This story is somehow linked to another fic of mine "Bullet Proof". You might recognize a few things ;-)
(P.S.: as French is my first language, I already apologize for the eventual mistakes in the English text…)
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FIRE HEART
Ch.1 - Reflection
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Another match, another loss.
The leader of the 3MB band slammed the door of their locker room with uncontained violence. Jinder Mahal followed him in the room and quietly closed the door behind him, instinctively keeping a safe distance with the fiery ginger.
He was half surprised when Heath grabbed one of the metallic lockers, and pulled with all his strength to dislodge it from the wall fixations, before smashing it violently on the floor with an enraged howl.
Because of his soft features – which he was trying to hide under a thin beard – and his almost constant smile, people tended to forget the fact that Heath was just keeping the fire in control. But when push came to shove, he would release his anger at once. Passing from a happy-go-lucky guy to a vicious brawler. In the blink of an eye. Edge, John Morrison, Chris Jericho, even John Cena… So many people who had discovered that dark side of him, painfully.
Recently, even Wade Barrett – who had thrown some threat on Heath's dog – had met the ginger's wrath the moment he had stepped foot inside of the ring for the Royal Rumble.
Back in FCW, those outbursts were rare. They had become more and more frequent recently.
And now, Heath was looking at his artwork on the floor, a mask of pure fury and hatred on his face. Jinder heard some commotion on the outside and walked to Heath to prevent any further damages.
"Calm down, Heath", he said as he placed his hands on the smaller man's shoulders, noting some strange heat radiating from underneath the ginger's skin. "This won't help Drew".
Slater took a few deep breaths through his nose, looking at some imaginary point on his right. "They treat us as a joke", he hissed. "They keep promising us good things to come, but… ". He didn't need to continue and turned away from his teammate, sighing. Jinder could see from Heath's shoulder the tension that was rising inside.
"They heard him scream. They must have!", he paused with clenched fists. "But they kept beating him. One after the other. Like in a high striker challenge. They are either totally incompetent, or they …". Heath paused and took an almost shaky breath. "…They just don't care about us. We are just animals for them. Easy to replace…".
Heath clenched his fists briefly before lifting his arms and passing his hands on his wet face, digging his nails in his red hair, and taking a deep breath. To Jinder, that speech wasn't new. Their band had been considered as a joke almost since the beginning. People would mock them, but the band would just shrug and move on.
But recently, they had become the target of more vicious attacks. Last week, Heath had been violently hit in his face with a guitar, leaving him unconscious on the floor until someone remembered they had to move him away, so that the next match could take place. And this week, Drew had been badly injured by two of the most powerful men in WWE. Men who had kept on beating him while he was on the floor, writhing in pain and offering no resistance. Who knew what would happen next week? And who would be the victim?
"Jinder", Heath broke the silence, still turning his back to his team-mate and his hands still in his hair. "Can you go to the medics and check on Drew?"
"You don't…?", Jinder interrupted himself. It was useless to go on. The ginger needed some time alone to gather his thoughts and come up with a solution. It was breaking Mahal's spirit to see their leader so down, while he was rather the life of the party, the one to instill positive energy into their mind, the one who would always push them forward, telling them to ignore the stares and the jibes. Jinder said no more word and retreated out of the locker room. He met a few questioning gazes outside, but ignored them all, walking towards the medics where Drew had been taken.
Left alone, Heath remained motionless for long seconds, taking deep breaths, trying to calm down, in order to think correctly. He didn't like to lose control in front of his men, and could see in moments like these how difficult it had been for Wade Barrett once, to hold the Nexus together. But he could also admit that when Nexus was as old as 3MB now, there had already been tensions and power struggles inside the group. In comparison, 3MB was a very harmonious family. Heath could at least admit he was probably a better leader of men than Wade always claimed to be.
But how was a leader of men supposed to behave when one of his men had been slaughtered in front of his eyes, while everyone was applauding? Outbursts of rage were an answer, but not the good answer. His men didn't need his rage. They didn't need the fire. They needed his help, his guidance.
And now, Heath felt too exhausted to be able to precisely give them what they needed the most. He sat on a chair in front of a big mirror. Maybe he wasn't such a good leader after all. Maybe his own bad luck had been extended to the rest of the band. Maybe 3MB would be better off without him. Maybe 3MB needed a better leader. He was too worn out, tired of fighting against high-powers who clearly wanted nothing else but their oblivion.
Staring at his reflection into the mirror, he could see the exhaustion on his features and in his eyes. Ghostly figure in a ghostly surrounding.
And then he realized something was wrong.
He was in 3MB's locker room. A simple room with wooden benches, metallic lockers, and yellowish walls. He was sure of it. Then why did his reflection was show behind him a grey wall made of big stones, partly covered with dry ivy and dark roots? Where was this sudden cold coming from?
He held his breath, turned slowly, looked behind him… and froze.
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TO BE CONTINUED…
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Any idea of what Heath could have seen?
If you haven't already, go read "Bullet Proof". Chapter 2 in English is on its way (already exists in French). Some info in that fic might help you better understand this one ;-)