The cold steel of the gym reverberates each strike of the
dull and sagging heavy bag like thunder on an autumn evening. Thud. Thud.
Pause. Squeak. Thud.  Each movement both
loud and powerful. Mike Williams in sweatpants and boxing gloves dances on and
off his heels, knees and hips twisting with each hook into the bag. Left. Left.
Right. The rights are the power shot comes clear and direct comes almost
overhand like a pitcher. Left. Thud. Left. Thud. Pause. Squeak. Right. Thud.

You know, I thought I lost that, Josh.

The movement and the combination never stops. He just
speaks.

That ability to hit a man so hard his brain stops talking to
his legs. Shit, I thought I wouldn’t be able to do it to a little guy, let
alone the fucking giant Ramos. When he collapsed on himself…

Switch. Right. Left. Right.

I could feel it in my hand. It was like my body remembered.
My legs remembered how to flex to send power to my hips. My hips realized they
needed to send the power to my shoulders. My hands just felt blessed. Three
seconds later, I remembered I’m still a monster. Not because I’m invincible,
but because it takes too much to put me down. Then, I found a spot to watch you
battle a legend, kid. You were everything we needed a young guy to be.
Ruthless. I mean, you really fucked Steves arm up and it was beautiful. You
were a young laser guided missile, pointed and focused. I’ve been a fan of
yours for awhile. You fight hard, your fast and your good. Better at that age
than I was. Anyway, so, I’m watching and the whole locker room can feel it. This
is one of those matches. The ones you show when you’re back in your hometown
training kids. I walked to the curtain and peeked through because I needed to
see the crowd, these legions all believing they were seeing the greatest match
ever. You couldn’t feel it on a screen but this was you paying your dues in a
huge way. Your one of us. A warrior.

Mike drops his hands and is suddenly still.

Then, I kept watching. You put Fella in a bag, and then let
him out. You couldn’t keep it up. You couldn’t pull the trigger. You lost.

His eyes look pained and he begins slowly hitting the bag
again. Each blow harder.

You’re not ready. My body may have forgot, but I’m not sure
you will ever know how to end it. Too feel that the fight has overwhelmed you
and not succumb. To be able to bomb back. Thanks for your respect and I return
it, but Steve is better than you. You’ll get more shots and you will, inevitably,
lose again. You and your boys are past being called the help around here but
your not contenders. You can’t finish shit. Your boys beef with XVI ended with
me running him out of here. Your feud with Steve ended with him being mobbed in
the crowd and you hardly able to walk out.

Faster. A new snap.

I need a title shot to prove something to myself. That, if I
get Steve in my crosshairs, I can finish him that I am one right away from standing
on top of the mountain. I have what no one else in this company has, right now.
Josh, you don’t have this. It took tons of losses. Disappointment. Hardship to
turn my body into this. My muscles have gotten old and hard. My bones thicker.
I have something that trumps youth, friends and drive. Even destiny. And it is
your destiny to be a World Champion someday. But, Josh, I have…

BANG!

Suddenly, a hard right hook crushes the side of the bag
sounding like buckshot in a car. The echo fills the room and is slowly replaced
with silence.

That.