Wrestling sure wasn't what it used to be.

Max Power found himself trapped in the middle of the ring, his bear-like opponent wrenching down with a headlock. It was textbook storytelling really. The heel wears out the babyface with a hold, the babyface mounts a dramatic comeback. Max had done it literally thousands of times. Maybe that was the problem.

Max reached out with his right hand, attempting to feed off the energy from the crowd. The fans began to chant, quietly at first, but as he flexed his arm and rose slowly to his feet, the chants grew louder and louder.

"I-VAN! I-VAN! I-VAN!"

"I-VAN" was actually Ivan Ivanovic Invanowsky, Max Power's opponent. The mountainous Ivanowsky had all the traits of a classic wrestling villain. He was gigantic, he was evil, and he was Russian. In 1986, the Giant Evil Russian vs. the All American Hero would've sold itself, but in 1996 the fans weren't buying it. Not for one second.

Max began to mount his comeback, rebounding off the ropes and hitting a stiff clothesline, stunning Ivanowsky momentarily. He came off the ropes again with another hard shot, staggering his opponent even more still. Finally, with a third titanic clothesline, Max Power took the big man off his feet. A chorus of boos erupted around the arena. Max called for his finishing move, the Powerbomb, internally wondering if he would even be able to pull it off against a man this size. Taking a heavy breath, Max lifted the 350-pound Ivanowsky up into the air, and slammed him down to the mat with all his might. Exhausted, he collapsed on top of Ivanowsky for the cover.

"Here is your winner and STILL the Global Pro Wrestling Heavyweight Champion of the World...MAAAAXXXXX POOOOWWWWEERRRRRR!!!"

Slowly walking back up the ramp, Max slung the GPW World Heavyweight Title over his shoulder. It's placement was appropriate, as Max Power had been carrying the weight of Global Pro Wrestling on his shoulders for years. Despite all that he had accomplished, boos continued to rain down, seemingly from all directions. Reaching the top of the ramp, Max laid eyes upon an ecstatic young fan in the front row, no more than 7 years old, wearing a t-shirt that read "TAKE IT TO THE MAX!" He stopped for a moment, removed one of his armbands, and handed it over to the fan. His eyes lit up.

The child's eyes lit up as well.

As soon as he walked through the curtain, Max Power broke character.

"This is fucking bullshit."

Agents and producers quickly darted out of his path, as it was clear that Max had a chip on his shoulder. The personnel backstage kept their eyes firmly fixed on the ground, not even daring to look up at the reigning World Champion as he passed. After all of his success and all he had accomplished for Global Pro Wrestling, Max Power carried a certain level of respect. And more importantly a certain level of pull.

Max stepped into the office of Jack Flanagan, the owner of GPW and a long-time personal friend. Flanagan sat with his back to the doorway, gazing out a window.

"This is fucking bullshit."

Max waited for Jack's reply but when it did not come he continued, irritated that Flanagan would not even turn around to face him.

"These people have no fucking respect. After everything I've done in this business they want to treat me like this? It's fucking bullshit. I'm in there with a 7 foot tall Russian, and half the crowd still fucking boos me."

Another long pause.

"LOOK AT ME, JACK!"

Flanagan got up from his chair and turned around, a magazine clutched in his hands. He threw it down on the desk, before turning away again to look out the window. On the magazine cover there were two pictures of Max, waving the American flag and holding up the GPW World Title. The first was from 1986, the second was from 1996. The headline read, "OLD GLORY."

Max refused to even touch the magazine an looked down at it with utter contempt. He loathed the dirt sheets, and treated them as though they were as filthy as their moniker.

"You're right Max," came Jack's reply, "this is fucking bullshit."

This time Max was at a loss for words.

"The sheets are trying to say that you and I are out of touch, that this company is irrelevant, that the business has passed us by. It's fucking bullshit. We're going to prove them wrong, Max."

"What do you mean?"

"We're going back to the Garden," said Jack, turning to face Max once again.

"New York?"

"You're goddamn right," answered Jack, "Global Pro Wrestling presents Clash of the Titans, live from Madison Square Garden in New York City. Headlined By the GPW World Heavyweight Champion, the greatest World Champion in the history of this business, Max Power. I saw you out there tonight Max, and I know you still have the passion, you still have the heart. I know you have more to offer this business. You just need the right opponent. With the right opponent, with the proper heel, we can recapture the glory days."

"Who did you have in mind?" said Max.

"We have a roster full of young guys who want to step up and take that spot across from you. It's time for somebody to step up and grab the brass ring. At the end of the month, we've got the Battle in Seattle, and the winner of the Battle Royal will get a World Title shot against you at the Garden. That's the angle we're running. So we have until then to decide on who your opponent will ultimately be."

Again Max was at a loss for words. After all that had happened over the last year, with attendance down, with the fans turning on him, with the dirt sheets tearing him apart, Jack Flanagan still believed in him as Champion. He believed he could sell out Madison Square Garden, one last time.

"We're gonna show them Max. We're gonna show the world. We're gonna show everybody that this company is still worth a damn."

"Watch the clotheslines."

Connor spoke the words carefully into his opponents ear as he clutched him close, then watched him stepped back as he was Irish Whipped towards the ring ropes. It was a routine he'd practised a million times: Irish Whip into ropes, clothesline, opponent pops back up, second clothesline, opponent goes for the reverse, counter into the DDT. Crowd boos as 'Rabid' Rob Reynolds goes for the pin. Kick out at two.

"Time to go home." Connor smiled down at the much younger wrestler, a local they'd brought in as a jobber for TV. Connor had made sure to run through his finishing move with the kid before the match, here's hoping he'd remembered their conversation. 'Rabid' Rob Reynolds leered over his battered opponent, then raised his head the the sky and let out a high pitched howl. His signature wolf howl. Even though he'd only been with PWG a short time, the crowd knew what it meant. This poor young man was about to get suplexed. Hard.

Connor leaned down and scooped the much smaller wrestler into a suplex hold. Just as they'd talked about, he raised him up and the kid did his best to post himself, hanging in the Vertical Suplex for what seemed like an eternity. The longer he held it, the more impressive it would look to the crowd. Finally, when it looked like he was beginning to wane (and his face started turning an unhealthy shade of purple), Connor ended it, bringing dropping him down and planting him with the slam. Just on the periphery of his hearing, he could make out the unmistakable sound of the commentary team screaming the name of his finisher down their microphones, really selling the move to the audience. The boos drowned out everything else as he crawled into the cover, lazily lifting his defeated opponent's leg up to signify the pin. One... two... three... ding ding ding.

"Your winner by pinfall... Rrrrrrabid Rob Reynolds!" The ring announcer called into his microphone as the sound tech did his job and began piping Ozzy Osbourne into the stadium. The referee stepped forward to raise Connor's hand. This was the part where he could really sell how much of an asshole Rob Reynolds really was. He shook off the hand, threatening him with a balled fist, before leaning over the defeated jobber and beginning to strike him repeatedly in the head. The referee immediately tried to pull Connor off of him, but was pushed back so that the beating could continue. The boos increased, if that were even possible, as more 'match officials' appeared and tried to pull him away from his fallen opponent, eventually requiring four referees to pull him off the man. Even then, 'Rabid' Rob Reynolds continued thrashing about like a wild animal, throwing elbows and headbutts towards anyone stupid enough to get within range. Finally, he was escorted back up the ramp and through the curtain, the crowd continuing to loudly boo him the entire way.

***

"Christ, did you see that crowd tonight? I got some pretty decent heat, but they fucking crucified Max during the title match. In all my years up in Fort George, I never saw a foreign heel cheered for." Connor turned towards Matt Edwards, another relative newcomer on the scene. He hadn't learned his real name yet, but had made sure to watch the match he'd had that night and was fairly impressed.

"Si, that was fucked up, man." A shorter man in a lucha mask joined in. "Don't know what is with these crowds.. back home, you cheer the good guys and boo the bad guys. These fans just want to boo everyone!"

"Right? Anyway.. did you hear the big news about the Battle in Seattle, Jimmy D reckons he overheard Flanagan saying he'll be putting a lot of the younger guys in the Battle Royal. Something about 'grabbing brass rings'. You reckon any of us are in for a chance?"

"I-van, I-van, I-van!" Mikhail Azarov muttered to himself after the match as he changed into his plain clothes. While he could get used to the praise, he imagined they were mostly cheering him on just to spite Max. He grinned to himself. How ridiculous. Word spread quickly around the place about that big match with Max Power. They were bringing in a new roster of wrestlers, some of which have already made names for themselves. Like Ivan. Now he was at the center of controversy, so to speak. Again, not much as to his charming good looks, but because Max got booed. A lot.

Poor Max.

Mikhail took off his ridiculous USSR sweat band and into his little locker. His costume wasn't much, to say the least. The sweatband, wrestling trunks, and his chest hair. He laughed again. Oh boy, he cracked himself up! What kind of person laughs at his own jokes? Putting on an XXL t-shirt, a green vest, some jeans, and a pair of relatively well polished shoes, he exited the quiet locker room. Some of his co-workers chatted around the place, most he did not recognized, but with the big show coming up, he assumed he would get to know them soon enough. But right now, he did not feel like socializing. He felt like going back to his hotel and watching TV. Or plotting his take-down of the capitalist regime.

He opened the door into the cool night, and thought back to the match again. How had they cheered him on? Ivan was not the good guy! Who cheers for a guy named Ivan? Some people could be so resentful. His stomach rumbled. He was hungry. Maybe he would stop by his local chicken place for some wings.

Truly, Mikhail was living the American dream.

Alex had been placed into the second match of the evening. Ever since he joined GPW they had been putting him in tag matches to see who he clicked with. No one was matching the style and persona that Alex had. Tonight it was some jobber who had been around for a long time. It was obvious they were running out of potential partners for him. Anyway they were up against a well established tag team who had been together and clicked. Alex and his 'partner' were set to lose by the jobber walking out on Alex and leaving him to fend for himself. It was coming up to the moment where Alex would get stabbed in the back like many times before. Alex's 'partner' was doing the cliche thing of getting the crap beat out of him, start a comeback, and knock the other legal competitor out the ring. The guy stumbled towards Alex and tagged him in. Alex quickly got over the ropes to 'help' his partner to stay standing. From the crowd chants of "RAZORBLADE" were going crazy. Alex whispered into the jobbers ear, "Get it over with." The jobber hit Alex in the gut and proceeded to hit him with a hard ddt. Boos echoed throughout as the jobber walked away. The legal competitor was climbing into the ring and rushed over to pin Alex. As every other time he kicked out just before three.

Alex started to mount a fairly decent comeback starting off with a side kick to the groggy opponent. He ran and bounced off the ropes delivering a bicycle kick. Climbing to the top turn buckle he was stopped by the other opponent. Having been knocked off the top rope the legal competitor quickly tagged his partner and followed with their usual tag team finishing move. With that Alex was pinned 1, 2, 3. He got a few cheers as he walked to the backstage. His night wasn't over though. After every failed partnership Alex had to give a backstage interview. It always went the same, "To every underdog out there. Just know this. Fear is conquerable. These guys who think they can keep me down via fear don't know me well enough. I will always stand back up until I prove to all the top dogs out there that we, the Underdogs, are the ones they should fear." Its true that he believes it, he just wants to be able to show the proof of what he says to all the fans out there.

Later that night he's sitting in the locker room. He listened to the other newcomers talk about the exciting news of the Battle In Seattle stipulation and told himself, "I hope this will finally be my time to shine."

Mike Blaze tipped his chair back, leaning against the wall of the locker room and closing his eyes in thought. He'd been in contemplation for the better part of the night, since all he'd had to do during the show was shoot a couple of video promos for next week's show, and he got the feeling he would need some way to get the crowd on his side.

He'd been working for GPW for almost half a year now, and it was already feeling stale to him. The company had picked him up to compete with the hardcore federations, but the "hardcore" matches he'd been in at GPW were so tame they left everyone wanting something more. If he couldn't be extreme, he knew he was destined for jobber hell.

When he heard the words "Battle in Seattle" leave someone's mouth, though, he perked up and looked over at the gathered group.

"I figure most of us'll be in the B.R., but what is that even a shot at? Getting buried again in a match with Power? No fuckin' thanks, man."

He pulled a beer from the duffel bag beside him and cracked it open as he stood and walked over to the others.

"Flanagan's just going to figure out who'll put on the best match before taking the dive. Get Power cheered again, and screw the dude who made it happen. Story of the business."

Mike Blaze's reply caught Connor by surprise. Not least because from the way the guy had been leaned back in his chair with his eyes closed, he'd assumed he was asleep. Even so, the guy made sense. He'd seen it happen time and again. Promoters usually had one or two guys they wanted to hold the top belts, and everybody else had to make do with either doing the job for them or languishing in the midcard.

"Well yeah, but if that crowd is any indication the fans don't want Max Power any more. Even the great Jack Flanagan can only ignore that for so long. Perhaps we could be witnessing the dawn of a new age..." At this point, Connor stood dramatically, held a pretend microphone to his lips and put on his best impersonation of Flanagan's signature deep, raspy voice. "The Fall of Max Power!"

A laugh erupted from some of the wrestlers. Others just shifted uncomfortably. Those that had been here long enough knew that Mike was, in all likelihood, right on the money. There was a saying in the halls of GPW; "Only three things in life are certain: Death, taxes and Max Power going over!".

Drayden hadn’t been booked for a match that night, and was in civilian clothes backstage. He didn’t mind having a day off, though if anyone asked him personally he’d attribute the lack of himself on the card to the crucifixion of Max Power. But nobody asked him, and Drayden was too respectful to bring it up. He waited until Max Power left the boss’s office before he let himself in. He barely waited for the door to swing closed before he walked inside, looking at Jack at the desk. He already knew the plan for the Battle Royale, but he had a different idea. “Jack, let’s talk.” He said, giving the boss a respectful smile as he let the door shut before him. He walked in front of the desk before he began his spiel.

“I’m not gonna be in that Battle Royale. I’ve got another plan. You’re gonna put the I.N. strap on me at the Battle in Seattle, alright? Just give it to me and I’ll run with it. Let me defend against Sexton at a regular taping. Then, at the Clash of the Titans, at the Garden… Give me and that lucha kid 15, maybe 20 minutes. I’ll win, we’ll shake hands and I’ll raise his hand in front of the crowd. There you go, a new star, built in front of a sold out a Garden. I know he’s already huge in Mexico, but he ain’t shit in the states. And I can help make him.” Drayden paused for a moment to gauge Jack’s reaction, but he wasn’t quite done laying out his plan yet.

“From there, I’ll launch into an open challenge every pay-per-view, maybe a couple of tapings. Let me and that Blaze kid work out a real hardcore match. Give me 15 minutes every pay-per-view, and I’ll turn all of these people you got into stars. You can’t stay on Max forever, man. You know that, deep down you know that. Let me change things, I’m begging you, man. I can do it. Maybe, after a few months of me putting on clinics at the pay-per-views, you book me and Max in a title-for-title match. Put the belt on me and then hold a tournament for the International Title. After all my work, people will pay just to see it.” Drayden ran a hand through his short hair before finishing up.

“You’ve got a roster of amazing workers just waiting to step up. What do you think, Jack?”

Alex walked over to the group talking and said, "Yeah, its obvious whoever wins is gonna get buried. So just hope they don't ask you to win. Show the fans your skills and get them chanting for you. The story writers will notice who the fans like. Then you just gotta hope they don't set you up high just to make you fall. Best thing to do is hope you come second. Everyone is gonna forget the guy Max beats. They might not forget the guy who came close."

Alex knew that these guys already knew what he was saying. He was saying this more for himself. He was also trying to gauge the other newcomers. Wanted to know who he would potentially be wrestling against in the years to come. "I honestly just hope that Max's fall comes sooner rather than later. I'm tired of low level matches. I want some real competition. Not working with jobbers who don't want to get higher than they already are."

Max raised his beer at Alex's words.

"Fuckin' A. I always want to get higher than I already am."

He chuckled a bit, then nodded.

"But seriously. I think we all want that. It's just a matter of whether or not we get the chance to climb up. Flanagan talks about grabbing the brass ring, but it keeps getting pulled out of reach. If we want to get over, we have to figure out our own way."

"Maybe. But I for one plan to keep showing the old man I'm willing to try. He might not be interested in pushing any of us right now, but that doesn't mean he can't bury us." Connor mused, knowing full well what would happen if he tried to get over on his own. Besides, as a heel he was getting pretty decent heat at the moment. Not quite 'Ivan Ivanowsky in his heyday' heat, but decent. Who knows, if he kept going at this rate he might even get a legitimate shot at the Champion at some point? A guy could dream.

"Speaking of which, I'm gonna pay Flanagan a visit before I head off for the night. The sooner I know what he's got planned for me at the Battle, the more time I have to prepare something good! See you guys at the next show!" He added, picking up his kitbag. He left the room to a murmur of "See ya"s and "Catch you later"s and headed in the direction of Jack Flanagan's office.

Jack leaned back in his chair, listening to the plan that Drayden laid out. If anything, he had to credit Drayden for his nerve. Not many performers would have the audacity to storm into the office of the most powerful man in professional wrestling and start making demands. Then again, not many performers were Olympic level wrestlers built like a brick shithouse. Fear simply did not register with the Man They Called Drayden.

Drayden proposed, or more accurately demanded, that he be given a run with the GPW International Championship, the company's secondary title. A title that actually predated the GPW World Heavyweight Championship in the pages of wrestling history. The International Title was often used to help elevate new stars, and Drayden guaranteed Jack that as Champion he would do exactly that. Jack couldn't help but admire his arrogance, and he agreed that Drayden would be a perfect match-up for the current Champion, Sexton Love.

"Ha, ha, ha!" began Jack, using his signature booming fake laugh, "I have to tell you Drayden, I like to see a guy that's willing to grab life by the balls, and I like the idea of the International Title around your waist. But let's not just jump into this thing right away. Let's build to it."

Jack leaned forward, ensuring he had Drayden's full attention before continuing with his pitch.

"We need a big match on the undercard for the Battle in Seattle," said Jack, "and I agree that Drayden vs. Sexton Love for the International Title should be that match. But I also think that this Battle Royal needs as much star power as it can get. So here's what I'm proposing. We book a dirty finish that let's Sexton Love retain the Title in Seattle. Get some nice heat on him. Then later in the night you come out for the Battle Royal with a huge chip on your shoudler. You're suplexing guys left, right, and center. Then finally you get your hands on Sexton Love, and you toss his ass right over the top rope! This sets-up a rematch in the Garden, where you go over to become the new International Champion! The damndest International Champion we've ever seen!"

Jack took a deep a breath, having gotten someone lost in his own vision.

"So what do you think?"

Drayden listened to Jack’s proposal before he gave a content nod. “Alright, I can do that.” He said after a few seconds of consideration. Sure, it wasn’t exactly what he’d asked for, but he could only expect to influence Jack, not change him completely. “But don’t be surprised when people start coming to see me defend that belt rather than to see Max Power squash whatever up and coming heel you’ve got headed his way. Once I get that belt, I’m gonna run with it. Take it to the moon and beyond, nothing’s gonna stop me. You think my record book looks good now? Wait until I start putting on clinics with that belt around my waist. You made a good choice boss, thanks for hearing me out,” Drayden smiled and gave the boss a nod before he slipped out of the office.

As he opened the door, he met eyes with Connor and smiled. “Hey, man. Good to see ya. Just had a talk with the boss, he’s in a pretty good mood… This is your shot, lay whatever you got out on the table.” Drayden put a hand on Connor’s shoulder and nodded before he headed off out of the building, on his way to his hotel room for the night, to list the days until the belt was his, and things could maybe finally start to look up around here.

"Thanks, Drayden. See you at the next show!" Connor called after the veteran as he watched him disappear down the hallway. Having watched several of Drayden's matches over the last few weeks, it occurred to Connor that this was probably the guy he most wanted to step into a ring with at the moment. Even if he lost, putting on a good match with Drayden was just one of those things that always made the fans sit up and pay attention.

Connor knocked at the half-open door before leaning in and poking his head around it. The office was a little darker than he was expecting, but even in the low light he managed to make out the stark figure of Jack Flanagan reclining in a high-backed chair.

"Hey boss. You got a sec? Was hoping to talk a bit about your plans for the Battle in Seattle."

"Ha, ha ha! And they keep on coming!" said Flanagan as Connor stepped into his office.

Of the many promosisng young stars in Global Pro Wrestling, without question Connor O'Malley was one of the best. As "Rabib" Rob Reynolds, the Wildman of Britich Columbia, Connor had quickly developed into one of the top heels in the company. "Rabid" Rob was a character with a dangerous edge, and he could be booked as a convincing threat to just about anybody on the roster, including the World Heavyweight Champion Max Power. He was definitely an early favorite to win the Battle Royal, and Jack suspected that he knew it. After all, a certain level of ego was basically a requirement in order to be successful in the wrestling business. Flanagan himself was living proof of that.

"I would love to talk about the Battle in Seattle," said Jack, offering Connor the chair across from him, "but I also want to talk to you about next week..."

Connor was caught a little off-guard by the redirect, but it was something he really should have come to expect around the wiley old businessman. It was often difficult to get a straight answer out of Jack Flanagan, and that's on the rare occasions that he gave you an answer at all. Unfortunately, as the owner and booker of the company, there was very little Connor could do but roll with it.

"Uh... yeah, absolutely. What did you have in mind?" Connor answered, carefully placing himself down in the seat he had been offered.

"You were a loose cannon out there tonight Connor, an uncaged animal...and I've gotta tell you, I'm a fan. Ruthless aggression. I love it."

Over the last few months, ruthless aggression seemed to be the name of the game for "Rabid" Rob Reynolds. Connor's character had built considerable momentum, and management had taken notice. Flanagan himself beleived that "Rabid" Rob was ready for the next level.

"Connor you said you wanted to talk about the Battle in Seattle and so do I, because quite frankly I think that Rob Reynolds is going to be one of the major players in the Battle Royal. Another major player in that Battle Royal is going to be Drayden, and that's why I also wanted to talk to you about next week. It's time for you to step into the ring with one of the big boys, and god dammit they don't get much bigger than the Man They Call Drayden. I've heard that you've wanted to mix it up with Drayden for awhile now, so next week you'll get your chance."

The match was intended as a proving ground of sorts, and he knew Connor would see it the same way.

"Here's the plan," Jack continued. "We book you in another squash match, and you just destroy your opponent. We'll find a nice job guy, someone who can really sell it. The bell rings to end the match, but you don't stop. Drayden comes out to make the save, and he gets in your face. He challenges you to a match right then and there! You guys go back and forth for a good ten to fifteen before Drayden gets the win. After the match, you blow a fucking gasket and tear the entire by god arena apart!"

Jack found himself becoming lost in his own imagination again, he knew it would make for great television. Still, he felt he owed Connor a bit of an explanation.

"Drayden needs the win to build some momentum heading into his International Title match," Jack explained, "but you'll be protected since you'll have already had a match that night before you go up against Drayden. Plus this won't be the end of the story. You and Drayden will definitely cross paths again in that Battle Royal, and who knows? If you look good next week, you could end up getting that big win in Seattle..."

"Speaking of which, I'm gonna pay Flanagan a visit before I head off for the night. The sooner I know what he's got planned for me at the Battle, the more time I have to prepare something good! See you guys at the next show!"

"Good luck Connor." Alex knew the odds of one of them getting a push, and that the possible order of their little group chat was Connor then Mike then Marco and Alex was on the end of that pile. He was too young in his own eyes. He felt like he was pushing the limit as it was. Thought that the only reason that he was there was because of his coach. He knew he needed to get momentum and sway before he could get stuff going for him behind the scenes, and according to "Hollywood" Alex needed a long run with a partner first.

Alex turned to Mike and Marco and asked, "So either of you have any idea what kind of matches they might put you guys in until Battle in Seattle?"

"Wow... that sounds amazing, boss! I've been trying to put on the best matches I can with the opponents you've given me, but Drayden... he's like a whole other level. I've wanted to work with him since I got here. I'm definitely going to make sure it's a special one!" Connor stood to leave, a giant grin plastered on his face like an excited schoolchild who'd just been told they were going to Disneyland.

"As for the Battle... I'm gonna do everything in my power to show you I can take that top spot. Max is a legend in this industry and just to be able to step in the same ring as him and have the chance to prove that I belong there..." He trailed off towards the end of his sentence, stared blankly into the middle distance for a moment, then smiled.

"Anything else you need, boss, or can I head off? I wanna get started on some ideas for my match with Drayden." Connor looked back towards Jack, his eyes still beaming with excitement.