Rich Franklin was 33 years old when Anderson Silva teed off a second time and made him the most infamous member of the void. Franklin wasn't done, but it felt like a suitable transition. He won a few more, lost a few more, enjoyed a generally great career, and in the end could always fall back on the comfort that for one moment in time, he was the best in the world.

Joseph Benavidez can relate, but not entirely. And that's the frustrating part.

Benavidez was just 29 years old when Demetrious Johnson sent him tumbling into that mighty fog. A one-punch knockout from a perceived pillow puncher -- that one felt more like a death sentence than any sort of natural transition. Second chances are the golden tickets of the fight game, and when ones ends in two minutes, it's hard to get indignant about the elusiveness or erraticism of No. 3.

"Being in the position I'm at, there's not many fights where I have anything to gain," Benavidez recently told MMAFighting.com. "That's why you never hear me calling anybody out, because of the fact that it doesn't make sense for me to call anybody out. When you're the No. 2 guy, you're not going to say, ‘hey, I want to fight the No. 8 guy.' Because why do you want that?"

Franklin, at least, had his time with the strap. So too did Junior dos Santos, Miesha Tate, and a handful of other members of MMA's most elite in-betweens. When the UFC first introduced the flyweight division, Benavidez was the heir apparent to taste that greatness. He was the division's first poster boy, the undersized Alpha Male project groomed in the ways of Urijah Faber's gold.

A close fight against Johnson at UFC 152 did little to change that thought. Benavidez spoke openly about the vacant spot on his mantelpiece, the eventual resting place of his gilded belt. It wasn't until the rematch at UFC on FOX 9 that the talk fell silent. Johnson was here to stay, it seemed. Like dos Santos until the marvel in Mexico City, Benavidez was simply the Robin to someone else's Batman, an athlete in the prime of a career left hoping for the sort of division-changing night that could renew his storyline.

"No matter what age you are, it's weird," Benavidez admitted. "It's just a bizarre position in general. But the good thing is, being young, there's still a ton of years. ‘Mighty Mouse' is young. The division is young. Everything is really young. So yeah, we've had a long-reigning champion, but so many things can happen.

"It would be bizarre if ‘Mighty Mouse' held the belt the rest of his time in the division. Then it would be weird. But the division is still developing, new stars and new talents are coming in, so you never know what's going to happen."

Since his second stumble, Benavidez has returned to the thing he does best: win. He nearly popped Tim Elliott's head off like a cork, then put his savagery on display with dominant performances against Dustin Ortiz and John Moraga. All were effectively lose-lose situations, busy work against the lower ranks to preserve a spot. And all were met by a more demure Benavidez, a man keen to deflect brash callouts and quick to dismiss the game that's out of his hands until he can force it back in.

"It goes back to the logic part of it," Benavidez said. "I know that I'm not going to be able to be like, ‘oh, I just beat John Moraga, give me Mighty Mouse right now.' Even though I don't think it was too far-fetched, being that me and (John) Dodson were there, and a lot of people said I was more impressive than Dodson. That was kind of the thing. But Dodson has only had one shot, so I knew.

"That's the main thing for me about being vocal. It's funny, it's more of a mental thing. Like, I've obsessed over the title for so long, my whole career. It's more of a thing of putting it on the backburner and looking at it as, ‘alright, yeah, that's my main goal, but it's not something I'm going to just obsess over every day and look at every morning when I wake up.' Like, I know it's there, but I know the things in front of me are the things I have to take care of, the things in my power. Going for title is not in my power.

"(No matter what I do) people can say, ‘he's already fought Johnson twice, he's already done this. We have to give it to other guys.' So that's not in my power. The stuff that's in my power is, hey, give me the next guy. Give me the next guy and I'll prove I'm worthy of the shot. I'll prove I'm worthy of this. I'll prove I'm better than anybody else until I do get the title shot."

So far, Benavidez's strategy for navigating limbo seems to be working. He received strong consideration to fight Johnson on Sept. 5 before the shot was ultimately given to Dodson. After that rematch plays out at UFC 191, he may be the next man in line. But he also may not be.

In a division lined with quality fighters but top-heavy when it comes to actual title contenders, the only new name surging from the flyweight ranks is Olympic gold medalist and ultra-blue-chip prospect Henry Cejudo, who meets Jussier Formiga on Nov. 21. Neither Cejudo nor Formiga have challenged Johnson before, and the winner of that fight may very well leapfrog Benavidez simply by virtue of being a fresh body.

Such is life among the in-betweens, as Tate found out weeks ago when a guaranteed title shot turned to ashes while she slept.

The dirty secret of the fight game is that all of those grand promises, they mean little once the time arrives. And like Benavidez, Tate will now return to the busy work from whence she came. For her, that likely means Amanda Nunes. For Benavidez, it means Ali Bagautinov on Oct. 3.

And hell, if there's another name after that, so be it. Because sooner or later, there won't be any names left.

"Everything now is, hey, this is what I know I have to do," Benavidez said. "Business-wise or logic-wise, this is what I have to do. I have to take this fight.

"Personally, of course I want Demetrious. But I don't have to say it, because it's something I'm just working on, the smaller parts it takes to get there. The fight in front of me. The practice in front of me. Whatever it may be."