Georges ST Pierre had no idea where he was. All he knew, was that he was being held against his will. One minute he was in the bar, the next...
He remembered speaking to a man. Not like that, just as a friend. Georges twisted and turned as he tried to remember the man's face. Nothing came to him, just darkness.
Which was all he could see. Georges tried to wave his arms around, but they were tied to something. He tried to move his feet , but they were tied too. What the fuck had happened to him? He wasn't a heavy drinker. Did he willingly go with this Guy?
Was this Guy someone he knew? Or some Guy he thought he knew? Could the Guy have spiked him? Georges didn't want to think about it.
He wanted to be back on the beach. Playing volleyball with the hot Mandy Moore look-a-likes in Bikinis. He wanted to try to surf and get a real tan, that girls would touch him over.
He should have been out in sun, enjoying himself. Not captured and held hostage, by some psycho.
"Help! Help me someone, anyone please!" Georges shouted.
The door creaked open. As if by magic a shadow appeared at the door. Georges' eyes grew wider as the figure became clearer. But the figure was hooded. The hooded person put a pillowcase over Georges head and began to shut the door.
"Wait, I have money!" Georges shouted. "You can have it. All of it!" Georges said. The door opened again.
"Money? Georges you're French. French Canadian. Am I right?" The man asked. The man had an accent. But with the pillow case over his head, Georges couldn't hear him properly. Georges nodded. Hoping to get on this man's good side.
"Americans have infected you Georges. You used to be a real Athlete. A real Warrior. What happened to you Georges?" The Man asked.
"How do you mean?" Georges asked.
He wondered if this man was a fan. Was this guy angry at Georges for leaving the UFC? Was the fan mad at Georges for giving up the belt? The money? The fame?
"You know what I mean Georges. You've been corrupted by the UFC. You need to be clean. I can help you do that Georges. You just have to be good" The Man said.
What the fuck does that mean? Georges thought.
"Will the great Georges ST Pierre be good?" The Man asked.
"Yes...but you have to let me go" Georges told him.
"Why?" The man asked.
"I need the toilet" Georges told him.
"There's a bucket under you" The Man said. He kicked the bucket and a sharp Twang echoed around the room.
"Please, just get a pen and paper, I'll give you bank, credit cards, anything" Georges said.
"Are you deaf? This is not about money. How long were you the UFC Welterweight Champion Georges?" The Man asked.
"Years" Georges said.
"How many exactly?" The Man asked.
"I don't know. All I know is, I kept the belt until Dana said the belt wasn't mine. That pissed me off you know. It just made me mad" Georges said.
"Georges I have plans for Dana White. But first I have surprises for you" The Man said.
"What Surprises?" Georges asked.
"I want you to tell me, exactly how many Years, months, weeks days, hours minutes and seconds you had your UFC belt for" The Man said.
Georges began to cringe as he started urinating. He knew the piss wasn't landing in the bucket. He could feel the piss leaking down his legs and soaking his trousers.
But the good news was, at least he was still wearing trousers. Georges didn't know what this weirdo really wanted.
"I'll leave you to use the bucket. And think about the right answer" The man said walking away.
"What if I get it wrong?" Georges asked.
"Then you'll get punished Georges...just like the others did" The Man said.
The Man closed the door and left Georges alone. Georges had to go back in time, from when he first Beat Matt Hughes, to his final victory over Johny Hendricks.
It had been a rocky road. But being in the UFC, was better than where Georges was now.
