“Yeah, you’ve got a chipped tooth in the back,” the trainer said, shining a light into Holden’s mouth. As he pulled away, Holden spat some blood into a nearby trash can. His head was still ringing from Sammy Rochester lawn-darting him around and out of the ring. “Probably concussed too. I’d recommend a ride to the hospital if…”
The trainer trailed off. The ‘recommendation’ for a ride to the hospital was only a recommendation and not an immediate call for paramedics because the trainer knew that Holden was an independent contractor and, therefore, not insured by SHOOT Project.
“Thanks,” Holden said, putting ice on the bruise forming on his forehead. He wasn’t insured, couldn’t afford the hospital visit, and didn’t really need another bill collector trying to find him. “I’ll take care of it myself. I’m fine.”
“Can you get home?”
Holden nodded, standing up and feeling the aches shoot up his body. The concussion and the chipped teeth were the only things he knew about. Who knew what else in his body had been ruined by that giant prick? Although considering what had happened to Jane Doe, he supposed he had gotten out lucky enough. Arthur got his win, Sammy had his fun, Holden wasn’t the target. Holden wasn’t even supposed to be there, technically.
An hour later, Holden was in the line, waiting to get paid like all the other independent contractors for the day. When Holden got to the front of the line, he gave his name and watched an overweight man with glasses pick through a dwindling supply of envelopes with checks.
“I’m not seeing a check for you.”
“Maybe it’s under ‘Nobody’...’Holden Nobody’?”
“Oh, right, they said something about you. They don’t have a check for you since your booking was so last minute.”
“Wait, so I’m not getting paid,” Holden asked. He winced as pain shot from the broken tooth in the back of his head.
“Your check will come in the mail to whatever address you listed on your 1099. Should take about seven to ten business days.”
Holden nodded and thanked the man, hiding the panic in him. He hadn’t factored into his budgeting not getting paid tonight. He kicked himself mentally for not thinking of it, he knew he was walking into Daybreak without a match or any bookings, but he thought that grabbing that spot against Arthur Pleasant would get him paid tonight.
He definitely wasn’t going to see a doctor right now.
Two days after Daybreak and Holden had no contact with Stein, Johnson, or anyone from SHOOT Project. Holden wasn’t entirely sure if he still had a contract, but he imagined they would at the very least let him know he’d been cut if he had. When the bookings came up and he wasn’t on Zenith, he became more worried. He wasn’t even sure what his plan of attack was. His conversation with Stein at Daybreak had shown that him winning or looking good in the ring wasn’t really the issue. His lack of booking after his match with Arthur Pleasant showed him that his audacity wasn’t necessarily working.
Furthermore, he needed money, and he wasn’t going to get his check for five to eight more days. He couldn’t keep moping about his unknown position in SHOOT, he needed work. His first thought was to hit his work apps and see what farming positions were maybe available, but the harvest season was coming to an end.
Then he had a second idea.
He’d worked XXCW in the past, and there were a couple of former XXCW guys on The Resistance roster.
Holden decided to make a call.
**** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** ****
Even getting some TV time on SHOOT came with benefits, apparently. The head booker was unbelievably stoked to book Holden, the ‘man who kicked out of Arthur’s finisher’, and was ‘beyond thrilled’ to book him. He’d even gotten him a plane ticket and a motel room. For Holden, this was having the red carpet laid out.
He’d been booked against Hank Henry, a bigger, scrappy guy who was salivating over the chance to beat a guy who had been on SHOOT Project TV and PPV, even if that guy didn’t actually have a contract. Tag team match at the beginning of the event, a SHOOT Project guy who had been on TV a few nights ago in the middle, with a World Title match to close out. Holden honestly felt pretty honored that they put him in a spot to wake the crowd back up.
He bounced behind the curtains, cracking his neck and doing whatever he could to psych himself up. That was when a shot of pain went through his mouth. The broken teeth in his mouth screamed at him to rest, and if a little vibration from him jumping hurt his mouth this much, what was getting punched going to feel like?
He focused, breathing in.
Everything you touch you change…
Holden breathed out.
Everything you change changes you…
S-P-I-R-I-T
SPIRIT! LET’S HEAR IT!
Showtime…
Holden emerged from behind the curtains. He stared at the ground, like he normally would, clinching and unclinching his fists. As he got into his headspace, his music blaring through the small arena, he found himself distracted by a weird humming, a high-pitched noise he wasn’t familiar with.
As he looked up, he found that the arena of Resistance fans, probably a little shy of 2,000, were largely cheering for him. These people knew who he was and were excited to see him. He even noticed a sign in the crowd that said “I’m A Nobody”. Holden nodded, smiling at the crowd, before screaming and heading to the ring.
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Holden iced his neck as he swished around Orajel Toothache Rinse in his mouth. He crowd had erupted when he hit his Package Piledriver and pinned Hank Henry, which almost made the intense pain in his face ache. Now, sitting in the shared locker room, he simply tried to regulate the intensity of the aches that he felt. Likely, taking a booking after getting destroyed by a 7-foot-tall man-child was a poor decision, and he knew that he’d be feeling an intense regret for doing this show, but the way the Resistance crowd had reacted to him was coming pretty close to making him feel better.
Plus, a paychecks a paycheck.
As he spit out the Orajel, finally feeling his mouth numb a bit, the door to the shared locker room flew open.
“Dustin Hayes pulled something while warming up,” the man said, a panic in his voice. “Alexei Volkov doesn’t have an opponent tonight. We need someone to challenge him for the title.”
The locker room fell silent. It was a huge opportunity, but every man in that locker room had already worked a match, and taking on that giant Russian in less than tip-top shape would be considered suicide by many.
“I’ll give’em a go,” Holden said, ending the silence almost as quickly as it came over them. “Let the big man know he’s got an opponent.”
The man looked confused, almost as if he wasn’t expecting someone to accept the challenge. However, he nodded.
“Be ready to go in 5.”
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Standing in the ring for the second time that night, Holden was face-to-face with a big, battle-hardened Russian, Alexei Volkov. The anger that Alexei radiated down on the smaller Holden could have been from Volkov being upset that he didn’t get the night off, or it could just be his natural state. As the ring announcements finished up, Holden smirked at Volkov.
“Now, be gentle there, big hoss,” Holden said, never losing eye contact. “I’ve already wrestled once tonight, and I’m a little bit sore from it.”
The intensity in Volkov’s eyes did not waver.
“I will feast on the scraps that Arthur Pleasant and Sammy Rochester have tossed onto my table.”
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Settling back into his camper in a new, government-funded state park in Pennsylvania, Holden sank back into his little couch. Gremlin purred lightly next to him as he stroked the gradually sleepier kitty. He fully believed he was not in more pain only because his body was too exhausted to continue shooting off pain receptors.
“Gremmy,” Holden said, scratching the three-legged tabby. “I’m very, very tired.”
Holden looked over at the small table where he kept his laptop. He looked at the Resistance World Championship that sat on it. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, grinning.
“That thing was heavy,” he said, beginning to doze off. “Heavy to carry back here.”
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