Billy Bones lay still on the canvas, a few feet away.
His incomplete mask was twisted and smeared with sweat. His immense and haughty aura which he had rolled down the entrance ramp with, was utterly destroyed. He had ignored the rankings, outsmarted the system and used dirty tricks he knew from the years of independent wrestling.
And it still wasn’t enough.
He did not have the talent. He was not a man with a real spirit of a champion. Just like he knew his father knew.
The camera zoomed in close on Billy’s masked face. The bright lights of the arena lit up his uncovered eye, and the realisation of his own failure was overwhelming.
A peak example of a battleground littered with the remnants of a war.
The Saitama Super Arena was entirely unglued, a swirling vortex of forty thousand screaming fans reaching a fever pitch of pure elation. Confetti and paper streamers continued to drift down, sticking to the perspiration on the champion’s shoulders.
But... a distance away, reality was violently catching up to the challenger.
Billy Bones peeled his battered frame off the mat, each muscle fiber shrieking loudly in complaint. The devastating impact of the Clothesline From Hell still resonated in his skull, a ringing vibration that made his teeth ache.
Billy rolled under the bottom rope and his shoes landed on the padded floor to the outside. He didn’t look back at the ring. He refused to look the referee in the eye, nor did he acknowledge the champion. He turned his back and started the long and painful trek up the steel entrance ramp.
He was bathed by the boos from the Japanese audience. He ignored them, his raw and now un-taped knuckles throbbing at his sides.
But then the mood in the arena changed.
Okada’s triumphant music was abruptly cut off.
The lights in the massive stadium dipped into an oceanic blue with rays of gold appearing and disappearing. The boos aimed at Billy instantly died down, replaced by murmurs of confusion.
A new beat pulsed through the arena’s state-of-the-art sound system. It was a catchy, contemporary lucha libre theme, with lots of bass and punchy, rhythmic horns.
Its presence was immediately obvious to the crowd. The Saitama Super Arena went wild, producing a pop so unimaginably loud it literally shook the roof.
[Commentator 1: Wait a minute! Listen to this crowd! Do you hear that music?!]
[Commentator 2: It can’t be! They said he would be out for longer! We were told he couldn’t even turn his head!]
[King: Oh gawd, would you look at that! The kid is back! That’s the fighting spirit right there, gentlemen!]
Everyone’s eyes were directed at the top of the steel ramp.
Out stepped Ray Jr.
He was no longer strapped into the heavy-duty cervical collar that had kept his spine in a fixed, torturous position. Nor was he in his blue and silver wrestling tights or the fanciful fur-lined entrance jacket. He wore his signature mask, a fitted black leather jacket, and dark jeans, all characteristic of street attire.
He was projecting that stoic, immortal stance to the world, keeping his shoulders broad. There was not a hint of whiplash or the damage that had almost ended his career.
Billy came to a stop, halfway up the ramp.
The older brother slowly raised his head, his bare eye staring at the figure standing at the top of the stage. The physical distance between them was perhaps measurable, but the emotional chasm was infinitely wider.
[Commentator 1: Ray Jr. has arrived at StandOut! He is standing on his own two feet, defying every expectation!]
[King: Let me tell you something, boys. I spent years grappling and sharing locker rooms with the legend himself, Lee Ray. The only man I can say is right up there with me as a great of pro-wrestling. He was the toughest son of a gun I ever met. He’d wrestle with broken ribs and a shattered jaw. Watching this kid walk out here tonight... it brings back the good old days. That toughness? It’s not just in the blood. Adopted or not, he’s his father’s son, through and through.]
[Commentator 2: The disregard of that statement is massive, King. Especially considering the man staring up at him right now.]
Neither man moved a single muscle.
Billy stood still on the steel grating. Ray Jr. looked down at him, a silent but terrifyingly intense staredown. It was the promise of impending violence, communicating more in a few seconds of silence than a twenty-minute promo ever could.
The golden boy, safely recovered, staring down the bitter outcast who had just failed to conquer the champion.
[Commentator 1: A picture is truly worth a thousand words. The animosity between these two is far from over. If anything, it has just begun.]
[Commentator 2: Billy Bones failed to capture the World Heavyweight Championship tonight, but he has another massive problem. Ray Jr. is back, and he is out for blood!]
[Commentator 1: What a night! For King, and my broadcast partner, we thank you for joining us! From the Saitama Super Arena, this has been JW StandOut! Goodnight, everybody!]
The camera feed faded to black, freezing on the haunting image of the two masked brothers separated by feet of steel.
The backstage production space.
Billy pushed his way through the doors leading to the locker room corridor. The adrenaline was finally leaving his system, leaving behind a profound, bone-deep ache.
He limped, his knee throbbing with a sharp pain that radiated all the way up to his hip. He did not go to the communal locker rooms where the rest of the JW roster gathered. He sought out the isolated, private dressing room assigned to him for the main event.
He shoved the door open and locked it firmly behind him.
The room was quiet, entirely empty. Billy collapsed onto the wooden bench in front of his locker. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, burying his face in his hands. He exhaled deeply.
Slowly, he reached up and unfastened the chin strap of his mask. He pulled the sweaty leather off his head, tossing it carelessly into his open gym bag. He wiped the perspiration from his eyes, his bare face looking older, more tired, and infinitely more defeated than it had in years.
He leaned down, unzipping a small, compartment at the bottom of his bag.
His fingers brushed past the rolls of athletic tape and found an unmarked glass vial. Beside it rested a sterile, sealed syringe. It was a potent painkiller...the use of such was strictly prohibited, but to him it was necessary. It was the ugly, unspoken reality of his survival. The only way he could walk to his rented car.
He peeled the plastic wrapper off the syringe, his hands trembling slightly as he prepared to draw the clear liquid from the vial.
Suddenly, the handle of the locker room door rattled.
Billy froze. He hadn’t heard anyone approaching down the corridor.
"Unlock the door," a sharp, heavily accented voice demanded from the other side.
Billy quickly threw a clean white towel over the vial and the syringe, hiding them from view. He pushed himself up from the bench, ignoring the flare of pain in his joint, and limped over to the door. He turned the lock and pulled it open.
Standing in the doorway was Mr. Shin. The CEO’s face held that familiar look, showing absolutely zero emotion regarding the brutal main event that had just concluded.
Shin didn’t wait for an invitation. He stepped past Billy, his polished leather shoes clicking sharply on the tiled floor. He surveyed the small room, his eyes scanning the lockers, the benches, and finally resting on Billy’s open gym bag.
"I am looking for your brother Ray," Shin stated plainly, his tone clipped and strictly business.
Billy closed the door, turning to face the promoter. "You’re looking in the wrong place."
"Clearly," Shin replied, his eyes narrowing slightly. "The front office was not informed of his medical clearance. We were told he was under strict orders to remain in his apartment. His appearance on that ramp was unscheduled. It was not on the run sheet and was not cleared by anyone."
"Sounds like your golden boy is breaking rules now," Billy sneered, leaning back against the cold cinder block wall. "Maybe you don’t have him on as tight of a leash as you thought."
Shin remained still. The CEO was a man who created legends, but he was also a man who demanded absolute control over his product. Surprises that popped the crowd were excellent for business, but surprises that bypassed his authority were not...as excellent.
Shin observed quietly, his gaze shifting from Billy’s bruised face down to the wooden bench.
Shin’s eyes lingered for a fraction of a second on the corner of the clean white towel. The unmistakable glass edge of the vial was just barely visible, peeking out from beneath the cotton fabric.
The silence in the room stretched, thick and heavy with unspoken implications. Billy’s jaw tightened. If the CEO chose to initiate a random wellness policy check right now, Billy’s contract...and his entire resurgence, would be terminated on the spot.
Shin slowly raised his eyes back to Billy’s face. The promoter’s expression remained entirely blank showing indifference.
"Your performance tonight was... alright," Shin said smoothly, ignoring the suspected illegal substance sitting two feet away from him. "You pushed the champion to his limit, and the metrics will reflect a highly successful broadcast. Rest your body, Mr. Bones."
Shin turned, adjusting the cuffs of his charcoal suit. He walked back to the door, pulling it open.
"And if you happen to see your brother before he leaves the arena," Shin added, pausing in the threshold without looking back. "Inform him that I expect to see him in my office as soon as possible. Unscheduled appearances will not be tolerated."
The door was loud and when it shut, Billy was left in the silence of the locker room.