Who in the hell is Indy Darling?

In downtown Indianapolis, there is a nondescript building with boarded up windows and a barred gate over the front door. A sign on the door warns any and all who approach that it is indeed private property and that solicitors will be physically assaulted. Judging from its appearance, it can be assumed that the owner of the two-story building didn’t pay much to purchase it, and that they have little interest in making it a presentable establishment within the city.

The inside of the building is no more impressive than it’s exterior, as the entire ground floor is a single wide-open room with little in the way of decoration or cleanliness. It is furnished with an aged wrestling ring, exercise and weight lifting equipment, a few lockers, and some folding chairs. If it were not for this equipment, one may assume that the building was nothing more than an empty warehouse in a bad part of town. Instead, it looks like the gym of a fighter who gave up on his dreams a long time ago. A flurry of movement near a punching bag hanging from the ceiling is the only evidence that this place may be more than it seems.

With a lit cigarette hanging from his lips and sunglasses over his eyes, one of Project: Honor’s newest signees is throwing a combination of lefts and rights into the bag. If his sweat-drenched hair and reddened skin are any indication, he has been at it for awhile now. He is shirtless, wearing ragged blue jeans tucked into a pair of wrestling boots, and both of his hands are well-taped. Behind the sparring bag is an aging man of Asian descent, keeping his eyes on his protégé while occasionally barking out a command. The man focused on training is none other than Indy Darling and his coach is retired mid-card pro wrestler, Dr. Dalton Miyagi.

Dr. Dalton: “Harder, you pansy-ass! Do you think this is some kind of chickenshit game we’re playing here? Just because you’ve signed your first professional contract doesn’t mean you get to take it easy! I don’t want you to stop until this bag is bloody and begging for mercy!”

Indy lands a few more punches before slowing to a stop. He ponders his coach’s words for a moment, and then takes a drag from his cigarette before pulling it from his lips and flicking its ashes on the floor.

Indy: “Um...you do realize that punching bags can’t talk or bleed, right?”

Dr. Dalton: “Oh, very funny smartass! Are you going to stop in the middle of a match and question every nonsensical taunt your dim-witted opponent comes up with? Just hit the fucking bag!”

Indy: “You know, I appreciate all the training you’ve been giving me, not to mention letting me rent a room upstairs, but do you think you could bark orders with a little more wisdom and professionalism? We’re both adults here...”

Dr. Dalton: “Oh? Maybe you’d like it if I made you call me sensei and every other word out of my mouth was filled with ancient Chinese proverbs? Hai, Indy-san. Now pretty please, with sugar on top, hit the fucking bag like you mean it!”

Indy: “Sure. I guess. Whatever.”

Dr. Dalton: “Whatever?! What kind of attitude is that? Do you think that kind of bullshit is going to get you into a championship match? Do you think it will help you take the Warrior Rising Title from Zane? I don’t know much about him, but I doubt if he’s the kind of competitor to take it easy on you if he’s already holding gold!”

Indy thinks for a moment, wondering how he’s going to break the news to his old-school manager that Zane is, in fact, a woman.

Indy: “You know, it’s not the 80’s anymore. Things have changed since your day…”

Dr. Dalton: “I know that a fight is a fight and that the man standing across the ring from you has balls big enough to get to this level of the business!”

Indy: “Um...Doc? Zane is...well...how do I put this…”

Dr. Dalton: “Spit it out, Indy-san! If you stand around the ring with your mouth hanging open, Zane might think you want to do more with him than wrestle!”

Indy: “Zane is a woman, Doc. Pretty sure she ain’t got anything to put in my mouth, at least in the sense that you’re thinking.”

Dr. Dalton: “That’s the spirit! Call him a pansy! Call him a girl! Just save it for your interviews and get back to training!”

Indy: “Uh...does the term inter-gender mean anything to you?”

Dr. Dalton: “Oh for the love of Hulk Hogan’s cocaine stash...don’t you start forcing that political correctness bullshit on me! This is a training session, not a gender-binary debate! Now hit the fucking bag!!!”

Indy shrugs his shoulders and tosses his cigarette aside before stretching his neck with a crack and resuming a fighting stance. However, before he can begin to land more strikes, a loud buzzing fills the room. Dr. Dalton curses under his breath about kids screwing around in the alley before walking away from Indy toward the back side of the building. As he goes to see who is buzzing at the freight entrance, Indy picks a towel off the floor and wipes some sweat from his brow. He then retrieves a bottle of water for a quick drink before he lights up another cigarette. After a few moments, Dr. Dalton returns, only he is not alone. Walking at a brisk pace is a middle-aged woman in business attire with long auburn hair and a scowl upon her face. To those who follow politics, they would recognize her as Senator Margaret Carmichael, yet they would be unaware that she is also Indy Darling’s unsupportive mother.

Senator Carmichael: “Nathaniel Demetrius Darling! You owe me a goddamned explanation!”

Recognizing the voice of his mother, Indy rolls his eyes and slowly turns to face her.

Indy: “Aw hell…”

Senator Carmichael: “You’re goddamned right, aw hell! As if this wrestling bullshit wasn’t bad enough when you were traipsing all over the world from one dive to another, now I find out that you’ve actually signed with a major promotion? I swear to god, Nathaniel, if this comes back on me or anyone finds out that you are my unwanted and underachieving son…”

Indy: “First of all, don’t call me Nathaniel. Don’t call me N.D.. Don’t even call me son."

Senator Carmichael: "Oh yes, I forgot. You're Indy Darling now. What a joke...who in the hell is Indy Darling?"

Indy: "Indy Darling is a truth. It's a creed. It means I'm living my life as I see fit and I don't give a damn what anyone thinks of it. Not that I would expect you to understand anything about who I am. Can we just skip this mom/son bonding moment so you can disappear? Like...forever?”

Senator Carmichael: “Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Let’s just forget the fact that I paid for you to train under this geriatric con-man!”

Senator Carmichael sticks a thumb over her shoulder in Dr. Dalton Miyagi’s direction. Surprisingly, the trainer begins to back-step the way he came.

Senator Carmichael: “Let’s forget that you blackmailed me for every cent it’s taken to get you to this point. I was actually fine with all of that. Unlike your deadbeat father, you were actually showing some balls by extorting money out of me. So now you just want me to go away quietly while you put yourself on a national stage. The problem with that, is that public recognition brings questions. On the slim chance you’re actually successful with this Honorable League crap…

Indy: “It’s Project: Honor…”

Senator Carmichael: “...people will want to know where you come from, what your real name is, what kind of childhood you had. And what happens when you don’t give them an answer or you get mixed up with your lies? Then they start to dig. I have spent too many years and too much money covering up my relationship with your father, not to mention my relationship with you, to have it get fucked up now!”

Indy takes a long drag off his cigarette and noticeably glances past his mother. For all of his talk and bravado, Dr. Dalton has backed far away from the argument and is now pretending to sweep the floor near the freight entrance. Indy shakes his head and focuses back on his mother, exhaling a cloud of smoke in her direction. Senator Carmichael no-sells his defiant gesture and continues to glare at Indy through the wisps of smoke.

Indy: “First of all, my father was a great man. He was ten times the human-being you could ever be. Secondly, do you really think I want people to know that my mom is the bitch that blew her way up the political ladder? How old is the saggy-bag McConnel these days? Nevermind…don’t answer that. The fact of the matter is, I actually have a shot with Project: Honor to do something that dad was never able to do. To get out from under your shadow and make something of myself. This was his dream, and now it’s mine. I’m so close to reaching this dream that I can taste it. I’ve traveled this world chasing this dream and perfecting my craft. I’ve survived every twisted form of training that Dr. Miyagi could come up with. There’s no chance in hell that I’m going to let you or anyone else get in my way now.”

Senator Carmichael holds her stare a few moments longer before a slight smile begins to emerge on her face. It is not an expression of pride or joy, but a sarcastic sneer in response to her son’s proclamations. She slowly begins to clap in a mocking manner.

Senator Carmichael: “Bravo, Nathaniel. Bravo. With that kind of determination, maybe you could have been a better man than your father. With my money and resources, you might have been able to have this world in the palm of your hand. Instead, you’re going to perform in a glorified circus for uneducated morons. Go get those dreams and choke on them for all I care. Just make damn sure my name stays out of it and out of your worthless life.”

Having said her piece, Senator Carmichael turns her back on Indy and marches toward the rear freight entrance of the building. Dr. Dalton quickly looks away from her as she approaches and rapidly pushes his broom and imaginary pile of dirt as far away from the exit as possible. As she reaches the door, Indy cannot help but poke the bear one last time.

Indy: “Thanks, mom! Love you too!”

Senator Carmichael ignores his taunting call and makes her exit, at which point Dr. Dalton quickly slams the door shut and locks it behind her. He then shakes his head in disbelief as he returns to where Indy is puffing on his cigarette.

Dr. Dalton: “I once had a match with a flatulent Andre the Giant. I bladed in the ring with Abdullah the Butcher. I even partied with Jake Roberts for three days straight. None of it scared me. Not once. But that woman? That woman is Satan and she scares the living shit out of me.”

Indy: “Yeah, well, one good thing will come out of her visit…

Dr. Dalton: “What’s that?”

Indy: “I’m ready to hit the bag harder…”

With that, Indy flicks his cigarette aside and faces up to the punching bag as if it had just poured sugar in his gas tank while kicking his dog. Dr. Dalton nods in approval and moves to the opposite side of the bag, ready to impart more words of ancient wisdom. Trainer and protégé resume their work in anticipation of their eventual debut in Project: Honor…