Ethan Dashery rubbed the back of his neck brace, wincing slightly in the process. He continued walking across the quad, glancing around warily all the while.

'Are colleges always this busy? Dear god!' He ignored the stares of the hordes of students walking in every which direction around him. Were they staring at him? To be fair, his neck brace did make him look quite stupid, even in his own estimation. That could be it. Maybe they were wrestling fans? He knew that one day his name would be on the edge of everyone's lips, but it seemed kind of unlikely that he was such a celebrity just yet, even on a lowly community college campus.

He steadied himself, ignoring the stares as he trudged through the crowds. From a distance, he could see the sign in front of his destination. Sure enough, the name matched with what he'd been given.

'What the hell is with these people?' Scum, every last one of them staring him down, he knew it. They were greasy American youth, firmly in the camp of liberté, egalité, et fraternité, and far too naive to know better yet. They had no concept of respect, of honor, of any such upstanding virtue. Unwashed masses, he silently grunted to himself, of course they'd stare at someone like himself. They could probably sense their own low birth and inferiority in his presence.

He was glad to be out of the crowd, as he stepped into the dorm building. His relief was short-lived, however, as the moment he stepped into the elevator, he found himself mashed into a corner, as another dozen or so students slammed into the space before the doors finally, mercifully, closed. He sighed loudly, as the large man next to him shifted, pretty well squashing Ethan against the wall.

'Oh, sorry man, didn't see ya there.' Ethan cringed, muscles in his neck twinging in pain. It wasn't quite excruciating yet, but he knew how quickly it could escalate.

'What happened to the neck?' The man gave him a little room while turning the question to him.

'Someone dropped me on my head through a table.' He answered monotonously, uneager to continue the conversation.

'Man, that sucks. Did you sue?'

Ethan chuckled lightly to himself. 'Yeah, I'm trying. It's hard to make the case that a wrestling injury is assault.'

There was silence for a moment, as the man glanced at Ethan, sizing him up.

'You're a wrestler? No way, man. What are you, 5'9'?'

Ethan went quiet, shaking his head slowly. The elevator stopped at the floor he wanted, anyway, giving him a good excuse to ditch his current company. The man snorted as Ethan shoved through the crowded elevator. Once out, he turned sharply, pointing back at the man who now stood in that corner, as the door closed between them.

'Later this year I'm going to be a world champion! Later this year, you're still going to be a sophomore on your way to a basket weaving degree, peon!'

He hoped the man could hear all of that, even though the last few words were cut off by the closing of the door. He punched the door in frustration, just barely having the sense to hold up at the last second and not likely break something in his hand or wrist. Growling to himself, he stomped down the hall, counting down numbers on the doors until he finally came to the right one. He thumped his hand loudly on the door.

'See? I knew I didn't break you on the elevator door for a reason.'

There were muffled sounds from within the dorm room, before the door finally opened. The man answering the door was pretty well built, decently larger than Ethan, unshaven, and wearing sweatpants and a ratty looking tee shirt. Ethan held his breath and locked his stare to prevent himself from rolling his eyes, before speaking.

'I'm looking for Jake.'

'Who's askin'?' The man pulled a cigarette to the corner of his mouth before taking a drag. Ethan actually welcomed the smoke as opposed to the rank scent of body odor emanating from the room.

'A friend of yours said you were good for some stuff I need.'

'Jesus Christ, can you be more cryptic? You sound like a narc. Minus the retarded costume.'

Ethan let his eyes roll good and hard, before slamming himself into the opening in the door.

'Look, you dirty piece of shit. Someone told me you had some painkillers. I'll pay you for them, you hear me? I'LL PAY FOR THEM.' He whispered loudly, right in the man's face. 'Do I sound like a narc now, shithead?'

The man shugged, opening the door wider and waving Ethan in.

'If you're a narc...well, you're somethin' else. What are you lookin' for?'

Ethan glanced around the room, his expression completely disgusted by the decor and the general filth of the place. He moved to sit down on the couch, before taking a glance at it, and quickly deciding from the myriad stains and garbage on the cushions that it wasn't going to be happening. Finally giving up, he put his hands on his hips as he swivelled to face Jake.

'My doc's got me on Vicodin for my neck, but I'm out. They aren't going to refill my script for another week or so. Do you have anything similar?'

'Heh, I thought you were looking for something heavy. Hell, I could get you a bunch of different painkillers.'

Ethan nodded quickly, wincing as he did so. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a checkbook and pen. 'How much will a hundred dollars get me? I don't know how much it goes for.'

'What the hell are you doing?'

'Writing a check, what's it bloody look like?'

'A check? A freakin' check? You gotta be kidding. Get the fuck out. Now.' He pointed to the door, as Ethan looked at him indignantly.

'If you had a register, I'd swipe my card, but you don't, do you?'

'You gotta be kidding. Get out. I said out, NOW! JIMMY!' Jake turned, yelling the name toward one of several other doors inside the original room. That door opened, and a groggy looking fellow stepped out, considerably bigger than even Jake.

'This dipstick is tryin' to pay with a check. Get out, before you get hurt, kid!'

'You have no idea who you're talking to, peon! I'm Ethan Dashery! I'm a wrestler! I'm a celebrity! I'm a really bloody big deal everywhere outside these dirt encrusted walls! You won't talk to me like any of your pigsty-born brethren, you'll...'

Jimmy lunged forward suddenly, cutting off Ethan's diatribe with a running boot to Ethan's chest! The force threw Ethan right out the door, leaving him to smash back and neck-first into the opposite wall in the hallway. His expression froze in pain, as Jake and Jimmy slammed the door shut before him.

He laid there in the hallway, unmoving, for another minute, before he finally turned on his stomach on the floor, painfully crawling up to his feet. He staggered down to the hallway, mashing the button for the elevator, while clutching his neck brace with both hands. His expression remained the same, a mask of agony and anger all through the silent elevator ride. No one spoke to him or even bumped him this time. He could tell everyone was watching him as he stomped across the quad to his car. No one would dare blatantly stare, though.