I have begun this story and cross posted it to my Ao3 account as well. It will be pretty graphic with ALOT OF SENSITIVE THEMES, including: noncon/dubcon elements, female/male sex, male/male sex, blood, violence, and so on. So I'm giving the a HARD MATURE RATING.
He had a real name once.
He remembered it sometimes when he sat quietly in his cell at night, trying so desperately to hold onto that piece of himself that was his and his alone.
Good they called him, Jonathan Good.
But that was then. That was back when his name mattered; back when his name was his own to give; back before the fights and the blood. Ever since the Authority devised this plan of theirs, taking cues from ancient arenas from times long since forgotten.
Gladiatorial Combat is what they called it, the name chosen for obvious reasons. A modern day spectacle of carnage and death because "that's what the people crave!" Or at least, that's what Vince McMahon said. He was the creator of this showcase of death, and it was popular. So popular in fact, rules and regulations couldn't touch him.
It was a free for all of legal mayhem and murder.
The populace loved it because it got rid of the antiquated prison systems that seemed to plague the country for so long. Now you get caught breaking the law, no matter how slight the crime, you were sent to the Arena for a prescribed amount of time. You survive and you're free to go, held up a hero of the masses.
You lost? Well, losing wasn't the best option. If you survived the fight, depending on your state of injury, they'd make a half hearted attempt at patching you up (if they deemed your skill in the Arena worth it). If you were too far gone, they'd leave you on the slab to bleed out. Even then some survived, to which they would just kill you anyway and be done with it. The shallow grave they gave you was probably the only exit from this hell hole.
Because no one has survived through their sentence.
No one.
No one had even come close.
They took everything from you before making you an "immortal", Vince's name for his fighters. Your very identity belonged to them. His life wasn't his anymore, hadn't been for years. They took that from him a long time ago, just like they did his name. They took it and gave him a new name, one they could control and manipulate.
Ambrose they called him now.
Dean Ambrose.