Submission

Everyone had told me wrestling was staged, and I believed them. I knew about the tricks, the showmanship, the acting.

And yet, here I was, in the ring facing my opponent, Maniaco. A masked Mexican man, 170lbs. Not formidable by any measure, yet he had just managed to pull my arm clean off my shoulder. Seriously: off it came, blood absolutely everywhere. The referee said he couldn't stop the match, no rules, you see. One fall to a finish, no stoppages.

As he holds the limb aloft, I resign myself to losing my other arm before the night is over.