Yeh know yer not going into this one lookin' like the winner ta' anyone, aye?

Rowland asked the question as the three siblings walked down the streets of Las Vegas. Michael nodded, and put his hands in his pants pocket as his brother continued on.

That Storm bloke used to hold the title this tournament is fer, yeh know that, right?

Michael again nods, grinning from ear to ear.

Then why yeh got that goofy grin on yer face?

Michael turns to his brother, and chuckles quickly.

'Cause I got nothin' ta lose but time, Rolly.

Michael turns around, stepping out of the way of a body as the person splits the family. Maureen perks up, pulling up her shirt a little.

Never mind me little brother sittin' at home with Da' in middle of the Irish Civil War, eh, Mikey.

Michael pulls his hand out of his pocket, throwing it in the air.

C'mon, Mo. I gots enough pressure on me as it is. I don't need yer fugly arse breathin' down me neck on top of it.

Rubbish, Mikey! You just told Rolly you didn't have any pressure!

Alright, yeh caught me. I just don't wanta hear yer voice.

The grin never left his face as she slapped his shoulder. Michael turned to Rowland, who was grinning behind his coat collar. As the three siblings turned into a casino, Michael held the door for his brother, but quickly darted in front of his sister and pulled the door shut. What a lovely relationship he and his sister have.

*********

.:[THE DEVIL FROM DUBLIN]:.
Ever since me signin', alls I been hearin' from Eryk Masters is how e'ery body wants teh know how I got me nickname The Devil From Dublin. At first I got a laugh, but after a while, it started teh get annoyin'. Yeh know, like a damn fly buzzin' in my ear when I'm drivin' and the damn thing wont leave meh alone until I roll down me window, but why would I roll down me window? That'd just let all the cold air out o' me car, aye? So what's a lad teh do! Oh, I'll tell yeh what he's about teh do. This lad's about to swat that fly clean out o' me face and against that damn window, that's what.

He stood alone now, in the middle of the apartment. Behind him was a freshly bought Irish flag, with the Guinness harp in the middle, white, section. Obviously a purchase of the twins as their sister was a little more... uptight.

.:[THE DEVIL FROM DUBLIN]:.
I take it Mr. Johnson appreciated me skill enough to put me into this tournament. Sure, it's the opening round, and sure I feel like I'm gettin' fed to the big bad wolf here, but he still put me in it. He still respected me enough to put me in over another worker of his. Maybe he thinks I could carry the belt with pride.

He chuckles.

.:[THE DEVIL FROM DUBLIN]:.
Aw, who'm I shittin'. Jason put me in this match cause he wanted me teh lose. He wants Mr. Storm to run me over. He wants meh to get me Irish arse kicked all around that ring, and he wants the fans to hate Storm while he's doin' it. I mean, look at meh. I'm a six and a quarter foot Irish lad whose never won a wrestlin' match and never lost a fight. What's he want with a bloke like me holdin'... any title in this place. He doesn't! That's what! Poor Jason wants to establish Eli Storm as championship material, while he wants to keep me on his roster as some chump that's gonna put up a fight, but fail in teh end. And that's fine.

Softly, the band Street Dogs song 'Not Without a Purpose' begins to play in the background. Barely audible under Michael's voice.

.:[THE DEVIL FROM DUBLIN]:.
Yeh see, this exact situation is how I got me nickname. Well, me brother and me. No matter what the odds stacked against us were, we always seemed to prevail. We always seemed to come out on top. Top o' the class even though Rolly's got a learnin' problem, and I'm deaf in one ear. We were drinkin' champs, though I had the flu and Rolly had a bad case o' the beer shits all night. Never mind he was drinkin' on the pisser. You put the odds against us, we come out on top. Now you put me against a wrestling machine, a man self proclaimed 'The Incredible One', and yeh want me to do me best. Yeh want me to work hard. Yeh want me to put up a good fight. But what yer gonna get, is me Irish temper, and God damned bloodbath.

He grinned, popping a couple Skittles in his mouth before he continued on.

.:[THE DEVIL FROM DUBLIN]:.
The Devil From Dublin.  Not cause I'm evil, quite the contrary. But because I never seem to go away. I never seem to give up. No matter how hard yeh try and break me, I always stand back up. I always show back up, and keep fightin' until I get what I want. I never give up. I never give in. I NEVER walk away. I'm always fighting. Especially when I have something I'm after. I haven't even stepped in the ring with yeh, Eli, and they're already sayin' I lost. Just cause they've seen yeh before, while I'm a lowly idiot scrappin' my way to the top. Never mind a clown winnin' the Revolution Championship, and a feckin' lass, as Irish and sexy as she might be, holdin' her own against teh likes of Del Carver and that Kaz bloke. But nooo. Drunken Irish brawler can't fight his way out of a damned potato famine, can he?

Collins chuckled at that last statement.

.:[THE DEVIL FROM DUBLIN]:.
Eh, perhaps that wasn't the best analogy to make. However, Eli, you get teh point. Nobody's givin' me a chance. Not even yeh, I bet. I've seen Hell on earth, in Ireland and in Las Vegas. The only difference between teh two?

Michael leans in.

.:[THE DEVIL FROM DUBLIN]:.
The Devil From Dublin walks in Vegas, leaving nothin' but a path of bodies, blood, and beer in his wake. The Devil From Dublin wasn’t something I thought up on my own, it was something that was given to me by the streets of Ireland. In the ‘semi-pro fights’ – what’d you’d call Fight Clubs – and in the Hooligan wars worse than the likes of Green Street. I never once lost a fight, Eli. You’d better hope this doesn’t turn into one. Or yer gonna be the first to walk out of the ring wonderin’ just who this Irish feck was that kicked yer arse four shades o’ yelleh.

The camera fades as Michael grins.

*********

When the camera finally shuts off, Michael begins to chuckle to himself. His siblings walk out from around the corner, shaking their heads.

"Bodies, Blood and Beer"? Who are yeh, Mikey? A drunken vampire?

Yeh, Mikey. That was pretty lame.

Listen teh yeh, callin' me lame. At least I'm tryin' this stuff out.

Yeh, but all yer gonna get is a laugh. Nobody's gonna respect yeh if yeh keep sayin' that.

Good. Let me catch them by surprise. The dumber they are, the quicker they fall, right?

It's "the bigger they are, the harder they fall", moron.

Michael turns to his sister, an eyebrow raised.

It was a feckin’ joke, woman. Get back in ta’ kitchen and make me some grub, idget.

She didn’t look too thrilled at his tone, but Michael didn’t care. If there was something he was bad at OTHER than wrestling, it was showing his sister just how much he cared for her. His family was all that he had, other than fighting. And when it came down to it, he wouldn’t give up one for the other. Time slowed to a stand still as he walked around the room. His sister face was contorted with anger; while his brother’s was content and on the fence as to who he’d support if he’d ever see his siblings get into an argument. Michael knew this, and even though his brother was his best friend, the circumstances were much bigger than just a sibling rivalry.

His little brother was closer to him than anyone but his twin. Even though he picked on him, called him names and made total strangers think that Benjamin was a ‘special’ kid, Michael would do anything to help him. Not only was Michael now battling his desire to upset his sister, but also other men in SHOOT Project for the money that would bring his brother home. On top of that, he was having issues trusting himself in the ring, trusting himself without his brother there to help him.

For the first time in his life, Michael was all alone in a wrestling ring, with thousands (and thousands) of SHOOT Project fans watching him as he fought to keep up with one of SHOOT Project’s elite. But there’s something that kept him fighting. Pride? Family? No.

Fun. His family, his little brother, his baby sister and twin brother. They brought fun to his life. It was fun dicking around with Rolly in the bars. It was equally fun beatin’ the snot out of the unlucky bloke that called them ‘Micks’. It was just as fun as upsetting Maureen. Fighting brought fun to his life. It was fun to take a fist and shake it off. It was fun to watch a dumb American bloke put out all he could and watch in horror as Michael spat out blood and maybe a tooth or two, but still have those Irish Eyes Smiling right back at the man with busted knuckles. It was fun when he took a beatin’ and kept on tickin’. And SHOOT Project? It’ll be fun proving all the blokes in the back wrong when he surprises Eli Storm and moves on in the tournament.

Time started again, Michael returned back to his place in the apartment. Maureen walked over to Michael and slapped him – pretty hard. Michael smirked and looked to Rowland. Rowland shook his head, grinning.

Yeh think that’s funny, do yeh?

Mo.

NO! I wont have it!

Mo.

No! Don’t do it! I’m mad at you, Micha -

I love you, Mo.

Dammit! I love you too, Mikey.

The three of them shared a laugh for the first time in a while. Michael’s eyes glanced over both of his siblings. Then to the picture of his brother. In his mind, he thought: ‘Lets have some fun, Benny’.