This world holds a great many mysteries for it’s denizens. Timo Bolamba is no different. Once a widely known star in the wrestling ring, he had faded into near obscurity. A familiar face to the local shops in Motor City, he was more than content with being just another passer by, but when one has achieved so much, it is so hard to leave it all behind.

Two days ago, a man tried to rob the local market Timo was shopping in. A simple act of buying a soda turned into the release of a monster that Timo had long thought went dormant.

Now, with only two figments of his imagination on his side, he finds himself fighting the inexorable desire to allow these different sides of him take over. Maybe then, the confusion and apathy will end.

As our hero sits alone on a cold hard slab of concrete in the local municipal jail, he ponders what the future now holds…even as the guard opens the cell door…

A Long Road
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Keys grate in the locking mechanism that seals Timo in his cell. He feels the concrete vibrate rapidly as the door slides open and the guard steps inside. Only then does he look up and see the face of his captor.

Part of Timo wants to run from this place, and part wants to just do his time, hope for the best and maybe he will get off with a slap on the wrist for his efforts. He already knew what parts those were. Secretly even as he stood and watched the guard tense momentarily and reach for his baton, Timo had already figured out how to incapacitate him before his hand would make it.

“Let’s go son, someone wants to have a talk with you about all the trouble you caused.” came the words of a broken old man who was likely waiting out the last few years to get his pension.

The Samoan stood to his full height and looked at the old man with a slightly remorseful gaze. He felt badly for the man, yet at the same time more about himself. This man had a wedding ring, he had a cautious eye, and he had a look that signified he had seen more than Timo ever may know.

Stepping lightly through the doorway, The Samoan shielded his eyes from a sun ray, the first he had seen in more than a day, and walked a few steps down the hall. Assorted detainees looked him over, trying to discern if he was the real deal or just a punk who played a tough guy on television.

He knew they were.

He had seen that look a thousand times.

The old jailer walked his prize through a few sets of well guarded doors and finally came upon a large room with one way glass panels. The Samoan was suddenly reminded of watching Law and Order, and secretly wondered if Detectives Goren and Eames were waiting inside for him.

As the door opened with a creak, he did not, however, expect the person he got instead.

An Offer
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A man of some prestige and manor sat before him at a rather sparse table. A manila folder sat just to his left. Timo already knew what was in there by the man’s rather auspicious presence.

He was Chief District Attorney Dalton Grey, a man who, in Motor City, needed little introduction. It was election year, and the well groomed Dalton was often seen on the television sporting a well trimmed goatee and an Armani suit.

The cause, of course, was his current campaign to become Mayor of Motor City. That, in and of itself, was reason enough to make Timo curious as to just why he, and not one of his lackeys, was here.

As he shuffled inside, Dalton offered a hand to the seat on the right of Timo, and he obliged warily. The old jailer turned and walked away, his keys chiming as he went. As the door closed slowly behind him, again with a pronounced creak, Timo turned his attention away from the jailer, and now to the man sitting before him.

Dalton Grey was not a man who was to be taken lightly. He directed a great many things in Motor City, and with his bid to become mayor looking to be in good standing, he only grew in prestige by the day.

A long and rather nerve wracking pause came between the sound of the door closing and the first noise that followed. Dalton finally looked down, pausing perhaps because he had gathered the information necessary to properly weight the man before him. The Samoan reached a hand up, holding out a finger and testing the waters.

“May I ask a question?” Timo finally spoke.

Dalton nodded and smiled before waving a hand in front of him.

“You may, but you really don’t need to.” The Samoan was confused by these words. “The truth is that there is little that links us together at the current, but I do feel that should change. That you have a question for me is rather amusing. You may wonder why, but the very question you seek to have answered, I must return a question back to you to explain.”

The Samoan shook his head in confusion.

“Pardon?”

Grey smiled again, peaking his fingers and leaning forward coyly. He inhaled and reached over to grab the folder, opening the thin cardboard flap and pulling out a rather impressive stack of papers. One finds his hand and the district attorney raises it up to read.

“Police report filed for excessive acceleration and reckless driving. It says the Police clocked you doing over one hundred and sixty miles an hour in what they described as a “Burt Reynolds Trans-Am”. Another here says you were caught a few years ago in a movie theater with an eighteen year old girl committing indecent acts.”

Dalton grabs another paper and reads again.

“Here is one for indecent exposure at the college, another for disturbing the peace during what the students referred to as “a kick ass party”.”

Timo smiled. You have to hand it to The Bastard, he really knew how to have a good time. Falling back into his chair and crossing his arms, The Samoan fondly remembered some of his exploits during FSW’s stint as “The Dastardly Bastard”.

Putting the paper down Dalton reaches for another one, this time a more somber tone following as he reads off the assorted charges filed against The Samoan.

“Several years ago, you were apprehended after a fight broke out in a club and you broke a man’s arm and two ribs. People at the scene said you screamed “Leave me alone Gibson” before you ducked a punch and countered it into a…” he pauses to read the paper fully before continuing. “A modified arm bar, resulting in breaking both the radius and ulna bones in the mans arm. After which you kicked him in the ribs, causing fractures.”

The Samoan looked confused, but the Gibson reference explained quite a lot. This exchange was becoming more and more confusing as time went on. He wanted to know what the purpose of Dalton digging through his record was, and how it related to his current plight.

“So you want to know what that question is, I assume. How this pertains to any of the information I just presented to you, and how in the world it has anything to do with why you are here today.”

There it was, Timo wanted to know that exact question, but more specifically what he had done to make it here. He already knew he had stopped a crime, and that in so doing he had mangled a crook. Clyde had made that abundantly clear in their last exchange.

“Well, you may or may not know this, but you saved a shopkeeper from being shot at the hands of a criminal by the name of James Tollins, a petty thief.” Dalton paused, pulling out a paper that looked to be a lot more fresh than the previous few. “In so doing, you seemed to go berserk and without remorse suddenly began to beat him unmercifully. We looked into your files and noted the previous case of the fight outside the club. The interesting thing is that there were to definite parallels.”

The Samoan closed his eyes and hung his head. Today, it would seem, he just would not be rid of something he had wanted to forget years ago. Today, he would have to face up to the only man who has ever scared him.

“Let me guess, Dave Gibson’s name came up again…didn’t it?” Timo spoke quietly.

You Might Just Get What You Need
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Dalton put the paper down and looked up silently. His eyes drifted to the fists that Timo had instinctively clenched upon even saying Dave’s name.

“Actually…no.” the reply sent Timo’s eyes upwards, almost shocked. “Though it does interest me that you would say that. Timo, the parallel we drew is that you have a misguided aggression towards men with malicious intent. One I was hoping…to capitalize on.”

The Samoan looked to the man sitting across the table in disbelief. This was not exactly the type of conversation he expected to be having with an attorney at this stage, let alone one with the power of Dalton Grey.

Weakly offering interest in what the district attorney had to say, he raises his eyes to meet the other mans and let the wheels in his head spin a little before replying.

“Explain what you mean by that Mr. Grey.”

Dalton laughed a little.

“Please, call me Dalton, all of my associates do. I think you will find that the offer I have prepared for you is more than generous.” He piles all the papers into the envelope again and sets them in front of Timo, purposely drawing his attention to the light brown paper.

“Go on.”

Dalton reaches a hand out and moves the envelope to the left, and off the table swiftly.

“As you see, I have prepared to take all of these transgressions, and more, off the table. If you will do but one favor for me.” He clasps his fingers together and leans forward, smiling devilishly as he does. “Timo, it’s election year, you know this. I have more trouble with certain groups of individuals coming through these doors again and again. I want to show that my tenure can yield positive results on the crime problem in Motor City.”

“And?” Timo hung the unfinished sentence for Dalton.

“And I want you to be the one who helps me clean the streets.” Grey unclasped his fingers and leaned back. “Let’s face it, we have proven you have a rather large anger problem, and a huge distaste for crime. Why not marry these ideas and do something good for the city?”

There was a long pause before Timo made any attempt to respond. Something about this deal just seemed to be too good to be true. What was worse, the more he talked to Dalton, the more he was reminded of Tyler Nelson. Anyone who can conjure an instant memory of that name knows that it isn’t a good thing.

“I…I don’t know Dalton. There was a time when I might have jumped at this opportunity, but now, I am just a regular man. I do regular things and live in a small house. I’m not who you are looking for, and if it’s okay with you, I’d like to just go back to my cell and wait for the trial.”

The attorney shook his head and motioned to the window. The old jailer came back in and Timo rose to his feet, turning to walk away from the offer that any sane man would have taken.

Then again, after a day like today, Timo seriously questioned even his own sanity.

Just as he reached the door, Dalton stood and spoke out, stopping the former World Champion and idol to millions around the world.

“I thought you were someone else Timo. I honestly thought you were a man who wanted to make the world a better place.”

Timo turned and looked on Dalton, a sad tinge in his eyes.

“I used to be, but that man is gone now. He’s buried in a box, never coming back. Please, just let me go.”

Dalton reached down, grabbing the papers from the floor. He slapped them hard on the table, and Timo’s eyes found them again. Just as he did, a slight fire flared in Timo’s eyes ad the folder flopped open, revealing a picture of himself holding his FSW championship belt. Dalton flipped the envelope closed again, and looked one last time to his quarry.

“I guess I have the wrong man. I was looking for “The Samoan Silencer”,” he watches as the words sting Timo. “Because I was told that he might be a man who could help me.”

Timo sighed deeply.

“Dalton, nobody has called me that in years.”

Dalton Grey, Chief District Attorney and possible future Mayor of Motor City grabbed the folder again and held it up for Timo to see clearly. He locks eyes with the broken man, and he can see the fire, he knows its there.

“I will give you some advice Timo.” Dalton’s steely gaze never falters. “Most people aren’t given a chance in life for redemption. On your way back to the cell, maybe you should consider what it would be like when people DO call you that again.”

He pauses and lets Timo process the information.

“I’ll be waiting.”