Roleplay — United Toughness Alliance

Savior sat in the luxurious VIP suite — the kind of room that screamed old money and prestige. The view of San Juan at night stretched out beyond the large windows, and for a moment he just stood there, taking it in. Being back in Puerto Rico hit harder than he expected. The air even smelled different here — familiar in a way that made his chest feel tight.

He was still surprised that simply saying the name "Hawkins" at the front desk had gotten him this suite without any hassle. People still remembered the family name. Part of him felt a twisted sense of satisfaction about it… while another part of him hated that it still meant something.

He stared at the hotel phone for a few seconds, jaw tight.

He knew this call wasn't going to end well. He knew it deep in his gut. But some small, stubborn part of him still hoped — hoped that maybe, just maybe, they'd be proud. That they'd see what he'd built. That they'd finally say something other than disgust.

He picked up the hotel phone and dialed the number he still knew by heart.

It rang.

Once.

Twice.

Then the line clicked.

On the other end, Dr. Victoria Hawkins answered in her usual crisp, professional tone — the same one she used when she was on call.

"Dr. Hawkins speaking."

She sounded slightly distracted, like she'd been in the middle of something. The faint sound of papers being moved came through the background.

She clearly hadn't checked the caller ID yet.

A brief pause.

"…Hello? This is Dr. Hawkins. Who's calling?"

Cool, clinical, and completely unaware that it was her son on the other end of the line.

Savior didn't try to pretend to be anyone else. He went straight for it.

"Listen, Mom — this is YOUR SON. And before you even try to hang up, at least listen to what I have to tell you. Because you'll find it interesting. Not a waste of your time."

Victoria was silent for a few seconds after hearing his voice.

When she finally spoke, her tone was ice-cold — the warmth she usually reserved for patients completely gone.

"…Savior."

She said his name like it left a bad taste in her mouth. Another long pause, as if she was seriously considering hanging up anyway. But something in his tone — the way he rushed to stop her from ending the call — made her stay on the line.

"You have some nerve calling this house. And using that tone with me, no less."

She let the words hang for a moment before continuing, her voice laced with clear irritation.

"Interesting? That's what you're going with? You think whatever you have to say is going to be interesting to me after everything you've done?"

The faint sound of movement on her end — like she had stood up.

"Make it quick. And don't waste my time with whatever emotional nonsense you're planning to spew. I'm not in the mood for it."

In the background, the faint sound of footsteps could be heard approaching — heavy, deliberate steps.

Savior kept his tone professional. Civil.

"Just so I don't waste your time — because you were never a woman who liked her time wasted — I'm at a pretty nice hotel right now. My wrestling show is happening in San Juan, at the José Miguel Agrelot Coliseum. The Choliseo. And I have to say — it's shocking that the people in this hotel still remember me after all these years. Treating me well, too." A pause, the edge creeping in. "But I have a feeling you never told them what happened to your prodigal child. Since you told me you and Dad are too ashamed to even talk about me."

Victoria went very quiet.

The silence on her end stretched for a few seconds — not because she was speechless, but because she was clearly trying to control her reaction. When she finally spoke, her voice was sharp and laced with cold disdain.

"You're in San Juan?"

She let the words hang, her tone making it very clear she did not like that information. The faint sound of movement, like she had turned around.

"You have the audacity to come back here… and use OUR name to get special treatment at a hotel?" Her voice dropped into something colder. "After everything you said to us? After what you threw away?"

A short, bitter breath.

"And you're surprised people still remember the Hawkins name? Of course they do. We built something respectable in this country. Something HONORABLE. Unlike whatever it is you're doing now."

Her voice tightened.

"You think this is some kind of victory? That because a hotel is treating you well, it means something? It doesn't change what you are. It doesn't change what you chose."

Before she could continue, heavier footsteps approached quickly in the background. A deep, rough voice — clearly her husband — could be heard getting closer.

"Victoria? Who the hell are you talking to at this hour—?"

A brief scuffle of movement, followed by Aurelio's voice growing louder as he apparently took the phone from her.

"Give me that."

A second later, Aurelio Hawkins' voice came through the line — deep, rough, and already irritated.

"¿Quién carajo es este?"

A short pause as he apparently looked at the phone or listened to whatever Victoria quickly told him. Then his tone changed completely — turning aggressive and loud almost instantly.

"…Savior?"

A harsh, humorless laugh.

"You've got some fucking balls calling this house, pendejo. Especially from Puerto Rico. Using MY name to get a fancy hotel room while you're here playing payaso for a bunch of drunk idiots?"

His voice rose.

"You think because some hotel staff remembers the Hawkins name that you're still part of this family? That you get to come back here and act like you didn't spit on everything we built? ¡Estás loco!"

He was breathing heavily now, clearly worked up.

"Speak. And make it fast before I hang up this fucking phone."

"Long time no see, Dad…" Savior's voice went bitter.

"Actually — I didn't ASK for special treatment. They simply gave the room to me. Because you, me, and Mom all know the Hawkins name carries a lot of prestige and honor in whatever building it walks into. And this payaso you're talking to is about to set the world on fire — because I am making my official debut in MY HOME COUNTRY. So yeah — you're damn right I've got the balls to come back to the country I was raised in and call you two. Because I was stupidly hoping that maybe you'd at least be proud of me. Or SOMETHING. ANYTHING."

Aurelio let out a harsh, angry laugh the second Savior finished — the kind that had no humor in it at all.

"¡Long time no see?!" he repeated, voice already rising. "You think this is funny, pendejo? You think you can call this house after everything that happened and act like we're old friends catching up?!"

The sound of something slamming in the background — probably his hand hitting a table.

"You didn't ask for special treatment?" His voice was thick with disbelief and rage. "You walked into a hotel in San Juan and dropped the Hawkins name, and you're SURPRISED they gave you a VIP suite?! You KNEW exactly what you were doing! You knew that name still carries weight here! And you used it anyway — for THIS?! For rolling around on a mat like some cheap payaso in front of your own people?!"

His breathing was heavy now.

"You have the fucking nerve to stand there and say you're making your 'official debut in your home country' like that's something to be proud of?! This is the same country your mother and I built a name in! A RESPECTABLE name! And you come back here to embarrass us in front of everyone?!"

Louder. Angrier.

"And you were HOPING we'd be proud of you?! ¡¿De qué carajo estás hablando?! Proud?! You threw away everything we gave you! Everything we worked for! You spat in our faces and walked out that door, and now you expect us to pat you on the back because you're good at pretending to fight in front of drunk idiots?! You're out of your fucking mind!"

A brief pause, like he was trying — and failing — to calm himself.

"You want to know what I think about you being back in Puerto Rico? I think you're a disgrace. I think you're a selfish, ungrateful little shit who only cares about himself. You don't give a damn about this family. You never did. And now you have the balls to call here and act like WE'RE the problem because we didn't support you throwing your life away?"

His voice dropped into something lower, but no less venomous.

"You want something from us? Then listen closely, because I'm only going to say this once."

A pause.

"Stay the fuck away from us. You hear me? You want to play wrestler in Puerto Rico? Fine. Do it. But don't you DARE use our name again. Don't you dare show up at this house. And don't you ever call here again expecting us to be proud of you."

His voice turned ice-cold at the end.

"Because as far as I'm concerned… you died the night you walked out that door. And I have no interest in talking to a ghost."

Heavy breathing on the other end of the line.

"Anything else you want to say, hijo? Or are we done here?"

Savior's voice flared up — and underneath the anger, a hint of grief.

"Actually — yeah. I do have one thing to say. You don't get to call me 'hijo.' Because as far as you two are concerned, you want to act like I'm DEAD? Then you two don't get to claim ANYTHING from me. I am NOT the narcissistic idiot who decided that beating me to bruises and blood was a great way of telling me my dream was horrible. I LOVE what I do! And I will be DAMNED if I let two fake cowards like you tell me what I'm supposed to be! What I am NOT is a selfish, ungrateful little shit — because honestly? It sounds like you're describing YOURSELVES. I am the prodigal son you both know me to be. The difference is — I am doing it MY way!"

His voice cracked, the wound bleeding through.

"I only made this call because part of me wanted to hear your voices. But I got what I needed. You want to act like this? FINE. I can handle being alone! You don't want to be in my life? THEN FUCK YOU!"

The second the words left his mouth, Savior slammed the hotel phone down so hard the receiver cracked against the base.

For a moment, the only sound in the luxurious VIP suite was his heavy breathing.

Then it hit him.

All at once.

The anger, the bitterness, the small sliver of hope he had stupidly held onto… it all collapsed. His face twisted as the first tear slipped down his cheek, followed quickly by another. He didn't try to stop them. He just stood there for a few seconds, shoulders shaking, before he turned and walked toward the bed like his body weighed a thousand pounds.

He dropped onto the edge of the mattress and buried his face in his hands.

The sobs came hard and ugly.

He cried like he hadn't allowed himself to in years — raw, broken, and quiet. The kind of crying that came from somewhere deep, from a wound that had never fully closed. The rejection still burned just as badly as it had the night they threw him out. Maybe even worse now — because part of him had genuinely hoped that after all this time, after everything he'd accomplished, they might feel something.

But they didn't.

They never would.

After a while, the tears slowed. Savior sat there in the dark room, staring at nothing, his face wet and his chest aching. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, took a shaky breath, and forced himself to stand.

He had a match to focus on.

He walked into the bathroom and turned on the cold water, splashing it over his face until the redness in his eyes started to fade. He stared at his reflection for a long moment — jaw tight, expression hardening. The heartbreak was still there, sitting heavy in his chest, but he buried it. Locked it away. He couldn't afford to carry it into the ring.

Not now.

Not when he had something to prove.

Savior stepped out of the bathroom, changed into something clean, and set up his camera on the small table near the window. The lights of San Juan glowed behind him. He took one final deep breath, rolled his shoulders back, and hit record.

His voice was steady when he spoke. Focused, as if nothing in the world were wrong. And he smiled into the camera.

"Wow — what a surreal experience. I never thought I'd come back here."

He picks up the camera and carries it with him, both of them moving out onto the balcony — out to where the beautiful night lights of his hometown spread across San Juan, Puerto Rico. The sun hangs low in gorgeous shades of gold and orange, the waves below making their soft, eternal music. Savior takes a deep breath, drinking in the scenery, before he turns back to the lens.

"You know — when I was a kid, I always wondered what it would be like to perform in the ring. Or, as I like to call it, the coliseum. I always wondered what it would feel like to walk into the José Miguel Agrelot Coliseum — the Choliseo — and wrestle for my home country's people. It was always my dream. To wrestle in front of my beautiful little island."

His voice softens, warm with memory.

"Listening to the coquís brings music to my ears. I've missed those little creatures so much. The food. The music. I just… I miss my island so much. It hurt to leave you all behind for something that was never your fault. I have so much history on this island — both good and bad. And knowing that I get the chance of a lifetime to not only wrestle, but to DEBUT, in my home country? I don't think I could ask for anything better than this."

He looks out over the water for a moment.

"Normally, people would ask for world titles. Title shots. A farewell. But for me — ¡Solo por tener al menos un combate ante mi gente! Luchar en el coliseo. Luchar en mi ciudad natal es algo que pensé que nunca tendría la oportunidad de hacer… hasta que Jacoby me brindó la ocasión."

His voice turns warm around the name.

"So — Jacoby. In the All or Nothing Rumble, you were not a fan of the fact that I came in on an all-out blitz, firing left and right, and eliminated you from the match. And the way you decided to get back at me was to challenge me one-on-one."

He smiles, rolling his eyes good-naturedly.

"I mean — I can't say I blame you. Getting eliminated by a newcomer isn't something most people let slide. So I figured this match would happen eventually. But to think you'd want to wrestle me delante de mi gente? That's something I don't think you saw coming. Look, Jacoby — I know you want to teach this newcomer a lesson about respecting the established order. And to that, I say…"

His voice rises.

"BRING IT THE FUCK ON!"

"I have built my entire career off of telling people that you will NOT tell me what to do! NOT ANYMORE! I am going to go out there and make sure these people not only get their money's worth — but that they get to see what a true ARCHANGEL wrestles like! UTA — and YOU, Jacoby — are about to understand that…"

The signature rises out of him.

"I'M NOT WHAT'S NEW — I'M WHAT'S NEXT!"

"And what's next is to see thousands upon thousands of mi gente screaming my name! Jacoby — you are going to FEEL the energy flowing through that coliseum. Because not a lot of people possess what I have — and that is the power to be the Archangel for these fans. I represent a population that knows: if you dream enough, if you want it badly enough, if you work hard enough — your dreams don't STAY dreams. They become your REALITY! I am TIRED of people putting others down just because they couldn't achieve their own dream and decided to be miserable instead. So, Jacoby — I hope you bring your best. Because let me remind you…"

It all crests into the finish.

"IT'S FUCKING SHOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWTIMEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

He performs his signature arrow taunt — drawing back and firing it up to the sky — and finishes with the two-finger salute.

Then he turns off the camera.

And he stands there for a moment, on the balcony above his island, trying to shake off the conversation with his parents still echoing in his chest. After a while, he turns back inside — to the film, to the preparation, to the work of being ready for his debut.

Because tomorrow, he wrestles for his people.

And he is going to make them proud — even if no one in that house ever will be.