Indy's Strange Week

THE WEEKEND BEFORE THE LATEST PROVING GROUND - WRESTLEWORLD ISLANDS

“And your winner of the match by pinfall...Lillie Saint!”

The words echoed through Indy’s ears as he sat up on the canvas, the sting of defeat settling into his consciousness. Sure, at least he liked Lillie and didn’t feel too bad about losing a hard-fought match against someone he respected. Then again, he was supposed to be the Territorial Champion, the competitor who stood head and shoulders above the rest. It sure as hell didn’t feel like he was living up to that standard when he sat on the mat and looked up at his opponent getting their hand raised.

When he made it back to the locker room, those recurring doubts started to build up from deep inside. Was he spreading himself too thin? Should he just step away from the ring altogether and let his back heal properly like the Project Honor doctors suggested? Maybe moonlighting for another company wasn’t in his best interests. Then again, he’d found personal success by returning to the ring, laying claim to a title that had been held by the likes of MYOJIN and Zane. Maybe it wasn’t his in-ring career that should be put on hold. Maybe he wasn’t cut out to be a member of management. The job had come with more headaches than personal achievements, rarely giving him the same satisfaction that a hard-fought match could deliver.

He sank down to the wooden bench, a white towel around his neck and his championship title resting over his shoulder. He couldn’t help but wonder if his focus should be entirely on Jacob Striker, or if it should be on booking the next Proving Ground pay per view. One thing was for certain, dividing his attention between the two wasn’t going to do any favors for anyone involved. Striker deserved to face him at his best, especially after making that unexpected appearance at Night of Honor. But didn’t the Proving Ground roster deserve his best as well?

With no clear path emerging in his mind, Indy reached into the open locker behind him, digging his cell phone out of his gym bag. Upon seeing the missed calls and messages from Crystal Ward, he almost wished he’d left it in his bag. As if dividing his time between being an in-ring competitor and a General Manager wasn’t bad enough, his blossoming relationship with the Project: Honor reporter was beckoning for his attention as well. Then there was the condescending text from his own mother...

"A Tournament in your father's name? Funny. He was even more of a loser than you are"

The phone found its way back into his bag via a violent toss.

Inept referees. Jacob Striker. A Round Robin in his father’s honor. Lillie Saint. Four Grand Championship contenders. Supreme Machine. Crystal Ward. His mother. Lance Williams. The cryptic notes. Rock Johnson. The responsibilities were bouncing back and forth in his head like a tennis ball being lobbed between the Williams’ Sisters. And it didn’t feel good at all.

He needed to go home.


TWO DAYS LATER - INDIANAPOLIS, INDIANA

“Nathaniel Darling, you son of a bitch!”

It was the kind of greeting he desperately needed to hear from his old trainer and dear friend, Doctor Dalton Miyagi. The hug that followed the welcome, while somewhat unexpected from the retired journeyman, did even more to ease Indy’s troubled mind. Also, the fact that his mother really was a bitch made the welcome that much more special.

“It’s good to see you too, Doc. Now that PH is done touring the globe, maybe I can make it back here more often.”

“Meh. Don’t go ruining a good thing by threatening me like that.”

Despite the gruff tone, Indy recognized one of Doc’s jokes when he heard them. The old man finally broke the hug as if he realized how out-of-character it was for him to act like that, and together he and Indy made their way into the old warehouse gym. The first thing that caught Indy’s eyes was the old practice ring, set up exactly where it used to be before he’d taken the job of Proving Ground GM.

“The ring? You put it back up? Why?”

The old man allowed himself a sly smile as he shrugged his shoulders.

“I just didn’t feel right when it wasn’t there. Besides, my daughter’s business doesn’t take up nearly as much space as we thought it would. She mostly keeps to the back of the warehouse and leaves this old space for me to play with.”

Indy found himself running his hand along the edge of the ring apron, the touch of its canvas reminding him of a simpler time. The stained splotches where sweat and blood had been spilled still remained, and the ropes had that slight sag from years of use that no amount of tightening could fix. At that moment, Indy thought about all the clichés of competitors claiming that the wrestling ring was their church. To him it was more than that. It was his home.

“You didn’t bring your lady friend with you? Afraid I might steal her away?”

“Nah, not this time. She’s on assignment, interviewing Ozymandias in Alaska.”

“Jesus, kid. You let her go to interview that monster by herself?”

Indy shrugged.

“She’s not a child, Doc. Besides, Ozy may be big and scary, but I don’t think he’s going to hurt a reporter when everyone in the office knows she’s gone to see him. Even then, I’m pretty sure Crystal can take care of herself. The last thing I want is to be an overprotective boyfriend. It's bad enough that I'm her boss.”

Indy continued to gaze at the ring, as if he was admiring a long-lost lover.

“So...what’s eating you up this time?”

Doc’s question broke Indy’s concentration immediately. At first, he thought about asking how Doc could tell something was wrong, but then he remembered. Doc always knew when something was wrong. Instead of going through the motions of denial, Indy decided it would be best to lay his cards on the table.

“Nothing. Everything. Life.”

“Ah...so the usual. I’ll go get the beer.”

Over the next few hours, the two men spoke from the heart. Indy confided in his mentor with everything from his romantic relationship with Crystal to the rivalry between Caden Young and Larry KaChow. He vented about how aloof Rock Johnson could be, and how it seemed like the owner didn’t even know Indy’s name at times. He bitched about Jacob Striker’s arrogance, Arik Holt’s scheming, and Lance Williams’ attitude. He let it all out, and one by one, the troubles he’d kept locked up inside started to seem less like serious issues and more like trivial annoyances. Doc had that innate ability to act as bartender, therapist, and coach all over the course of a dozen beers.

“And then, to top it all off, I think there’s some obsessed fan out there that keeps leaving me weird notes. It’s been going on for months. It mostly happens when I’m visiting the islands, and so far it hasn’t followed me over to Project: Honor. Knock on wood.”

“Well, you are ‘Everyone’s Favorite’. I guess those things come with being an international superstar.”

Indy scoffed as Doc made light of his minor celebrity status.

“Seriously, kid, you’ve got more on your plate than a fat man at the Golden Corral. If you came here expecting me to tell you what to do, that was your first mistake. I’ve never done that and I’m not gonna start now. However, as someone on the outside looking in, I think you’re doing a pretty good job running Proving Ground. Especially for someone as young as you without any management experience. On the other hand, I’ve always said you have all the tools to be a great champion, which you’re proving week after week. You say that it’s getting to be too much, but does it really have to be?”

Indy’s eyes narrowed, unsure of what Doc was implying.

“So this KaChow guy and Caden Young, whichever one of them becomes your official assistant, give them more responsibility. As for those idiot referees that Johnson hired and all the ego maniacs on the roster, maybe you should bring in someone to help out with that too. A troubleshooter of sorts...or a problem solver.”

Indy nodded, unable to deny that his mentor was making a lot of sense.

“As for the in-ring stuff, it’s your dream to be a champion. Don’t give up on that dream just because you found out that you’re good at something else. My suggestion? Either get the PH doctors to clear you or go under the knife and fix your back once and for all. Then, once you’ve got some people in place that are capable of handling things, you can get back in the middle of that ring where you belong. Where you’ve always belonged.”

Indy continued to nod his head as Doc made everything sound so much...simpler.

“As for your lady friend. Dump her and send her my way. She’s fifty shades of hot and I’ve got fifty positions that would be perfect for her.”

Indy finally shook his head as he smiled, finding a piece of Doc’s advice that he couldn’t agree with.

“She’d break you, old man.”

“Pft. Ain’t no woman capable of breaking this old stallion. Now then, how about you get your drunk ass in the ring so this old man can see if he’s still able to teach you a thing or too.”

“Deal.”

The remainder of the afternoon would be spent between the ropes, with teacher and student exchanging one hold after another. In many ways, it was like the calendar had been turned back a full year, and they were preparing to set Project: Honor on fire in the fall of 2020.


TWO DAYS BEFORE PROVING GROUND - THE HOME OFFICES IN STOCKTON, CALIFORNIA

The card had been finalized and advertised, the arena was sold out, and it was only a matter of time before another edition of Proving Ground went live. For the most part, everything was in order. However one major obstacle remained. He had promised to have a meeting with the Proving Ground officials, to lay down some kind of law and get them all on the same page. There had been too many disqualifications and reversed decisions for his liking, and it needed to come to an end. He wasn’t about to throw out the rulebook and go full Fallout, but changes needed to be made nonetheless.

As if by serendipity, that was the issue on Indy’s mind when the phone in his office began to ring.

“Go for Darling.”

It was a goofy way to answer the phone, but it had been something his dad used to do, and since becoming GM Indy started adopting it for himself as well. The simple greeting would have had him wondering if all boys grow up to be their fathers, if the voice on the other end had not been so surprising.

“Mason Kane? Look, if Lance is putting you up to something…”

The hesitation in Indy’s voice caused the man on the other end of the call to reassure him.

“I agree, Lance is a complete asshole. Then again, you’re the one who was taking money from him…”

Then came the kicker.

“Seriously? You’re calling me to look for work? I mean, if you want to be an in-ring competitor…”

Indy’s immediate assumption caused Mason to interrupt and reassure him yet again.

“Something in security? You’re actually serious, aren’t you? You'll have to prove that you're willing to stand up to anyone, including Lance, but I may have just the opportunity you're looking for...”

The expression on Indy’s face became one of professional interest as Mason continued to offer things such as his prior experience. His inquiry not only seemed genuine, but it was coming at the perfect time. There would be the necessary paperwork and he would have to come on board for a trial basis, but it seemed as if Indy’s most urgent problem had indeed been solved.


PROVING GROUND - DALLAS, TEXAS

“...Uh...Mr. Darling...how do you know this guy isn’t still working for Lance Williams?...”

“...I’m not so sure I agree with our General Manager on this one, J.T. Mason Kane is little more than a hired mercenary, and now he’s the guy who’s going to uphold law and order on Proving Ground?...”

“...Yeah, I know the doctors here won’t clear you, but the fact that you let a bunch of med student interns dictate your future is pathetic. When we started seeing each other, I thought I was dating a guy who could stand up for himself, but it’s starting to seem like Christian DeMarco was right about you all along. With or without your injuries, you’re just a spineless coward...”

“...And then, with the smile still on his face, Lance does exactly what Indy has ordered him not to do. The official is dropped with a Torture Bomb as if his well-being means nothing to The Essence of Egotism. Lance then steps forward and gets right in the GM’s face, as if he’s daring him to live up to his word...”

“...Oh…I have to be fair. I have to be impartial. I can’t put my hands on the talent. That sure as hell didn’t stop you from putting your hands on me!...”

“...I know it’s not fun to lose, but this is getting out of hand! We’re gonna need some help for Mark Hunter out here!...”

“...But...but...but aren’t you in charge? Where are you going?...”

“...Fucking prick...”


NOW - LOCATION UNKNOWN

The gym is a piece of shit, but it serves its purpose. It has lukewarm showers, rusty weights, and plenty of speed bags. It’s also so damned empty and out of the way that no one noticed that a strange man spent the night laying in the middle of the practice ring.

The best part about the gym that Indy found after his drive out of Dallas, is that no one knows he’s there. There are no hungry competitors lusting after his title. There are no members of management needing his signature. There are no angry ex-girlfriends, disgruntled employees, or supposed friends that he left to be brutalized while he enjoyed his own pity party. Trey Booker can’t question his decisions. Percival Burque can’t beg him for answers. Mark Hunter can’t blame him for being a selfish piece of shit. Crystal Ward can’t cut out his heart by telling him what she really thinks.

The well-used weights don’t need him to make split decisions. The practice ring doesn’t mind when his sore back forces him to let out a groan. The speed bags don’t object when he takes out all of his frustrations on them.

In this place, far from the eyes of the world, he is once again a young man with a dream. Life is simple here, without the shades of gray to make him second guess his every choice in life. The only problem that remains, is knowing that it’s all fleeting. He can’t leave his phone on silent forever. He can’t stay in the gym and avoid explaining his firing of Lance Williams to Rock Johnson’s lawyers. He can’t hide away under the tepid drops of water and pretend that he doesn’t feel like a failure.

The real world is still out there, and for some godforsaken reason, it doesn’t seem to like him very much lately.

While he hadn’t made a production of it, Indy was proud of the fact that he gave up cigarettes. Of course, that beautiful pack of Lucky Strikes he noticed behind the counter of the nearby 7-11 would claim differently. With those strikes running low, Indy realizes that he doesn’t feel any luckier. For that matter, his lungs feel straight up angry.

Sitting on the edge of the practice ring, he glances to his left and allows his eyes to fall on the black screen of his phone. He knows what he’ll see when he turns it on, and that simple thought makes him feel queasy.

“The last thing I would ever do in this life is raise a quitter."

One of the many tokens of wisdom he can still hear in his father’s voice echoes within the chambers of his mind. In the moment, he thinks about how he’s never really been able to quit smoking and that there must be a punchline involved there somewhere. If only he felt like laughing.

With trepidation, Indy reaches out to pick up the cell phone and against his better judgement, he presses a button on the side to light up the screen.

So many missed calls and unseen texts. Twitter notifications. Friend requests. E-mails.

“Fuck you.”

Without thinking about the consequences of his actions, he hurls the phone across the gym. While the sound of it shattering against a brick wall is momentarily cathartic, it also brings him a fair amount of guilt.

“We have responsibilities in this life, son, and running from them won’t make ‘em disappear.”

He hangs his head with a shake.

“Damn it, dad.”

Then, he immediately begins to wonder if Verizon has a kiosk nearby.



LATER - THE NEAREST VERIZON WIRELESS KIOSK

“You’re all set, Mr. Darling! I’m really sorry you ran over your phone, but at least you were paying for insurance.”

Indy takes the new phone in his hand as it’s already buzzing with new notifications.

“Thanks, Shawn. You’re a lifesaver.”

“I’m just glad you caught me. It’s my last day before I start my management position at Cook Out.”

“Right. Well, good luck with that, I guess.”

Not wanting to take up any more of the young man’s time, Indy gives him a parting smile before retreating to the parking lot. He knows it’s time to check all of those notifications, but something else is weighing on his mind. He ran from his responsibilities at Proving Ground, and his fans and co-workers deserve an explanation. Ignoring those notifications for the time being, he opens the video camera to record what he hopes will be a brief message for the viewers of Project: Honor.

“So, that didn’t go exactly as I had planned, but most episodes of Proving Ground don’t. If there’s one thing I’ve learned to expect as a General Manager, it’s to expect the unexpected. Somewhere along the way last night, I forgot that. I let things get the better of me and I stormed out of the building like some petulant child.”

Indy’s face crinkles.

“Eh...I hate that word. Petulant. Feels like we used to have someone that used it way too much, but their name escapes me at the moment. Anyway, I know it doesn’t mean much now that the show is over, but I want to apologize to everyone on the roster and to all of the fans for not living up to my duties as the General Manager last night. I’d like to think that if I’d been a bit more responsible, Mark Hunter wouldn’t have been carted out on a stretcher. Then again, if I had stepped up a long time ago, maybe people wouldn’t think it’s okay to brutalize someone when their match is over.”

He pauses for a moment, several events from the previous night swirling in his head at the same time.

“Lance Williams found that out the hard way. He had already been fined and issued a formal warning in the past. I still gave him the opportunity to do the right thing, and he shoved it back in my face. In hindsight, I completely stand by my decision to fire that arrogant son of a bitch. Part of me wishes I’d only done it sooner. As for Swindle Shelldrake and Jay Crowley, you’re not on Fallout. We still have rules and a sense of honor on Proving Ground. You should both expect official written warnings along with monetary fines within the next couple of days. You guys are talented as hell, so please don’t end up like Lance.”

“As for Mark Hunter, I realize there are enough people out there who mock our mutual respect already, but I feel like I owe you an apology more than the rest. I should have been paying attention. I should have been the first one to the ring when Crowley and Swindle were trying to cave in your skull. I’m very thankful for Tara Fenix, TJ Thompson, Diana, and the rest who stepped up when I was too busy feeling sorry for myself. With all sincerity, I will try to be a better General Manager...a better friend...in the future.”

“Next, I feel the need to address Arata Asakura. I’ve been trying to be the bigger man seeing as how I’m a member of management, but fuck that. I’m your goddamn boss whether you like it or not. Yes, I promised everyone on Night of Honor’s team Proving Ground a shot at the Grand Championship, and you will get that shot along with the rest at Clash For the Cup. By all means, keep cursing my name and my decisions to your heart’s content. I’ve got thick skin. On the other hand, if you ever pull the kind of shit I saw in last night’s tag match again, I swear I’ll book you with Serrano Poblano as your tag team partner until your contract expires. And trust me, it doesn’t get more Gaijin than Serrano. Well...TJ is very Caucasian, but that’s beside the point.”

Indy smiles, unable to hide how good it feels to stand up for himself after hearing weeks of abuse.

“Next, I think I should come clean about my recent relationship with Crystal Ward. Not only is Crystal an amazing reporter, but I still think she’s a great person despite the verbal bashing she gave me. In retrospect, I never should have gotten romantically involved with a member of my staff and I’ll remember that lesson in the future. To put it more clearly, Crystal and I will no longer be romantically involved and I promise that will not affect her employment in any negative way. I wish her nothing but the best.”

“As for Percival Burque, it may have been a rash decision to put you in the Round Robin in place of Lance Williams, but if there’s one thing you have, it’s heart. My dad had something of a big heart himself, so I’m actually proud to have you in the running for the Clive Darling Memorial Cup. I know Brandon, Emmanuelle, and Tara will give you everything they have in the coming weeks.”

He pauses again, as the last piece of business takes his full attention.

“Lastly...Arik Holt.”

It’s impossible to see Indy’s eyes behind his sunglasses, but there’s no doubt he’s taking this last piece of business as seriously as possible.

“I don’t care if you manage to get air time during Proving Ground. I don’t particularly care how you book Fallout shows. I’ve accepted the fact that Fallout is a different kind of animal, and Christian DeMarco was actually right in a lot of ways. You, on the other hand, are a manipulative piece of shit.”

“I respect Christian. I respect the members of the Fallout roster. And while you probably don’t care in the slightest, I have absolutely zero respect for you. The only reason you have your job is because you’re a manipulative little monster with a severe Napoleon Complex. You’re a little man with little talent, sub-par charisma, awkward in-ring ability, and incapable of getting anyone to notice you unless you’re being an obnoxious prick. Quite frankly, I would love for you to show up in my office some time instead of sending your little messages by video. I would superkick you so hard that your hair would grow back.”

“You can make all of the threats regarding Proving Ground and our championships that you like, but if you really believe that anyone in your so-called ‘True Society’ can handle the likes of Ozymandias, MYOJIN, or Casanova English, you’re even stupider than you look. And when it comes to your little society? I think Savannah said it best on Twitter. You’re surrounding yourself with thugs to save your sorry little ass from a world class beating. Unfortunately, those thugs were either too happy to drink the Kool-Aid you’ve been serving up, or they think aligning with you will actually get them ahead in this business. By all means, try to recruit someone from Proving Ground into your little society, and I promise you they will quickly become another solved problem, one way or another.”

“Don’t mistake this for another Proving Ground/Fallout war, because I’m not looking to speak on behalf of everyone on my roster. Just consider this a fair warning. I’m done being a hands-off General Manager. I’m done turning the other cheek and trying to be the bigger man. I’m done watching evil little tyrants like you try to damage the company that I’ve bled, sweat, and cried for. Ninety nine percent of the roster and staff are what put the honor in this company’s name, but that one percent named Arik Holt is nothing more than a cancer. If I have to step up and act as the scalpel myself, I swear that you’re going to be cut out before you have any more opportunities to spread.”

“And that...Arik...is not because I’m good enough to do it. It’s because I’m better than you.”

With a push of a button, Indy’s video cuts out, and he lowers his phone to his side with a sigh. It felt so good.

No. It felt right.

Speaking his mind, standing up for not only Proving Ground but Project: Honor as a whole, it had been the one piece missing from the complicated puzzle of Indy’s life. There was no more time for doubt or questioning himself. There would be no more running from responsibility or desperately trying to juggle two halves of a whole. Indy Darling finally remembered that he was a fighter, and now he would be a fighting GM.

Of course, that didn’t stop the notifications from making his phone buzz in his hand. With another sigh, he lifts it up to see an incoming call, the number familiar, yet not used as often as it once was. With his curiosity piqued, he answers the phone.

“Go for Darling.”

A pause. A cocked eyebrow. A slight smile. He knew his answer to the proposition he was hearing almost immediately.

“Count me in, motherfucker.”