The open locker room bustled with excitement. Men and women were spread out across the room, all of them affixing wrist tape, or knee pads, or some other colorful piece of clothing, most of it spandex. The troupe of professional wrestlers had all been working as hard as they could around the clock for two years to get their promotion off the ground, and tonight was the biggest night of the year. Thousands of tickets had been sold, and rumor was that they had already hit 200,000 pay per view orders. Everyone was on edge, so even in the elation, there was a quiet. That was until the door at the end of the room burst open.
"Congratulations! I'm here! The fans are officially gonna get their money's worth." Nearly everyone rolled their eyes as Franky St. James sauntered into the room. At 6'5" with a fantastic physique and a god given athletic ability, he had been a natural choice for the company's top good guy. The only problem was that he knew it.
With a cocky smirk, he set up shop in the corner of the locker room, and began changing. Like most of the group, he turned his back to the room when he dropped his pants, but he also performed a maneuver he had perfected over countless performances, in which he stuffed a sock into the front of his trunks as he pulled them up without anyone seeing. As he adjusted himself, a gruff voice called his name, causing him to jump and spin around. His heart calmed itself when he saw the face of his opponent, Sammy "The Bull" Bonnano. He was a burly, hair covered man who had been in the wrestling business longer than Franky had been alive. Next to him stood his valet, Jessica Phoenix, a dark hair, curvaceous young woman that Franky had been unsuccessfully flirting with since she arrived six months prior.
"Oh hey old man." teased Franky, as he began wrapping athletic tape around his wrists, and turned his attention to Jessica. "Hey there gorgeous. Just can't stay away, can you?"
"Trust me, I would if I could." came her pointed reply.
"Alright." growled Sammy, already fed up with them both. "So Billy just told me we got about twenty five minutes."
"What?!" Franky shouted, making a big show of his annoyance. "I'm the fucking star and they're gonna give me twenty five minutes?!"
Sam screwed his face up, using all his inner strength to keep himself from slapping the kid. Not a mental feat he was unfamiliar with at this point. "They gave US twenty-five minutes, so I figure we do the usual big man beat down, hope spot, etcetera, you hit me with the cutter for the finish. Then Jess jumps you, and we do the handcuff spot, leaving you bloody on the fade out. Sound good?"
"Yeah, great." Franky rolled his eyes, finishing one wrist and moving to the other. "Hey, I have an idea, how about I kick your ass for twenty minutes, and then kick your ass some more on the biggest show of the year? That sounds like fun."
"Kid... I been in this business a long time. I know what I'm doing. Just shut your mouth and do what you're told, and we'll all make our money."
"Whatever." Franky scoffed. "I'm keeping the belt. That's all that matters. I'm gonna be moving out there though, so better hope you got a good supply of Bengay and Aspirin, gramps."