He didn't know how long he had been sitting on the bed. He could have spent hours there or just a few minutes. It seems like it was either eons since Deng gave him the key and showed him to his “apartment”. The last few days had been so chaotic that he didn't even protest about the small cupboard of a flat that was now his home. He sighed and got up. The flat was at least clean and didn't seem riddled with bugs. He walked up to the window and looked down at one of the most uninteresting and featureless pieces of urban estate he had ever seen. He supposed that a country with roughly 1 Billion inhabitants had to cut corners, but the four trees that dotted the landscape between the building that house his new “home” and the new block of flats looked about as misplaced as penguins in the Sahara.

He closed the drapes and sighed again.

“How the hell did I end up here?” He said to himself.

This wasn't the way it was supposed to end, hell being exiled to China was the last thing he had ever expected or wanted. He hadn't been brought up and he hadn't fought to get to where he was only to be thrown out...or rather chased out of the country that was his home.

He cursed and dropped back first onto his bed. He looked up into the white washed ceiling and sighed again.

“Just my damn luck, I guess.”

He closed his eyes and let his mind drift backwards in time.'

*****

Deng looked at the two remaining keys and cursed. Stern had told him that the NHFC would give him trouble, she had told him...not without a hint of a smirk on her red lips that Darkness, Dante and Freya Green would be trouble squared. Deng tossed the keys on his desk.

“Suit yourselves...You'll find Beijing an inhospitable place to sleep outdoors in.”

“To be perfectly honest, I find Beijing a disagreeable place no matter where I have to sleep.”

Deng almost jumped. When he had turned his back on the rest of his office the room had been empty. Now he turned around and came face to face with one of Stern's “troublemakers”, in fact he had the sneaking suspicion that while the man he had met just before had been the most physically dangerous, the man who stood not two feet away from him at the moment was the biggest psychological threat.

“Jason Dante...” Deng said, his words sounded more like a question then a statement at first.

“I hear you have some place for me to stay...”

Deng looked at the man he knew to be a former world champion and a fellow businessman. Dante's face looked tired and almost gray, on his cheeks was stubble that looked like it was far older then the fashionable three days. Normally Jason Dante wore white to the ring, but now he wore a black jacket, a deep red T-shirt and a pair of black jeans. He looked like something the cat had dragged in.

“Yes, I do.” Deng said letting his voice drag the “e” in yes out for effect.
Deng looked at Dante and for s short moment a flash of awe went past his eyes. He had heard of this man, and the conglomerate he had built, he had seen the meteoric raise of Jason Dante and his Dantecorp and had been inspired, inspired to venture into business for himself. When Dante Meditech started to build it's leading role in pharmaceuticals, Deng had still been living in the haven of free economy in China, Hong Kong. He had taken this man as something of an inspiration, he held him as high as a Bill Gates or a Steven Jobs. Deng had, however not had to go through the brutal fall from grace Dante had gone through, as Dantecorp was hijacked by Tomas Novamori, Deng's idolization of Jason Dante had ended in disgust. Dante had let his life's work slip through his hands and had it seemed fallen off the earth.

As much as Deng felt the last fleeting residue of respect and awe, he now felt a strange elation that he was now the superior of the man he had taken as one of his inspirations. In his mind it showed that as Dante had fallen, he had continued his raise and he had in some way conquered the Juggernaut of Dantecorp.

Dante held out his hand. The gesture looked like he pleaded for shelter, but Deng saw the true meaning of the gesture. Dante had stopped caring for some reason, he was far from the stray and the homeless but he had it seemed given up. He breathed, he walked and he showed all the signs of living, but he only existed. Deng wondered if the loss of Dantecorp had done this to him and for a few fleeting seconds he feared that he himself would end up the same should he failed. He shook the discomfort off and looked at Dante.

“Sign here.”

Dante picked up the pen and scribbled his signature on the paper. Deng looked at the contract and nodded.

“You know, I didn't really think you would show up.”

“I wasn't aware I had a choice...”

“Well...I doubt you would have been persecuted in the USA.”

Dante scoffed.

“Then why did you whisk us away in unmarked vans then?”

“The situation was uncomfortable...I had to act to get you to China as quickly as possible.”

Dante grinned, the grin was shallow, hollow and didn't hold the slightest amount of joy.

“As I said, I doubt the US government would have...”

“Then you don't know much about them, do you? They are hyenas, they feed of the carcasses that bring them the greatest yield. They would have put us all on Death Row if they could have mangled the law badly enough...now, the key...please? ”

Dante looked at Deng and his reddish eyes seemed to radiate cold. Deng held out his hand and let the key dangle from his index finger as if it was a lure designed to trap an albino fish. Dante grabbed the key and began to walk away.

“To be perfectly, Honest Mr. Dante I really have no idea what you and your...allies did to invoke the ire of the US government.”

Dante paused at the door for a few moments. Then he turned and let his cold eyes bore into Deng again.

“Neither do I...”

*****

He opened his eyes and realized that he had drifted off to sleep. He rubbed his tired eyes and sat up. For a brief moment as his eyes adjusted to the light, he imagined that he was home again, that he was in the good ol´US of A...The proximity to the kitchen sink killed all notions of this. He was in China.

“I'm in China...I live in China now...”

Hell, no matter how many times he tried to tell himself that he had been forced to flee his home country, he still didn't believe it. It still didn't make sense at all. He rubbed his eyes again and got up to see if there was anything drinkable in the fridge. He had forgotten to ask Deng if the water in ten tap was drinkable in this country. Not willing to take the chance he opened his fridge and found it to be empty, turned off and stinking. She slammed the door shut and exhaled. He turned around and found himself looking into a mirror.

“How the hell did you end up here?”

Of course he knew the answer, he knew why he was here and what had happened. Every time he thought about the events that had lead to their escape from the US, he felt his ire raise until it almost choked him.

Before he could formulate a second thought, he heard the sound of a key being inserted into a keyhole, the walls were thin enough for him to hear the person next door unlocking his door. Hoping he would meet a friendly face, maybe even an ally or buddy he walked up to the door to the corridor and opened it. He looked to the left but saw only a closed door. He peered to the right and his gaze fell on a person in a black jacket and black jeans. It took him a few seconds to recognize his new neighbor, but when he did he felt anger well up in his throat. He stared at the man who was walking into the flat next to his and for the first time in a long time, Matt Strikmore felt real, true hatred well up in him.

“You!” He spat out, causing his neighbor to pause in his action.

The man in the black jacket turned his glance sideways and looked straight into the eyes of the enraged Matt Strikmore. Strikmore in turn didn't flinch when he peered into a pair of cold, empty eyes. His anger was so great that he didn't even notice the apparent lack of reaction in his neighbor's eyes. All Matt Strikmore's anger was replied to to by total and complete lack of interest from Jason Dante.

*There are rules to a good stare down. The feet must be shoulder length apart. Clenching and unclenching of fists is optional, but encouraged. Breathing should become more ragged as the event continues. However, the number one rule of a good stare down? You need two people, and Dante just wasn't playing. Still, Matt stood unblinking, not willing to shield Dante from his glare for even a fraction of a second. As his eyes dry out and start to burn, his mind flips through the steps that brought him to his. The grind from being on the road for so long. The physical rehab in a new office every time, but the same head shaking from each doctor that reviews his file. Hawthorne getting attacked. Exiled from his home country. The last thing Matt needed was a target, and one just set up shop right next door.*

Dante: If you're quite finished with your heavy breathing, I'm going to retire to my quarters.

*Matt can't bring himself to talk, using all his will to keep himself from leaping at Dante and throttling him, a battle between release and restraint. Dante isn't the reason everything has gone south, but he's not exactly completely separated from it. Dante, for his part, keeps looking lazily at Matt while his hand hangs on the doorknob.*

Dante: Well then.

*Dante looks away and pushes his door open. Sliding into the doorway, he tosses the door shut behind him, but doesn't hear the latch click shut. Looking back over his shoulder, he sees the light from the hallway seeping in, and Matt's foot in the doorway. Matt doesn't enter, just keeps his foot in place. Dante sighs, dropping his bag on the floor, and opens the door again. Looking down at Matt's foot, he speaks.*

Dante: Would you kindly?

Matt: Look at me.

Dante: Ah. Found your tongue. You must be proud.

Matt: This is bad comedy. I'm in a strange land, and all I wanted was a friendly face. Hell, even a neutral face. Instead, I get put next to the guy that thinks I shouldn't even be speaking to him. That I haven't earned that right. I say this with no exaggeration, I'd rather be next to anyone in the world but you.

Dante: For certain? I can think of much worse housemates.

Matt: Let me put it terms that you can understand. I'd rather live next to Drakus.

*Dante's eyes give him away for a moment. Even in his current mood, that name always elicits a reaction.*

Matt: You remember Drakus, right? Because I'm pretty sure he remembers you. He had a real hard-on for you. Thing is, poor guy just couldn't get to your level. I mean, it's not like everyone can just walk into the ring with the World Champ, unless you're in a special Club or something. No, he kept hitting a roadblock in the midcard. He kept running into me. For close to five months straight, I couldn't step into a ring without Drakus being in it. I fought him in tag team matches. I fought him in three way matches. In the finals of the Majestic Tourney, and in a ladder match. In France, in Italy, all over the world. I went face to face with that monster for five months, and I pushed him back in place each time. Till one night, he got past me. He snuck around, and got to you in a hallway, and he put you in a wheel chair. He did to you in five minutes what took him six months to do to me. But I guess that's what the difference between you and I was back then. I was fighting for a spot. I was hit from all sides. You? You were at the top, and you just loved looking down. Hard to guard against a sneak attack when you think you're all alone up there.

Dante: You want to talk to me about monsters?

Matt: Would you kindly shutup. I'm not done. What I'm saying is that I'd rather it be Drakus next door to me, because there would be no confusion there. We'd simply just go at it, trying to kill each other up and down the Great Wall. I'd have no problem just letting go. But you? You give me pause. Not because I'm afraid of you, I've beaten better. Not because of your status, because you're not at the top anymore. I restrain myself because after all this is over, I want to look myself in the mirror and say that I'm a better man than Jason Dante.

Matt: I know that when you gave your speech a few weeks ago, that if I had come out to respond, you'd throw down your jacket and want a fight right then and there. Know what would have happened if you came out during my response last week? I'd have left the ring, because it wasn't the time and place. I have respect for that ring, and I don't have it in me to dirty it with a few random fists. Besides, I've had my eye on your for a good, long while. Back when I won the Majestic Tourney, do you have any idea how hard I was urged by the management to cash in my contract for a title shot against you? You'd have probably been all for it it too, wanting to put the new kid in his place. But like I said, I have respect for that ring. I don't want my moment in the spotlight to be because of a prize I won, hard earned or not. No, I wanted to rise up to it. I wanted people to put me in that match because they knew that's where I belonged. And that's coming up fast, isn't it Dante?

Dante: So this is the young wolf challenging to be the head of the pack?

Matt: Dante, don't delude yourself. That's what DeSean is doing this week. This is more of the young wolf seeing if your teeth are still sharp. You and I? It's part personal and part OCD. I'm a bit of a completionist. I have the full run of Iron Fist because I had a hard time tracking down issue 34. It was a challenge. But as far as the New Hellfire Club is concerned, you're the missing link. I've beaten every member of your group. Hell, I have two wins over Darkness. But you? Somehow, we always missed each other. Part of me thinks that's is awful hard for two people at our level, in a federation our size, to miss each other for two years. But despite what you think my opinions of you are, I don't think you'd dodge a fight. So this week, I'm going to complete this set.

Dante: And personally?

Matt: Personally? Well, it doesn't surprise me that you can't figure that out. After all, what's a random act of caring worth to the "God of Hellfire", so let me paint you a picture. I'd been gone for a few months, laid up from having my neck kiss a wall. I manage to get backstage at a TCW show, to catch up with some friends and coworkers. You had a match that night, and girl named Mya was involved. After the match, she did God knows what to you, but you fell like a stone. The refs ran out. The medics ran out. I ran out. I have no medical training, but a coworker was hurt. I'd been there, maybe even had a soft spot for you seeing as how Drakus got to us both. That night, I helped wheel you to the back. That night, I was fired on live TV. For weeks afterwards, it took everything I could muster to fight my way back into employment, but I did it. So the months go by, and I can't help but notice that I never got a thank you, not a helping, nothing. Nothing from Jason Dante. I didn't need you to pull some strings. I didn't need a loan. Not that those things wouldn't have been gracefully accepted. But what I could have used was a simple acknowledgment that I'd helped you. That I showed concern. But that's beneath you, isn't it? To top it off, no one in your group said a thing either. I put a hand out to a group of people who barely acknowledge that they're aren't the only ones backstage, and all I get is a better idea of why. That showed me what kind of person you are, Dante. And quite frankly? That's not the kind of person that should be a face of this industry or even this company. Wrestling is better than that. Better than you. So file up your remaining teeth, Old Wolf. I'm coming in with lips curled back to my eyes. If you refuse to respect this business by even the simplest of actions, then I'm sure as hell going to make you respect it when I'm done with you.

*Matt looks at Dante's door until Dante glances at it as well.*

Matt: Just remember this room number, Dante. Remember the room you were in when you came down here with the rest of us, and got a glimpse of what you really are to us.

*Matt walks away, down the hallway, while Dante stares at him. And in return? Not even Matt's eyes.*