Glory

The timer counted down from ten in what felt like the simultaneously longest and shortest ten seconds ever recorded in the history of mankind. Hopping from foot to foot and pumping his arms behind the curtain, Avalanche wondered what was going to happen when the timer hit zero and the opening of a song not heard outside of the radio for years blared across the speaker system.

He pushed the start of the worst case scenario to the back of his mind. There were enough people in New York who would know, who still remembered the way things were before. New York would take care of him and mob mentality would take care of the rest. He thought briefly of Buffalo, and the first time he held the stars-and-stripes-laden belt above his head.

It was impossible to return as a heel if you'd been out of the picture for too long. For as bad as he had been to them on television, that was a long time ago. They loved to hate him back then, but that meant they held a place for him in their affections. It was the sort of feeling that evokes a strong "Good to see you" effect after so long away. It also didn't hurt that currently in the ring was one of the loudest blowhards that the company had to offer, Daron Strong.

Strong was the worst kind of celebrity. His attitude in the ring seemed almost completely ripped off; Intelligent heel cowardice coupled with the right amount of showing off and gloating. Avalanche had seen this before when he watched his own tapes. Backstage he was a self-important prick, high on his own angles that were largely propped up by superior competitors helping to make him look better than he actually was. He demanded a huge paycheck because his shirts moved, and he was big enough with the correct boys in the back that he was protected. Tossing him around would do everyone some good, especially since Avalanche was only brought in on a trial contract. The temptation loomed large to go off-script and make them scramble.

His role was simple enough. Appear, throw some guys around, hit a finisher or two. Boast, get tossed out when everyone rallies to throw you out. Depending on the reaction and buzz, come back next week and make a bigger impact. He had no real reason to go off on anyone.

Showtime. The loud shot-clock buzzer rings out and there's a delicious moment of hanging suspense. The match had been going on for the better part of an hour now so the pickings left in the back were slim. One of the babyfaces slapped him on the elbow.

"Knock 'em dead, man. LANDSLIDE!" Avalanche couldn't help but grin.

Music hits. Before he knows it, he's on the ramp fidgeting with his wrist tape, rolling a shoulder to loosen it up. It comes in two waves; The initial burst of recognition followed by the shockwave of everyone cheering because everyone else is cheering. He stifles a smile, instead roaring and pointing down the ramp. Seven men look up, some of them selling fear and shock. Pulling himself up from the mat into the corner via the top rope is Strong. He's staring, but he's not reacting.

Just like he'd done seemingly every day for  years, he slides under the bottom rope and gets up fighting. It looks good, and the crowd is going ballistic. Down goes one half of a tag-team. Down goes the worn-down powerhouse. Down goes the heavyweight. He turns and stares down his imagined nemesis and the two exchange punches. The second thing to hit Avalanche is exactly how stiff Strong is working, the first being the fist.

Avalanche retaliates with one of his own stiff punches and moves into his spot with Strong. Ducking a punch and lifting the man onto his shoulders, he lands what could be considered the roughest Death Valley Driver he ever would have dared to deliver. He's probably going to get in trouble for that, but he figures he can worry about that later.

Back to his feet in a flash, he beats one hand across his chest, raising the other in defiance and pacing the ring. The crowd is electric and he points into the balcony and yells unintelligible words over the crowd.

A second later he's being thrown over the top. He tries to hang onto the top rope but a stiff soccer kick connects with his jaw, sending fire through his face and rattling him enough to lose his grip. Tumbling to the ground and bleeding in what looked like a very not impressive bloody nose, he looked up and saw who else but Daron Strong standing tall in the ring despite having wrestled for forty minutes and just taken a returning wrestler's finishing move.

"Avalanche has been eliminated!" came the announcement over the speaker system that had only just finished playing his music. Strong raised an arm above his head and beat his chest in mockery.

Staring up with shock, Avalanche's mood turned bitter. All these backdoor deals and that bullshit about a comeback just so he could have a heel put himself over. He took a moment to try and calm himself down, then slowly made his way up the ramp to the back.