[The day after the events of Defiance TV 37, Python sits patiently on an exam table in a small, plain-looking examining room. His head, left shoulder, torso, and right knee are all bandaged to varying degrees. The young superstar's expression is straight and unreadable as he stares at the beige tiled floor and listens to the room's only other inhabitant - a bearded, middle-aged doctor with a kind face and a clipboard in hand. He is reading aloud from a sheet of paper, nearing the end of a rather long list of ailments.]

Dr. Meric:
...a dislocated left shoulder albeit with no evident fractures at the point of dislocation, one cracked rib, several superficial lacerations across your face and head, one deep laceration across your upper back, and a sprained right tricep.

[The doctor cocks his head and flips the page.]

Dr. Meric:
Oh, and you also suffered a moderate concussion. Certainly not your first, I might add. I'll take this moment to remind you that successive concussions can potentially reap consequences such as brain swelling, permanent brain damage, long-term disabilities, or even death.

Python:
So.........

[Dr. Meric sighs futilely. He knows he has already lost the argument he's about to have.]

Dr. Meric:
So in summary, you shouldn't compete in your next match this weekend.

[He pauses, considering.]

Dr. Meric:
Well, actually, you shouldn't have even finished your last match yesterday.

[...]

Dr. Meric:
You're not listening to a word I'm saying, are you?

Python:
Hearing. Not necessarily listening or heeding.

[The doctor places his clipboard down gently next to the sink and rubs his temples slowly with the palms of his hands for a moment before turning back to face his battered young patient.]

Dr. Meric:
Matt, as your physician of almost six years, I've faced more challenges than some athletic physicians deal with over the course of their entire careers. Some of them have been more akin to a sewing artist rather than a doctor.

[Python cracks a grin despite an involuntary wince of pain from one of the many bandaged areas of his body.]

Python:
Ah, right. Crystal Dreams match. Yeah, that was a lot of stitches. Good times.

[Dr. Meric's voice rises in a rare display of frustration.]

Dr. Meric:
No, not good times. How is that good times? You went through two walls of glass! You almost bled to death on my table!

Python:
It was one of the greatest matches of my career, Fred! It was incredible, the world had never seen anything like it at the time. The people loved it. I won.  

Dr. Meric:
Are you so willing to put yourself through hell just to win matches?

Python:
It isn't about that.

Dr. Meric:
Not ever?

Python:
Not for me.

Dr. Meric:
Then what is it about?

Python:
It's about giving the world what wrestling gave me.

[Flushed and tense, the doctor pauses a moment, slowly regaining his composure and allowing a silent cue for Python to continue if he'd like to.]

Python:
Memories. Thrills. Something to talk about with my friends. Incredible people to look up to, people who seemed larger than life. People that I wanted to be like. And, ultimately, people whose actions and decisions helped to make me the person I am today.

Everybody goes through times in their lives when they're vulnerable, and they crave that something. That person or that thing that can show them how to be whatever it is that they think they want to be. Where you decide to look for that influence is your choice. But for the people who look to me the way I looked to the wrestlers I loved when I was a kid... well, I'm going to give them everything I've got. I'm going to show them that any road is traversable with perseverance and heart, even if some are steeper than others. And if they fall along the way, I'm sure as fuck not going to teach them how to stay down. Because no one ever taught me.

[A heavy moment of silence fills the tiny examining room. Finally, Dr. Meric reluctantly picks up his clipboard and begins to scribble some notes across the bottom of his paper.]

Dr. Meric:
You know, you were on that hiatus for a while. It's been so long that I forgot who I was dealing with here.]

[Python grins and shifts his weight a bit.]

Python:
You know you missed me.

Dr. Meric:
Yeah, I missed the challenge. At least tell me you're not going up against the same guy who did this to you in the first place?

 [Python's grin grows even wider.]

Dr. Meric:
Damnit.

Python:
Don't worry, doc, I'll give him your number when I'm done with him.

[The doctor tears a prescription from his pad and holds it out. Python eases his way down to the floor to take it.]

Dr. Meric:
Great, so he can tell me where to find all of the pieces I'll need to put you back together.

[Python laughs and snatches the piece of paper from the older man's hands.]

Python:
Harsh, dude! You really think I'm going to lose?

Dr. Meric:
Well, now... I didn't say that.

[The doctor offers Python a resolute smile and a firm handshake.]

Dr. Meric:
Go get 'em, kid.

Python:
Thanks, Fred.

Dr. Meric:
Don't die.

Python:
I know.

[With a final pat on the back, the high-flying superstar picks up his backpack and eases his way gingerly out the doorway, disappearing into the hallway as the door closes behind him. Dr. Meric sighs, flops down into a chair near the wall, and tosses his clipboard onto the examination table.]

Dr. Meric:
That kid has the balls of a Spartan army.  

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