1400

“You really shouldn’t be wrestling tonight, Mr. Champion,” said Doctor Michaels. He sighed poignantly and shook his head.

Champion rolled his eyes backwards and offered his arm out for the shot. The needle punctured his skin awkwardly, causing him to let out a half hearted squeal that any teenage girl would have been proud of. He couldn’t bear to watch the liquid drain out of the syringe and into his arm though; he found that just slightly... creepy.

“Are we done yet, Doc?” he asked, covering his eyes with his right hand.

Doctor Michaels pulled the needle away from his arm and took a moment to look at the patient he had been treating for the better part of six months. Champion’s complexion had faded to the point that he looked as if he had coloured it in with chalk. His forehead was also lined with spots; a side effect of the steroids he was taking. An assortment of black and white heads dotted just underneath his hairline, almost daring to be popped as they prayed to be shot into the air like projectile rockets. Doctor Michael’s heart sank as he looked on at what Champion had become; unrecognisable in comparison to the man that his kids loved to watch compete.

“I said are we done yet, Doc?”

“Yes, Mr. Champion,” murmured Michaels. “We’re done.”

Champion rolled the arm of his sleeve down and jumped off the medical bed enthusiastically. He threw out a respectful hand in the direction of the doctor and nodded with intent.

“You’ve been fantastic with me over these past few months, Doc,” said Champion. “I realise that sometimes you must feel like you’re in a thankless job, but I wanted you to know that I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”

Michaels cocked a wayward eyebrow in Champion’s direction.

“That sounds very final, Mr. Champion,” he exclaimed. “Are you planning on going somewhere?”

“Well, I’ve only been going through these checks in order to keep NLCW management happy. They wouldn’t let me agree to return unless I was subject to constant supervision. Slamfest is the company’s final show, you see. We’re shutting down in a week,” said Champion gloomily. Faint droplets of water began to manifest in his eyes but were quickly batted to one side with a swift left hand. “It’s sad to see the place finally close... but it’s for the best. Sometimes you have to do the right thing; in this case that’s putting it out of its misery.”

Champion felt parallels to the current plight that NLCW faced; its life energy was fast waning but one last show offered a chance to prove once more to the world that the company was truly the greatest on the planet.

“Well, I’m sad to hear that, Mr. Champion. It’s a damn shame. My kids love it,” nodded Michaels. “Thank you for your kind words though. It does mean a lot to me. Just be careful out there tonight. It may be your last match but it doesn’t have to be your last breath as well.”

The battle hardened dog of war smiled wearily as he thought about what was left to come. Even if he managed to make it through his encounter with Rick Majors, he knew that a part of his soul would die with the sounding of the final bell at Slamfest. NLCW was an intrinsically linked part of who he was and, without it, nothing would be the same again.