---
His mind drifts back to the first time he finally came clean to his wife about his new deal with EBWF just a week earlier. It turned into a wrestling match all it’s own, though really nothing more than a bunch of screaming and stinging slaps from her hand. Her voice still echoed in his head.
“What do you think you have to prove, Mick?! Why do you have to go back?! Why do you have to put your body and your health on the line, you have everything right here and you’re willing to throw it all away for what?!”
She would never understand. She was never in this business. She never say the looks of joy, love, and admiration that he saw in the faces of complete strangers when they recognized their hero from the squared circle. He had tried his best to explain it to her but of course it only fell short. They argued over it for the entire week until he woke up early this morning, packing a single duffle bag, plane ticket in hand, the honk of the cab outside of the curb and his wife meeting him at the door. A stern look was on her lips, her hands planted on her hips, her feet rooted to the spot as an ice blue fire danced in her eyes.
“You leave this house, Mick Foley, and you better not bother coming back.”
Those were the final words spoken between them. With hurt in his eyes and an ache in his chest, Mick walked through that door for the final time, leaving it all behind to once again follow his dream.
A hand on his shoulder makes him jump, looking up and around with wide wild eyes, a smiling stewardess looking down at him.
“Would you like a drink, sir?” She asks, and he simply shakes his head.
Why should he worry? He felt like he was in the best shape of his life. He felt like he could return to the ring and reignite that spark that he once had. She may never understand him. She may never allow him back into her life or the lives of their children but he knew that they could turn on the television and watch their old man doing what he does best for the fans all throughout the world. It was his calling and his answer to a higher power. Nothing was going to stop him from climbing his way back up to the top of the mountain, planting his flag, and putting on one hell of a show the likes the world has never seen. His mind was made up.
---
After the plane touched down and taxied off of the runway, finally coming to a stop at an empty gate at the Louis Armstrong New Orleans International Airport, Mick shuffled along the long aisle to the front of the plan, duffle bag in hand as he follows the rest of the people off of the plane. Once inside the terminal, he pulls out his copy of a letter he had received from EBWF explaining everything in detail about the upcoming WrestleMania. There really wasn’t any bigger stage for him to make his debut and it was simply by dumb luck that he happened to be coming in at this time, but hell, he’d take it and run with it.
Unfolding the pieces of paper, he skims them over once more before moving away from the gate towards the baggage claim where he was told he would be met by a car to take him to the Hyatt Regency to check in. He had stayed at some worse places over the years and with the type of schedule he had to look forward to for the week, it was simply just a place to crash hard before the next round of activities began. As he walks through the terminal, his reflection catches his eye in the large windows. Watching himself walk by he couldn’t help but wonder if this was all one big mistake. What if he didn’t have that magic anymore? What if he couldn’t find that spark within him again? He shakes it off, chalking it up to jitters as he rides the escalator down to the baggage claim area. At the bottom of the moving stairs is a man in a dark suit holding a sign with his name on it. Walking up to the driver, Mick offers a smile.
“Welcome to New Orleans, sir. Do you have any other luggage you need to claim?”
“Nope.” Mick says, patting the old duffle bag as it hangs off his shoulder. “This is it.”
The driver smiles, lowering the sign and turning towards the doors.
“Right this way, Mr. Foley.”
“Please, call me Mick.”
---
Video Package:
The screen erupts with a ball of flames, the lettering swoops out through it announcing “EBWF Presents:” With a loud smashing thud, the graphic changes to a screen sized lettering of “WrestleMania”. The screen goes dark again, as the classic Moonlight Sonata by Mozart begins, the scene lighting up into a small church that is empty except for a single monk kneeling in front of the cross. His back is to the camera, dressed in the old brown hooded robe which does well to hide his identity. Just above the music comes the voice of the man. The voice of a tortured soul.
“I gave them everything they wanted… I gave up my body and soul… I bled for the masses… And all they did was call out for more… More they want, more they shall receive. At WrestleMania you shall all bear witness to the rebirth.”
The screen cracks, the music faltering off key for a moment as the camera starts to circle around the monk.
“The days are numbered… absolution is at hand… And it arrives on the holy day… It arrives in a Fatal Fourway… Stand and be counted.”
The screen cracks again, the music jumping key as the camera finally pans to the front of the monk who raises his head, the hood falling back and revealing the twisted grinning face behind the leather mask and mess of long tangled hair.
“For the rise of Mankind!”
All sound suddenly stops, creating an eerie and awkward paused moment in time as the scene slowly fades out, the voice of Mankind whispering out softly.
“Have a nice day…”
---
Mick shuts the television off, sitting on the edge of the bed in his hotel room. It was the first time he had seen the first video package he had made for the EBWF before the flight out here. Now nothing but the dim reflection of himself stares back at him through the dark television screen, the silence extended in the room as he can’t help but get that sinking feeling in his chest once more.