Damien pressed his palms against his forehead, fighting to escape the pressure headache that was making his eyes water. He was in a dark motel room on the outskirts of Camden, and he felt homesick. More specifically, he missed the home that he had created with his wife. A home that no longer existed for reasons he was still unable to understand fully.

The sounds of the traffic flowing outside of the motel room seemed to roar and blaze and screech directly in the center of his skull.  He popped a Tylenol, washing it down with a warm gulp of flat Pepsi. The dim parking lot lights that bled through the spaces between the window and the drapes felt like floodlights to Damien, and he cursed each time an 18-wheeler rumbled close to the roadside motel.

As soon as he arrived in Detroit, he'd be able to check into a decent hotel and get some rest, but until then it was going to be like this. A plane ticket that was supposed have been sent never came, and he was left to make the trip by car. He agreed to it, and hoped that the trip would help him clear his head. But each passing mile in that humming silence reminded him of what he was driving away from. FUSE had called him back into its fold, but it was merely a consolation. Sylvia had forced his hand.

He had spoken to her before leaving. She called him when she landed in Denmark, and cried briefly before telling him that she had a lecture that she was late for. Damien apologized for not coming with her, but didn't answer when she reminded him that flights leave to Copenhagen every day from Logan International Airport.

When he hung up, he felt like he was doing so for the last time. He hadn't spoken to her since, and misplaced her number.

Damien Cruz  finally fell asleep after pushing all of his many thoughts out of his mind. He was awaken early the next morning by someone banging on his door, telling him that his car had been totalled by a truck that had swerved off the road.

Damien chuckled at the irony. But when he opened his door to see the crumpled wreckage of his car, he quickly stopped laughing.

With insurance information exchanged, and the proper arrangements made, Damien took a ride with the motel manager to the nearest car rental office and grabbed whatever car was available. His journey continued, and whatever was left behind would stay there.

The next day
Detroit, Michigan

Smitty T. Duluth met Damien in the parking lot as his car pulled into the arena. He was smiling brightly, walking toward the car as it came to a stop in a spot. As Damien stopped the engine and opened the door, Duluth greeted him.

'It's not the Mercedes, but it's simple. I like that.' Damien had rented a Hunter Green 1993 Camry. It was what they had.

'I had some car trouble back in Jersey. It's a long story.', Damien answered, taking the hand extended to him

'Ancient history now. Come, let's get you something cold to drink.'

Duluth shook his hand eagerly, and led him toward the entrance of the arena. The show was going to begin shortly, and there were still some legal matters to attend to. As of that moment, nothing was signed, and Damien was still a free man. One wrong move and the former Universal Champion could walk out, and back into retirement. But a strange phone call told him that Damien's sudden willingness to return was not just dumb luck. So with a phone call and a long shot, STD brought Damien back to the table, and things were going well.

Talking to The Latin Assassin, STD felt like something was off about him. He hadn't suffered the retirement fifty, and he was still as charismatic and eager to wrestle as he had ever been. But there was a caution that he had never seen in the man before. Something that made STD question just how well Damien would fare in the new FUSE. But an icon is an icon, and Duluth wasn't the ttype to ask questions. The name would fill seats and start a buzz; that's what counted.

'So, unless I'm totally crazy, I think we have ourselves a very nice deal here. As we discussed, you're coming back with the same package you left with, and a built-in guarantee that you'll see a title shot within the year if you meet our expectations. Better than anything anyone else will offer you, but I think you'll see what I'm willing to do to keep you happy.'

Mr. Duluth made million-dollar deals without breaking a sweat, but he had no intention of walking away from this deal with an unfair chunk. This was Damien Cruz...there was history there. Damien read the contract casually, and nodded, signing it with a smirk.

Duluth placed the contract into an envelope and called for his assistant to rush it to Legal before showtime. With any luck, Cruz would be making his return in the ring before the ink was dry.

'So, I am really sorry to hear about your recent break-up. Really, it's not an easy thing to go through, I'm sure.' Smitty tapped his pen against his palm, hoping that he wasn't wandering into a mind field.

'We're not broken up, or divorced, or seperated. She was invited to do something great for herself and she took it. It happens. We stay in touch often, and as soon as we can, we're going to pull in our nets be better off for it.'

Damien was hardly convincing, but STD let the issue die there with a smile.

'Well, best of luck on that. But you, my friend, should get down to wardrobe, see if they can replace the stuff you lost.'

Damien looked down at the leather coat, jeans, and tank he was wearing curiously. 'Why?'

Smitty offered another smile, 'Right. Nevermind.'

With that, Damien stood up, they exchanged handshakes, and the rest of the evening paved the way for Damien's semi-triumphant return to FUSE Wrestling.

The Next Morning
Detroit, Michigan

When the music played, the lights came on, and the cheers roared in his brain, he remembered why he had returned. He remembered the rush of parting the curtains and stepping out into the abyss. He remembered, and was relieved that they remembered him. Some of them did, and that was what mattered. For those that hadn't...he'd make them remember.