"I was not born a farmer," he quickly replied.
It was all Taylor needed to know.
They once more soared across the countryside on their return to Paris. As they rolled up outside the stadium, Weaver came rushing out in a flap.
"Where the hell have you been?" he insisted before Taylor had even got both feet out the door.
Mitch glared back at him.
"I may fight for you, but you don't own me."
"What? There are press conferences to do. Audiences are desperate to hear from their champion, and we have new fights to prepare for."
The comment seemed to have gone over his head, or he chose to ignore it.
"One week. One week, that is all we have before your next display. Young men and women are queuing at the recruitment offices trying to join up, and we have sponsors throwing money at us. This could be the greatest boost to the Corps in decades and is exactly what was needed."
"Great," he replied, uninterested.
Weaver chose to ignore that also.
"Come on, I have interviewers waiting to talk with you. Let's get you inside." He looked over to Jafar, "You can head back to the Deveron and await further orders."
"No," Taylor shouted.
"No? What do you mean, no?" asked Weaver.
"I mean exactly that. I've done everything you asked of me, but the big guy stays with me."
He could see Weaver didn't like it, but it was hard to say no before dozens of public and reporters who had spotted them and were already approaching.
"All right, all right, let's go."
One week before another fight? Boxers get how many months before theirs?
The next week was filled with seemingly endless TV interviewers asking him the same questions in different ways and expecting him to be as enthusiastic as they were. The endless cameras and idiotic questions that pandered to the mindless obsessions of the average viewer were getting to him.
It was the morning of his fight that had been milked for everything they could possibly get out of it, and yet he still did not know his opponent. It was a carefully guarded secret, intended to build more hype than the last one. Who his opponent would be was the last thing on his mind. He hadn't heard from Eli since he had left things so badly, and just as she came to mind, his comms flashed with an incoming message. He answered it to be greeted with her face. He jumped to his feet and tapped a button for the video to project her image before him.
"I was just thinking of calling you, Eli."
"Of course, you were," she replied sarcastically but smiling, "How's it going there?"
"About what you'd expect."
She went silent for a moment. Clearly, she had something big to say.
"Go on, spit it out," he said.
"These fights, you know you've got to put to end to it, don't you?"
"What do you mean?"
"People over here are livid about them. Seems half the World loves it and wants all the blood they can get, and the rest want to set the prisoners free."
"Set them free? And do what with them?"
"I don't know, but it's getting ugly. There are protests outside the base everyday about it."
"But Weaver said it's doing wonders for recruitment?"
"Sure, I guess, but it’s stirring up big trouble."
"What would you have me do?"
"Call off the fight. Tell them you're not doing it."
"On what grounds?"
"I don't give a damn what grounds. Your word still holds a lot of weight in the World. You make it public you are against this, and it could make a difference."
"And is that what you want, for it to be ended? That because of the fights, or because it's me fighting them?"
"Both."
He looked away, thinking it over. He shared her opinion, but he hadn't realised how bad it had gotten.
"How is this the first I have heard about the controversy over these fights?" he asked her.
"No idea, presumably someone wants to make sure you don't see that side of it. Mitch, this is all gonna come tumbling down, and you are right at the centre of it. Get out."
He opened his mouth to speak, but the transmission cut off abruptly. He looked down to his comms. The signal had been completely lost.
"Goddamn it."
He paced over to a computer console in the wall and went to the comms channel to find it too was down. The timing seemed too coincidental. He raced to the door and out into the corridor. Weaver was approaching, and Jafar still stood guard at the entrance to the suite.
"Ah, Colonel, we've just lost comms. The local towers are being flooded by fans, and it's overloaded the whole area."
It sounded suspicious, but he could rarely tell if Weaver was lying, for he did so frequently and believably, it became hard to tell.
"Just an hour until your pre-fight conference where we'll reveal your opponent for the first time," he said with a smile.
"Yeah, great."
"Fight this one, and you'll be done for a while. You can go home and take a bit of R&R while other fighters rise to the challenge."
I've heard that before.
"There's talk of a weekly live show, starting with representatives from around the World competing in the arena."
Weaver was trying to usher him back into his room, and he obliged until he worked out what was going on. He shut the door after him, despite the man wanting to follow him in. Taylor walked to the far end of the suite where a large balcony overlooked the arena. He stepped up to the edge and looked down to see security staff patrolling. Then he noticed a cleaner sitting beside a ride-on device. What held his attention was the fact the man was talking on his comms unit. He lifted his own and tried to make a call, but there was nothing.
"Bastard," he said to himself.
He knew something was up, and it was time to make a stand. Time seemed to fly by as he ran it all through his head, and the knock finally came at his door. He went to it to find Jafar had not allowed Weaver to just walk in.
"It's time, Colonel. Your crowds await you."
He stepped out and walked on with the man he despised so much. He just talked endlessly, and Jafar followed closely behind.
"Now remember, people want a bit of excitement. We're going to have your opponent there now so that you can..."
"What? Why?" Taylor insisted.
"We've got something special planned for this one. People need to feel there is a challenge and some risk and excitement."
"Risk, for me, yeah."
"Come on, Colonel, it may be your life out there, but can you imagine what would happen to any of us if any harm came to you? We have to keep you alive no matter what, so don't worry."
They weren't particularly reassuring words, but they did reinforce what he knew he had to do. He was led to a conference hall in the stadium that was full of reporters. It was not lost on him the fact it was a totally sealed environment. If there were protests in place like Eli had mentioned, he'd never have seen them. Weaver stopped them for just a second and pointed his finger at Jafar.
"You can stay out here."
He looked to Taylor who nodded in agreement and then took up position beside two Gendarmes, the local para-military policemen who seemed uncomfortable as he towered over them. The press conference had clearly been ongoing for some time, and as Taylor entered, the commentator who resided over the last fight introduced him.
"I'd like to give a warm welcome to our conquering hero, Colonel Mitch Taylor. Come and step up here, Colonel."
He stepped up to find he was once more bombarded by cameras and in the limelight that he never appreciated. Uncomfortable silence overcame the hall as they all waited for him to speak, and yet nothing came. He looked at the teleprompter across the room that was flashing to get his attention. It was yet another speech written by Weaver that he had never even got a glimpse of, until now.