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 The Introduction

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Posts : 6
Join date : 2013-05-30

PostSubject: The Introduction   Tue Jun 04, 2013 7:39 pm

*** A long shot of an open gym. Weight machines line three of the walls, the fourth wall is blank. All four walls are covered in floor-to-ceiling mirrors. Heavy bags, speed bags, steps, pull-up bars...the standard exercise fair is mounted or located in various places around the large room. In the center of the gym is a basic wrestling ring. White canvas, made beige by the blood and sweat of years. Blue apron. Red turnbuckle pads. Standing atop one of the top turnbuckles is a man of medium height but substantial musculature. Due to the large windows at the tops of the walls and the light pouring through them, we can only see him in silhouette.

He's balancing as another man, slightly taller and leaner, gets to his feet in the ring. The man atop the turnbuckle jumps forward but does a back flip at the same time, sailing gracefully through the air as he executes a move known as the Shooting Star Press. As he comes to two-hundred and seventy degrees of rotation, he wraps his right arm around the head of the man standing in the ring. He continues through to four-hundred and fifty degrees of rotation before landing back-first on the mat. The other man is dropped head-first into the mat, driven into the canvas with a DDT. The move is amazing. For a few seconds, the laws of physics melted away, and one man did the impossible ***


*** A man in his mid-forties has entered the gym just in time to see the man perform the move known to the world as the Fizzy Pop, finishing maneuver of The Fizz. The man is wearing black sweatpants with a white t-shirt tucked into them, as well as basic running sneakers. He has short salt-and-pepper hair, and his face is broad with sharp edges. His nose is slightly off-center, a telltale sign of a previous break. He's built like a tank, short with disproportionately broad shoulders. His stout frame is wrapped in a thick layer of solid muscle. He's not a man to be messed with. He has a patch on his shirt that says "Fuzz". ***

Fizz - Sorry, Fuzz, but I have to get it PERFECT. I can't go through with this unless it's JUST RIGHT.

*** The man who just performed the Fizzy Pop, obviously named Fizz, gets to his feet. His opponent rolls out of the ring rubbing his neck, and tosses a towel over his shoulder. What's strange, is that Fizz's opponent is even shorter than he is. ***

Fuzz - Fizz. You're the most gifted athlete that has ever stepped foot in my gym. You can do damn near anything you set your mind to. But shit like that is just too dangerous. If you get hurt, or worse, they could shut me down. And besides that...I care about ya'. I've been training you for four years, you're like a son to me. I would hate to see you get hurt, especially on my watch.

Fizz - I WON'T get hurt, Fuzz.

Fuzz - Have it your way. But "don't get hurt" when I'm not around, okay?

Fizz - *Sigh* Alright. I'll try to watch myself.

*** Fizz sits down on a bench and opens up a duffel bag. He pulls out some pants and shoes, and starts changing out of his ring gear ***

Fuzz - Thanks, kid. So how's it going, anyways?

Fizz - Not too bad. I only over-rotated a little that time. And the rest of my moves are pretty good. Crisp, brutal, innovative...enough to get by, I think.

Fuzz - Good God, Fizz. You're better than just getting by.

Fizz - It's time, Fuzz. I've spent years training, working, learning...it's time.

Fuzz - You've got the tools to go as far as you want. Just make sure you want it this time, and never take your eyes off the prize. Never forget your goals.

Fizz - Not a chance. Thanks for everything, Fuzz. And don't forget to set your DVR for Prime Time, because I'm gonna' be the STAR of the SHOW. I'm gonna take out that Noel dude and make my debut something that people never forget.

*** Fuzz smiles as Fizz packs up his things, slips on a plain grey t-shirt to go along with his navy blue workout pants and white sneakers, and slings the duffel bag over his shoulder. He shakes Fuzz's hand, turns around, and walks out of the gym. He walks about half a block down the sidewalk, and comes to a faded red less-than-pristine '91 Toyota Tercel parked in one of the metered parking spots. He opens the trunk, and tosses his bag inside. As he's about to get into the car, a boy in his early teens walks by ***

Boy - Hey, you're that washed-up NWF dud named Pizz right?

*** Fizz looks long and hard at the boy ***

Fizz - It's Fizz. Trust me, you'll soon never forget it.

*** Fizz gets into the car, starts it up, and drives away ***
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