Strong language and mild violence ahead. Ye be warned.
The song above is Gage's theme music, please listen.

For most people, Friday nights were known as a time to unwind and forget about the shitty parts of their week. Months ago I was part of that same crowd. My only worry for the night was whether or not I wanted to lay on the couch doing absolutely nothing or go out and do whatever the hell I wanted. But that's no longer relevant anymore.

Not since I signed a contract with him.

Damn, what I would give to have my Friday nights back. Even now I can't enjoy my nightly ritual of watching Breaking Bad and eating a bowl of Lucky Charms. Instead, my eyes keep drifting to the clock over the stove waiting for seven to roll around. It was fifteen minutes away and I knew I should probably get ready, but Jesse Pinkman was funny as hell.

However, if I've learned anything these past few months, it's that no matter how hard I try to ignore responsibilities, they will always find me one way or another.

"Gage!" came a familiar voice my door.

Speaking of which.

For a moment I pretended like I didn't hear it, but once he began to pound on my door repeatedly it was hard to ignore. If I was still living in my old place I wouldn't care about his attempts at getting me to answer. But since I moved into a complex surrounded by new people who weren't used to my lifestyle I was afraid that someone might hear and get curious. Or worse, file a complaint. More specifically a certain nosy neighbor who comes up to my hip. So I had no choice but to give in.

"It's unlocked," I called out before scooping my possibly last bite of cereal.

When the door opened and closed I didn't look up. I already knew it was Jason, my manager, making his way in to ruin my Friday night. Because of this, a while back I gave him the nickname Friday Night Reaper. He was not amused.

"What the hell are you doing?" his booming voice filled the room. "You have to be at Death Trapp in fifteen minutes and you're just sitting around doing nothing and eating--what the hell are those?"

I looked up to see the tall guy pointing an accusing finger at my bowl of cereal with the look of disgust.

"They're Lucky Charms," I informed taking another bite. "You've seriously never heard of them? What kind of childhood did you have."

"I prefer to eat something with more nutrients."

"They're magically delicious."

"They're nothing but artificial sugar which is exactly what I told you to stay away from," he snatched the bowl from my hand. Immediately my defense was up.

"Dude, what the hell?! Don't just take stuff from me like I'm a child!"

"Then stop acting like one and get ready," he said pouring out my dinner in the sink without any sort of remorse. I refrained from leaping over the couch to grab him by his stupid ponytail and tackle him to the ground. "This shit is bad for you, Gage."

"So is bourbon but you don't see me pouring your hidden flask down the drain," I grumbled getting to my feet.

When he was finished with his torture he sat the bowl in the sink and turned to me with a sigh. That was when I noticed he looked tired, more tired than usual, which I am not surprised about.

I've only known Jason for a couple of months, but I see him more than anybody else and know how hard he works. Too bad I never make it easier for him.

"Kid, you have to take this more seriously," he crossed his bulky arms over his equally bulky chest. "What if it wasn't me that showed up to get you? What if it was Sparrow?"

I wasn't an idiot, I knew as well as Jason that Sparrow wasn't someone you want to walk in on you while you are enjoying life a little. But still, I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of acknowledging that he's right. Maybe it's because I don't like that he called me 'kid' when he's only about five years older than me. Or maybe it's because I'm in a pissy mood that he sabotaged my Lucky Charms. So I simply shrugged and said, "Then I'd offer him something to drink."

When I looked up to see Jason's reaction it was just as I expected: unamused. He narrowed one eye at me because the other was replaced with a patch. When I first met him and discovered this I suggested he audition for the next Pirates of the Caribbean movie. That was also the day I realized why he was my manager when he wiped the floor with me for that comment.

He let out a groan running a hand over his face. "I seriously don't know why I have to take care of brats like you. I should just let you stay and have you figure out the consequences of pissing off Sparrow for yourself. But as it so happens, he says I'm responsible for you, which includes getting you to the ring on time. And I won't suffer the consequences of your mistakes, so even if I have to drag you out of here without any of your fighting attire I will. You can try to go up against Marx in jeans, but we both know the better option."

I perked up a little at something he said. "I'm going against Marx tonight?"

"Marx Madness," Jason nodded. "I texted you about it this morning."

"I didn't check my phone," I waved him off heading towards my room while pulling my shirt over my head.

While on my way I could hear him grumble, "Of course not," before adding, "I hope you've been training. He's changed since last time. I heard he put on more weight and worked on his offense."

"Is that so? Good for him," I pulled on my shorts acting like I actually cared about my opponent. I was only there for one reason. "How much are we looking at tonight?"

"Possibly a grand, maybe more depending on if you put on a good show."

This wasn't new to me. In the beginning, I scoffed at the idea of putting on a show for someone. I didn't want to be considered someone's puppet, but I quickly learned that in this messed up society if you want to earn money, you have to dazzle the people fanning their dollar bills at you. I almost felt like a prostitute, only I punch people for their entertainment.

And you will be for a long time, I reminded myself.

I slipped on my black silk robe that I wear to my fights, grabbed my duffle bag, and walked into the living room. Jason's large frame was leaning against the door, twirling a set of keys around his finger. When I shut my door behind me he perked up.

"Fucking finally," he said when I came into view.

"Shut up, old man."

"Did nobody teach you to respect your elders?" his tone was serious but he was grinning as he opened the door.

Jason had no idea how hard those words hit home, and like every time when someone gets in a punch, I tried to quickly shake it off. However, flashes of a grinning face came and went quickly before I could stop them. I vowed to never think of him on a match night. It causes too many distractions. When the images subsided I shook my head and came back to reality.

As I slid past Jason I grumbled a, "Yeah . . . but he's gone," before heading towards his truck.

Towards my paycheck to end this hell.

+++

When we arrived at the dingy looking building called Death Trapp I let out an audible sigh knowing that there was no turning back. To any outsider it looked like a normal rundown gym, but on the inside is where the reality is. My reality.

"Okay, kid," Jason spoke up getting out of the truck. "I'd give you a pep talk but we are running late as it is and we don't want the crowd to lessen because they think you are a no-show."

I walked behind him at my own pace. "They should know by now that I never get here on time."

"And that's not a good habit. These people traveled to come see you, so they expect you to respect that."

"Just like they respect me, right?" I rolled my eyes.

I was so wrapped up in what he had said I didn't see him come to a sudden stop. I almost walked right into him when he turned around with a fixed glare on me.

"That's enough, Gage," his tone was serious. His dark eye kept me in place a moment longer before he continued, "Look, I get it. You don't want to be here. Hell, I don't want to be here, but we are because we have to. Whether you like it or not, those people," he pointed behind him at the gym, "are your paychecks. They don't have to come here. They don't have to place a bet on you. They don't have to scream your name when you walk towards the ring, but they do. And if it wasn't for all of that, you'd be dead somewhere. So you better start accepting that fact and be a little bit more grateful."

For the second time that night his words hit me right in the gut. He was right, I should be more grateful that I have people who actually believe in my skills enough to wave their money around. But it was difficult showing gratitude to people who basically own you when you don't want to be. What am I supposed to say? Thanks for ruining my life but paying my bills? Yeah, not simple.

However as I told myself repeatedly, this is my reality now. So I guess I'll work on it a little more. Only a little. Because I'll be damned if people think I like being someone's bitch.

"Whatever," I walked past him. "Let's just get this over with, captain."

"Bite me," I heard him growl.

We slipped in the back way to the gym, but even still I could hear the volume from the front. It sounded like we had a nice size crowd tonight, better than last week at least. For some reason, this tends to happen when summer is rolling around to the end, especially for college students. They want to finish off what time they have left in their break before going back to school. But there are men and women in there from higher known places that are looking to blow extra cash they have. Those are my targets, according to Jason. I have to be a favorite in their eyes and milk them for all they are worth. Pathetic, but true.

As I wrapped my hand I kept reminding myself this. For a minute I pretended like I was getting ready for a match that I actually wanted to be a part of. No offense to Marx, he seems like he'll make tonight interesting. But it's not the same as it once was. I don't fight for pleasure anymore, I fight for survival.

Jason was running over Marx's stats for the fourth time when the door cracked open and a guy's head popped in. "Oh! Good, you're here finally. You have about ten more minutes. Usually we'd give you more but--."

"Got it," I cut him off. I didn't want yet another lecture about showing up on time.

After he rattled off about which way to exit later on I gave him a nod signaling I got the message before he slipped away shutting the door.

I resumed wrapping my other hand when I heard Jason ask, "You nervous?"

"Nah."

"Good," he grabbed a chair nearby and spun it around to straddle it. "Keep that confidence but not too much. Getting too cocky can lead to your downfall. I've seen it happen too many times to good fighters."

I looked up to give him a wicked grin. "You think I'm a good fighter?"

"I don't think you're a bad fighter."

"Oh, stop flirting."

Jason rolled his eye at me. "Whatever, just remember everything I told you about Marx. You can take him down easily, but don't forget you're not indestructible."

"Yeah, yeah," I waved him off.

"Gage, I'm serious. If you lose this match you don't get any money. And if you don't get any money you can't pay--"

The door opened again and the same guy that was here earlier was standing there with a headset on. He said a couple of things into the microphone before looking at me.

"They're ready for you now," he informed although we both knew they have been ready for awhile now.

As if on cue the volume of the crowd increased and for some reason, I felt it. It was nervous. Usually I get a little jittery before a match so this was normal, I just prayed Jason didn't see it. He would never let me live it down. He's already racking up things on his list to berate me about tonight, don't need anymore.

The three of us walked down a little hallway towards the arena, Jason behind me drilling me with last minute advice while the guy remained in front barking over the headset about my music. With every step towards the end of the hall the sound of cheering and screaming increased tenfold. I could hear my fans, my paychecks, my freedom. This is going to be one hell of a night, I can already feel it.

When we were almost at the end of the hallway Headset Guy held up a hand gesturing me to stop. I could see the back of different crowd member's head all looking up at a guy in the middle of the ring with crazy blue hair spiked in a mohawk and wearing sunglasses. He must be the announcer.

"Allllright! Let's hear it one more time for Riot Rico!" the sound of cheers and protests mixed together. I'm almost not sure if he was the winner or not. "Fuck yeah! Alright! Let's get moving to the next match that I know all you motherfuckers have been waiting for. But before we begin please make sure to place your bets with the gentlemen running around somewhere in all yellow tonight. All yellow everything. You can't miss them unless you're an idiot or colorblind. Pay up good tonight because, my friends, this is a match worth your money. "

I heard a few cheers. The announcer grinned. "Fuck yeah, you know what I mean! Your wife might actually give a damn about you tonight because you could go home a wealthy man my friends. So put that cash in there! Don't be cheap! And if you run out, go ask your sweet granny for more because you don't want to miss out! Because you know exactly what I'm talking about, I'm talking about Marx Madness versus Steel Gage!"

The roaring sound of cheering tuned out my thoughts. I had to admit, it fueled my ego slightly.

"Ah, shit! That's what I like to hear!" he said pacing the ring. "As you know, few months ago Gage wiped the bloody floor with Marx's face. Tonight he will find out if he can do it again or go home crying to his stuffed animals."

I heard Jason snicker next to me and I turned around to narrow my eyes at him.

"I have no idea how this match will go, but I can't wait any longer so let's get this going! What do you say?" his question was answered with a thunderous amount of cheering. While that was going on Headset Guy informed someone that I was ready and I swore I saw the announcer nod. "The crowd has answered! The rivals are ready! Let's get this going starting with the man I'm placing my money on tonight, he can't be tamed, he's a beast in his truest form, his hits will leave you in the hospital for months: Steel Gage!"

Right then my theme music came on filling the building and fueling my excitement. I may not be here for the pleasure, but I can't deny that hearing people scream my name is pretty cool. Before being forced into all of this I actually enjoyed wrestling, and even though it's different now it's still wrestling.

I felt Jason pat me on the back as I made my way down the hallway and finally at the end. Once I stepped through, the music and crowd got louder. This isn't formal wrestling so when I made my way towards the ring I literally had to push through the crowd with a few escorts beside me rather than have a clear aisle all to myself. The familiar smell of beer, sweat, and cigarettes filled the air. I guess some things never change.

As I walked down I felt hands all over me either in an encouraging manner or intimate way. It's amazing how many women are practically throwing themselves at me begging to bare my children when they don't even know my last name. Maybe this would have been cool for anyone who wanted to actually be here, but whenever I saw their face I just saw a paycheck.

You have to put on a good show, I heard Jason's voice echoing.

With a mental sigh, I threw myself into the ring along with any self-respect I had when my eyes zeroed in on the hungry looking females and sent them a wink. It was almost comical yet sad how quickly they shoved bills into the hands of a man dressed in all yellow.

All around me were people either cheering me on or protesting very vocally. I saw posters that had sayings ranging from "You Can't Gage the Beast!" or the classic and my personal favorite, "Steel Gage Sucks!"

Very creative.

I took off my robe and tossed it to Jason in the corner near me while the announcer read off my stats to the crowd. "Weighing in at 207, six foot three, from Panama City, with the record of only two defeats in his career: Steel Gage!"

I bounced around on the balls of my feet to loosen up as the crowd cheered or booed. I always felt awkward when they did this not knowing how to react. It reminded me of the times when people sing 'Happy Birthday' to you. Do you smile? Do you ignore it? I went for the latter.

I shuffled around a little more putting in a few more good stretches while the announcer rambled about something else. Normally this would be the time to hype myself up but all I could think about was what will probably happen in the next Breaking Bad episode. Also, do I have enough to get groceries after this? As much as I loved Lucky Charms I can't eat it every day. Or could I?

The debate came to an abrupt halt when the volume of the crowd increased again suddenly. I looked to see Marx making his way down from his hallway with a towel draped on top of his bald head. I didn't even hear the announcer call out his name I was so lost in my thoughts. But there he was, his dark eyes looked up to find mine from the crowd and locked on. Jason was right, he had gained a couple of pounds, but if I learned anything in wrestling it's that weight isn't everything.

Still, his heated glare was unwavering as he jumped into the ring expertly, showing off his acrobatic skills. Interestingly this made the crowd go even crazier. I guess someone mastered the art of putting on a good show. I bet Jason is taking notes right now for me to review later.

"Weighing in at 209, six foot two, from Tampa, with a record of four defeats including one from Gage: Marx Madness!" the announcer read