his phone, sliding it in his pocket and planting the headphones in his ears, not yet turning the music on.

He walks out into the kitchen, grabbing a rucksack. He fills it with energy bars and a couple bottles of water, as he does his final steps to his daily exercises. Today, he'd decided to get up an hour earlier to exercise for an extra hour. He said he was not going to take any risks, and one of which is that he decided he didn't want to under prepare. As such, he's been out at least jogging every single day, whereas usually he would take a lie-in every other day or so.

Nothing was going to stand in his way, and with his bag fully packed, he loops it over his shoulders and begins to head out of the door, pausing only when his phone vibrates. He takes it out of his pocket and checks it.

New Text Recieved: From Edward

He opens it and reads it, perching down onto the edge of the sofa.

Dan, I wanted to meet at some point. Wasn't sure when you were up, but I'm free any time today. I need to talk to you. Text me whenever.

In a matter of seconds, Daniel has already replied "I'm up." Without a second thought he headed out the door and descended the steps down and out onto the street. He looked at the Lamborghini sitting next to the pavement. The one given to him. He still hasn't driven it yet. He drags his attention away from it and starts jogging in a direction.

Minutes must have passed before Edward text back.

Cool. I'll be near the arena if you want to chat. See you in a bit.

Daniel chose not to respond. At least he now knew where he was headed. He turned around and jogged toward the War Room. The jog took a few minutes, but the distance covered, and that he'd been running elsewhere to begin with, left him sweating profusely. Sitting on a step next to Edward, he takes off his back, pulls out a bottle of water and takes a big slurp. Edward watches him down it.

Jeez... I take it you've been jogging a bit?

Daniel resurfaces, removing the bottle from his lips with a small pop. He wheezes heavily as he speaks.

Yeah... you could say that...

He rubs the back of his hand over his forehead, wiping away the sweat that had been building.

So. That match is tonight, isn't it? Feeling lucky?

Daniel shakes his head.

Hell no. Luck has nothing to do with it. The best man will walk from that ring tonight as champion, and you can be damn sure that it'll be me.

His brother satisfyingly nods his head in approval.

Awesome. ...So I looked online last night, and I was looking at your opponents for the match.

Daniel's eyes open wide, surprised to see how much his brother had taken an interest.

Oh really, why? What did you find?

Well I was watching some tapes when I came across a couple that really caught my eye... like this one guy who picked on a fan for some fucking reason at a charity event of all things. Dunno about you but to me he seems like he's lost a few bolts, ain't he?

What, Jason Smith? Yeah, I saw that too. I can see what you mean but I don't think nuts is really the correct term for him. I would probably call him deranged, or something like that. Regardless, that guy's a fucking animal. I'm pretty concerned he's half man, half lion, half bulldozer. Simply a monster, 150%.

But he's right. You may have seen my stuff or not, but I kept banging on about my game-plan, and then seeing him taking the chance to bark on about me about it gave me that feeling of 'I've messed up and now I'm going to regret it, aren't I?' But, I've said the phrase many times before, and I'll certainly say it many times again in the future;

Actions speak louder than words, and I don't know about you but I think my words were pretty damn loud already.

Edward looks at his brother.

Are you sure you don't want me at ringside? Because I still have the ticket, I can go if you want me to.

Daniel peers over his shoulder, takes a quick sip of his drink, and in one movement he plants the almost empty bottle in his bag and it's on his back and he's walking off. Slapping his knees, Ed jumps up and jogs to catch up.

What!?

That's the only reason you wanted to talk to me, wasn't it? To see if I can let you get your money's worth even if it means throwing away my chance? Oh sure, for you, you can buy any ticket to any XWF show for any day of any year, but for me this is my only shot. I want your support and I appreciate it that you want to help me, but the best way you can support me is by letting me do this on my own. I don't need you to back me up. I don't need you as my pseudo-manager.

So what? You're just throwing my hard earned money back at me and say "No, do something else?" I want to help you, and I want to support you, but if you turn me down it just gets harder and harder for me to do so! I can't help you from the sidelines, Dan. I want to be there with you!

Yeah, you're going to be at my side from halfway across the fucking world. Makes sense. You need to come back to reality and realise that you're not going to be here forever 'big brother'. You have your own life and some day you'll have to return to it and stop trying to cash-in at your brother's expense.

'Cash in'!? I'm spending money to support you! How am I 'cashing in'?!

Daniel stops abruptly, and puts his hand on his brother's chest. Lowering it, he speaks.

Because I know you. I know that if tonight it works for me, and you're in the front row, then you're going to be the guy promoting me when I don't ask for it. You're going to be the guy who tries to leapfrog off of my hard work and dedication to try and make something of yourself. Money is nothing compared to the work that I put into this, and your complaints about how I'm somehow hindering your life more than mine by 'sucking out your money' just pisses me off even more. Did you even watch my War Games match? Did you see how much I was bleeding? I'm lucky to be allowed to wrestle tonight, if even at all. Hell, I've heard once that I'm lucky to still be alive.

But as I said before, my life is not based around luck. It's based around my commitment, my determination, and my drive to do well and succeed in this business. I want you to realise how much this means to me before you throw your needs before mine. I didn't ask you to come here, I didn't ask you to buy those tickets, so stop pointing your finger around pretending that I'm the badguy.

Speechless, Edward just stands there, gobsmacked. With a shake of his head, Daniel jogs back in the direction he came, violently bumping Edward's shoulder on his way. Ed watches him go, taking the ticket out of his pocket and tearing it in half on the street.

It seems that Warfare won't quite be sold-out, now will it?