Watch. Learn. Adapt. Overcome.

Fog lies thick and heavy over the lake’s mirror-still surface, a sure sign of a warm day incoming.

The sky is alight in orange and indigo, the night still clinging to existence while the sun beneath the edge of sight causes the lingering clouds to appear ablaze.

The gentle lapping of water upon the shore.

The odd hoot or chatter of indigenous life.

And then, of all things, a fawn ambles into view, sniffing about the grass and seeking something delicious for its breakfast. Surely drawn by the peace of the place, it keeps moving, nose to the ground, not offering one whit of caring to where it might be going, perhaps trusting instincts to guide it and keep it from danger. Its path takes it toward a log resting on the shore, part of it dipped beneath the otherwise-calm waters. Only here does the creature lift its head and pause. Something makes it start, something reaching into view. It pauses, then sniffs…

Then retreats a little…

Then returns…

It is a hand, marked by heavy ink. When it ever so slightly turns, the creature tenses. Yet when it comes to rest atop its head, the young animal relaxes again. Dark eyes close as it gets a petting from…

...from who?

“Nature is all about balance. In every way, in every form, you will find some semblance of it. Sometimes it is the exception. Sometimes it is the rule. But it is always present. This is just one example of it.”

But where is the balance in this? In somehow wooing a naturally-skittish creature into accepting your attention?

“The hand that loves is also the hand that hurts. The touch that heals can be the strike that kills. All it takes is the proper impetus, pressure upon a particular point, and suddenly…”

Wait, he isn’t going to…

...and then the screen is awash in red and throbbing, powerful notes that scream all manner of violent thoughts and intent. Yet the moment is merely frozen.

And when it returns?

The hand is lowered and the deer, perhaps sensing something important elsewhere, turns and bounds off. The camera pans over the rest of the way and there sits one Nathaniel Cartwright. The Winter Wraith. A white tank top rests somewhat snugly over his taut musculature, faded and torn denim worn beneath, ending over boots that had seen their share of muddy treks over grass, rock and more. Nate’s hair is wild, as though it hasn’t seen a brush since he rolled out of bed this morning. But that only adds to his wild allure. Once the fawn has departed, he slides a cigarette from behind his ear, a dark brown color, and places it between his lips. A Zippo taken from his pocket is ignited, lighting the tip, and he takes a long draw before exhaling a plume of bluish smoke into the air, where it joins the fog before fading away.

“The trick is knowing when to strike and when to wait, hiding your claws until the point of impact. There is no need to brag, to shout. For my money, people who have to bark and bray about how good they are at anything? They aren’t half as good as they think. If you’re talented, good-looking, intelligent, powerful… it will show naturally. That sort of trait carries an aura with it. The perceptive will sense it. But even the thick-headed types will realize it in their own way. They won’t know what to make of it, of course, but they’ll know. In wrestling, though, ignorance is more than just a trait. It is a superpower.”

A faint chuckle around the cig. Nate takes another draw, then blows matching plumes from his nostrils. He turns sharp, focused eyes on the camera… suddenly and intently.

“I want to make something clear to the entire Pro Wrestling Excellence roster, here and now, so that if there’s any screw-ups down the road, I can take solace in knowing that it’s on someone else’s head, not mine.”

Another drag before he plucks the cig from his lips, holding it between two fingers.

“I’m not about funny shit or debasing myself for the amusement of others. I’m not about traveling in a pack with a load of cowards who have no other means of imposing their will on others. Wrestling is something I intend to take seriously, the same as I do everything else of worth in my life. Doesn’t matter if you’re talking about tattoos, living in harmony with nature, acting or just being with my stunningly-gorgeous girlfriend. Each and every one of those things are important to me. And so is wrestling.

If you want to ho-hum that and make light of this being my first foray into the grand hunting ground that is the squared circle, well… I can’t stop you there. When that bell rings I can, though. When these hands take hold of you and wring the fight out of you one drop of sweat, one trickle of blood, one scream at a time? That’s when mistakes are rectified. That… is when you truly understand what wrath is. An example in full force of why nature should always be respected.”

Rising to his feet, Nate puts the cig back between his lips and shoves his hands in his pockets, starting to walk toward the camera, then past it. Eventually it is focused on his back, following after him. Every step causes a crunch of a twig or a rustle of foliage, but it is soft enough to fall short of being disturbing. Even whilst lost in his own thoughts, Nathaniel’s motions are careful and measured. There is not a moment that he isn’t moving like a hunter, it seems.

The camera, on the other hand, is not so controlled. Though it stays centered on his back for a moment, it soon starts looking him up and down like a heated admirer. The faint giggle from behind it makes the Winter Wraith pause, a particularly-potent plume of smoke emitting from his lips as he glances over his shoulder.

”Enjoying the view?”

”Would it surprise you if I said yes?”

”Not even a little.”

Another salacious giggle comes from behind the camera, which now approaches for a closer look at Nathaniel. Drawing the last of the flavor from the cig, he licks his finger and puts out the lit end, pocketing the remains. At about this time, the scene cuts out, but only because the camera lowers and one Melissa Reed has come to stand right in front of her lover. Hands in his pockets, Nathaniel grins at Mel, who grins right back.

”Gonna kiss me or what?”

He teases thinking about it, prompting Mel to swat him on the arm playfully, making him deliver that boyish grin again.

”Still thinking…”

”Oh, THINKING, are you?”

Admiring would truly be the better term in this case. And who wouldn’t? Dangerously-short cut-offs, a red-and-white checkered flannel top tied just beneath her chest to expose a taut midriff, charcoal-gray over the knee socks and brown boots? She looked a vision. A saucy, fire-haired vision. Hands on her hips, leaning in challengingly toward her boyfriend.

Oh, Nathaniel tries to keep a straight face, but he can’t. This woman knows how to get her way with the greatest of ease.

”That pause is gonna cost me, huh?”

Before she responds, he leans in for that kiss she’s wanting and as their lips touch all that indignant irritation seems to melt away. She drops the simple camera on the soft grass and steps into Nate, sliding her arms around his neck as his go around her waist. Yes, they’re shameless. But none other than the forest critters are seeing it, so haters can bugger off.
After several wholeheartedly indulgent moments, they finally separate and, after licking her red lips, Mel breaks into a grin. She brings up a hand and taps Nate on the tip of the nose.

”Yes, it is. Now… we need to go to town. So back to the house. Chop chop.”

”I could get used to this take-charge stuff.”

Melissa laughs, as does Nate, picking up the camera and sliding her arm through his as they make their trek back home… wherever that may be.

---

The next sight is something of an odd one at first glance. Mel Reed, wearing a whistle around her neck, arms folded across her ample chest, her lush hair up in a messy bun and, of all things, eye-black streaked across her cheek beneath her striking gaze. And she’s just… going up and down. Rising and lowering. In a steady cadence. And she’s counting each time.

”One… two… three… four…”

It seems as though the pace slows a little as she reaches six or seven. She’s shaking a little, even. No trace of pressure on her smooth face, though. In fact, her grin is a tad wicked now.

”Seven… eight… pick it up!”

A determined grunt… one that is definitely not from the lady. The view pans out a bit and there’s the source: Nathaniel. Mel is sitting cross-legged on his back, thankfully without her boots on since that would not only be uncomfortable, but rude. Nate, on the other hand, is in a pair of MMA-style workout shorts, the only attire on his person unless you count athletic tape. The man is a buffet of tattoos from what can be seen, not to mention every push-up he’s doing with his sanctioned rider making for a dessert bar of muscles and perspiration.

Holding himself up after the eleventh push-up, Nate turns slightly and smirks at his lady.

”If you’re gonna ride me, you could at least pull my hair. Make it fun.”

”Not on camera, you heathen!”

”Pfft. They’ve seen worse. Have you not been watching what some of these other tools have been saying? Some of these people are so far up their own rear ends it’s hard to tell where they end or begin. I’m just trying to inject some class and common sense into the proceedings.”

Rolling her eyes cutely, Mel turns herself ever so gently and resumes her count for a couple more before leaning in a little, palms against Nate’s bare back.

”And what would you say to them, since the camera’s on, love? Surely you have some kind of naturalistic lesson for them, hmm? Some clever anecdote?”

”Oh, I have something to say, all right.”

Teeth gritted, Nate makes it all the way to twenty, then holds himself up for Mel to unfold her legs and step down. Afterward, he arches and flows up to a standing position, moving with a cat’s own grace. A grin peeks through his facial hair, almost as wild as the mop on top of his dome.

”I’ll tell you this much, people: if you need insults to get your point across, it isn’t worth knowing. If you have to harp on who and what you are with great emphasis, perhaps you aren’t as solid as you think. I’ve said this before, but after listening to Kayla Richards speak, well… I mean… I wouldn’t say that the young lady is thick, but her view of the world is certainly Kayla-centric, wouldn’t you say?

Good on you for having faith and confidence in yourself, Kayla. And kudos on your litany of accomplishments up to this point. But here’s some free advice, take it as you will: you need to stop worrying about who I am and start worrying about WHAT I am. As in someone who doesn’t let themselves be swayed by hype. As in someone who can say more with a stare than you can with a thesaurus and a scotch enema. A quick roll through Twitter would let me dress you down like you so sorely beg for, but what would that serve? As far as I’m concerned, beating you would do the trick much more effectively. And truly, it would be far more fun. Words roll off the back if you let them. Defeat? That sticks in the craw, burns the gut... for you, at least, not for me. You and most of the world expect me to lose. And if it happens, it happens. But imagine... imagine how you’ll feel if I toss you into the second row and you have to make that long walk to the locker room knowing you got doffed by a rookie? That’s the sort of lesson you just can’t buy.”

So he has some sizzle in his veins, eh?

”Beta, she says. Sad.”

Snorting out a note of laughter, Nathaniel runs his hands through his hair and looks to the ceiling. We don’t see much of the room’s detail… and that is probably by design. Some people are protective of their homes.

”So… was it Xaria next, lover?”

”Mm-hmm.”

Nodding, he folds an arm across his chest, stroking his beard for a few moments in thought. Then he simply gestures in a dismissive way.

”Spare me the respect talk, Miss Linette. You know nothing about me, and tossing around bright, shiny talk like that is just disingenuous. Before I signed on the dotted line for Pro Wrestling Excellence, you didn’t know me from Adam. Not that there is an issue with being nice for the sake of it, but I’m big on the truth. And the truth is that you don’t respect me. Not yet. But after Victory? You will have a reason to. Same as Kayla. Except she still won’t. Considering the source, though, I don’t want her respect. I want her slack-jawed expression of unadulterated shock and rage when she realizes that for all her bragging and b.s., she still got tossed by the Winter Wraith.

You would probably take it in stride. You strike me as the gentle type, at least in terms of feelings. Dust on your shoulder, water off your back. And so it would go, with you looking forward to the next go. See, that’s the sort of inner peace that will work for you. At Victory, though… you’re prey. Not because I hold disdain for you, but because I am a hunter. THE hunter. And you’re in my path.”

All this chatter is getting to Mel. She’s licking her lips and flat-out staring at Nate. His over-the-shoulder smirk at her just makes her sway on the spot, grinning ear to ear. He winks, then turns back to the camera, stationary this time.

”Potential. A simple answer to a simple question, Ceila. Allow me to ask you something in turn, something a little more… thought-provoking.”

Oh, those eyes, that grin…

”How long do you think you would survive in a true hunt-or-be-hunted situation if you were not, as you continue to remind the world, a third-generation lucha superstar. That IS how she termed it, right?”

”Ad nauseum AND ad infinitum!”

”RIght. Do you want to know, Ceila? Allow me to enlighten you.”

He brings up his right hand, pinky alone extended.

”About one second longer than someone you might term as being of common stock. And the only reason you get that moment is because you have no instinct and no concept of self-preservation. You would stop and glare at that predator instead of heading for higher ground, making sure to expound your virtues and talents as if hearing of your bloodlines would make a hungry bear think a picnic basket would be a more suitable target. Right before a tree-shattering paw sent your head rolling through the leaves. Do you see where I’m coming from, Celia? Perhaps not. From the sound of you, there’s two silver spoons to deal with here: one in your mouth, and the other stuck up your-”

”AHEM!”

”...exactly. Don’t worry, Ceila. I promise that no one will forget you. Because I aim to make sure you land right on top of Kayla when I chuck you over the ropes. Let me make this clear: I’m not impressed. And neither is anyone else who heard you talk. Hard truth, young lady. You can change that by handling yourself in our match at Victory. You can try, at least. But you’re not digging up from the ground level… no, you’ve all but buried yourself. Crawling out of a grave all the way to the clouds? That’s an appropriate bit of hyperbole for where you’re at in my book. What do you think. Mel?”

”Painfully accurate!”

Of course she’s aiding and abetting. Why wouldn’t she? Nate knows this, too, but still loves her for it.

”As for Lachlan and Ashley… well, in my estimation, they’ve said more than Richards, Luiz or Linette have without opening their mouths. Like me, they seek to show what they can do rather than talk about it. And before anyone goes trying to turn that on me-”

He holds up a hand, pausing the incoming angst, knowing someone will belt out a ‘What is THIS, then?!’ if he lets them.

”-don’t. Anyone who would bray that sort of retort been neck-deep in the mire that is self-promotion from the first moment their cameras kicked on. I have been explaining the situation and offering proper, honest retorts to them. Again, Lachlan and Ashley, you are doing it right. Silence says so much. Especially if you know how to listen. Now, I would be remiss if I didn’t say I was curious about your thought processes, but I’m more interested in what you can do in the ring. And why motivate your opponents with beratings and smack-talk when you can make them seethe with quiet, prone to mistakes, outing themselves as easy targets?

I figure before time is up the two of you will break silence. If I had my way, I wouldn’t be in front of a camera now. I don’t like it. Acting is a whole other thing. This? This quasi-interview, ego-stroking crap? It makes me uncomfortable. Maybe that will change in time. The real me, though… it is hard to bring him around in a situation like this. In that ring, though, you’ll all get to see what it’s like to take on a survivor, a hunter. And no amount of talk, from you or from me, can prepare the world for that. And as to the rest of the roster?”

At this point, Mel comes up to him, smoothing down his hair and beard a bit, stealing a kiss before turning and leaning her back against his bare, glistening canvas of a chest. His hands go to her shoulders, then her hips, prompting her head to lie upon his shoulder comfortably and eagerly. The endorphins are soon to be put to use…

”Watch. Learn. Adapt. Overcome. That should be your mantra, your goal. It is what I repeat over and over to myself in every moment of preparation, be it working my body or working my mind. In that ring, the rest of the world melts away. There is nothing but a wide-open veldt with nowhere to hide. Prey. Hunter. A battle to the very end.

I AM the end. The end of illusionary importance and false lordship over the others. I am ALSO the beginning. The beginning of Pro Wrestling Excellence and its ascent to the top of wrestling. That’s why I’m here, Ceila. That’s why, Kayla, I will see you fly. It’s why I will make you honest, Xaria. It is who I am.

Prepare.”

Nate snaps his fingers and, just like that, the scene cuts to black. The benefits of Bluetooth remotes.