Brave Hero, Bound For Zero [PrimeTime I, promo #2]

- Helen Nielsen

Soft piano music filters through hidden speakers as the camera feed fades in slowly, slightly fuzzed around the edges. The music is a melodic instrumental piece and coupled with that Gaussian blur seems to add a dream-like quality to the film. The camera finds Max Ironside on his back in a pool of his own sweat. There's a lift strap wrapped around his bad wrist, looped around the bar just in case his hand decides to rebel. He appears calm even though his arms are trembling – it looks like he's been at this for a whole.

A voice-over comes across the image as our Handicapped Hero draws in a breath and forces his arms straight one more time.

"I feel as though I've put myself at a disadvantage here – I'm really not as funny as I may have led you to believe. Granted, my spectacular failings when gold is on the line may be the subject of a few scattered jokes and memes, but I digress. I've never been the type to brag about my accomplishments or make absurd claims about being the best there is, was or ever will be – no offense intended to Bret Hart, of course. If I could boast even a third of his talent, I'd be over the moon. If I had as many championships as him…"

There's a soft clearing of a throat.

"I keep telling myself that gold is not a definition of greatness any more than height is an indicator of strength. Maybe someday I'll actually believe it."

He pauses for a beat, arms trembling as his hands nearly slip.

"I used to think that everyone in this business could be reasoned with if you just found the right words. I used to believe that we all lived in the same reality where things made sense. I gave up on that delusion years ago because it was as futile as smashing my head against a brick wall. Now I don't bother to try and educate. Arguing with fools just makes you look silly. And the more you stand on that soap-box, the more you come off preachy and pompous and that's the last thing I'd ever want to do. I prefer to stay in my lane, work my hardest and hope for the best. It almost paid off in Defiant Wrestling. I might have eventually realized that dream if the place hadn't crumbled. I needed a little more time, that's all."

There's sweat dripping down from Max's hair, making it appear more brown than blond. He squints his eyes and bobs his head slightly, as though mentally counting down before he lets the bar drop again.

"I guess I'm a bit of a throwback here, since I prefer to talk out my differences rationally as opposed to going off on some ludicrous tangent in cyberspace. I'm also not the type of person to stand back and idly watch while someone attempts to run roughshod over the roster by waffling people over the head with lead pipes or chairs or title belts or whatever the going object of the moment is – there won't be any metal baton insertion, Boneius. Sorry. Last time I checked, matches were to be won with a three count, not sodomy by foreign object. Oof."

Eyes closing, Max pulls in another breath and pushes the bar up, muscles straining.

"As the proverbial outsider, coming into this from high school gyms and the local Eagles club where the ceiling's too low to even get up on the top rope, let alone jump off… maybe I've got a unique perspective. Maybe I feel a little like I don't belong with talented and celebrated veterans like Raging Dead and Christina King and Sasha Foote. Maybe I feel a little like I've got an awful lot to prove from the get-go. I know we're in a shark tank, swimming around with blood already in the water. We're all here because we want to work for a legend. We want to be a part of history."

The bar drops again.

"So maybe you're just crazy. Maybe you just hate on principle. I guess I'll be forced to fill in the blanks for you since I really have nothing else to go on than that brief little snippet. The intent was clear enough and I like to think I am clever enough to read between the lines to the underlying theme of a coward lurking behind bravado. I've been doing this long enough that I usually hear the subtext first. Not that you care, or even want to hear about it, since you apparently have this misconception that I'm going to allow you to beat the heck out of me without fighting back."

He pauses, sprinkling baby powder on his palms for better grip.

"Here's the difference between us, Boneius: I don't make light of this business or what it means to compete in a place like this. Oh, I know. You're as bad as they come. I get that. If you want to survive long enough to make an impact in a place like this, you need to have some bad in you. You need to know the things the bad guys know on an intimate level – it's acting on those impulses that's a no-no. That's where I draw the line and while greater competitors than you have threatened to end my career, I'm still here. What does that say about the villains? Are they stupid? Are they weak?"

Hands grip the bar yet again, and those denim blue eyes close.

"I'm not asking for you to care about me as a person. I'm simply trying to explain why I feel obligated to loathe you before we even meet up in the ring. All jokes aside, I don't like you. I don't like what you represent and I'm going to make damned sure that I advance in this tournament for the gold, come hell or high water."

Another rep completed; Max lets the bar drop as he continues to lay there. Sometimes it's just easier to do that. He closes his eyes and takes a slow breath, unwrapping that lift strap without looking.

"I'm not a gunslinger or a light-bringer. I'm just a guy who gets far too riled up over injustice. Do you understand me? Verizon used to have those commercials. Do you remember their tag line: 'can you hear me now'? And that's what I'm asking. Can you hear me? I'm not telling you this for my own good... I want you to know this. I need for you to understand this because you've put me in this position. You've forced me to have to... no, that's not right. You didn't force me. This is my lot in life. This is who I am, who I was always destined to be. This is what I wanted all along: to strike a blow against you and your kind, the oppressors. I wouldn't want it any other way because this is what I know best. I can be their hero, if they want me to be. Brave hero, bound for zero. It has a certain ring to it, you know? I like that."

He reaches up, rubbing his hand over his jawline.

"I have no idea how this will play out, but I want you to know that these villainous actions will no longer be tolerated. Full stop. Periodt."

Sitting up slowly, he leans forward and rests his elbow on his knee and his forehead on the palm of his good hand.

"Eventually the wrongs far outweigh the rights and guys like me end up coming to rectify that balance. You're going to fall hard and fast. You'll end up like an egg dropped from a rooftop, a Humpty Dumpty casualty. Nobody will mourn you. No. They'll wait until you crash on the rocks and then pick your bones while they laugh and laugh. I'm not a psychic but I know that's your future. That's why I'm here, Boneius: to make sure evil never prospers. I'm here to be the end of you."

Fade to chartreuse.