“I don’t think I have this in me, you know”
A cold, blustery day in the heart of Toronto, as Mike Parr’s words to nobody in particular barely pierce the breeze whipping into his face, turning his artificially tanned complexion a deep shade of crimson. Not exactly the time of year for an elongated period of time outdoors. Parr stands at the foot of a pathway that leads to a building that at best resembles a working-class middle school. The brickwork has been beaten down by the elements over many years so what used to be a vibrant red has now turned into a musty maroon. The grass which the aforementioned path separates has seen better days too, yellow and brown tinges within the green both reflective of a lack of pride in the upkeep of the lawn plus indicative of the time of year where not only sunlight is at a minimum, but more hours than not are spent buried underneath the latest snowfall. Parked at the front of the lawn, just to the immediate left of where Parr stood, is one of those dated billboards that has an arrangement of letters dependent on the function that is taking place inside of the venue that day.
ADDICTION ENDS HERE: EXPERIENCE THE REAL HIGH THAT IS SOBRIETY FROM WHAT PLAGUES YOU.
Mike shakes his head, winces, and keeps his eyes closed. His initial remarks from a moment ago still reflective of his present thoughts on the matter. He doesn’t think he has it in him. He takes a deep breath, allowing some of that cold air to settle deep inside of his lungs, before taking a couple of hesitant steps forward. They are far from the most composed steps he has taken, think someone taking their first walk after rehabbing an ACL or being confined to a wheelchair for a time. Gingerly as a description is probably generous. Mike has no excuse other than his mind trying to hoist the breaks on over the physical. Naturally, he grinds to a stop about halfway down the path.
“F**k this, I’m off.”
He barely manages to swivel on his heels, although one would also question the ‘normality’ in that movement as a form of retreat, when he is stopped by a voice that is all too familiar to him.
“You aren’t ready yet, Michael.”
Parr’s head cocks to the right, as he remains with his back to the source of the voice. He doesn’t need to turn around for validation, he already knows what awaits him. Another deep inhale follows in an attempt to compose himself, rather unsuccessfully it has to be said, before turning around and staring up at the doorway. Dressed in a suit that has all the eccentricities that you would expect, Mike lets out a rather uncomfortable laugh before addressing who stands before him.
“Of course it’s you, Shawn. Of course.”
Summers smiles knowingly, which in itself is rather off putting as it usually is shortly followed by something unduly sinister.
“I’ve been waiting for your Michael, come on in. Join us.”
‘Us’ does resonate with Mike, but he manages to park that curiosity for now, as he tentatively approaches the entrance to the building. Shawn has maintained that overly enthusiastic grin, as he whirls his right arm in a circular motion indicating that Mike should join him inside. Parr stops at the entrance to the doorway and arcs his head over his left shoulder, taking one last look at relative freedom and the direction where he truly wants to head, before proceeding inside. As Mike gets slightly out of earshot, you can hear Summers mutter under his breath.
“I thought you’d never get here. Time to have some fun.”
Summers slams the door shut behind him, making quite the booming sound that echoes around the corridor that Mike has just entered. The noise makes him stop in his tracks momentarily, but he is soon following the lead of Summers as they make a beeline for a yet to be determined location within the building. As good a time as any to try and engage in conversation, Mike feels.
“What are you doing here, Shawn?”
Alright, admittedly, quite an obvious open but not exactly the best structured question that you will ever hear to open a conversation or to obtain some insight. But hey, at least it’s a start.
“Why wouldn’t I be here Michael?”
What a jerk, Mike thinks to himself. The stereotypical question to answer a question from an atypical man in an atypical circumstance. Shawn reads the room (or, well, corridor to be technically accurate) and continues.
“It couldn’t really be anyone else. I mean, I’m sure it may have been that charming partner in crime from Melbourne but realistically it was always going to be me, wasn’t it. Although, even I must admit that it may have been more apropos given the history you and the Australian share. Nonetheless, we aren’t done yet, Michael, so this is as good an opportunity as any to get Back in Business.”
An interesting comment and selection of words, for sure.
“Wordplay, you got to love it, Michael.”
His curiosity considerably piqued, just as Shawn would’ve intended, Mike has more questions than he knows how to process and formulate. That gap in time affords Shawn the opportunity to bring both he and Mike to a stop as he extends in arm in from of Mike’s chest.
“We’re here.”
Mike and Shawn have come to a stop outside a double door that has a push handle horizontally across the middle. All it’s really missing is a fire exit sign above it to resemble exactly the standard type of doorframe that we are referencing. Shawn lowers his arm down again, and edges the door open slightly. Before affording Mike a view on inside, he has one final word of warning.
“Brace yourself Michael, everything will be OK in the end.”
Shawn pushes the door open fully, and a searing light fills the previously dimly lit corridor where both stood. Mike recoils and places his arm in front his eyes in an attempt to work out the source of the light, but his subconscious navigates him forwards into the room. His looks down and his feet hit the school gym style floor beneath him, as the light fades and he is now left facing a group of chairs in a circle, with an individual chair placed in the middle of the circle. His surroundings bear similarities to what you would expect in a vacant high school gym with a workshop taking place in the center of the court.
“What is this?”
Mike’s tone is hesitant, considerably more hesitant than before which is saying something given that he was on the verge of leaving before being coaxed by Shawn to continue.
“It’s where you need to be Michael, deep down, you know its where you need to be. Please…have a seat, Michael.”
Shawn gestures towards the circle of chairs, but instinct already tells Mike exactly what seat is intended for him. He takes a few steps towards the circle, navigates his way between two of the seats, before arriving at the one in the center. He takes a glance back at Shawn, who is still over exuberant comparable to his regular demeanor, and he encourages him to sit down by lifting his arm and outstretched hand vertically in front of his body. Cautious, Mike glances down at the chair, before taking his seat.
“Now what?”
Less hesitance this time, as Mike speaks rather more sternly. He is not somebody who likes surprises and this…whatever the hell this is, it is certainly some form of a surprise.
“Now the festivities begin. Everyone, he’s here!”
A strange exclaim in an auditorium that is essentially empty apart from the two of them. Mike glances rotates his head to the left and to the right, although he remains seated in some sort of perverse compliance with the instruction that was provided to him by Summers. As Mike turns back to his left, he nearly falls off his seat backwards as one of the seats is now filled.
“Where the f*** did you come from?”
Breathing heavily, he turns right and again the seat his filled. One by one, the seats in the circle surrounding Mike get filled by individuals who are seemingly just appearing, they certainly are not making their way through the door and across the gym floor. Very shortly after the appearance of the first individual, the seats are full.
“At last, everyone. At last we can begin, who would like to start?”
“HeHaHeHehAhEHaHeHaHeHaHeHehAhEHaHeHa”
Parr, again, turns towards the source of the sound, although that is a maniacal laugh that he is again all too familiar with. For some reason, despite being aware of the presence of individuals now seated around him, he hasn’t really taken the time to really identify
who is in those seats.
“What the hell?”
Mike is flabbergasted, as Konchu Hao is one of the individuals sat around him. Although, having had recent experience with Konchu in his return, something doesn’t feel quite right about it.
“What the hell is this?”
Mike begins to properly identify the people sat around him now, as he works through the individuals. Michelle von Horrowitz. WOLF. Chris Kennedy. Krash. Detective Montrose, Bryan Baxter and <redacted>. Before he has any further time to digest his surroundings, Shawn interjects.
“And now, Michael, before we get anywhere with this process, I think it’s important for you to address the group. On your feet, please.”
Mike turns back towards Shawn, who is just looming on the outside of the circle. He goes to retort, but takes a moment, as he genuinely isn’t quite sure what to say or how to address that. Taking orders from anyone, never mind Shawn Summers, is something that he is not accustomed to. Although, admittedly, this is not your typical day at present. Slowly, Mike rises to his feet, still in a bit of a stunned silence trying to digest exactly what is happening.
“O…OK…n-now what?”
There is an audible tremble in Mike’s voice, as the uncertainty of his surroundings catches up with him.
“Tell the group why you are here, Michael.”
Why am I here? Mike thinks to himself. Why he was here and the circumstance in which he finds himself now aren’t exactly aligned. Outside, he was ready to try and release some of the burden and weight of expectation that he has placed upon himself with his current situation. He came back to the FWA wanting to have fun but couldn’t resist the temptation of placing himself in the most high-pressure situation that he could find himself in, even before he managed to get his feet under the table. The pursuit of the World Championship has been his goal from day one, and that is something that he has not obtained and therefore isn’t as precious to him as something that he has, and he wants to protect. What does he want to protect? 454 days.
“I’m here becau-“
“Ah, Ah, Ah! You know the format Michael, you have to introduce yourself to the group before you explain your circumstance.”
“Introduce myself to a group of people who already know who I am?”
“I don’t make the rules, Michael, but I’m ready to enforce them if necessary.”
Mike, still facing Shawn, looks quizzically at him as the blunt nature of his reply has caught him off guard, if you can even be caught off guard any further given his present situation.
“Alright, I can see you are somewhat nervous Michael. How about this, how about we go around the group and let them go first. That might settle you in somewhat and make you feel more comfortable? Does that sound like a plan to you?”
Mike’s silence, stunned silence, is taken as a response in the affirmative by Shawn.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, let us proceed then.”
The first gentlemen to Shawn’s right rises to his feet and introduces himself.
“My name is Chris, and I am here because I was part of the match on August 14 2016, where Mike Parr won the North American Championship for the first time.”
Chris nods to Shawn, and takes his seat.
“Much obliged, mon ami. Next”
“My name is WOLF, and I’m here because I won the North American Championship on November 12 2017, bringing to an end Mike Parr’s 454 day run with the North American Championship.”
WOLF returns to his seat, the next person needing no further invitation from Shawn as they get the jist and follow each other one by one.
“My name is Michelle, and I’m here because no matter what is going on in the world of Mike Parr, I always seem to end up being a part of it once more. Lovely to see you all, tulips.”
“My name is Krash, and I’m here because Mike and I have a shared history over the North American Championship. We went from opponents, to co-champions, to a tag team, and you cant think about FWA and 2019/2020 without thinking of our time together.”
“My name is Bryan, and I’m here because I beat his ass at Back in Business and I’m about to beat his record and this little shitshow isn’t about to stop that.”
“HeHaHeHehAhEHaHeHaHeHaHeHehAhEHaHeHa…I guess that even if he gets through the Showdown, I can make him an ex-champion before he even gets comfortable with it!”
Shawn interjects for the first time in quite some time.
“Unconventional, but I guess we will accept it. Alright, a couple more.”
“I’m Detective Montrose, and I spent a considerable amount of time with Detective Parr as we fought crime in the city of – “
“Hang on a second, hang on a second….”
Shawn interjects once more, but this time takes a step towards the circle. He stares at Detective Montrose, then over to Krash, and back to Montrose. He points to one, then points to the other, and crosses his fingers over one each other. We all know what he is thinking, even before Shawn manages to articulate it.
“You both can’t be here. Mike isn’t a cop. You’re basically him…for goodness sake, look at those taches for one. No way there is two of them.”
Detective Montrose takes note of his current situation and extracts a Marlboro Light from his breast pocket. Removing his lighter from his right pocket, he nods and takes note of Shawn’s summary.
“You know what Mr. Summers, I’ve spent a long time trying to make sure the deviants of this world ar-“
“HeHaHeHehAhEHaHeHaHeHaHeHehAhEHaHeHa”
Konchu couldn’t contain himself at one of his trigger words.
“Not you slick, you’re not the only deviant in town. In fact, I can see where I’m out of place, so I might just have to take my leave here as I can’t really tolerate the smell hanging around us here. It has the scent of desperation, regret, cheap cologne, and unease. You are all lucky I haven’t slapped you with a citation for being a group of neanderthals.”
As fast as he appeared, Detective Montrose takes his leave. Mike barely has time to exchange a curious glance with Shawn before Montrose is gone.
“Alright then, one more I guess, before its your turn Michael.”
A large gentlemen rises to his feet, although with the surrounding lighting, it is difficult to determine exactly who it is.
“I’m here because Mike successfully defended his North American Championship against me on November 4 2016, January 21 2017 and April 16 2017. I was his most common foe during that time so if you are going to talk about the North American Championship and Mike Parr, you can’t fail to mention the Carne-“
“Thank you, you may take a seat.”
Summers stops the man in his tracks, whose body language appears somewhat frustrated. However, he does comply with the instruction to take his seat once more. Shawn stares over to Mike, and extends his arms and bows slightly, indicating the floor his is. Parr rises to his feet, still digesting exactly what is happening around him, but he feels in a better position to speak than a few minutes prior.
“My name is Mike an-“
“HI MIKE”
The group responded in unison to his introduction, akin to what you would see at one of those meetings, although the fact it was a greeting only completed upon his introduction is perplexing to Parr. Mike shakes off the intrigue.
“-and I am an addict.”
Mike pauses, as his own words resonate somewhat with him. That is probably the first time that he has said it out loud. There have been situations and circumstances where it has been applicable in the past and his answer to that always revolved around finding an alternate way to distract himself from the reality of it. At this juncture, maybe it is now too apparent to ignore.
“I’m addicted to the North American Championship.”
There is an air of resignation around that most recent sentiment, as Mike exhales and sighs. The empathy on show, however, isn’t exactly going to warm your heart. In fact, Shawn’s reaction is to start to chuckle, at first in a manner as if he is trying to hide it, but it shortly thereafter breaks out into a full chortle.
“Do you know how feeble you sound, Michael? I’m addicted to the North American Championship, give it a rest. You’re addicted to adulation. You’re addicted to glory. You’re addicted to the idea that you are better than other people at something. Longest reigning champion, most title reigns, the self-proclaimed king of the North American division. It’s not the championship that you are addicted to – when we did our little dance for over a year, you didn’t mention it once. You want to explain that?”
Before Mike can respond, Michelle interjects.
“Same with me, you spent most of 2020 and 2021 trying your best to stop me from usurping you, stop me from achieving what I was always destined to achieve. You spent more time chasing me around with a lead pipe than you did after something you claim to be an addict to.”
Mike’s narrowed glare flits between Shawn and Michelle, not a situation he would ever have envisaged being in, unsure as to who to respond to first. Shawn takes that bullet from his chamber, however.
“This whole process, this whole thing, it isn’t going to work if you aren’t honest with yourself Michael. You aren’t ready, are you?”
Maybe that is the crux of the issue, is Mike ready? The North American Showdown is certainly marketable, certainly something to draw eyes on the product, but this isn’t Mike Parr at the peak of his powers. This is someone who has recently returned from a long layoff, a layoff that was enforced by injuries sustained at the hands of his opponent in the Showdown in a sneak attack. The fact that he was outthought and out-“bastarded”, if you will, by someone is indicative of Mike not being the competitor he once was. Signs of his decline have been present for years, not least apparent most when you compare with Shawn and Michelle. He was the aggressor with Michelle, he took her out and made his mark before the world had really jumped on the MvH hype train. He was engaged and proactive. By the time Shawn rolled around? Shawn caught him on the hop. Even now, this return, he just about struggled to win in his fourth match back. Four matches – nobody is saying that it has been an easy reintroduction to the FWA but to go winless for the first three is not the form of somebody who can dethrone the most dominant North American Champion in years.
Catching himself having been stuck in his thoughts, Mike clears his throat.
“I’m not sure”
That isn’t exactly the statement of intent that you would have hoped for in response to the questions being posed about Prodigy’s current mindset.
“Easy pickings for Konchu, see you at Fight Night aHahAHeAhhAHe”
Much like Montrose beforehand, Konchu has departed almost as instantaneously as he arrived. His last words echo around the auditorium somewhat, allowing WOLF the time to speak.
“Alright, let’s get on with it or we are going to be stuck here all day, you going to sit around and mope like a little bitch or you going to do something about it. Mile High 2017 I remember taking your title, hell, if you escaped that day we may not even be here as Day 454 would’ve rolled into Day 455 and who knows how long it would’ve gone.”
True, Day 454 was Parr losing the championship belt in a triple threat match. And equally as true, he didn’t take the pinfall.
“I don’t recall you chasing me for that belt though, so as far as that addiction bullshit goes, I think it’s just that. You’re addicted alright, but it isn’t to that championship.”
Shawn mouths an ‘ooooh’, although what WOLF just stated was essentially a reinforcement of Shawn’s earlier point. Mike’s addiction isn’t the championship belt itself.
“
You’re addicted alright, but it isn’t to that championship.”
The voice of the unidentified gentleman interrupts proceedings, drawing the attention of all remaining in the room. WOLF, particularly, seems perturbed.
“
You can’t just copy what I say?”
By the time any more awkward exchanges take place, the identified man is no more, leaving Mike in the middle of the circle with Krash, Chris, Michelle, Bryan and WOLF all circling inwards, all representative of different milestones of Mike Parr’s FWA journey. Not forgetting of course, Shawn Summers lurking on the outside and moving things forward where they need to be moved.
“You might be able to prove me wrong, Michael. You might actually be ready, just tell us all why you are really here.”
A loaded question, and one that he thought he had already provided the answer to previously, but Mike takes the time to consider his next response, given the previous was shot down so aggressively by those that are surrounding him.
“My name is Mike…”
Mike pauses for the expected response from the group, which frustratingly to him, he doesn’t actually receive on this occasion.
“..and I’m an addict…..”
A natural pause at this point, as he considers his next statement. Shawn bounces around the outside of the circle in anticipation, thinking that he may have finally broken down the tough exterior of Parr. Krash, Chris, Michelle, Bryan, WOLF all naturally lean in, as if getting physically closer to the spoken word may mean it reaches them faster than if they maintain their current upright stance.
“…to this.”
In unison, the surrounding group groan and dismiss what they collectively immediately consider to be the easy way out taken for this circumstance. What hasn’t gone unnoticed by Mike, however, is the reaction of Shawn. He seems far from disappointed, quite the contrary, and he starts to slow clap the response.
“Wonderful stuff, Michael, truly wonderful. I had my doubts as to whether you were ready, but it appears you are. You’ve spent years trying to work out what drives you, what motivates you, but I could tell right away, I could tell from the moment you returned after Back in Business when I took you out. I could tell how that drive, relentless determination, no matter how much we threw at each other, you were relentless. Your biggest disappointment was losing in the main event of Back in Business, and you forced your way back into the main event of Back in Business and won…. unfortunately….”
The first grimace of the day from Shawn, who shakes it off after a moment.
“Guess we can all pack up and go home now because you are ready, isn’t that right Michael?”
There was a notable shift in tone from Summers there, the last sentence wasn’t quite as jovial as everything that had come before. It certainly caught Parr’s attention. Parr edgily shifts his glare towards Summers, who is beginning to cackle, his grim spread as wide as you can imagine.
“You can’t go back, Michael. You can’t go back until you complete what I have christened, the Redemption Royale…..”
There is a note of panic in Parr’s tone that follows.
“The Redempt-“
“Let’s gooooo”
Shawn starts to swirl, and as he does the room begins to swirl with him, as do all the other individuals in the room. Faster and faster, Parr becomes more disorientated and begins to stumble as the room around him becomes nothing more than a blur.
“SHAWWWNNNNNN”
Mike’s cry is falling on deaf ears, as the rotations become faster and faster until suddenly…it stops. Mike at this point has dropped to a crouched position and has his hands cupped over his ears, his eyes firmly closed. Some sort of sixth sense must’ve informed Parr that the spinning had stopped, as he squints while opening one eye, and the room around him is deserted. More than that, it looks like it hasn’t been habitable in decades. The light outside had faded to pitch dark and there was moss growing in from the outside of the top corners and the air…the air was just damp, heavy on the lungs, as if someone put you in a room with a damp duvet cover that has been allowed to fester. In the loose direction of the door by which Mike and Shawn had entered the auditorium, however long ago, there is a flickering light. Parr pushes himself back to his feet and slowly makes his way towards the light, before pulling the door open. The corridor looks different than before, it looks narrower. The opening of the door seems to have triggered some of the automated pa system to kick into life, as the unmistakable tones of Shawn Summers (albeit pre-recorded) fill the hallway.
“Welcome, contestant, to the Redemption Royale, where your only way to escape will be to confront and defeat those ghosts from your past. If you would like to continue, please clearly proclaim that ‘I am ready for redemption’ on 3…2…..1……”
Whether it’s being stubborn, whether its confusion – there is certainly no proclamation incoming from Mike Parr at this moment in time. This does not stop the pre-record Shawn Summers from following up and clarifying that an answer is indeed a required component to this experience.
“Welcome, contest, to the Redemption Royale. I don’t believe we have received your recorded response, so after three, please clearly proclaim that ‘I am ready for redemption’ on 3….2….1….”
There is a momentary pause as Mike quickly tries to determine his next move, where surely something clever or subtle is the play to remove himself from the current predicament.
“Get f***ed, Shawn.”
Alright, maybe that lacked the subtlety and finesse that was anticipated, but the sentiment was at least clear.
“Congratulations, player, you are about to experience the Redemption Royale. Please proceed at your own leisure through the curtain to stage one.”
“I-I didn’t agree to proceed with any sort of…”
“Please proceed, player.”
Wondering how its possible that the pre-recorded or AI voice of Shawn Summers is somehow more of a hindrance than the real thing, Mike determines that his best course of action is to proceed as requested. As he pulls back the curtain, he finds a part of the corridor playing back the most recent weeks of FWA as it pertains to Mike Parr. The loss to Konchu, the draw with Johnny, the loss to Michelle are particularly prevalent.
“Do you think he deserves the North American Championship?”
Mike turns and is faced up by Michelle, or at least, a version of Michelle. With blood seeping down the side of her head and where the bandage is delicately held together, it looks very much like the Michelle that has just been hit in the head with a lead pipe from 4/5 years ago. Mike leans one way, then the other, as if trying to decipher if what he is analyzing is what is happening.
“To progress past this stage and to make it to the end, you’ll need to satisfy me satisfactorily that you are, indeed, deserving of a pass. Do you think he deserves the North American Championship?”
The question is repeated, as Mike takes his time to examine the surrounding materials. The loss to Konchu was explainable to a point – it’s not like Konchu is one of the stragglers in the company, and he was coming back off some extended time out. Johnny is harder to quantify given that he had the opposite problem to the Konchu match and as for the Michelle contest – he will never say it out loud but whilst it’s a shame, it wouldn’t have been entirely unexpected to either Mike or the wider FWA fanbase. Konchu, Johnny, Michelle. There really is only one satisfactory answer to provide, truth be told.
“Probably not, no.”
Mike’s tone is laced with resignation, he knew it deep down even if he didn’t want to admit it. There is no way that someone with his recent track record deserves a shot at the championship, even though its essentially a do over for the travesty of a shot that was provided at Back in Business.
“I am afraid that the answer provided is not satisfactory for the justification of further participation in the Redemption Royale. Please try harder.”
The vein down the side of Mike’s neck is beginning to outwardly throb with frustration, although he acknowledges the request. Breaking his glare away from the repeats of his most recent performances, Parr tries to put his mind to what the ask may require. He cocks his head slightly to the right and gathers his thoughts before attempting to articulate once more.
“Do I deserve it? It deserves me, it deserves more than some prick walking around attacking people and calling himself a Bastard. I deserve my legacy, my record, and that belt deserves an owner that would cherish it for the championship it is. You know who doesn’t deserve it? Someone who tried to hide away and not defend the belt whilst advocating that he was doing exactly the opposite. Someone who doesn’t let their opponent make it to the ring for a fair fight. So no, maybe I don’t deserve any of it based on recent history but I deserve it more than he does. We will always have our differences, but even you can appreciate that I think.”
Michelle has a blank look on her face, almost as if she or something is processing the response.
“Congratulations, player, you may proceed to the next stage.”
Still relatively nonplussed, Mike makes his way past Michelle and towards the curtain for stage number two, wondering what awaits through the next curtain. Stepping through, he immediately has his breath taken away at the sight in front of him. He is now stood in the corner of the ring at Mile High 2017.
And WOLF takes down Kazadi, this might be it, it might be the end for Kazadi and The Prodigy. He goes for the cover.
1…
2…
No time like the present to act, whatever this present is. Mike leaps in from the corner and breaks up three count.
It’s not over yet! The 454 day reign just about survives! Parr pushes WOLF into the corner and begins to tee off on the man who nearly took the championship from him. Prodigy turns around as Kazadi is getting back to his feet and connects with a SHINING WIZARD. Parr goes for the cover
1…
2…
WOLF breaks up the pin attempt! How did WOLF get out of the corner in time, Parr must’ve thought he had done enough to take him out. And it’s a low blow, WOLF hits a low blow to Parr and he cannot be disqualified. What a shame. Parr is thrown out of the ring and WOLF drops down to cover Kazadi.
1…
2…
3!!!
The reign is over, its 454 days and out for Mike Parr as we have a new North American Champion.
Mike sits at ringside baffled, no idea on how to be dejected about a match that happened 6 years ago that he suddenly finds himself back in the middle of. The ring apron catches his eye, with a flickering light drawing him in just as WOLF is being handed the North American Championship in the ring. Parr crawls through and as he makes it to the apron he crawls and ends up back on all fours in the corridor where he was moments ago.
“You need to let it go”
Mike turns around and Krash is sat there, although not the version that is post-Jeremy Best, very much the version that Mike battled for months on end over the very championship that he just lost…again.
“Let what go?”
Parr is a combination of out of breath, exhausted and confused. His response was rather tart but also relatively airy – impossible to regulate his tone at this point, rather understandably.
“It, Mike. You have to let it go. If what just happened should let you know anything, you should know that it was inevitable. You were also going to lose your belt in that match, you were always going to lose it after 454 days, there is nothing you could’ve done. You need to let it go.”
“Easy for you to say – easier to let things go when you’ve got a comprehensive list of achievements to fall back on isn’t it.”
“Think about what that night gave you, not what it took away. You were a bigger star with the record than just some trying to build it. And while I won’t say I enjoyed fighting in Korakuen Hall and across the world over that belt, what happened at Mile High lead us to that point. It led you to three career making feuds in three years. It led you to February 2024 and a record to defend. It made you, accept it.”
Mile High, not just in 2017 but in 2016, has long been an event that does not hold dear memories for Mike. However, in saying that, there is a fire inside of him that drove him to challenge Krash to a Japanese Death Match that you could probably attribute back to the feeling of injustice on that night. There is a fire borne that evening that lead him to attack Michelle, that lead him to not let Shawn Summers do what he pleases and that has lead him right back to this very week where he isn’t about to stand by and let….
“Congratulations, player, you may proceed to the final stage.”
His thoughts remain unfinished for now, as Krash fades and Mike proceeds to the third curtain. He draws it back and is confronted with the North American Championship, propped up on display on a table just feet ahead of him. Mike takes a step forward, glancing left and right, unsure as to what to expect. Naturally, his instinct takes him towards the championship belt that is just laying there, and he takes a few more tentative steps forward. A cautious glance around over each shoulder once more and…nothing. Mike reaches out, and as he gets within fingertips of the belt, rushing from behind comes Big Bryan Baxter with a steel chair! Just like Back in Business.
However, Mike ducks the chair shot intended for the small of his back, as Baxter turns around and faces Mike head on. Mike’s glance breaks towards an object he had not noticed before in the corner, a clock.
February 22 2024. 23:00
“Think I’ve learned a couple of things about myself since we last met, Baxter. I won’t bore you with the details but the one thing that I can guarantee you is that this isn’t going down the way that it went down at Back in Business.”
Baxter does not appear to be auto programmed with any retaliatory remarks, the intent seemingly was to connect with the chair shot.
“That record, that belt, is my legacy, and if you are intent on trying to steal part of that from me, I’m sure as hell going to make sure that you earn it. That’s all I can control. If you earn it, at least you, momentarily at least, will stop shitting all over it.”
Baxter, seemingly, does have a response, other than what you may have anticipated.
“Congratulations, player, you have negotiated the final stage.”
END
PROLOGUE
Mike stares at the leaflet that has just been deposited through the letterbox of his downtown Toronto apartment.
“Experience the real high of sobriety, give me a break”
Sitting the leaflet on the table, making a mental note to chuck that in the trash on his way out, he makes his way across the apartment towards a package that he received earlier that day. Large enough to be sent via FedEx, there is a good luck card attached to the top. Mike’s flight to Saskatoon is due to depart this evening, so the sender either got really fortunate or they actually really know what they are doing.
Mike breaks open the box and inside are a couple of thermal flasks. Curious, he unscrews the flask and identifies that the liquid inside is most definitely no longer lukewarm, so if that was the intent it appears that may have been some significant dollars wasted in shipping.
Mike shrugs, as he places down the flask and opens the note that was affixed to the front.
A gift to remind you of better times, good luck Michael
Not many people call him Michael, which certainly helps narrow down the field. Mike takes the flask again, sniffs it, before pouring a small amount in the cupholder. For someone that is regularly reminding the world of his intellect, it was a pretty questionable choice to take a sip of the unidentified liquid. A sip is all that is required, too, as his reaction strongly indicates that it was not a positive experience. Parr scrunches up his face, dry heaves, and pours the remainder of the poured cup down the sink nearby.
“Trying to f***ing finish me off there.”
Screwing the capsule back on, the taste begins to resonate somewhat, and old memories do start to surface. Not pleasant ones either.
“
Oh no…..”
Looking down towards his palms, his vision begins to go somewhat blurry and lacks distinction. At that point, he notices a sticky note that had fallen from the package that he had not noticed, it was lying face down on his apartment floor. Mike maneuvers his way towards the note and turns it around.
Of course, wait until after the match. Can’t imagine it will do much for your prep Michael.
SS.
