I Have No Clue Where I Should Put This But It's Here Now.

The moment their fingers slipped towards his laces, he could feel himself going back into the Dark again.

It has been a really long time since the man that became Persona Non Grata felt threatened in any real, meaningful way. The brutal-yet-composed man that viewers knew didn't always exist. There was a time before the mask where he was abundantly more feral in his nature. Even now, twenty minutes after the closing bell, every cell in his body tingles and his blood only starts to come down to a nice simmer. You've heard the old cliche. To a luchador, the mask is everything. But that's not meant to be taken literally.

To PNG, it is very much literal. On the altar of lucha, he sacrificed who he was to become who he is. The old name is dead and the old ways…well, okay. He's shown that those haven't died so much as they have been contorted into something more manageable.

At the edge of his eyeline, he could see their opponents of the night finally leaving the arena. They are the worse for wear by a long shot. Blue Dorado Jr. is sluggish in his movements, clearly suffering a concussion as a result of Pedro Gonzales' chair shots. El Neito del Angel 2000 is carried out on a makeshift stretcher, fat load of good that does with a cracked skull. As they slip through the door, the azul-clad warrior locks eyes with the dangerous Emperor. It is a brief moment in time. There is a fury in his eyes as history seems to have repeated itself. But ultimately, the staredown ends with a nod. One of acknowledgement.

Strangely, it is a motion made from respect. And PNG returns it in kind.

"Hey. You good?"

Pedro has taken a seat beside him. He must've slipped in during the staredown. The masked man sighs and gives a nod in response. But his leader knows better. "I know you didn't want me in there. But I knew where you were going in here–" The smaller man taps his head. "--and I had to stop you. You know that."

For the first time in a while, Persona Non Grata exhales. He didn't even know he was holding in a breath until he finally released it. He is handed a bottle of water and as he cracks it open, the words start up again.

"Listen, it's been a rough few weeks. Mestizo is stuck in Manchester. We had to keep rolling without him. I know you miss him and as much as I don't want to admit it, I miss him too. Then we come here and those pendejos start that shit?"

Pedro shakes his head.

"I don't blame you for doing what you did tonight. I would've done the same. You know who you are. You know the burden you carry. You know the legacy you've earned. Those guys? They're nobodies in the long term. They're going to be stuck here in their little goldfish bowl for the rest of their days and they won't even bother to look beyond it."

PNG looks at him, but he's not actually looking at him. His brain sees the life he left behind. Being chosen by Persona, coming to America, forming Los Rebeldes…if he didn't choose this path, the only other ones left was death or jail. For better or worse, wearing this mask and becoming this guy made him a better man. This gave him a better life. Pedro is right. Those two are pissants compared to the larger scale but in the moment, they were threatening his livelihood. They were trying to steal his life. They were going to commit identity theft. If Persona Non Grata isn't Persona Non Grata, who is he? Honestly, he'd rather not find out.

"We're one man down, but we're not out. We have belts to defend, a whole world to conquer, and more bodies to plow through."

As everything refocuses on Pedro's pearls of wisdom, PNG inhales a brand new breath. Defend the championships, get Mestizo back, cause some chaos, and raise some hell.

It's the only life to live.