Thomas Bolleke: A press conference gone wrong.

Fighter profile of Thomas Bolleke by Alika Webb

“So, you know what you have to do?” Mentor asks, nervously combing what’s left of his grey hair.

“Yes,” I say, clutching my head.

“You lousy bum! You shouldn’t have gone partying. You’re a champion for Pete’s sake. Act like one!”

“Hey! I won back the belt, didn’t I?” I say, showing off the golden GAMMA middleweight title hanging around my waist.

“It was a lucky shot. And you shouldn’t have lost it in the first place! We had a super fight scheduled and you losing blew it all to hell.”

“Now you get a second shot.”

“Exactly,” Mentor says. “So don’t you dare blow it now, you lousy bum.”

“How could I possibly blow it?”

“You said the same thing before the rematch with Falcone.”

“Mistakes happen. But don’t worry, I won’t let it happen today.”

“Just remember. Call him out and walk away,” Mentor says before walking away himself, taking his place behind the microphone.

Cameras flash like lightning as Mentor addresses the army of journalists before him.

Thunder rumbles in my brain until it gets hit with lightning.

“Oh crap!” I whisper. “Who do I need to call out again?”

I can’t ask Mentor anymore, he’s already speaking to the press and I’m up next. Oh no, what do I do?

I grab my phone, go to the MMATycoon forum and look at who everyone’s talking about.

“Thomas Bolleke!” Mentor yells.

“That’s my cue.” I panic, nearly dropping my phone as I put it in my pocket.

I race to the microphone, trying to catch my breath. I only read one name but that’s enough. I know who I have to call out now.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” I say, grabbing the microphone tightly. “By regaining the GAMMA middleweight title, I reclaimed the throne and solidified myself as the best middleweight in all of GAMMA.”

I wipe the sweat off my brow, steadying my nerves. “Now it’s time to reach for new heights. I want to challenge the world and solidify myself as the best fighter on the planet.”

I look at Mentor, he proudly nods at me so I continue, now braver and louder than before. “To be the best, you got to beat the best. So that’s why I hereby challenge the best fighter in the world. I challenge you, … Paddy Mcgillicutty!”

“What?” Journalists start to whisper. “Paddy who?”

That’s when it hits me. Paddy was not the name Mentor told me. It was something else. If only I could still remember that name, it’s like the name is on the tip of my tongue but the letters just won’t come out.

“YOU LOUSY BUM!” Mentor yells.

I turn and look at the old man.

The old man is hovering in the air, a thunderous energy radiates from his body. His hair has turned from grey to blonde, spiking upwards like a golden flame. His muscles are bulging, nearly bursting out of his clothes.

“Call him out and walk away,” I say, repeating Mentor’s words before I run for my life.

THE END?

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