The Long Lost Son of Brandon Lee

This piece was written as part of a larger storyline within a fictional online wrestling federation.



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Our scene opens up to a moonlit parking lot, sparsely populated yet still with the undeniable buzz of a live event hanging in the air. Through the bustling of road agents, the crackling of walkie-talkies held by security guards clad all in black, and even the excitable squeal and giggling of the occasional female fan, ‘The Underdog’ Will Peterson could be seen and heard ambling slowly along, the Amalie Arena looming like a brightly-lit behemoth behind him. Peterson walked alone, but with a relaxed gait, seemingly quietly contemplating his IWF debut.

Steadily, the sparse crowds seemed to dissipate as Will walked to a more deserted area of the parking lot, whistling tunelessly. He eventually approached his rented vehicle, a sleek-looking Mazda MX-5, in metallic slate grey. Peterson unlocked the car with a casual press of the key fob, opening the passenger-side door and tossing a stray towel inside. The THUD of the door closing echoed loudly around the now practically empty lot, but this couldn’t mask the slight disturbance caused by a stray piece of paper, once tacked to the windshield of Will’s car, but that was now falling and pirouetting in the night air, finally coming to rest softly, gracefully onto the hood.

Will peered down at the paper, frowning. On closer inspection, he could see that it was a postcard, A5, and curiously, completely blank on the face on which you would normally expect to find handwritten scribbles. Will softly turned it over in his hands, taking in the message that had been printed onto the front:

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“I didn’t know you could read…?”

Will flinched, swinging around in alarm as the massive form of his manager, Jayson Jacques, loomed into view, identical black sports bags slung over each broad shoulder.

“Fuck sake Jay!” Will grumbled. “Didn’t your Mum ever teach you not to sneak up on people!”

“She did… then again, she also taught me not to hang around with weirdos in car parks at night, yet here we are.”

Will peered off into the distance for a moment, contemplating, before nodding at his friend, apparently impressed with the comeback.

“So what were you looking at?” Jayson asked.

Will had already folded the postcard and slipped it into a back pocket of the three-quarter jeans he was wearing. He looked unruffled.

“Nothing.” he said, quietly but forcefully.

Jayson was undeterred.

“What, like ‘empty crisp packet’ nothing, or ‘letter from an old flame telling you she’s pregnant and it’s yours’ nothing?”

Will chuckled, but shook his head.

“Probably somewhere in between.” he said cryptically, but followed up with a dismissive wave of the hand. “But it’s fine, nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about.”

Jay opened his mouth to retort, but was stopped in his tracks by a more authoritative hand from Peterson, whose expression had darkened slightly, but noticeably.

“I said its fine.” Peterson said again, more forcefully this time. “Now come on – it’s getting late, but you only get one chance to celebrate a win in your debut match with a new company. I reckon there are a couple of pint glasses with our names on them somewhere in Tampa.”

Jayson broke into a toothy grin.

“Now you are speaking my language!” he said brightly, swiftly opening the trunk of the car, tossing the bags in and shutting it with another echoing bang.

“But promise me one thing won’t you?” he asked as he slid into the roadster’s passenger seat.

“Anything for you.” came Will’s sarcastic reply, The Underdog already sat on the driver’s side, waiting for his partner-in-crime.

“Please don’t make me drink American beer…!”

Will snorted and barked out a single laugh, turning the key in the ignition, clicking on the headlights and easing the MX-5 out of the parking bay.

“No problem. I know just the place.”



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The twilit darkness of the Amalie Arena parking lot had been replaced by dazzling artificial light provided by a multitude of trendy naked bulbs hanging from a low-beamed wooden ceiling, the brooding echoes replaced with an undercurrent of up-tempo generic pop music. The pop art canvasses of Churchill, Bowie and of course, HRH Lizzie Windsor stared down at the throng of revellers sitting, leaning or standing within Yeoman’s Cask & Lion, a trendy British bar tucked away just outside South Tampa.

Amongst the throng sat Will Peterson and Jayson Jacques, chatting idly, both part way through a pint of real ale. The two seemed at ease in their home from home, occasionally turning to share a joke with revellers on nearby tables. Jayson turned back to Will, chuckling amiably, taking a hefty mouthful of ale before setting his glass down on with a purpose.

“So.” he began. “What was going on in that car park? You went dead shifty as soon as I mentioned it. It must’ve been something important…”

Will raised an eyebrow. “Jeez, you’re like a dog with a bone, you won’t let it go will you?”

Jayson just stared inexorably at Peterson, who gawked straight back, a twinkle in his eyes.

“Well…?!” Jay asked, a hint of irritation in his eyes. Will smiled wryly, before reaching back towards the back pocket of his jeans.

“It wasn’t important. I don’t think… I don’t know… it was weird more than anything. It doesn’t really make sense.”

Will slipped the postcard onto the table and looked down at it, frowning slightly, before looking up at Jayson, who was slowly and soundlessly mouthing the printed excerpt.

“Proverbs… but you haven’t been to church in years…”

“I know.” Will replied. “Not since the old dear used to drag me there at every opportunity… Lord knows why she bothered, she must’ve known a lost cause when she saw one. I made it obvious enough that I didn’t want to be there.”

“So, then… why?” Jay asked, puzzled.

“I’ve no idea.” Will replied plainly. “Someone’s obviously put it there for a reason, presumably knew it was my car. It’s not like those fliers or leaflets that just get put under every windscreen wiper – I’m pretty sure there weren’t any on any of the other cars there.”

“Weird…” Jay practically whispered.

“So we don’t understand the ‘why’. But there’s also the issue of ‘who’.” Will said matter-of-factly.

“Someone in IWF…?”

Will pondered that thought for a second, taking a thoughtful sip of ale before answering in a level tone.

“Could be. But I’ve been there a week. And I’ve hardly been knocking down doors, pissing people off left, right and centre, have I?”

“It’s gotta be someone you know, though, surely…?” Jay thought out loud.

Will shrugged, clearly trying his hardest not to allow it to bother him.

“Lots of questions, no answers. There’s no point dwelling on it. Besides, it’s probably complete pot luck that it ended up on my car, probably the random act of some born-again homeless bum or crazy religious zealot. God knows this country has enough of them…”

His final words were said a little too loudly and bluntly for the liking of a couple of fellow drinkers, obviously natives, who scowled obviously across at Will. The Underdog met their icy stares with an over-the-top smile, raising his glass toward them exaggeratedly.

Will turned back towards Jay, obviously keen to put the postcard to the back of his mind, and back into his jeans, folding it quickly back into his pocket. The two contemplated in silence for a few moments, the quiet between them punctuated only by the odd slurp of drink and quiet thud of glass on wood. Suddenly, both pairs of eyes were attracted by the rhythmic buzzing and flashing that signified an incoming message on Will’s cell phone. He reached a hand down to pick the iPhone up from the table and swiftly unlocked it. Jay watched intently as Will’s expression changed from one of mild interest, to slight confusion, before finally settling into a deep scowl.

“Curtain-jerking again…?” Will muttered to himself.

Jayson allowed himself a tiny nod.

“Card for next week? They’re on the ball. Who you got?”

“Leon Black.”

“Don’t you mean Lucas Bright?”

“To be fair, I thought he liked to go by ‘The Bastard Son of Brandon Lee’ these days, but whatever works.”

Jay laughed at the joke. Peterson was stoic, emotionless.

“What is it with this place?” Jay asked, a little incredulously “Nighthawk this week, a blatant Crow ripoff next. What do they have for entertainment during intermission, falconry exhibitions? Wouldn’t be surprised if you faced off against Baldy McEagleface next week…!”

Jay laughed again, this time at his own attempt at humour, but quickly became irked as his buddy’s expression remained impassive, Will continuing to stare rather blankly at his phone screen.

“Oi!” Jay nudged Will across the table. “What’s up with you? Did I ruffle a few feathers? Eh? Eh?! Get it?!”

Will sighed, pressing a thumb and forefinger against the bridge of his nose.

“No Jay.” he replied bluntly. “Sadly for all of us, I have been burdened with your attempts at humour for far too long now. I am simply immune to your comic stylings.”

“So what is it then?”

“This.” Will said plainly, jerking his head towards the phone still sat in his right hand. “This is not what I… what we came over here for. The whole point was that I was sick of bouncing around those grotty indy feds back home, getting no exposure, no recognition. ‘Murica, the bright lights, bigger cities, the IWF – this was supposed to be the grand stage. Yet here I am, still at the bottom of the card. Still a nobody.”

Jay looked at his friend shaking his head, a look of utter disbelief in his eyes.

“You’ve been here less than two weeks!” he said incredulously.

“I know. I get that.” Will replied, staring a hole through the varnished wood of the table. “And seriously, I don’t want to sound like a Moaning Minnie, but…”

“Well you best change your tune then…!” Jay interjected bluntly, causing Will to look up in surprise. “Because that’s exactly what you’re sounding like at the minute! Get a bit of perspective Will, for God’s sake. You’ve started with a brand new company. New fedheads. New fans. New expectations. And the fact of the matter is, you are squarely at the bottom of the ladder.”

Jay jabbed a forefinger aggressively in Will’s direction.

“Whether you like it or not, whether you or I think you belong there – completely irrelevant. At the moment, that is your place, and it’s up to you to pay your dues, yes, but also to climb that ladder… get yourself to the brighter lights and the bigger payouts of the main events… make yourself a somebody.”

“And how do I do that I hear you cry!” Jay continued dramatically. “You do it by beating chumps like him.”

This time the finger was jabbed at Will’s iPhone. Neither man spoke for a few moments, Will refusing to meet Jay’s gaze, before finally bringing his eyes up with a smile.

“I’m a bit worried about all this Jay. You’re getting far too wise in your old age…”

Jay downed the remaining third of his pint, putting the glass down pointedly.

“Well one of us has got to be.” he said bluntly.

“Grouchy too.” Will shot back.

Jay chose not to rise to the verbal barbs, rising instead from the table.

“Come on.” he said briskly. “We’ve got less than a week to turn you from cynical doom-and-gloom merchant to confident wrestling machine ready to take over the IWF. And although a magic potion might exist, I’m pretty certain it isn’t Everards IPA.”

Will chuckled, shaking his head in spite of himself as he watched Jay turn on his heel and stride purposefully out of the bar. The Underdog rose to his feet too, more slowly than his compatriot, his hand moving almost unconsciously to his back pocket once more. But with a final shake of the head, he downed the last dregs of his own drink, and swiftly moved to follow Jay into the South Tampa moonlight.



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”This is the best that Tampa has to offer…?”

Will Peterson’s voice echoed throughout the dusty, dingy gymnasium, dimly lit by only a single lightbulb which swung sadly from the centre of the ceiling. The Underdog wrinkled his nose as he stepped over the threshold, taking in his surroundings with an expression of distaste and contempt etched over his rugged features. He gazed around at the dated equipment, ridden with rust, sighed at the thick layer of dust coating an ancient air-conditioning unit which appeared to have given up the ghost many years ago.

Behind him, the gymnasium door slammed shut, causing Will to jump, looking momentarily panic-stricken as he spun round to face the newest arrival. Jason Jacques loomed large in front of him, the now ubiquitous black sports bags slung across his shoulders. He wore a look of tired resignation.

“No, Will, this is not the best that Tampa has to offer.” Jay replied wearily. “This is, however, the only gymnasium within a fifty mile radius which allows rental on a fully exclusive basis. And that’s exactly what you need at the minute. No distractions. No interactions. Just a thimbleful of focus, a pocketful of drive and plenty of fucking big weights to lift.”

“Cheers Apollo Creed…” Will muttered back. But Jayson either didn’t hear, or was choosing not to, pushing past his agent and dumping the bags unceremoniously onto one of several thin blue padded mats which were scattered around the gym. He turned on his heel and clapped his hands together.

“Let’s get started.”

What followed was around an hour of intense physical training for Peterson, with Jayson as trainer-cum-spotter-cum-motivator extraordinaire putting him through his paces. The workout seemed to breathe new life into The Underdog, who took on a look of a man possessed as he smashed the circuit training, hammered the bicep curls and made light work of the deadlifts. He was a man reinvigorated.

The two took a moment to pause after a particularly gruelling set, with Will throwing himself onto a nearby bench, towel thrown across the back of his thick neck, sweat softly dripping onto the concrete floor below as he took several mouthfuls from his water bottle. Jay, meanwhile, busied himself tidying and organising the gym somewhat, preparing for the next assault on Peterson’s physique. Satisfied that everything was in place, he made his way over to where Will was sat, standing before him in a businesslike manner, arms folded.

“Right, I think we’re well on the way to getting you physically prepared for next Monday. But we can’t overlook the mental preparation that goes into a successful run either.”

Will simply nodded, taking another long gulp of water.

“Let’s talk about your opponent, Leon Black.”

“You mean Lucas Bright?”

“Whatever…”

Will smiled.

“Seems like a bit of a confused individual from the little I’ve seen and heard from him so far.”

“Which makes him all the more dangerous and unpredictable, Will.” Jay replied, still all business. “Did you get a chance to look at those promos I sent to you?”

Peterson laughed to himself, obviously reliving them in his head.

“I certainly did. Graveyards, death, Heaven & Hell – it’s like a ticklist of all of the sad, tired old clichés from all of those cartoony, scary monster gimmicks from days of wrestling past. The fella clearly loves the sound of his own voice but my God does he labour the point! That’s presuming he had a point that he was attempting to make in his latest promo, because if he did, I’m pretty sure I, along with everyone else who had the pleasure of experiencing it, failed to grasp it. I think he was aiming for ‘dark and mysterious’; unfortunately, what came out was more ‘opaque and incomprehensible’…”

Jay shook his head briskly. “He’s not to be underestimated Will. It’ll be his IWF debut on Monday. He’s an unknown quantity and what’s more, he’ll be out to make a statement.”

“I’ve got a statement for him. Hey, Leon!” Will was talking to himself now, but obviously addressing the imaginary version of his adversary in his head. “Leon, buddy, natural light is your friend! Maybe you wouldn’t be such an angsty, moody prick if you just soaked in some rays! Stop hanging around graveyards and get some vitamin D in your life you sad corpse!”

Jay simply sighed this time.

“You can’t get complacent, Will…” he said, almost pleading with his partner now. “You have to go into the match with a strategy, work out his weaknesses…”

“My strategy is to win.” Will retorted bluntly. “And ‘Wrestling’s Biggest Dimmer Switch’ will be his own biggest weakness – I will need only to exploit his ridiculously short fuse, his apparent obsession with wanting me hospitalised or just his downright shortage of wrestling ability, whichever rears its ugly head first.”

Jay could do nothing but cast a despairing look towards his charge.

“Don’t look at me like that Jay, I’m serious! You know it pains me to admit this, but you were right yesterday – I am the only one who can make the most of this new lease of life in the IWF, to turn this dream into a reality. And the reality at the moment is that I am head and shoulders above whatever and whoever this company puts in front of me. And the only thing I can do to change that is to keep winning, to keep beating every schmuck and nobody that this federation has to offer. The class and calibre of my opponents will, naturally, eventually, rise to match me and mine. But for the time being… on Monday, it will be The Blackened Light in front of me. And I am nothing if not confident that I will turn off the light, and embrace the darkness, whilst Leon Black simply… fades… away.”

Suddenly, the windowless gymnasium was plunged into darkness, the shattering of the failed lightbulb being drowned out almost immediately by an unfathomably high-pitched scream, considering who was frequenting the building.

“What the fuck…”

“Calm down, Will, its fine...!”

“What the FUCK?!”

“Haha, chill out man!”

As quickly as it had been taken away, light flooded back into the room, courtesy of the main gym doors being thrown wide open. The Tampa Bay sunlight only served to exaggerate the dust which danced and swirled in the air like thousands of tiny ballerinas. By now, Jayson had broken into a full-blown belly laugh at the sight of Will Peterson, alpha male tough guy wrestler, perched on top of the nearest weights machine, looking every inch the housewife who had just seen a mouse run across her kitchen floor.

The Underdog glowered back at his hysterical manager, furious.

“And just what exactly do you think you’re laughing at?! As if it’s irrational not to be a little bit jumpy at the thought of being trapped in a dark room alone with you…”

“Wait… Will…”

“Perfectly reasonable I’d say…”

“Will!”

Jayson had stopped laughing, and was no longer looking at his agent. Instead, his eyes were drawn towards the bench that Peterson had hastily vacated mere moments before. Slowly, the two approached the bench from opposite ends of the room, having to bend down to examine the latest arrival.

A book, bound in maroon leather, with ornate golden lettering spelling out the words ‘HOLY BIBLE’ adorning the front. Jay looked up at Will. Will looked up at Jay. The Bible had been marked with a thin ribbon bookmark. Slowly, Jayson pulled the book open, revealing the marked page. Though they both seemed to already know, Jay confirmed in a low, dark voice:

“Proverbs. Four Nineteen.”

The two stared at the Bible in silence, neither able to put their thoughts into words, until…

“Well, I think we can safely rule out the homeless bums and random zealots…!”