Standing before the camera Justice did as he was told. In his day photographs took several minutes to expose and most men lived and died without ever seeing a camera. In the back of his mind he remained that remnant of the past even though he certainly knew what video was. The fact that he was exposed to forcefield-backed immersive holographic displays before ever hearing of VHS tape was unusual but he was getting comfortable after living for years in the weird.

“Okay, right side again. Can you suck in your gut at all?” asked the man behind the giant camera.

“Suck in my … what gut?” Justice looked down at the little man, partially obstructed by the ropes of the wrestling ring. “I’m chiseled stone and two of you, little man!”

The young man in the business suit clapped and laughed out loud. Every time Justice got fed up and started yelling he got the same reaction. Victor McCabe was his name and he owned the place. Well, not this place; this was an arena for events, where tonight’s show would be taking place. Thusfar all he’d done was yell at cameramen and pose. Vic couildn’t get enough.

Standing beside him Eric Ericksson, the forty-something with the bleached white hair that dragged Justice out here, tried to get his boss’s attention. “Say there, Vic, I know you like inspecting the livestock but we’ve been at this for an hour. If we’re gonna use Justice tonight we’d better get something we can use. He doesn’t even have a gimmick!”

“Oh, lighten up Eric. Look at the man. Listen to him!” He definitely was sizing Justice up like a farmer does a plowhorse. “This man has money written all over him. Hold on.” Gleefully the very rich man ripped off his jacket, tie and shirt. “Yeah! Let’s see what he can really do!” Underneath his businessman’s facade Vic was a ripped man of over two-hundred pounds.

“Vic! C’mon!” said Eric, then, up to Justice, “Sorry about this, big man!” he said with an obvious Canadian accent, “Boss likes to test the stronger guys when they come in.” It was a little late though as Vic was already grabbing Justice in a collar-and-elbow tie up.

“Uh, okay. What we doin’ here bossman? Am I supposed to be practicin’ some o’them fake wrestlin’ moves? ‘Cause nobody’s taught me nothin’ yet.”

“Don’t call it fake!” gasped Vic. He’d already broken a sweat pushing against Justice’s juggernaut frame. “And no, this is a test. Take me down if you can.”

“Oh? Yeah, alright.” Justice said as he swatted Vic’s arms away, spun him around, picked him up by the armpits and flung him at the ropes. Eric screamed, getting under Vic as he flailed, slowing his fall using the ropes but still flattening his favorite crony.

On the floor Eric groaned while Vic whooped. “Yes! That’s what I’m talking about! “

“Why are you doing this again, Vic?” moaned Vic, “I told you what he could do in the gym, Vince. And he almost killed that giant guy, big as Anatoli!”

“Always complaining!” shouted Vic. “I have to feel these men, Eric. I have to know what they can do, what they’re willing to do, to respect them! You, Justice!”

“Ayup?”

“You … you weren’t even trying just now, were you?” Vic was gritting his teeth as he grinned unsettlingly.

“There a right anwer to that question? I ain’t fixin’ to be fired already.” Justice leaned his hands on the top rope.

“I know what that means. I know what that means! This man, he’s an absolute animal! He’s as strong as … as a literal gorilla! Yes!” Vic clapped his hands.

Eric used the ring apron to pull himself up, clearly not in nearly the same physical condition as Vic, nor as young. “Gorilla? You mean you want to call him–”

“Yes, now don’t step on my lines! Justice Haymaker is dead so far as the wrestling world is considered. Now and forever you are Gorilla Haymaker!” Looking to Eric he continued; “Get him boots with four-inch lifts. That’ll make him six-foot-seven-inches, we’ll call him six-ten. What is he? Two-seventy? Make that three-twenty.”

Eric managed to get his little notepad and golf pencil out about when Vic finished talking. “Got it. Three-hundred-twenty-pounds. We want a fancy hometown?”

Sliding back into his shirt and tie Vic called up to Justice, “Good question. Haymaker! Where do you hail from!?”

“Huh?” Justice looked to Renna, the love of his life, who shrugged, then back to Vic, “Well, I mean, I was born in New York City.”

“Hometown boy, huh? That doesn’t work. I mean it’s great when we play the Garden but no. You’re a gorilla but … no, can’t say Africa. Although it wouldn’t be racist because he’s white.”

“Okay, I know where this is going.” volunteered Eric. “So let’s just skip to–”

“Parts unknown.” they both finished, then Vic, “He’s got this air about him. Casual intimidation. He’s so … genuine. Oh, but when someone gets him mad!” Whipping around he pointed at Justice. “Show me mad, gorilla-man!”

“Oh, uh…” Justice gritted his teeth and furrowed his brow in a fearsome display.

“Huh.” said Vic. “More like constipation.” He farted loudly, laughed, then started back in, “Okay, uh, pull the top rope, try to just rip it off! Shake it! Show me real intensity! Maybe that’ll be a good substitute for mean.”

Justice grabbed the top rope, turned his grip so that the rope between them was loose, then shook the entire ring violently. Both wrestling executives took a half step back, looked at each other in shock, then stared again. Justice stopped, red in the face, actually a little winded. “There! How was that!? Whoo!”

Eric made first approach, climbing the ring steps and looking where Justice grabbed the ropes. “He peeled the rubber off the rope, Vic! It ripped right off!”

Dashing up, still getting back into his suit, Vic got a better look. “Well … let’s get it taped up! We got a show to prepare for! I got shit to do, you go show our new prize pony to the boys!” With that Vic took off, powerwalking away in an exaggerated, almost silly, way, unconcerned with appearance.

“You heard him!” Vic called out to a handful of men sitting in the audience nearby. “Tape it up. Make sure everything’s, y’know, tight, after that! Jesus.” Then, to Justice, “C’mon. This is the hardest part. You don’t have a history in the business and the boys don’t tend to like outsiders.”

“No history, huh?” Justice pondered, “But my kid’s here.”

Eric started leading the way, “And that’s something that maybe we keep a lid on for now. Usually you don’t see a father and son working in the same league at the same time and sure as hell the son doesn’t get the father his job. No telling how the boys’ll take it. You prove yourself legit though and, trust me, you’ll have their respect. After that, no secrets.”

“Legit?” asked Justice, perplexed.

“Later. Just … c’mon.”

The walk back to the lockerroom was longer than Justice expected. He kept looking back at Renna, who just smiled. What else could she do? This was stranger than anything they’d enountered yet and it was just a sport; one where every outcome was scripted.

The lockerrooms were clearly set up for teams but, in wrestling, there weren’t any; not unless you meant tag teams. Pulling a paper sign that read “Faces” off the door, he found the word “home” underneath.

“Leave that alone.” said Eric, smoothing the paper back down. “Just follow my lead.” and he walked in. Most of the guys ignored him but a few gave loud, happy cries, shouting out his name. “Okay, everybody, your attention!” he called out. “Vic wanted me to show the newcomer around, okay? This is “Gorilla” Haymaker, okay? Go on, Gorilla, introduce yourself to everybody.”

“Huh? You just did though. You mean tell ‘em my real name?”

“What? No, it’s … it’s a wrestling thing. C’mon, go.”

And so he did, meeting a bunch of wrestling personalities he’d never heard of because, since landing in the twentieth century, he’d scarcely looked at a television. Carl “The Constrictor” had a snake, Landslide was a tall, fat giant of a man, on and on they went. He didn’t remember most of them right after meeting but he shook every hand offered.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

As he did so Eric addressed the locker room as a whole. “Now listen, this guy here has an incredible amount of natural talent and may be the world’s strongest man. We’d have to have that tested, probably will in the coming months. Right now though he needs shown the ropes and how to do it the WWW way, okay? So who wants to play peer trainer?”

There was a muttering that filled the room as wrestlers discussed it among themselves. For the most part they were shaking their heads, especially the ones who’d already shaken Justice’s hand. Finally, just as Justice got by him, a fresh-faced kid with long hair and wearing a singlet stepped up. “Yeah, fine, I’ll do it.”

“Frost? Really?” Eric looked him up and down. “You just debuted yourself last week!”

“And? I’ve been Training since I was sixteen, Eric. You don’t think I can help this guy out?”

“Well okay,” laughed Eric, “Alex Frost meet Gorilla Haymaker. We got five hours to showtime and other guys need that ring so, if you haven’t met Gorilla, do so at ringside. Quick. Vic wants him onscreen tonight.”

“Tonight!?” exclaimed Al, “wait, does he have any wrestling experience whatsoever?”

“Ah, well, he m…” and Eric trailed off into mumbling.

“What?”

“Deathmatches, okay? Just go.” Eric was getting flustered, checking his watch.

Alex was getting confused, “What? What’s that? Like … garbage wrestling? Fork to the forehead shit?”

“No, Alex. Real deathmatches. Bloodsport. Underground, people bleeding out because there’s no medical staff shit.”

“What? Oh, shit, I didn’t sign up for–” he tried begging off.

“Yes you did! Now I have shit to do, dammit, the food concessions assholes are pushing for another 5 percent of gross! Now go! Get him ready!” Eric stormed out, slamming the door as he went.

Al looked up at Justice. “Well, I guess this is happening. You’re, not, like, a murderer or anything are you?”

“Only in the service of my country, son.”

“And you’re from America, right?” asked Al with a nervous smile. They started walking.

Outside the door Renna was waiting. “Oh, hell, honey, I didn’t realize you were out here.”

“I don’t think I can go in there, Justice. Are there even any lady wrestlers in this league?”

“A few!” volunteered Al, shaking her hand. “They usually change in closets or whatever’s available. It’s, well, it’s not great but that’s the way Vic does things.

“Oh? And he’s sort of the king of this place, huh?” She looked up to her man, who shrugged.

“He wants to be the undisputed king of wrestling. Ironic, considering we have a guy with a king gimmick. But he talks about running this and that territory out of business all the time. I heard about it and, well, let’s just say I’m glad I got signed here. He could do it. Just all the money in the New York area, he can pay more for top talent.”

Back at ringside a couple of youngsters, two of the same guys who were setting up and working on the ring, were practicing in the ring. “Okay, clear out! I gotta show the new guy some moves. None of you guys is getting on television any time soon so no excuses.”

One slid out and the other bounded over the top, going to assume the position at ringside again, in case they were needed. Al slid in slick and easy. Justice, on the other hand, got caught two different ways, causing the top rope to whip around wildly then tripping on the bottom rope.

“Okay! Lesson one; getting in and out of the ring. What the hell was that?”

“What? What I do?”

“Just … just watch.” Al bent at the waist, right leg and upper body passing through at the same time, then his left leg. He then did the same going the other way. “Got it?”

Justice tried it once, legitimately slapping his whole body on the concrete floor. He popped right back up but it looked really bad.

“Okay, uh, so, normally the pads don’t get thrown down ringside this early but, guys? We need ‘em.”

“What?” asked Justice, trying again and catching a toe, not quite falling. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah yeah, you’re the big deathmatch guy, used to taking shots, but the idea is not to get hurt here. Different world. C’mon, just do it a few times then we’ll work on bumps.”

Justice obliged and, soon, he could get in and out of a wrestling ring without looking foolish. Then he practiced landing flat, his granite body making a horrible sound on first the ring, then the floor. They practiced basic moves, like the body slam, splash and some basic strikes, Al saying “now don’t kill me” more than once.

After about an hour and a half Eric came out, observing for a few minutes before piping up, “How’s our boy doing!?”

Al stopped running the ropes with Justice, who didn’t notice, and kept bouncing. “Good! Only … please tell me he’s not actually wrestling tonight. He’s a natural but, c’mon, if I’m green he’s radioactive, you know?”

Shaking his head, palms raised defensively, Eric tensed up, “Don’t kill the messenger. Vic wants him on tee-vee tonight, okay?”

“Why?” asked Al, “this is … it’s not safe. Is he even certified in the state of New York?”

“Is anyone gonna check Victor McCabe on someone being certified? Look, you don’t like it, you can do the job to him tonight.” Eric jutted a finger up at Al.

“What!? Why me!?”

“Why not you? You said it yourself; you’re green, you’re new.”

“He’s newer and greener, man. Come on!” Al started pacing, slapping a turnbuckle for emphasis.

Justice walked up, “What’s the issue, bossman?”

“The issue is that they want yo’ dumb ass to take my title!” shouted a previously unseen man. Rolling into the ring, he was a black man with a beard and shaved head, still wearing streetclothes and a perpetual scowl. “So what, Eric? Got yourself another hitman now?”

Eric sighed. “Hey Badman. Gorilla, this is ‘Bad Man’ Bruce. Current International Champion.”

“Not according to The Man.” spat Bruce. “Vic said ‘Bruce loses’ and I’m just supposed to lay down? First black man to hold this damn title, I gotta roll over for just anybody? Naw, fuck that.”

“Hey there,” Justice stepped up, “I’m Justice Haymaker, nice to meet you.” he said, extending a hand.

Bruce slapped it away, “Man get that shit out my face! S’wrong with you? You gonna take this off me? Huh? How? I am a champion Judoka! You know what that means?”

“Uh … you know martial arts?” asked Justice, earnestly.

“I am a master of the martial arts! I medaled at Montreal! I am the most legit man in this damned promotion! The smartest thing Vic ever did was put the International Championship on me! They brought in three different guys, supposed to be tough. Fuckin’ Islander, British catch champ and a Greco Roman guy. I beat ‘em all. Why you different than them, huh?”

Justice blinked twice. “Well, I dunno.”

“I whooped them boys! I made ‘em beg and I made ‘em tap! You’re next, mister hitman.”

Actually, they’re callin’ me Gorilla–” Justice started as Bruce slapped him full in the face. “That is to say Gorilla–” Another slap. “How’s your hand?”

Bruce’s face was unmistakable and one of the fingers in his outstretched hand was turned a little. Gritting his teeth he pulled, cranked and pushed the finger back in position with a loud pop. “Better than you’ll be when I’m done with you. Enjoy your short, pathetic little career, redneck. When I’m done with you it’ll be over.” With that, he stalked off.

After a moment Justice turned down to Eric and asked, accusingly, “What he said true? I’m here to beat him up, take his title?”

“What do you want me to say, Justice? Yes. He’s been booked to lose that title for six months. He had a great run but it’s coming up on two years! We’re past the time when you could just have one guy hold the belt for years at a time, especially a heel.”

Justice thrust a thumb towards his training partner, “So … what Al here is showing me, that’s fake?”

“Not fake!” called Al. “Scripted. Wrong person hears you say fake they will break a bat over your face, new guy.”

“Fine, scripted.” Justice sighed. “But that, what that Bruce guy said, that’s real?”

Eric put his hands in his pocket as he listened and paced nervously. When it was time for him to speak he yelled. “And what else do we do!? Huh!? That man has hijacked our property and is using it to make himself a bigger star on our airwaves!”

“Fire him!? Hell, man, I don’t know!”

“Fire him? Fire him. And then every wannabe tough guy who can lace boots sees that they can go into business for themselves and leave the company without ever losing the title belt. You get to win the title, the old champion does the job. You leave, you lose the title on the way out. This guy, he’s trying worse; he’s staying, pulling the champion’s share of the purse. It’s theft, Justice!”

“Okay! Okay…” Justice looked over at Al.

“Don’t look at me,” said Alex.

“Yeah, both of you look at me. Work it out, give us a five-minute match. Practice it right here then let us know when you’re good. ‘Gorilla’ Haymaker goes over, Alex Frost does the job, we move on with life.” Flustered, red in the face, Eric all but ran off.

“Congratulations,” said Alex. “Pushed right out of the gate. I figure we start with me dodging to start, I lay in chops, you toss me around a little, I do the high-flying and you lay me out with your finish. What is your finish anyway?”

“Hey, thanks for the congrats. The rest of what you just said you’re gonna want to slow down, explain a little more. There’s a lot of shop terms in there I do not know…”

Alex palmed his face. “It’s gonna be a damned long day and night for that matter…”