I Mean It

Those getting into the entertainment business strive for the roars of the crowd. They want the admiration, so much so that they often overdo it in their personal lives. Actors, singers, athletes - they can all be found in clubs and at parties, throwing money around in exchange for cheers, music, and love.

But when you've been doing it for over 20 years, sometimes it's the silence that is truly needed.

We open up inside the executive suite in the Cortinovis Radisson Hotel in New Rochelle. The only light that can be seen in the room is a small amount of sunlight peaking between the curtains. The room is completely silent, and Centurion can be seen, lying on a couch, with a cool wrap placed over his forehead. He has his eyes closed, and it is unclear whether or not he is sleeping.

Not that it matters, because the silence is soon broken by the sound of a ringing telephone. Centurion lets out a loud, frustrated moan, but refuses to open his eyes.

"ALEXA!" Centurion yells into the void of the weird AI machine the modern world now relies on. "Answer the phone!" The ringing stops, and the sound of general background noise can be heard. "If this is someone calling me about my extended warranty, I'm going to murder somebody."

"Oh, that reminds me!" The voice of Centurion's daughter and manager, Nellie, plays over the speakers and cuts through the silence of the room. "I signed you up for a renewal on your warranty. Some dude with a robotic voice told me you were overdue. I gave him your credit card number."

"I don't think you understand how serious I am about that "murder" thing." Centurion says, knowing Nellie is joking, but also making it clear he is in no mood for jokes.

"Relax!" Nellie chuckles. "I thought this weekend was supposed to get you refreshed. You sound like you haven't slept in days."

"I haven't." Centurion responds, laboring out his words. "Way too much shit on my mind. Plus, my neck has been bothering me since Thursday. I think I might have pulled something in my match on Anarchy."

"Oh." Nellie's response quickly goes from joking to serious. "Do you need me to call someone? Should I set you up with a chiropractor?"

"Nah." Centurion says in a sigh. "All they're going to do is tell me I need rest. Then I'm going to tell them I have a match at EXP, and they're going to go "oh, I don't know if that's a good idea". Then I'm going to get mad and walk out. So let's just skip all the unnecessary bullshit."

"Well, do me a favor then, will you?" Nellie pleads. "After this match, can you take some time off? Take a vacation or something. Just stop taking so many bookings. It's killing you."

"No promises." Centurion quickly states in an irritated tone. "What do you need?"

"You wanted me to do some scouting on your competition." Nellie says in acknowledgement. "I've been scanning the internet, I've asked several contacts backstage - done everything I know I can do."

"And?"

"Nothing." Nellie responds with a defeated tone. "Not a peep. Either the Game Changers aren't talking about it, or they're keeping it real close to the vest."

"We know the second one isn't possible." Centurion says in a matter of fact tone. "Larry Tact gloats about the size of his bowel movements. If there was some master plan to turn Isaac into a killer, he would have let it slip by now."

Centurion sighs as he sits up from the couch and places the cooling pack on the end table next to him. He stands and begins stretching out his back and neck, all while Nellie continues to speak.

"I still think he's going to attack you."

"Oh, I KNOW he's going to attack me." Centurion answers without hesitation. "He'll bring the whole crew out. Question is, how much effort is he going to put into this? My guess is, he's going to toss Isaac to the wolves. The moment his plan starts to go astray, he and the rest of the Game Changers will bail."

"I'm not so sure." Nellie responds. "The temptation of making even the weakest member of the Game Changers look like a main eventer might be too much. Put yourself in his shoes - if you were Larry Tact, and you had a couple of lackeys working for you, wouldn't you want to make it seem like even the muscle could beat the best your enemies have to offer."

"All the king's horses and all the king's men could not make Isaac look like a competent fighter." Centurion says as he does the last of his stretches. "If I was Larry Tact, and I knew my lackey was dead in the water, I would try to avoid as much embarrassment as I possibly could. If I run down there, and put everything I have into trying to make this win happen, and it fails, it wouldn't just make my lackey look bad - it would make me look like a fool. And Larry, for all of his flaws, isn't a complete fucking moron."

Centurion slowly makes his way from the couch and into the kitchen area. He grabs a glass and opens the freezer door before tossing a few ice cubes into the glass. He reaches for a bottle of scotch, but is interrupted by Nellie.

"You're not going to start drinking, are you?" Nellie asks, sternly.

Centurion huffs and places the bottle of scotch back down on the counter. "Of course not." Centurion then takes his glass and puts it under the water filter attached to the refrigerator before filling the glass with fresh, delicious water.

"There's something else." Nellie says, picking up the conversation from earlier. "I dug into Isaac's past. Dude's a psychopath. Did some jail time. A lot of personal problems involving an ex-wife. It's all very messy and complicated."

"Don't care." Centurion says in passing as he takes a big swig of water.

"You don't care?" A baffled Nellie responds in a questioning tone. "I think this is a pretty big deal. This dude is a lot more violent than you think he is…"

"Yeah, and I've seen him in the ring." Centurion responds, almost in an annoyed tone. "Being able to assault any schmuck on the street is one thing. Being able to have that same success in the ring with someone who is able to punch you back, that's something entirely. Besides, I don't want to comment on his personal life when I know so little about it. As someone who has ruined a marriage or two, it's not really a topic I'm able to come after with a level of superiority."

"Fair enough." Nellie concedes. Centurion chugs the rest of his water and sets the glass down on the counter before stretching his arm out in front of him. "Oh." Nellie continues, as if she just remembered something. "One more thing. I got an email from a man. British bloke. Called himself "Mr. Blue." Wouldn't go into details, but he's apparently going to be meeting up with you in Chicago next week? Anything I should be concerned about?"

Centurion stops dead in his tracks as the name "Mr. Blue" is mentioned. Mr. Blue is a mysterious man, known by Centurion as being someone who once stole several million dollars from him without ever being caught. His global, underground crime network has made him a wanted man in numerous countries…but he is also impossible to catch, living under many aliases and with no true home to speak of. Him announcing he will be somewhere, especially to someone like Centurion, is incredibly rare, and something that sets off many alarm bells.

"No." Centurion calmly responds, despite the panic in his eyes. "Old golf buddy of mine."

------If You Mad, That's Too Bad, Sounds Like A Personal Issue------