The city whispers in my ear with a gravely tone.
It mocks me openly, eagerly trying to tear my heart out.
I beat it back with a stare of my downtrodden eyes almost daring it to strike it back. Sadly, it cowers away with the promise of coming back to haunt me when I least expect it. I laugh, knowing it's killed my soul before, but always ready for a fight. With a duffel bag slung across my left arm and the sun beating down upon my head, I take a deep breath in and remember it for what it has always been.
Brooklyn, even more so.
I take a step, feeling the city underneath me, and I curse underneath my breath. A man shoots me with a threatening look and I curl back my lip, flashing my teeth at him, and he walks away with one ball missing. I chuckle before taking another step and wishing to myself that the city would just strangle its inhabitants and then I could piss in its eye until it died. Oh, how I hated this city. A vengeance. With a passion. Across the street I go, the cold cutting wind not relenting its attempt to freeze me alive as it tears at my brown hair. I am not dressed for this weather. I don't care to be. The city looks older, the paint peeling to reveal all they've thrown against the wall. My left hand glides along the rough brick while posters advertising a movie that came out seven months ago are peeling off into absurdity. The glue that's stuck into the wall is a weird orange color and I wonder how long it is before the hobo down the street walks up to it and licks it off with gum-riddled mouth.
With my right hand, I readjust the thin fabric that's tearing into my shoulder ferociously.
As I look down, an anorexic rat runs down the street before being swept off the streets by a random bird searching for food, like so many others out on the streets during the winter. The bird has done what many in the city does to the unsuspecting. I crack my right knuckles, while my broad shoulders stretch out, my body still sore from the mind-numbing plane ride from Italy to here, and in the back of my mind I wonder what it is that I'm doing here. As I look over to my right, I take a peek at the Cathedral and shake my head. Still here after all of these years though in a much worse condition then he had remembered it. As I peer across the street and can see a few of the workers taking a drag off of a cigarette, the nicotine coating their lungs, and slowly killing them to the point where ants will be crawling in and out of their rotted eye sockets before too long.
The air in the city is wrought with pain as I walk across the street and closer to the church. To think the city had decided to make this a historic district. A collection of old buildings and dirty factories, whose looks belie there age. I know the feeling. I take a step inside of the church, walking through the holy threshold and take a large whiff of the heavy dust along the pews. The cobwebs that are up in the rafters tell the story of how long this place has been here and the soul of the church being beaten back by the city. Now though, the soul was slowly waking up, refusing to stay down for much longer. The energy that would fill this church in a few nights time hadn't been seen in quite some time.
I look down the middle of the church and see the ring standing there proudly as if it had done something special to deserve the spotlight it adored. Slowly, I begin to walk across the concrete flooring, inching closer to the ring with its black ropes, white mat, and black apron. As I get closer, I grab the duffel bag on my arm and drop it to the ground before sliding in underneath the bottom rope. The church is relatively empty at this point and I get up to my feet, my body doing its best to betray me but I slip it knife into its back to show who's in charge. As I look around, soak in the history of this place, the church tells me a story that I refuse to listen to. Then, I look down at the ground to see it there. The logo.
Legion.
A name wrought with history and pride that had been assaulted upon by the city. Not this time.
"Excuse me, sir? What're you doing in there?!"
The voice rips through my sense and I snarl as I turn around, wondering who it is that could possibly be bothering me during this time. A man walks through the threshold, a baseball cap lowered over his pathetic eyes before he rushes up to the ring with a clipboard in his hands.
"Can you please get out of the ring?" he asks me, his tone soft and light. I glare at him, daring him to ask me again.
"What the 'ell do you want, boy?" I ask of him, my voice deep and rocky. My mouth hangs open while my tongue enjoys the stale air, wishing for more. He takes a step back as I walk over to the edge of the ring and then slide out under the bottom rope again. I wipe the dust off of my shirt before I look him in the eyes.
"No one's allowed in the ring at this time, Mr...," his voice trails off as he realizes he hadn't asked what my name was. I stick my hands in my pocket before looking around. I was going to have a ton of fun here that much was for certain. I rock on the balls of my feet while my eyes just wander around before a smile, the first in a long time, cracks my lips.
"Wilson. Jonathan David Wilson."
It had been a long time since I had used my real name. It feels odd to use it as I watch him look through his clipboard before finding my name on there.
"Welcome, Mr. Wilson. Welcome to Legion."
I just laugh; the ignorance the boy was showing just tickled my forgotten soul.
"Thanks boy thanks," I tell him as I drop my old bag off my shoulder, and as it thuds against the mat I open it and reach inside, clutching the silver and leather in my hand I hand it to the kid with the clipboard.
"Now make sure you get this to the man in charge, or it'll be yur ass," I rumble with inherent seriousness, that man fully realizes as he looks at the title belt.
"What... what is this?"
