Building the Roster

The late afternoon sunlight filtered through the blinds of Logan Drake’s cluttered office, painting the chaos in streaks of gold. Papers still piled high on the desk and scattered across the floor, mingling with empty coffee cups and half-opened notebooks. The whiteboard on the wall stood as a testament to their frantic planning—names, arrows, and hastily drawn matchups competing for space in a web of possibilities. Despite the mess, there was a method to it all, though only Logan seemed to fully grasp it.

Logan sat at his desk, his tie as always undone and hanging loose around his neck, the hallmark of a man who was perpetually caught between exhaustion and focus. Across from him, Colton Hayes leaned back in his chair, his boots propped casually on the corner of the desk. He twirled a pen between his fingers, his relaxed posture a sharp contrast to Logan’s relentless energy. Grizz Winslow leaned against the wall, his arms crossed, chewing on a toothpick as he surveyed the scene with a faint air of amusement.

Weeks had passed since their first tense meeting at the gym, and much to Logan’s surprise, Colton had become an integral part of the operation. Grizz had dubbed them “The Three Amigos,” a nickname that Colton never missed an opportunity to roll his eyes at. Still, Logan couldn’t deny that the three of them—mismatched as they were—had formed a strange but effective team. For better or worse, they were in this together.

Logan shuffled through a disheveled stack of papers, pulling out a handwritten roster list. He cleared his throat, bringing the room’s attention back to him.

"Alright," he began, holding the paper up like it was a prized artifact. "Here’s what we’ve got so far: Happy Jack, Mad Dog, St. James, Matthew, and Cade."

Colton chuckled, the sound quickly growing into a hearty laugh. "That sounds like the setup to a bad joke," he said, shaking his head. "A clown, a madman, a guy who thinks he’s God’s gift to humanity, and two walking chips on their shoulders walk into an octagon…"

Logan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I know," he admitted, glancing down at the list with a grimace. "It’s not exactly a who’s who of wrestling and MMA. It’s more of a ‘who was’ and a ‘who is that?’.....no offense Colton.

“None taken.” Colton replied back with a friendly smile.

”But it’s a roster. And right now, that’s what we need." Logan continued.

Grizz cracked a grin. "And yet, kid, you’re still missin’ the key piece." He tipped his head slightly. "Still no word from Glenn?"  

At the mention of the name, Colton raised an eyebrow, the pen still spinning idly between his fingers. "The Golden Boy?" he asked, sitting up slightly in his chair. "I haven’t talked to him in years."

Grizz tilted his head, curiosity flashing across his face. "Didn’t know you two were close."

Colton gave a small shrug, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I wouldn’t say we’re friends," he said. "Let’s just say… we’ve crossed paths."

Logan leaned forward, his interest piqued. "Do you think you could talk to him? See if he’s interested?"

"You need him," Grizz interjected with a sly grin. "A name like Glenn Sterling could make all the difference. But Logan, what happened to not starting a retirement home?"

The jab landed, and Logan flushed, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. "I—uh—I didn’t mean—" he stammered, searching for a way to recover.

Colton waved it off, a chuckle escaping his lips. "Relax, I’m not offended again," he said, his tone light. "Alright, I’ll make the trip."

Logan let out a small sigh of relief, his shoulders sagging. "Thanks, Colton. Seriously."

Colton stood, stretching his arms above his head. "Don’t thank me yet," he said. "He might laugh in my face and throw me out of his house."

Grizz smirked, his toothpick shifting between his teeth. "If he does, let me know. I’d pay good money to see that."

For the first time all day, the three of them shared a rare moment of laughter. The sound cut through the tension that seemed to hang over the room like a storm cloud. But as Colton grabbed his jacket and headed for the door, the reality of their situation settled back in.

Logan’s gaze drifted to the roster list on his desk, the names staring back at him like a challenge. Each one represented a gamble, and the stakes were getting higher with every passing day.

Grizz stayed behind as Colton left, his eyes never leaving Logan. After a long moment, he spoke, his tone uncharacteristically soft. "Kid, you’re doin’ alright," he said. "Might not look like much now, but you’ve got the beginnings of somethin’ real here."

Logan looked up at him, a tired but grateful smile tugging at his lips. "Let’s hope so, Grizz," he said. "Because failure isn’t an option."

Grizz nodded, tipping his hat slightly. "One step at a time, Logan. One step at a time."

As the sun dipped lower on the horizon, the golden light in the room faded, leaving behind shadows that seemed to stretch forever. Logan leaned back in his chair, the weight of the tournament pressing down on him. But for the first time in weeks, he allowed himself a flicker of hope.

If Colton could get Glenn Sterling on board, maybe—just maybe—they’d have a fighting chance.