Cross stands alone in the boiler room of his old run down west side house. This is Ray Cross’s holy ground; the sacred place where he can train, rest, or reflect on past events. The equipment in here is old, and to many archaic. A punching bag, a couple chains around a wooden beam along the ceiling for pull-ups, an old wooden bench with no pad, a pair of sparring gloves hanging on a nail along with a jump rope, and old set of iron plate style weights; simple and yet effective.

Along with his training equipment there are other items an old radio with a cassette player hangs on a nail plugged into an extension cord, a black and white 12 inch TV set sits on an old handmade footstool at the end of his bench along with an old top loading style VCR. A full sized mirror for when he skips rope. Along one wall he has taped up some newspaper clippings from previous matches, and other events like the death of his brother and the Metal of Honor award ceremony for Sgt. Johnson. On a small table near his weight set sits his hardcore belt.

As he surveys his surroundings he feels at peace. No-one here to bother him, just the occasional hiss and growl from his crocodile in the back room, but that is a welcomed noise. Irontooth is his pet crocodile, but also his most trusted friend and ally, who most recently got a chance to shine a couple PPV's ago when they let the snapper out to play. Cross smiles at that thought.

Cross has done well for himself over the past months raking in hundreds of thousands of dollars on his contract, and millions in merchandising as his Hardcore reign continues unchecked, mostly because less dedicated guys like "easy to handle Jay Gamble" keep talking a bigger game than they can wrestle.Yet he remains in his shabby old house and continues to train in the hot, poorly lit, and very archaic boiler room. He does this to keep his edge, keep the hunger in his eyes, and continue to hone his ring instincts.

There are many stories surrounding the recent success of Ray Cross. His feud with new president ICON the ties he has to the WWC through the respect for his late brother Jack Cross, his background in the navy SEAL teams, the personal ties that bind him to Sgt. Johnson, and the determination he has shown in holding the SFT hardcore title since April 5th. Soon he will have held that particular title longer than anyone in SFT history. The story of Ray Cross is unfolding right here in the SFT, it’s not some backdrop, it’s not a gimmick, it’s his life and the way he lives it. For the SFT it has meant ratings, and even though ICON himself has a certain distain for Ray Cross, he can’t deny the fattening of his bank account and the recent success of his industry dominating company, and so from a certain point of view he absolutely loves him.

NO GAMBLE IN THE GAME OF CHANCE THIS SUNDAY.

Cross has an advantage this week, and that is the fact that he is one hundred percent healthy, and now when endurance starts to become a factor, Ray Cross will take control, set the pace, and dominate. Endurance and power are his greatest assets and they will be on display for Gamble in person, so that instead of imagining what kind of a competitor Cross is, he will get to witness it first hand on Sunday. One aspect that he has shown throughout his career is the ability to endure. It has been the cornerstone of his success no matter what part of his past that you delve into.

As he stands now and looks into the mirror, light flickering, and boiler broiling in the background the sweat builds and you can see the deep scars in his face and down the left side of his cheek from his eye to the corner of his mouth, and the many smaller scars around his brow where he has been cut open. His body is perfectly honed, but also bears the markings of a brutal past; too many scars to count and detail out.

Cross, “I’m a modern art masterpiece.”

Voice, “You are one ugly son of a bitch.”

Cross looks around, but doesn’t see anyone.

Voice, “You can’t see me Ray.”

Cross lowers himself and tenses, his eyes flicker around the room, sweat beading on his forehead. He watches the shadow, but sees nothing.

Cross, “Show yourself.”

Voice, “Very well, look into the mirror Ray.”

Cross looks into the mirror, but sees nothing.

Cross, “I see nothing.”

Voice, “Look past your reflection."

Cross looks into the dark hallway leading to Irontooth’s chamber, only this time through the mirror. The hallway is positioned behind him. As his eyes flicker from shadow to shadow, his mind teeters on the brink of sanity. Then suddenly he catches a glimpse of a figure moving from shadow to shadow within the confines of the hallway. The light in the hallway is flickering, and it is very difficult to focus on the figure, so difficult that Ray is quickly developing a concentration head ache. He spins around, but no one is in the hallway.

Voice, “I am just a splinter in your minds eye. A voice in your head, a shadow flickering in and out of reality as the tether linking your mind to reality slowly tears.”

Voice, “I crossed a line long ago that many shunned, it wasn't as bad as the line Micheal Jackson crossed with those little kids, but it was bad. Gamble needs a lesson in humility Cross, you better damn well give it to him. I'm tired of hearing his bullshit ranting and his dumbass uneducated comments about your in ring skill. HA HA HA. As if you ever toted your skills. As if you ever mentioned them as being anything worth contending with. He's a typical misguided youth. He is the kind of guy that loves pussy but gets caught with his dick in the wrong hole all the time. Misguided are the worst kind. Delusional. He wants a title reign, but he doesn't want to earn it. He wants to face you, but really dreads the idea of it. He acts like he has something to prove, but comes off tired like he's too old to go out and get it done without the assistance of an oxygen treatment. Do you remember Gamble six years ago? I sure as hell fucking don't."

Cross knows the voice can’t be real, but cannot convince himself that it is not. He claws at the wall as he slides to his knees.

Voice, “That’s more like it. You remember me now don't you Ray. You heard this voice once before. You heard it when you reached out, and took what you wanted, but I helped didn't I. I kept you going, I gave you the will to persevere. Showed you what willpower really means. Not like these fuck-ups, not like these looser-wanna-go-straight-to-the-top flash in the pan types like Jay Gamble. Cock-smoking panty waste. I'm back now Cross. We can deal with these slimes like they were meant to be dealt with."

Cross, “Please God, help me.”

Voice, “Stop it you whiny little fool. You know the rules, you’ve stated them yourself. The absolute test of one’s faith is the absolute absence of God. You also know that he allows me to exist and thus condones my actions. In fact you know a lot about faith Ray. Your faith surprises me, but in the thousands of years of my existence I’m sure I’ve cracked a few tougher agates then you my large friend, but I can see this will take some patience on my part, and I have plenty of time.”

Cross regains his composure and starts staring into the mirror intensely, as he focuses his mind begin to throb with pain, and tears begin to flood out of his eyes, but in the hallway a figure steps out of the shadows. Cross screams out….

Cross, “NOOOOOOOO!”

As the image clears it is his brother, but he looks like a bloated corpse.

Voice, "Did you think this was going to be easy Ray?”

Cross, “This can’t be happening.”

Cross sits up in his bed sweating and breathing loudly, it is 3:30 am. He looks all around the room and discovers nothing is out of place. He slides himself upright and leans against the wall, nightmare nothing more. Ray makes the sign of the cross over his chest and says a small prayer. He steps out of bed, stretches and walks into the bathroom flipping the light on and looking into the bathroom mirror.

The wounds on his face have healed, it’s still a bit tight to chew or make to many wide expressions, but the scarring could have been worse, like his friend who was nearly burned alive by a makeshift diesel fuel bomb that exploded in their barracks back when they were in Baghdad. These thoughts run through his head as he splashes water on his face.

Cross, “It was only a dream. Thank God.”

Cross knows better though. He has worked with people in the SFT that have completely changed personalities. People like Justin Paige and Havoc. There is no rhyme or reason as to why they do it, but he knows there are evil forces at work and when the pressure is greatest they turn to a darker force in their lives. Cross turns a different way. He looks to his faith.

Cross completes his six hour work out. Then he feeds his crocodile and takes a shower. Afterwards he opens the door to his apartment and finds himself staring right into the camera. Cross shakes his head as Goodman from the SEL news group is there to film a promo.

Cross, “Come on in Mr. Goodman."

Goodman, “Thanks Mr. Cross.”

Cross, “Did you bring that sweet cherry Miss Zed with you this time?”

Goodman, “No she is kind of scared to work with you.”

Cross, “Well that’s to bad she is fine.”

Goodman, “I didn’t know you are the kind of guy to go for older women.”

Cross, “Well, not usually.”

Goodman, “Nice shirt, Fear the Death Roll.”

Cross, “Yeah, the idea to start wearing it again came from Anish, I’m sure he’ll crap his pants when he finds out I cut him in on 5%.”

Goodman, “I think it’s cool that you take care of your friends Ray.”

Cross, “Anish and I go way back together. We’re like brothers. I’m sorry that I couldn't let him have the Hardcore title. He’ll get his chance to shine.”

Goodman, “Alright let’s get this show on the road.”

Cross, “I’m ready when you are.”

Goodman slings the large camera up on his shoulder and begins to film Cross. Cross seems calm as he looks into the camera and begins to address his opponents.

Cross, “Jay Gamble, I look at you and I can see the fear in your eyes. I can tell that you are intimidated by me, and rightfully so, but let me tell you something, I respect you as much as you respect me. I understand what fear drives people to do. How it feeds them. You talked about your accomplishments and compared them to mine, and you have never earned the Hardcore Title. If you know the history you will understand me and my desires. You haven't had any fucking hard matches Gamble, you come in to my world untested and you run your fat lip. I take offense to your tone, and I look forward to putting you down hard. I feel obligated, in fact, to giving you a proper welcome to this franchise. You see I hail from down in the trenches, the guys who have tough matches week in and week out. Sure I get the easy draw like I did this Sunday against you Gamble, but most the time I have to face much more difficult challanges, so any chance I get to shut a loud mouth cock-smoker like you up, I take it, and like you I look forward to it. You are the typical, I'm going to run my mouth, and proclaim that I can just walk over every competitor on the roster, blah blah blah, it's boring as fuck, and it motivates me to inflict even more serious injury upon your stupid undisciplined punk ass. You get a shot, only because the powers that be are laughing at you. They can't wait to see what I will do to you on Sunday, you think you are the draw? You think you will be something someday in the SFT? Prove it to me, prove it on Sunday in the ring, not with your fancy talk and smart ass comments.”

Cross grows more intense as he continues speaking.

Cross, “I know what’s at stake here Gamble, I understand what winning this week means for you, but I also have personal reasons for having to whip your ass. You make it sound like you will stand against me, that you will stop me, but in reality that is a lie. I respect you, but you will never be able to stand in my path. You can’t take a hit from me. Since you proclaim so much about this companies history then you know that in my past, there aren't that many people that can take a hit from me, that list grows one longer on Sunday. I’ve always been under-rated, looked past, and considered nothing more than another interesting wrestler in a vast sea of talent, but now I’m in the spotlight, now the front offices are realizing that they made a grave mistake in judging my talent. Just like you do when you say you will stop me. You make the same mistakes that they have made countless times. You think that you can stop me. Try with all of your might, and the disappointment will be that much greater when you fail like all the others have. The train has set its course 'Easy to Handle Jay Gamble', and you are just another penny on the track. Prepare to be defaced.”

He takes a deep breath and then stretches his shoulders and neck. His mentors told him to breath and relax whenever he felt his temper creeping up on him during an interview. Lexus would have been pissed if he saw me lose my temper. He always wanted Ray to keep from exposing too much of his talents before the match. He wanted him to have an edge, but Ray is very explosive, and right now thinking of the all the cheap ass bullshit comments that Jay Gamble has made he is reaching his boiling point as he continues.

Cross, “Now you have what you have been wishing for. You get to take a stab at me face to face, but for me it is so much more than that. See for me it means that I can finally shut your trash talking mouth and put you back in your place. You have made several comments about what you could do to me, well big man, walk the walk. I’m right here. I know for a fact that you don’t have what it takes to back up all that shit you talk. I heard every trashy word coming out of your womanly little mouth. That’s right, and it’s fueled a rage that I finally get to unleash this Sunday when I take you from ring post to ring post and walk up and down all over your punk ass. See I’m a man of action Jay; I will only talk the talk if I can walk the walk. That’s where you and I differ; you talk and then when it comes time to walk, you run away. The world understands what I already know. You suck.”

Cross takes a minute to calm down. Goodman keeps rolling as Cross breathes in a few deep breathes.

Cross, “Gay Jamble, I know you have said that you will take my hardcore title away, well, I welcome you to come and try. I call open season on your hide. In my world, where there are no rules, I dominate; I rule the hardcore division of the SFT with an iron scepter. I’ve beaten a lot tougher opponents than you. Sometimes two at a time, but you wouldn’t have considered that when you talked your shit about me. You wouldn’t have studied me and then made those comments, because if you had you wouldn’t have made such bold statements; in fact you might show a little fucking respect. Well, you will show some respect after Sunday, I promise you that. Cause when the Death Roll has you in it’s grips your life will flash before your eyes, and in that very instant you will realize the mistake you made by pissing me off. So Gamble you owe me some respect, and on Sunday I’m going to collect.”

Cross’s cell phone rings and he answers it, a large grin on his face. It’s almost scary looking. He “Yes’s” and “No’s” a few times and then hangs up the phone.

Cross, “This brings me to a new topic. The Heavyweight strap has been worn by some pretty sad chumpions. I'm glad that my friend can finally bring some integrity back to that division. You talk as if you will one day get a shot at that title, good. I hope you do. That will give you one more ass whipping to think about before you run your mouth again around here. The champions before Wolf have done nothing with it; they just parade around like some Miss America pageant winner. What good is a title if you are unwilling to defend it? If I win that title, I will put it on the line EVERY WEEK. That’s right. Every single week that I hold that belt I will put it on the line. Because I believe that you should only have a title like that for as long as you deserve it and can do good things with it. It is the ultimate symbol of the SFT and should be made to shine as a standard worthy of attaining, and that is not how it is now, there is no honor in being the champ. My friend Wolf, is going to fucking restore that honor. Honor is something you are going to learn about on Sunday Jay.”

Cross, “You make your own destiny and if you believe that you will fail, then you already have strikes against you. So that goes out as a lesson to all of you. Believe in yourself. It’s the first best place to start. Yes I believe I can win on Sunday, I believe and so I’ve taken a large first step in achieving that goal. Now defeating someone like Jay Gamble seems that much easier.”

Cross, “I hope you hear this Gamble. I hope you watch this and it pisses you off. I hope you are willing to die trying to defeat me because that will make it all the more rewarding when I defeat you.”

Cross makes that statement with a stone cold demeanor. His eyes do not stray from the camera and his focus is like that of a laser. After a few intense moments of silence the scene fades to black and the SEL (Sports Entertainment Live) logo flashes on the screen.

Cross walks out also, he thinks best when he is on the move. What do his visions mean? He must confide in someone, but whom can he confide his deepest thoughts? He knows a man.