Ken Davison is standing in front of his class of students inside of the old Carnage Arena. Since the doors of the promotion closed, Ken has been putting it to good use. The crowd of approximately 15 students sit inside the ring, circling the perimeter of half the ring. Meanwhile, Ken stands in the ring, holding court instead of actually teaching the group.

“So, I wanted to let you all know that Kyra and I are expecting. As such, there may end up being some changes around here, some guest instructors and maybe some changes to the hours we’re available to train. I hope this doesn’t cause any problems, but I will do my best to keep things as normal as possible here.”

Ken claps his hands together.

“Today, we’re going to focus on the lucha libre style. Chloe, since this is your forte, I’d like you to lead the class through warm ups. I’d like you to go over why luchadors roll instead of flatbacking.”

“Uh… what?” Chloe is quite obviously caught off guard. “You want me to run this show?”

“For now, yes. We’ve been talking about how you’d like to be more active and with your style, I can’t think of anyone here more qualified.”

“OOOOOOOOkay.”

Ken nods and begins walking over to his office where his UGWC Conquest Championship is sitting on his desk. He quietly moves it onto the shelf behind him, the very same shelf that the Sin City World Championship used to sit. He takes a deep breath before turning around to face the computer monitor in front of him. He looks at the clock on the wall which displays the time, 5:59 PM. As he turns to grab a can of Diet Dr. Pepper out of his minifridge, he sees the silhouette of a most unusual guest. There is not even a knock. The man simply opens the door and walks in like he owns the place. If this were anyone else, Ken would be angry. Given who has just entered the office, Ken actually expected nothing less.

The window shows the reflection of the most handsome man that you could ever meet. It is the face that women pant and whine for during a cold Canadian night. It is the face that all those people paying for plastic surgery wish they could aim to achieve. That might not be at all true, however, the man standing now standing inside of the office would tell you that all of this was true and do so with a straight face. Ken was face to face with the man who was perhaps his biggest rival throughout the entirety of his career, Steelside Wrestling legend, Mr. Popular.

“Goodly” Ken Davison,” he begins. He would never refer to Ken as “Godly” because he knew how much it would irk his nemesis. These days, it hardly registered with Ken. “Tell me, why is it that you’ve summoned me after all of these years? If you are looking for yet another rematch, I retired years ago. I am too good for you and too good for this.”

The disdain seems ingenuine to Ken, even as Popular waves his hand around to make his point. Popular had an image to maintain, even if it was only for his own self-edification. Both men knew full well that if Popular didn’t want to be there, he wouldn’t have traveled from his home in Salisbury, Canada.

“Listen, Pops. I’m not going to sugar coat this. I need your help.”

“The high and mighty “Goodly” Ken Davison needs my help? You would dare deign to ask myself? I understand that I am the single greatest wrestler, dare I say human being, that you have ever had the privilege of losing to. You are out of luck, however, because first of all, while I respect you, I don’t like you. Secondly, as I have already told you, I have retired and dare not sully my good name by wrestling here in a warehouse.”

“Are you done?” Ken pauses while Popular declines to answer. Ken motions to the chair on the other side of his desk, inviting his archenemy to sit down. “Please, hear me out.”

“Corinthian leather? It would seem you do have some taste.” Popular pulls the chair out and sits down. “Fine. I will hear you out. What do you want from me?”

“I want to offer you the one thing that you have always wanted.”

“What, pray tell, is that?”

“The way I figure it, I will need to step back into a role as a part time coach. My wife is pregnant and I need to be there for her.”

Popular goes to interrupt, but Ken puts his hand up.

“Let me finish. There are very few people that I would ask this of. The reason I have asked you is because I know you have no other commitments. What I need to be done must be done at an elite level. What I am offering you is the one thing you crave the most, even more so than gold and glory, and that is influence.”

Mr. Popular’s eyebrows raise as the words come out of Ken’s mouth.

“Now, you have my attention.”

Ken reaches down and pulls out a leather folder, inside of it is a contract.

“I had my lawyers draw up this contract. It’s for one year with the potential of a one year extension, provided we both agree to the terms. I believe that you will find the compensation generous for your services. I will give you the freedom to teach as you wish, so long as it does not harm or injure any of the students. I have also scanned this as a PDF file, which I can send to you and your lawyer. Read it over and I look forward to your counter offer.”

“You believe I will have a counter offer?”

“Look who I am talking to. You will make a counter offer just for the sake of trying to get a reaction out of me.”

“Let me ask you this. Why would you ask me? Not the cookie cutter, preplanned answer you gave me before. You have Sean. You also have your friends in the Saviors. You could ask any one of them. I’ve followed your career, “Goodly.” You could have asked anyone else in this world. If you want me to look at this contract, you will answer me honestly.”

Ken pops open his can of soda, more so to by himself some time to answer than to actually quench his thirst. He takes a couple of gulps before putting the can down on a beige stone coaster.

“Three reasons: availability, you will teach them the way I would, and because you are one of, if not, the best opponent I have ever faced. I don’t like you. You don’t like me. But, I’d like to believe the wars we’ve had against each have at least earned each other’s respect.”

Popular nods silently before standing up and replacing the chair where it was originally located.

“Send the PDF to mrpopular@steelside.com. I still maintain the domain name to make sure that no one tarnishes our legacy.”

Ken extends his hand, but Popular chooses to simply turn and leave, not bothering to close the door behind him. Ken sits back down, taking another gulp of soda. A moment later, the desk is covered in a Great Muta like mist of carbonated beverage.

“Holy shit! He said our legacy.”


“Godly” Ken Davison is standing in front of a brick wall covered in graffiti. Ken is wearing a black bandana, puffy black bubble jacket and is scowling at the camera/ Aside from the scowl, it’s a very un-Godly look.

“JC said you came at me with a diss track.
It sucked like the Kidz Bop version, you need to wind it back.
You suck at rap. You couldn’t do it worse,
You’re a Thundercat but I’m the Master of the Universe”

Davison pauses with a smirk on his face.

“Someone tell that puto he better get a new flow
I make his chica scream when I’m entering her culo
Lo siento mi hermano, but your girl is quite picante
She and I are gonna have a Sabado Gigante”

As the ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ come from the crew, Davison puts his hand up, commanding their silence.

“You need to be honest with yourself and and just retire here tonight
Cuz the day you lost to me will be the highlight of your life.
Your pedigree is bitch made, you ain’t got the presidents
Plus you hardly hard, here’s the photographic evidence.”

Ken reaches down and pulls up a rather unflattering poster of John Blade.


Some members of the crew can’t contain their laughter as Ken takes the poster and throws it into a rusted metal garbage can next to him.

“If there was a style requirement, you wouldn’t even get in the venue.
I mean, I love Stevie Wonder. But it looks like you let him fucking dress you.
You are an embarrassment to your family and friends.
Here’s your life story; “John Blade is a loser. The end.”

“Fuck it. If I hit you, I’ll dissect you, your body sliced to slivers.
I’ll take your vital organs, sell them to the highest bidder.
From your eyes to your liver, every part will get pitched.
Too bad no one’s in the market for the heart of a bitch.”

“Now that we’re done with the games, I’m going to stop spitting rhymes and start spitting the truth.”

Davison stops and takes the bandana off his head. He unzips the jacket and throws it off screen. Wearing only a t-shirt and a pair of jean, the goosebumps on his arms raise as the winter’s air batters his skin.

“I don’t know who you are. I don’t care who you are. I saw someone putting you over on Twitter and, being the fighting champion that I have always been, thought that I would give the young boy a shot. You don’t deserve this opportunity. You didn’t earn this opportunity. As my boy Trey Jordan says, you earned yourself a one way ticket to the abusment park. I know I’ve got a bit of a one track mind. I was so focused on my home life that I forgot that my match with T-rav was for the Conquest Championship. I won this championship on accident. That’s how focused on winning my block of the Global Challenge I have been. Winning and retaining the Conquest Championship was a blessing because everyone else has had to take a week off and I get to keep the momentum going. In case your head has been up your ass, that’s who the GKD, “Godly” Ken Davison is.”

“And, I get it, I’m the aging gunslinger with just a few bullets left in the chamber, but I can still shoot it out with anybody in the locker room. Blade, I can’t shoot with you. It’s not so much that I can’t, it’s more so that I don’t have to. I know with the names I’ve beaten and the challenges that I’ve overcome, that you’re thinking you’re coming in here in a hail of bullets. Too bad you’re shooting blanks.”

Davison walks out of the frame and the picture cuts out.