Not Yet.

Warm air of the night met his skin like an old friend as he stepped onto the sidewalk.

Fresh blue suit jacket unbuttoned, necktie loose underneath the collar of his shirt. With glassy eyes opened wide and a lift in his heart, he felt heavy and weightless in equal parts.

A solemn smile underneath a groomed mustache as he looked to the lights of the city. They glinted and glimmered, merging in his vision.

The lights.

They’d always been there, hadn’t they? Even when he’d cast them aside. Even when he thought they’d betrayed him.

Chest rising and falling in the open air, he gazed deep into their glow, and fought for words.

“We did it, kid,” he whispered to himself, oblivious to the foot traffic and strange looks of the street. “We made it.”

The glimmer and shine of the city continued to morph and meld, taking shape; a long gallery of a kind. With alcoves, harboring the silhouettes of storied legends against the shimmer and sheen.

“We have it all.”

An archway formed in the fluorescent glow. It felt inviting. Comfortable. Beckoning him to walk through its threshold.

It felt like home.

Dress shoes inched forward with measured urgency to cross into the street. To step through the arch. To find their alcove. To take their place among the greats.

“All of it…”

A step from the curb, and onto the street.

“...right?”

“Right?”

Hayes lurched a touch, pulled from his long stare out into the Pacific Ocean. He’d all but melted into his lounge chair on the beach outside of Lowe’s Coronado Resort in Tijuana, his place of residence ahead of ReVival 82. He took a breath, lifting his white-tinted aviators to his forehead, squinting his eyes as he looked upward and to the side.

“No salt, right?”

He smiled behind his mustache, reaching to collect his margarita from the server’s hand.

“That’s right. Gracias.”

“De nada,” she replied, collecting his empty cup. “Deep in thought, señor?”

“Something like that,” Hayes laughed, taking a sip.

She understood with a nod, turning her deep brown eyes to ocean waves. Hayes took a moment to study her; objectively gorgeous, her hair a lighter shade than most women he’d seen at the resort. A shorter cut, too, but still the same sun-kissed skin that matched the local population. There was a lot more to this one, though. An older soul hid underneath her white uniform.

There were dreams behind those glinting eyes.

“Pretty view, huh?” said Hayes, placing his shades back to the bridge of his nose.

“It is,” she confirmed, her Spanish accent breaching through otherwise excellent English. She tilted her head back and forth, smoothing her uniform-issue long, white skirt. “It can be lost on me sometimes after so many years. Spending your days staring at something so…endless. It often fades into the background.”

“I can see that,” he replied with a nod.

And he could. Especially over the last two months. The victory over Nate Colton served as a much-needed boost to the ego, and a return to victory on the Colossus stage. A cap to a year that had brought both continued success and painful defeat. The story of the last three years, really.

The Hall of Fame induction, though? That was unexpected.

On paper it made sense: four titles. Triple Crown winner. Rookie of the Year. Breakout star, and more. A long enough résumé for anyone to take their place among the greats. And yet, so many of those accomplishments were earned in year numero uno. Distant past in the wrestling world.

Were the last three enough to cement it? Or would his story always be that he burned too bright?

A decision he didn’t get to make. For all his grievances against the Queen of the Ring, she, and whoever else cast the vote, felt that he was deserving to put a PRIME blue jacket in his closet, and a custom ring on his finger. Whether he felt like he’d earned it or not, “The Event Horizon” Hayes Hanlon earned a place next to Tsonda, Youngblood, Nova, Tchu, and alllllll the rest.

And staring out into the Pacific, with all its vast mystery, he couldn’t help but think of life after the Hall of Fame.

There remained endless possibilities in PRIME; more to achieve, more to explore. More bright lights and big moments. More expectation. More desperation to keep his winning record well ahead of the loss column. And hopefully, more opportunities to retrieve the gold he held so dear. And maybe this time, keep it.

It was impossibly overwhelming.

And just like the ocean, it was equally impossible to figure out exactly what was supposed to come next. Who to target on the roster. Who to pick a fight with. How he and his Brothers in Glue can stay on top of the world in PRIME.

How the mind races.

“Señor?”

Hayes, again, snapped out of it.

“Sorry, what?” he asked.

“Can I get you anything else?”

“Water,” he replied, settling back into his lounge chair. “And I’ll probably be ready for another margarita by the time you get back. Thank you…”

He turned his head, looking for her name badge.

“...Jimena?” he mispronounced.

“Jimena,” she corrected. “I’ll be back shortly.”

He watched as she strolled away across the sand, noting the sway of her hips, and the soft wind in her hair. He couldn’t help but shoot his shot.

“Hey, Jimena!” he called after her.

She turned, eyebrows lifting curiously.

“When do you get off work?”

She smirked at him for a moment, before flashing a white smile. She wagged her finger playfully, then continued on her way, the sun silhouetting her radiant figure.

His mustache lifted into a grin, before turning his attention back to the ocean.

To the vast, endless impossibilities.

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

Hayes flushed the toilet for what must have been the fifth or sixth time. Head in his hands, he contemplated his entire existence and alllll the decisions that had led him to fighting for his life in the bathroom of a villa in Tijuana, Mexico. Two large red blotches had formed on his thighs from resting his elbows, and his forehead dripped with sweat. He stared at the green tile of the beautiful bathroom where his ass had been glued to the toilet seat for the better part of an hour.

To be fair, he’d evacuated his guts in worse establishments.

With a long exhale, he silently prayed to any god that would listen that he was, in fact, empty, and stood to clean himself up.

He shambled to the mirror, washing his hands and splashing cool water across his face, smoothing it through his hair and over his ’stache.

Catching his breath, he gave his shirtless self a long, hard look.

“Don’t drink the fucking water,” he whispered, pointing at his reflection.

Quietly, he opened the door to the villa’s bedroom. Jimena was still there, to his surprise; body wrapped up in the sheets and sleeping soundly. He prayed to that same god that she didn’t hear anything.

Collecting a bottle of tequila left on the counter, he walked his bare ass onto the balcony, taking a swig from the bottle and leaning over the railing. The moon was out, and offered a soft glow across the resort, a white streak stretching across the water.

Even after his exorcism — an unintended cleanse, if you will — it all still felt entirely paralyzing.

Joining Julien and Cecilworth in the Hall of Fame was an experience he would cherish forever. The combined success of the Glueminati in the past year offered opportunities to celebrate in spades. They had become his family; a quirky, unpredictable crew that he had grown to love and appreciate since joining their ranks. No one had been more excited for his induction than Joe, Jules, and Cece.

And secretly, he wished that wasn’t the case.

Mom and Dad were all but ghosts. Not a word from either since their home burned to the ground. The bridge with Olivia had burned in similar fashion after she drenched his face in vodka and olive juice before Colossus. And Paul? Not a phone call, text, or email.

That one hurt the most. Hayes hoped he was focusing on his sobriety.

Did any of them know? Did any of them watch the Hall of Fame broadcast?

Another pull from the bottle. To be fair, Hayes hadn’t bothered to reach out, either. He’d made his decisions, and they had made theirs.

The water lapped at the sand. He couldn’t pull his eyes from it. The endless, shifting mystery of what lay underneath mocked him.

Or was it trying to tell him something?

After retrieving a pair of board shorts, he soon found his feet in the sand, bottle still in hand. The moon bathed his bare chest as he surveyed the resort. Not a soul in sight. It had to be two in the morning or so. Free from any assumed prying eyes, he took measured steps across the beach.

The water was inviting as it splashed against his feet and ankles. He didn’t walk far. Just enough to be within it all. To try and listen.

He tried.

And tried and tried and tried between sips.

“What’s next?” he asked himself, and the ocean, quietly.

He waited patiently for a response, and only received gentle wind, and the sounds of the waves.

“What’s next?” he urged.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“W…what?”

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Hayes found himself standing at the shore, but not the beaches of Tijuana. Suddenly clothed in his gray hoodie and a pair of chinos, his head whirled left and right, confused, and desperate to find his bearings.

An ocean, still, but more gray. And rocky. And familiar.

Wales.

Looking over his shoulder confirmed such, as Castle Gyrwych loomed behind. He closed his eyes. He knew who was talking to him.

“This is the kind of place they’d talk about in an epic poem, or something a bard would sing about for a few copper pieces, right?” said the Bodhisattva, in all his bohemian glory.

Hayes pondered this memory as Sage drawled on in his Southern California tongue. Why this particular moment in time had come to visit the back of his brain, he had yet to figure out, so he kept focus on the ocean water crashing against the rocks.

“The barriers between what we perceive as the conscious reality and the undiscovered country are paper-thin here, man.”

Hayes chuckled at that line. He’d spent plenty of time experimenting with the perception of conscious reality, but only in those brief, isolated moments when there was something worth celebrating. Or mourning. He remembered that feeling, though; the eeriness of the castle and the land it stood on was palpable during his visit before Team Farthington went on to conquer War Games.

“Glamour. Magick. Draíochtach, Lledrith. There’s ancient shit here, man. I aim to learn something of myself and the world and my place within it.”

That particular line had stuck with Hayes ever since.

Is that what he was looking for? Glamour, of course, but magick? Draíochtach? Lledrith? At the time, maybe, but the thoughts had shifted elsewhere after they’d left the United Kingdom nearly two years ago. He’d chalked those feelings up to the mushrooms Sage would offer shortly. Evidenced by a long walk through the woods, and the spectres of Anna Daniels and Bucky, real or otherwise.

“Question is…”

While Hayes studied the water, Pontiff turned, stared directly at his broad figure. Into his very soul, perhaps.

Sensing as much, Hayes met Sage with his own dark stare, before a shiver shot down his spine.

He was staring right at him.

Could Sage see him? In this memory?

His feet stumbled a bit, and he felt his muscles clench.

“...are you a student, too?”

Frozen in place, Hayes couldn’t peel himself from the Bodhisattva’s deep, blue gaze. He felt his heart racing, a tightness in his chest he hadn’t felt in years. His jaw fell, fighting for a response.

“I…”

Sage’s piercing stare didn’t budge. Hayes inched back, stumbling over small rocks and roots.

“I…”

The ocean crashed in front of him, splashing sharp against his bare chest.

He gasped, and caught his breath with quick, short gulps of air.

He found himself again, his feet in the Tijuana sand beneath the salt of the Pacific.

The bottle had fallen from his grip, rocking against the beach as the water pushed it forward, and pulled it back.

“I…I…”

Only the Tijuana air could hear his whispers as he gathered himself, eyes blinking.

“I…I am.”

The statement hung over the water like a lingering cloud. He could almost see the words spelled out against the starry sky. It was a bold statement. A pregnant declaration of newfound clarity.

Of cold truths.

He didn’t have Mom, Dad, Paul, or Olivia anymore. He’d driven them all off. He didn’t have Nova, or Garbage Bag Johnny. They chose to leave it behind.

And warm ones. Because he had Joe, Jules, and Cece. A family he never knew he needed.

But even then, they weren’t going to navigate the ocean for him. He had to do that on his own.

What’s next?

The ocean would never tell him. But it did remind him how to find it.

“I am,” he declared, breath finally steadied. “I am a student.”

He reached down, snatching the bottle before the water could claim it.

“I’m still a student.”

Eyes closed, breathing in the ocean air, Hayes felt a peace he hadn’t experienced in a very long time. No tightness in his chest. No racing thoughts. No pressure to reach the heights he was meant to.

Just peace.

But harshly, a gurgle in his stomach reminded him that actions will always have consequences.

“Shit,” he groaned, before turning to scamper back to the villa, and the green tile of the bathroom.

Why you and I never became homies is a mystery to me, Sage.

We’re both good-lookin’ dudes.

We both like to dabble in a little bit of escapism. Like to fuck around with our brain chemistry.

And man, we’re both really, really good at hurting people. Maybe in more ways than one.

So why did my career go one way, and yours the other?

I know why.

You’re so caught up in this enlightenment-through-bloodshed schtick that you can’t see any sort of goal. There’s no direction.

Meanwhile, I’ve kept my eyes on the prize. And it’s worked out.

And that’s probably not important to you, but man, when do you figure it out? How many noses do you need to break, how many times do you have to see blood pour from your head to tell yourself, “I see it now!”?

And honestly, bud, I don’t think you believe it yourself. Especially after all these years.

I think you’re afraid of what will happen if you actually decide to focus. I think you know that if you put yourself in a position to take the next step, to win a title, that there’s more broken noses and more blood pouring from your head coming from opponents that you. Can’t. Handle.

And even if you do, I think you’re afraid that you won’t find the enlightenment you seek. No matter how much violence you deliver, or receive. And you’ll be left with nothing at all.

We’re both really good at hurting people.

The difference is, when I beat the shit out of somebody, there’s purpose behind it. Here. In the real world. Not behind some third eye. It’s a show worth watching. A freakin’ display. That’s the difference. That’s why I have so many belts. That’s why I’m in the Hall of Fame. Because MY shtick is to beat your ass in such spectacular fashion that I cannot. Be. RESISTED. THAT’S the DIFFERENCE.

And that’s why you’re stuck.

I do wanna thank you, though. Way back in Wales, you asked me if I was a student, too.

And I am. Thank you for reminding me. Ever since I was a kid, I’ve been a student of this game.

And I’ve had a lot of teachers.

But buddy…

…you ain’t one of ’em.

The blaring horn of an Uber pierced his ears, and he instinctively removed his dress shoe from the street.

The lights had settled back to their usual positions, and Hayes took note of his surroundings.

His PRIME blue suit jacket stood in contrast to Atlanta’s Fox Theatre behind him, where his place in the Hall of Fame had been cemented not even an hour ago.

Stepping sideways to avoid blocking passersby, Hayes took a moment to himself.

The custom ring on his finger, styled to look like a black hole, sat heavily on his finger. He studied it; the well-crafted black and silver theme was quite a sight to behold in such a small package.

Looking back across the street, he considered the lights one more time. They refused to shift and meld. To form an arch, and a hall. Still, he searched.

For the boy. In his blue, or glue, necktie. And he smiled when he couldn’t find him.

“We have it all,” he said to himself, fiddling with his ring.

With a fresh gleam in his eye, he spoke directly to those lights.

“But there’s a lot more to learn.”

He turned his back to them, and strode back to the Fox Theatre to find his brothers in Glue.

His place in the Hall was exactly that. His.

But that didn’t mean he had to stand in it.

Not yet.