Whoever said Spain was a clean and beautiful country was full of shit. Walking down these streets every night after a show reminds you of being back home. So much trash that you feel like you’re walking down an alley in New York City and so many homeless people that you feel like you’re in D.C. It’s hard on the soul knowing that these are the people you’re fighting for, yet when you can’t even get things right in your own country, how are you supposed to help every other one? In this day and age it’s hard to catch a break yourself; breaking your back for over eighteen years at something you’ve devoted your life to. And it’s hard to even catch a decent meal yourself, I’d toss these bums something everywhere I went if I didn’t have to keep it for myself.

The image of Jesse Ramey continuing to stroll down a Spanish alley way continued; his arms rested inside of his vintage trench coat. And to think, the only coat I can afford is the very one that I wear to the ring every single night. If I’m not careful in a couple of years I could wind up on the unemployment line, and living in a box like the rest of these people. All of the things I’ve fought for in life could easily forget about me with the next new thing that steps foot through that curtain. I’m not getting any younger, and all of the talent coming into this sport just keeps getting younger. Sometimes I wonder if these old bones should just hang up the boots, but then again the thought of eating at a soup kitchen every night isn’t as appealing as it may have been when I was younger.

I’m beginning to wonder if I’m good at much of anything really. I haven’t been able to find success in nearly eight years and Lord knows the men I’ve trained haven’t seen any kind of success either. So, what will my legacy really hold? Or will there even be a legacy to be held? Am I doomed to just wonder off into the darkness and be forgotten completely like so many other greats who have stepped into that squared circle; but never quite could escape that glass ceiling?

That was when Jesse suddenly stopped, he had been watching the ground as he walked and pondered. His line of sight slowly adjusted upward as a pair of fancy black shoes caught his attention, standing directly in front of him. The dimly lit alley way had only offered him a view of the shoes standing in front of him though. Jesse brought his hands from within his trench coat ready for whatever was to come, when a hand emerged from the shadows holding an envelope. Jesse took a moment before extending his arm and taking the envelope, the hand retracted into the shadows. Jesse flipped the top of the envelope and pulled out the contents.

“Dear Mr. Ramey, we have been watching you for years. We know of your struggles; and your accomplishments. This road you walk is a lonely one, but we are offering you something more meaningful to do with your life before your end comes. Do you have it in you to climb to the top one more time, or will you let this chance slip through your fingers like you’ve done so many times before? This is an expiring offer; do you have what it takes to be a part of Legion?”