Golden Ben Miller hobbled slowly through the backstage curtain from the main arena of the FedExForum. Shards of the table Awoke slammed him through were stuck to his body and caught in his hair. 

Every muscle and joint ached. 

A nearby production assistant wearing a headset placed their notepad on a shelf and quickly rushed over to him. 

“Mr. Miller,” the PA earnestly addressed him. “Can I help you?” 

Ben picked a piece of wood from his hair and flicked it on the ground, and brushed some splinters off of his chest. 

“Nah,” Ben replied. “I’m good, but thanks.” 

He continued at a controlled pace down the hallway and back toward the locker room. Other wrestlers like Trickster and the newcomer Raft Daddy were making their way out of the building having already undressed and packed up their gym bags.  

Corbin Fiscal, still in wrestling attire after the DEI match, caught up with Ben and opened the door into the locker room for him. With a grunt, Ben got to an empty bench and took a seat. 

Golden Pro Wrestling’s accountant and active roster member, Corbin, stood in the doorway and made a sideways smile. Ben looked for a moment and couldn’t help but form a smile back. 

“Boy, Ben,” Corbin began. “You sure got yourself into it now. First season it was Violence. Then it was Shotcaller. Then last season you just had to push yourself to get into Fort Knocks. Now Awoke?” 

Ben reclined back, let his back press against a cold locker and exhaled. 

“I sure do know how to pick ‘em, don’t I?” GBM asked rhetorically while Corbin stepped into the room and took a seat. “I have to say, things just feel a little crazier than normal around here. We’ve got some sort of gang beef going on with Fuse Makoto and Shotcaller, Awoke pushing his DEI thing, Dr. Dean’s world seems to be coming uncovered, and Flip Costa and the Draconian are off somewhere in outer space while an asteroid heads to Earth.” 

“You forgot that Decade’s head is about to pop off, and Violence is fizzling out,” said Corbin, continuing Ben’s train of thought. 

GPW’s Golden War Horse let out a chuckle, sat up, and finished picking the pieces of table off of his sweaty chest. 

“Violence being on a cold streak isn’t such a bad thing, I suppose,” Ben admitted. “I’m just trying to keep this all straight, you know? I can handle Awoke, and pretty much anyone else on this roster, but trying to keep it all sane and in line with my grandfather’s vision? That’s the hard part.” 

Corbin nodded in understanding. Golden Pro Wrestling’s accountant was intimately familiar with how GBM’s grandfather, Golden Glen Miller, was trying to build with this wrestling promotion. And Corbin knew nothing was more important to Ben than holding up his grandfather’s legacy. 

“Well, Ben, you just have to keep moving forward. All this other noise out there? You can’t control it, and you’d be a fool to think you could. Just keep pressing and taking care of one problem at a time.” 

Ben smiled and looked over to Corbin, who was one of his best friends and most trusted allies in Golden Pro Wrestling. 

“You’re right, Corbin. But one other thing is bothering me.” 

“What’s that, Ben?” 

“You’re starting to sound like Goldpa.” 

Corbin let out a laugh and slapped Ben on the shoulder, which slammed an errant sliver of wood deep under his skin. 

“Ah!” Ben exclaimed. 

“My bad! My bad!” Corbin said, quickly standing up and backing off as if he were going to do more accidental damage. 

Ben shook his head and looked back up. 

“Appreciate you, Corbin. Even if things are getting a bit squirrelly around here, let’s buckle up for Gold Strike 20. I’ve got an idea.” 

Corbin gave him a nod and final goodbye, and left GBM to consider another button of Awoke’s that he might push.