They told him that this was a small event, a weekly recording, but it seemed huge to Justice. Packed to the rafters, thousands of men, women and children were there to experience choreographed violence performed by experts of the craft. Some knew that the competitors were like actors, stunt men, performing exhibitions for pure entertainment. The real competition happened backstage as men, and some women, sold themselves, their characters, and their storylines to the bookers. Bookers, the decision-makers, writers, directors, and producers all wrapped up in one role with anyone holding those positions doing what they're told rather than making their own vision known.

In this world, where everything was mostly make-believe, there was a deadly serious game at hand. “Bad Man” Bruce made himself a legitimate threat to the company by “shooting”, or fighting for real, as if competitive when he should be “working” or following directions; directions that included laying down when instructed to do so.

Now Justice looked at the camera, wearing a fine Stetson hat, pulled low, a bomber jacket with no shirt underneath, and ridiculously small trunks, boots, and pads. “Hard to be serious right now.”

Alex stood by, his opponent for the evening; he’d already done his promo, what they called the little speeches where the wrestlers would threaten their opponents. Looking at road agent, Eric Erickson, the man who brought Justice on board, he shot him double thumbs up, “You got this, big man. I’m the heel tonight, just … say what you would to some jerk starting something on the street. Or in a bar.”

“Yeah, big man, c’mon.” said Eric, “This is pre-recorded, you screw up, we do it again, whatever. But we could run out of time so get on with it.”

Taking one deep breath Justice pulled the brim of his hat down lower before growling lowly, “It takes a hard man to do what’s right when the chips are down. Alex Frost, they say you a bad man, and I don’t cotton much to that.” Tapping the brim of his hat up Justice glowered at the camera, the shadow framing his eyes in menace, “Seems you made trouble for some of the boys in the lower rungs, just lookin’ for a paycheck, and you sent ‘em home with medical bills instead. For all them boys, I’m puttin’ you down like the dog you are. For all them boys … I’m makin’ you pay. Bet on that.”

“And … cut…” whispered Eric. “Where the hell did that come from? Put an S on this man’s chest and I believe it.”

Justice chuckled, “Well, hell Ricky. What can I say; I always try to do what’s right, even if it means I gotta rough a man up, y’know? This ain’t exactly my first rodeo.”

“Right. Right!” exclaimed Eric. “Remember that too, the rodeo line. Shit. We could penetrate the south finally. I gotta talk to Vic about this. Keep that tape queued up!”

Alex walked up to Justice, “Well, good job new guy. I sure am glad this is a worked match because that promo made me believe I was really in trouble.”

“You don’t sound happy, man. What’s wrong?” Justice knit his eyebrows.

Al shrugged, “Well, for one, I have to do the job again so soon. I got slapped around for months as enhancement talent, got a four-match streak against jobbers–”

“Hold on, jobbers? Enhancement? Remember I’m new.” Renna hugged Justice from behind and he grabbed her by the hand with a little squeeze.

“And that! You don’t know the basic shop terms. Most of this shit’s over a hundred years old, it’s not hard to know. It came from the carnival! I studied the origins, man, eighteen-nineties, carnies, marks, works, shoots, just … ugh.” Justice looked at him shiftily, wanting to tell him that he’d missed the 1890s both coming and going. Luckily the young man didn’t see the shifty look as he was holding his face in both hands, “Anyway, they mean the same thing. Jobber’s kind of insulting though so … try to say ‘Enhancement Talent’.”

“Yeah, okay, got it.” Justice nodded for emphasis.

“And I don’t like Bruce seeing us working together. He feels like the front office has wronged him, y’know? Now I’m on his radar. I’m not in this fight. I don’t feel like being slammed and stretched by some olympian martial artist. Unlike you I’m not a deathmatch champion, ripping people’s arms off and beating them to death with those arms.” He gesticulated madly to emphasize his stress.

“Whoa, who told you I did that? I never did that. I would never do that. That’s just gross, man.” said Justice who, unfortunately, wasn’t thinking of how that would sound out loud.

“Nobody told me– What? Dude, you make it sound like you could rip a living human being apart.” turning to look Justice in the eye he found unblinking panic in answer to his inquisitiveness. “Holy shit, it’s true, isn’t it? What Eric told Vic.”

Scoffing, laughing nervously, spinning and almost knocking his girl down Justice tried to play it off. “What? Who? Where we–sorry baby–what we talking about? I mean if they was talkin’ I wasn’t involved so…”

“Thousand-pound bench press. Strong as a gorilla,” said Alex, coming around to cut Justice off at the pass. “Yeah, it got overheard and people got to talking. You were mad, and it was like you weren’t thinking, like you were normally on-guard, but not right then.”

Renna pressed in close, “Careful,” she whispered, “we don’t want too many people to know.”

“I know but … Glen ain’t gettin’ back to us. He seems okay.” Justice shrugged as Renna grit her teeth before burying her face in his chest. “Al, uh, can you keep … if I tell you something…”

“There’s cameras right there and there ‘Gorilla’. You want to talk, I know a place.”

The three of them ducked around a corner and into a foul-smelling broom closet. Renna leaned against a wall, detached, Justice took a series of deep breaths and it was Alex that broke the tension. “Okay, this has to be good. Out with it.”

“You won’t tell nobody, right?” Justice pointed at Al.

“Yeah, man, yeah. My lips are sealed.”

“I ain’t from here. I’m from the past. Renna here, she’s from the future. We’re here to stop an alien from outside reality so he doesn’t wipe everybody out. Problem is we got here three years early. So we’re just trying to not get caught long enough for the alien to run for Governor. Or, y’know, otherwise become visible so we can get him before he starts wreckin’ shit.”

Alex stared at Justice, then looked at Renna, who shrugged, then back to Justice, “Oh. Oh boy. So you’re … delusional!”

Renna was actually the one to react, “Whoa! He’s–”

Alex rushed Justice, who caught him with ease, “Help!” he screamed. “Oh God, I’m in here with a lunatic!” Justice covered Alex’ mouth with his arm and Al immediately began to bite. And bite. And bite some more.

“Ow, but to be clear, only a little, ow. You about done?” Justice loosened his grip so Al could speak.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

The smaller man spat a little, “I taste blood. And … your skin is fine and my tooth is loose. I bit you hard.”

“Hard is relative. Now are you fucking calm or what?” Justice growled, shoving Al away.

Flailing Al was clearly struggling, “As calm as I can be! You sounded fucking crazy but you have leather for skin!? Bleeding is part of the job by the way. You need to work on that.”

Justice glared down, “Whatever man. You keepin’ the secret or what?”

“Fucking… How do I know you’re for real!? Maybe you’re just jacked up on some new steroid! Show me something a human can’t do.”

Justice growled in an intense whisper, “Quieter, dammit. And what’s gonna be proof? I’m mostly just strong and tough. You already saw that shit.”

“Okay,” Al cast about madly. “She’s from the future, right? Show me some future tech stuff.”

Renna’s eyes went wide, “Uh, okay. Datapad won’t fit in any purse I’m going to carry around here. I’m trying to blend into twentieth-century New York after all.”

“Renna, baby … you got your sidearm?” Justice extended a hand.

“Are you serious?” she withdrew her destabilizer from her purse. “Of course I have it. Ever since those human traffickers … I … I’ve been carrying it for a while, yes.”

Justice snatched the ray gun up, adjusting the intensity to the bottom setting, prod. “Okay, this lowest setting makes a Destabilizer hurt a little but it won’t damage anybody. Brace yourself, here comes the proof.”

“Whoa!” shouted Al. “You’re going to shoot me? C’mon, I’m not telling anybody, remember?”

Justice showed Al the interface on the side and the readout that read “prod”. “Lookie here, it’s just pain, you go through pain all the time, right? It’ll be like a little shock. You want proof or not?”

“Yeah…” Still afraid but increasingly curious, Al grabbed the sink behind him. “Fire away.” It was just a split-second discharge, but the blue beam struck Alex in the guts and he doubled over. He coughed, gagged, then stood back up, fine as he was before. “Oh, that sucked.”

“There. Future-tech. Happy?” Justice handed the ray gun back to his lady. “You’re keepin’ the secret, right?”

“Yeah. Yes.” Al held his stomach. “Why let me in on this? You must need something, right?”

Justice nodded, “Yeah man, you could say that. Not yet but, probably after our match, I need you to do somethin’ for me.

—

Justice breathed deliberately in and out, fighting back nerves, as Al’s music hit the loudspeaker. It was some sort of hard rock tune with no lyrics, whipped up by an in-house musician. You could tell that it wasn’t made for Al. Up in the ring, the announcer began the introductions. “Introducing first, from LaFayette, Ohio. He weighs in tonight at two-hundred and ten pounds … this is ‘Ice Cold’ Alex Frost!” The crowd mostly failed to react, some applauding politely, but the rookie kid didn’t have the fans. Not yet. Justice watched him from behind, wondering how he did it. “You got this,” said Renna.

Turning to face her Justice showed his terror, “Do I? We’re so far off mission, Renna.” He looked up the aisle at Al, standing on the middle turnbuckle, talking trash to the crowd. “Was I wrong for pulling us out of California? This feels so … wrong…”

“We’re undercover, that’s all,” she said, “just think of it this way; when the time comes and we need to act, we’re already on the road. Nobody will wonder where we went.”

Then, an unfamiliar sound, a synthesized voice, saying his name with a stutter, “Hay-Hay-Hay-Haymaker…” High-speed banjo licks started out with a rock rhythm, followed by drums and bass guitar. “What…?” he muttered, clenching his hands into those massive fists.

“Pretty badass, right?” It was Eric. “Get ready! Hands up on the second punch!”

“Punch?” asked Justice, in awe of what he was hearing, clearly made for him.

“Punch through!” shouted the voice of a crowd, seemingly the only lyrics to this unfinished musical track.

“Go!” yelled Eric, shoving Justice forward with both hands.

“Good luck! “ called Renna.

Staggering forward at first, Justice decided to stalk when he walked, stopping on the platform before the entrance ramp he adjusted his hat to see past all the light pollution in the arena. Some of the people were already cheering, spurred by the high-energy music. “Punch through!” cried the music, a good portion of the crowd chiming in as well. The track was catchy; too catchy. He instinctively threw his hands up as instructed, playing to the crowd.

“And his opponent…” Justice surged forward, bulging eyes betraying nerves that everyone interpreted as intensity. “From Union, West Virginia. He weighs in tonight at a massive three-hundred and twenty pounds. This is Gorilla Haymaker!” He was so happy that he wasn’t hailing from “Parts Unknown” as was originally planned. Hopping up on the apron from the floor Justice threw his hand up to play the crowd again, tossing his Stetson up the entrance aisle. One of the ring crew dove in, snatching it up, then waited as Justice removed his leather jacket and handed it out to him.

From behind Alex leaped up, crashing down on Justice with no care for the big man’s health, as they planned. Justice let his knees go, eating the turnbuckle with his full face before taking a knee. The bell rang and Justice took some stomps as the referee tried to back him off. Alex made it look real by making it real, knowing that he couldn’t hurt his opponent. “Up, whip, reverse, clothesline,” he said in Justice’s ear.

Grabbing Justice by the arm Alex started to shove him towards the rope but was reversed and Justice swung wide in an exaggerated fashion, Alex ducking under, jumping up, and kicking him with both feet. Justice crashed down but rose quickly, taking a backhand slap, which Alex called a “chop”, to the chest. He twitched, “selling” the blow as if it hurt, but snatching him up by the throat after a second chop. Again, unconcerned for his condition, Alex shoved both thumbs into Justice’s eyes. Justice dropped him, “You’re doing great!” Alex said into his ear, before chopping him back into the ropes, ignoring the referee who called him out on his wrongdoing, helping the crowd know who to cheer and who to boo.

This time Justice did run when shoved across the ring by Al, eating another flying kick on the rebound. Al bounded to the top rope like an acrobat, leaping across the ring and landing on Justice. “Shit, that hurt!” he grunted as he pulled Justice’s leg up for the pin.

“You good?” asked Justice as he covered his face, trying to look pained.

“Yeah, but comeback time. Now kick.” and Justice bucked, with his level of strength Al didn’t have to help sell being tossed away. When Justice kicked out of the pin he almost kicked his opponent out of the ring. Aggressively pouncing, he grabbed Al by the hip and under his arm, tossing him most of the way across the ring. A Biel throw it was called. Twice more he did this before pressing Al overhead and dropping him with a slam. This was called, conveniently, a “Gorilla Press Slam”.

It was also the move meant to lead into the finish. The ref knew the score and got near Justice, “need one more” he said, meaning one more minute. They’d gone too fast, even with Justice letting himself get stomped into the mat. He was too excited, that was the problem, so he decided to use that. Throwing his hands up he got on the second turnbuckle, throwing his hands up in mock celebration. As his fists touched sky, much to Justice’s surprise, the crowd cried out in unison “Punch through!”

He couldn’t let on how it was affecting him, so Justice got down, the referee talking to him in character about how he only had five seconds on the ropes without being disqualified. Perfect. He went to another turnbuckle, and did the same, “Punch through!” cried the crowd. He couldn’t believe it.

Nearby Justice saw Al engaging the ref, drawing him away from the five-count. This must be the adjusted plan. Reaching down, grabbing Al by the head, he realized the ref was looming over them, too close to see anything, so when Al laid into him with an uppercut to the groin there was no surprise. “Two count” said Al, so Justice fell all the way down, going limp. Between him hesitating and the ref counting just a little slow, they whipped the crowd into a frenzy. They thought it was over but just as the ref touched the canvas for the third time Justice’s shoulder shot up.

As he rose Al hammered away at Justice’s head, his long hair whipping around to add to the effect. Al struck with the heel of his hand each time, not for Justice’s protection but to protect his own knuckles. Justice shook his fists though, rising up to his full height (amplified by shoe lifts), grabbing Al by the throat, and hoisting him high overhead. Another gorilla slam.

Al started to rise, shakily, as Justice celebrated. The crowd's reaction thrilled him in a way he didn’t expect. Now he had to bring it home. Bounding off the ropes he hoped Al remembered to go limp, and he dove through the air, hooking an arm around Al’s chest and driving him down into the mat with what they’d call a flying clothesline. He only hoped he hadn’t jumped higher than a normal athlete could. Rising up on one elbow he lay there on Al, holding up his other hand and counting along with the referee. The bell rang, he rose, the referee raised his hand and he celebrated anew. “Yeah!” he shouted, his music played again, the crowd sang along. For the first time in his life Justice felt humility melt away. He wanted this. He wanted to be a wrestler…