London England. It's at local gym. The UTA's hype machine has taken over the city. There are stars doing pressers, some are doing appearances and one is basking in being the hometown boy even if they don't admit it.
It's just another day at the local gym for Ron Hall, the Southern Rebel is quietly training on the treadmill his mind preparing for the task at hand on Monday night. Another new face looking to make a name for themselves. Another arrival full of hype and bravado. Another dream of money and glory about to crash and burn on the cliff of reality. He's alone with his thoughts
"Yeshua Pandemonium awaits on Victory. He has been doing his best impression of a spoiled baby dying his poor me, everything in my life has been trouble. I'm violent... I'm mean... Be afraid of me...
What's the saying? Child please.
Everyone has issues, everyone has their shit to deal with. It's how you deal with it that makes you. Everyone looks at me, I'm supposed to have money, success, and fame, everything the world says you should have yet I'm more dangerous than any stint in the joint or concave could have ever prepared you for."
His time on the bike has lapsed and now he slowly walks over to the weight machines. He starts with the leg press set for 300 pounds. His thoughts continue as the reps increase.
"You cry to your girlfriend, probation officer, manager or whatever the hell she is. She's warned you not to overlook me but you keep doing it calling on your precious pains from your past to help you. Don't worry about the pains from her past, because after Monday, you'll be physically incapable of a future."
The leg presses go past the point of exhaustion, past the point of fatigue, maybe not the greatest idea for a guy who's been on as many operating tables as I have.
"When the adrenaline wears off, when that first rush of energy subsides and the moment has left you, then what? What happens next when you don't know what else to do? I make your days with the priest seem like a pleasant memory."
The sweat has began to turn his shirt grey. His forehead is is covered in sweat. His tounge would love a sip of water but not yet. The seat needs to be sprayed down because it now bears his imprint. He wipes the seat down and moves to the leg curls and starts at 220.
The reps keep going, his mind faster.
"I can't help but wonder who sent you. Who thought it would be good to hire you? My friend in Orlando? The suit who says he doesn't want a problem? Whoever sent you, what happens to you Monday on their head."
He finishes, his legs feeling like they will cramp. He slowly sips from his water bottle and takes a moment to regain his bearings and the feeling in his legs. He looks around and sees the vomit and blood stains on the floor, but not quite the same color of Yeshua's vaunted mask.
Ron rises and walks towards the upper body machines. He starts to work on his chest presses. His body moves, his lips remain silent, his mind still as fast as ever.
"Yeshua, cry wolf all you want. Convince someone else of your fears, make someone else believe that you have walked through hell. When you lay on the mat and realize how in over your head you are, you'll realize that prison might not have broken you. The UTA may have promised you redemption but that is if, only if you survive being broken by me first."
He finishes the chest and moves to the fly and pecs machine, a dab at his eyes with a towel only brings a moment's relief. The sweat stings his eyes, it burns the cuts and burns on Ron's body. Instead of crying in pain, instead of using it as an excuse to stop, the Hall of Famer goes into a set... To pass out now would be sweet relief but it's not the plan. Yet.
"Use what you need to as a weapon. Bring tables and put yourself through them if it makes you feel better. Grab a chair and hit yourself if you think it will give you the redemption you seek or you can just wait for the inevitable... When I look across the ring and see the one I think sent you... I'll treat you just like I would them."
The workout ends a while later and while others are laughing, joking and carrying on, Ron walks towards the locker room door, his clothes sticking to his body. It hurts to move, it hurts to walk. The collapse onto the bench is relief. A few minutes of rest seem to be the eternity some would require. Ron slowly picks himself up and prepares for a needed shower when a gentleman who looks like he belongs in a fighting video game strolls into view from behind a row of lockers.
"You're a stubborn one aren't you?"
"They sent you too?"
"I'm truly hardcore, and unlike others you may have fighted, I will unleash my hardcore into your mind."
Just one though crosses Ron's mind "Oh God, they're multiplying."
Ron's eyes get cold and narrow. His fist slowly balls up and he finds himself readying for what's about to happen. "Walk away and tell your buddy to do it themself."
He draws out and raises a kendo stick over his head. "I will leave nothing for Yeshua! I will leave you with small cuts all over!"
A cold smile crosses Ron's face... "Not only do I get to do the human gene pool a favor, but I get to tune up for Yeshua all at the same time. I should send them a gift basket."
Don't talk violence to someone who's living it Yeshua. Monday you will learn the hard way.
""People who look to God go to Heaven. People who look to the Devil rule the Earth.""