The Reckoning

The television flickered against the darkened walls, casting shadows that stretched and shrank with each frame. Colton Hayes sat hunched on his couch, elbows on his knees, one hand gripping a water bottle, the other clenching the remote. The room was quiet except for the soft hum of the TV, playing a fight from a lifetime ago.

His fight.

On the screen, a younger Colton Hayes moved with reckless intensity. Sharp. Explosive. Unstoppable. Every strike had purpose, every takedown precise. That version of him had been a force of nature. Back then, he was a name people respected. A name people feared.

Now?

His eyes roamed the room, where frozen versions of himself stared back—posters of old triumphs, fists raised, gold strapped over his shoulder. Shadows of a man who once ruled the cage. Now? They felt like tombstones.

The video shifted to another fight.

Colton watched himself lock in a textbook kneebar, his opponent tapping frantically against the mat. The crowd roared. Victory. His lips twitched at the memory. Then, the next clip. His breath stilled. He knew this one. The loss that changed everything.

On the screen, a younger, faster opponent dismantled him with surgical precision. Every movement was a second too slow. Every reaction a fraction delayed. This was the fight where the doubts started. The fight where he first wondered if time was catching up to him.

He watched himself get dropped. The silence from the crowd was louder than any cheer. Then came the referee’s hand, pulling his opponent away, raising someone else’s arm.

Even now, years later, he flinched.

The screen went black.

Colton exhaled, leaning back, staring at the ceiling. His career looped in his mind—every win stained by a loss, every cheer drowned by a jeer. He had lived his life in the spotlight.

Now, it felt like the light had moved on without him.

His phone buzzed on the coffee table. He didn’t reach for it. He didn’t need to. It wouldn’t be a fight offer. Those had stopped coming weeks ago. Lately, the only calls were from old friends reminiscing—or from promoters asking him to corner younger fighters. Both made his stomach turn.

He grabbed the remote and restarted the last clip.

The fight against Trevor Daniels. His most recent match. The win that wasn’t really a win.

He watched himself land the final submission—Trevor tapping, the ref stepping in. But instead of victory, all he saw was the crowd’s indifference. Even in triumph, he’d been invisible.

His gaze drifted to the coffee table.

A white envelope. Logan Drake’s offer.

A one-night tournament. MMA vs. Pro Wrestling. A spectacle. A circus.  

Once, he would’ve laughed. Now, it sat in front of him like a loaded gun.

A way back in.

Colton exhaled through his nose, rubbing his jaw. He reached forward, picked up the envelope, and slid out the contract. The payout was good—if you won. But it wasn’t about

the money. It was about the stage.

A chance to stand across from some of the best from both worlds.

To prove that he could still hang with them.

To leave on his own terms.

But could he?

His grip on the contract tightened. He had told himself this tournament would be his swan song. His final fight.

But the thought of walking away felt like a slow death.

His eyes flicked back to the television.

The screen was paused on a moment from his prime—his younger self standing in the center of the cage, victorious, untouchable.

That Colton Hayes had been fearless. Unstoppable.

He wondered if that version of himself still existed somewhere.

Beneath the scars. Beneath the doubt. Beneath the weight of time.

Maybe this tournament would answer that question.

Maybe it would settle the debate—was he still the Iron Wolf, or just a ghost of what he used to be?

His fingers hovered over the pen. His pulse thumped in his ears.  

One second. Then another. Then—he signed.

The ink dried.

A decision made.

A small, defiant smile ghosted across his lips.

This was it.

His last stand.

Or so he told himself.

Because deep down, in the part of him he didn’t want to acknowledge...

He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be ready to leave.

For now, though, he had a fight to prepare for.

And if this was the end? He’d make damn sure they never forgot his name.