The Most Dangerous Game (Cynthia Rose Promo #1 Ch 25)

(The camera opens to an aerial scenic shot of Eden as a small dot on the ground makes it's way around the border of the olympic sized pool. Cutting to the ground level, we find Percy watching stoically as Cynthia passes him in a sprint. He watches coldly as she flies around the pool's circumference, somewhat slowing as she reaches the halfway point, before making her way all the way back around again, breaking into a jog, and finally slowing and keeling over with her hands on her knees in front of her trainer, panting in the cold morning air.)

Percy: Very good. You slowed down in the bend though. I can't have you breaking down in the final hour of a match just because you get winded.

(Cynthia struggles to regain her breath and respond, only to find a cough escape her throat when she tries to force words out of it. Percy's hardened gaze flickers with a momentary softness of compassion. Sensing his own weakness, he furrows his brow deeper as he stares off into the middle distance.)

Percy: No back talk. Take a sip of water, a three minute breather, and then give me five-hundred more laps.

(At the utterance of the word 'five-hundred', Cynthia lets eyes roll back into her head and her body melodramatically flop into a lounge chair, her chest heaving as she struggles to take her next breath. The still devoid of emotions Percy tosses her a bottle of water. Cynthia takes a deep swig, swallowing hard and then letting her head flop back on her neck and collapse into the plastic frame of the lounge chair.)

Cynthia: ow.

Percy: Suck it up.

Cynthia: You've never pushed me this hard.

Percy: What can I say? You're getting soft. Can't let you lose that pep in your step when you walk through that curtain. Your biggest weapon is speed. Being perpetually on the back foot in a match is your only advantage. You don't hit, you barely suplex, and you haven't gotten a single submission in your arsenal that I've seen thus far. Until you gain at least fifty pounds of muscle or start scuffing up some shoe leather with brutal kicks, speed's all we have.

(Cynthia greedily sucks back the full contents of her water bottle, coughing as she finally comes up from air. She tiredly wipes the condensation from her lips as she struggles to force a smile.)

Cynthia: What? no weekly lecture on how I should be laying people out with haymakers and big boots.

Percy: What can I say? It's a lost cause. I do wish you had more going for you heading into this one though. Especially on the submission end of things, but nooo, you're too afraid of hurting someone.

(Cynthia shoots her legs out to either side of the lounge chair and sits up abruptly, seemingly ready to defend herself. As soon as the defiance flickers in her eyes, the pensive and worrying sight of Percy staring straight ahead, darting his eyes around in panic mode flushes all want to challenge her mentor from her system.)

Cynthia: You don't think I can beat him do you?

(Percy turns to look at his student. After sizing her up, a familiar grimace of 'I told ya so' curls his lips on both ends, attempting not to upturn into a sympathetic smile. Cynthia nods in grim acknowledgment. She takes in a deep, reality affirming, sigh and then kips up to her feet. Percy gives her a doubtful look as she motions for him to stand.)

Percy: If you think I'm about to join you running laps, then you-

Cynthia: No, nothing like that. Just...stand up.

(Percy continues to watch his protege as she uncomfortably avoids eye contact and lowers her posture into shooting position. Percy reluctantly gets to his feet and throws his hands out to his side in resigned confusion. Cynthia feints lunging at him, and then pulls back, studying her mentor as if looking for an angle to take him down without hurting him. After a few more awkward seconds of trying to think of a way to ground him without hurting his body or worse, his ego, she finally rises out of her wrestling stance and meekly points at the ground. Percy follows her finger, and then cuts his eyes up at her in disbelief.)

Percy: Seriously?

Cynthia: Just sit down, okay?

Percy: Okay, but I'm not liking this game of Simon says so far.

(Percy sits down on the concrete facing Cynthia with his legs sprawled out in front of him. Impatiently he looks up at his student as she puts her hands on her hips and bites her bottom lip, seemingly reticent to give her trainer any more orders. Finally she relents and walks around him, standing with her legs flush with her back. Still twitching with nervousness she looks down at her trainer as he looks back up at her with growing frustration.)

Percy: JUST DO WHAT YOU'RE GONNA DO! QUIT STALLING!

(Cynthia jumps at her mentor's sudden outburst, but quickly recovers, breathing heavily as she nervously begins to squat down into shooting stance.)

Cynthia: Okay. I'm going to need just one more thing from y-

Percy: WHAT!?!

Cynthia: I'm going to need you to tap as soon as you start feeling pain.

Percy: ...do what now?

(Without warning, Cynthia lunges forward, grabbing and crossing Percy's legs into a figure four. Before he can react, she grabs the heel of his extended leg and pulls back with a brutal standing stump puller. Percy almost immediately taps her arm, and Cynthia's quick to relinquish the hold and drop down to fawn over her freshly stretched mentor.)

Cynthia: Ohmigosh I'm so sorry! I-I didn't mean to-

Percy: Sorry!...SORRY!?!

(Percy pushes Cynthia away, nearly knocking her backward into the pool as he angrily tries to get to his feet, favoring his nearly hyper extended knee as he limps upright. Shooting daggers at his trainee, he slowly limps over to her. As Cynthia scrunches her shoulders and readies for Percy to lay into her, eyes clenched tight in fear at the first sight of his hand raising in anger, she suddenly blinks back into reality as a soft pat on the back subverts her expectations and Percy unexpectedly bursts out into relieved laughter.)

Percy: Girl, you should be sorry! Sorry you didn't do that shit earlier!

(Still tensed up and flinching, Cynthia pops an eye open and squeaks out meekly.)

Cynthia: language.

Percy: HA-HA! We got a new move in the arsenal, eh? Holding out on ya boy Percy. Mm mm mm, that's a damn shame!

Cynthia: You're not mad?

Percy: Heeelll no! I'm relieved. I thought baby girl was going into a submission match without a damn submission to her name. This though? this is a game changer.

(Cynthia's posture finally loosens at the sound of pure pride and joy in her teacher's voice. Her momentary smile curls back into a solemn frown as her eyes lower to her feet awkwardly as the shadow of doubt darkens her mind.)

Cynthia:...you think it's enough to beat him?

(Percy's jovial congratulatory spirit melts away under the weight of his student's self-doubt. He lets his expression harden once more as he crosses his arms and cocks his eyebrow.)

Percy: Who knows? Could be?

Cynthia: I'm not asking for false affirmation, I'm asking you as a coach, as a mentor, as someone whose been at ringside during the big fights...is it enough?

Percy: Uh...We're going to have to work on set up, of course. I mean, you can't just ask Animus to sit down in the middle of the ring and expect him to let you apply a stump puller. Maybe if we used that rolling German out of the corner for setup...? I don't know. It's a tough move to transition into naturally when you're constantly trying to stay on your toes and not slow down, but it's not impossible. Do you know any other-

Cynthia: No.

Percy: I mean, I know you're trying to be pacifist as possible, but you were a collegiate wrestler. Someone had to teach you how to...you know...'take care of yourself' if someone tried to take advantage of-

Cynthia: No!

Percy: Okay, okay, no hooking. Got it. Just this. This is what we have to work with...

(Percy scratches the back of his neck in thought as Cynthia's offended expression contorts into anger. Frustrated, she shoves Percy, whose caught off guard by her sudden outburst of anger.)

Cynthia: I mean..do know how, but I'm not going to stretch someone just because I know how. I can't believe you'd even suggest that!

Percy: Well hell, you might have to! Animus is dangerous. The man is deceptive, malicious, and sneaky! He's going to lure you into a false sens of security if you let your guard down and lean on simply using this one hold! He's going to let you think you have him just so he can break your spirit. He revels in that shit!

Cynthia: THEN WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO!?!

Percy: HIT HIM! STRETCH HIM! DO ONE OF THE TWO THINGS YOU'RE AWESOME AT DOING INSTEAD OF HOLDING BACK BECAUSE YOU HURT SOMEONE WHO DIDN'T DESERVE IT IN THE PAST!

Cynthia: NO!

Percy: HE DESERVES IT!

Cynthia: NO!

Percy: IF YOU'RE NOT WILLING TO DO WHAT NEEDS TO BE DONE TO MAKE THIS EASIER ON YOU, THEN MAYBE YOU NEED TO TAKE ANOTHER LAP AROUND THE POOL!

(With that, Percy lunges forward and pushes Cynthia backward into the pool. The harsh sound of Cynthia's back flesh smacking the surface of the water snaps Percy out of his angered rage. His harsh demeanor finally breaks and gives way to worry as his student resurfaces. His expression sinks as what sounds like whimpering fills the air. Percy buries his face in his hands in regret as he squats by poolside. Suddenly what was once thought to be sobbing is replaced by the sound of barely repressed chuckling. Percy's body freezes with embarrassment as Cynthia's laughter gives way. Sensing her mentor's regret and embarrassment, Cynthia playfully splashes him. The sudden shock of the splash seems to magically melt away his statuesque pose. Percy lets himself smile as Cynthia swims to poolside.)

Percy: Listen, I'm-

Cynthia: We're both sorry. You're just trying to make sure I'm ready for this match. I get that. We both needed to blow off some steam and relieve this tension surrounding this upcoming battle.

Percy: He's not going to show mercy.

Cynthia: That doesn't mean that you can't. I know I'm difficult, and I know that I really only have this one thing going for me that I'm willing to capitalize on, but forcing me to run around the pool 1,000 times every morning until the match isn't going to give me some supernatural reserve of stamina in ten days time. If anything it's going to tear me apart and make me too sore to compete. At this rate I might tap out to an elbow-collar tie up.

Percy: I've been going hard because he's going to go harder.

Cynthia: We've been at this for four days now, Percy. I don't think I can go another six at this rate.

Percy: I know, but I'm scared for you.

Cynthia: Because you don't think what I'm bringing to the fight is enough, and it probably isn't, but just because you can't see the light at the end of the tunnel doesn't mean you have to run headlong into it with a stick of dynamite strapped to your head.

(Percy's eyes narrow with doubt at the sudden return of Cynthia's optimistic smiling face.)

Percy: So, what then? You've resigned yourself to losing.

Cynthia: No.

Percy: Well you're actin' like a cult member about to knowingly drink the electric kool aid. I don't like this aura of peace around you heading into this one.

Cynthia: Percy, I'm not reaching the end of the seven stages of grief here. Maybe I'm a little diluted. Call it a runner's high even if you want, but maybe this euphoria is a sense of confidence in my abilities for once.

Percy: Really?

Cynthia: Yeah. Look at what I've done so far. I won on my first night out, I beat Nas twice, I took Colt Montoya to the limit. Percy, when do I get to feel a sense of pride and comfort in my abilities?

Percy: I dunno, but it seems pretty premature to me. You need to stay humble.

Cynthia: I am humble.

Percy: Pfft, you can't say you're humble and 'be' humble.

Cynthia: Percy...

Percy: You've been respectful of every opponent thus far, even the ones I didn't think you should have shown respect, so I wont say you aren't a bleeding heart. I will say that you need to respect this opponent.

Cynthia: You mean 'fear'.

Percy: No, I mean 'respect'. People have underestimated this man and fallen into his trap. I don't want you to do the same. He's a killer, and I want you to be ready for that. Even if you don't agree with how he's done things, where he's come from, or what his motives are inside of that ring and out, I need you to respect him as a competitor and understand what he's truly capable of.

(Percy extends a hand down to his student.)

Percy: Are we understood?

(Cynthia studies Percy's hand for a moment, letting that silhouette of doubt cross her eyes once more, only for it to be chased away by her winning smile as she takes her mentor's hand.)

Percy: Good, now help ya boy into this pool.

Cynthia: Oh, I thought you were helping me out.

Percy: Heeell naw! You just hyper extended my knee. I need to soak this bad boy before it swells up bigger than your entire body.

(The two laugh as Cynthia helps her mentor lower into the pool and the camera fades to black, only to fade back in almost immediately on Cynthia's face in front of the backdrop of her humble Eden hotel room. She bites her nails nervously as she glances around her room in paranoia. She looks into the lens, the doubt back in her eyes as she addresses the camera in monotone with a near whisper quiet voice.)

"December 13th at Chapter 25: 'Homefront', I face my biggest challenge to date in Wrestleworld. Part of me wants to put on a brave face and say 'I got this'. I'm tempted to smile, wink, and preen to the camera just to give whatever fans I have a sense of relief going into this one. I want them to know everything's okay. I want them to sense an air of self-assured and mysterious confidence behind my eyes. I want that glint, that sparkle, that glisten of a wild spirit unbroken to let them...to let you know that everything's going to be all right. I'm not a liar though, Animus. I'm not a great deceiver like you. I don't set others up just to cruelly subvert their expectations. I don't know if I'm going to win this match. Part of me even believes I'll most likely lose. An even bigger part hopes to get out of it in one piece, but I'm not quite ready to shut off that sense of self-preservation and simply sit there and take a beating. Up until now every time I've stepped between the ropes I've had no motive or agenda outside of making sure my opponent is able to walk away from our match with the same clean bill of health they entered it with. I'm not malicious, I don't let my personal demons drive me, and I don't take advantage of my situation and use it to vent my frustrations with the world on some unsuspecting opponent just looking to score a win and move on with their career. I'm not malevolent, I'm not bitter at the bad hand that's been dealt out to me, and I've done more emotional reaching out to my opponents outside of the ring than I probably have physically on the canvas. This is sport to me. This is my livelihood. This is my chance to make the people I've let down along the way proud of what I've became despite the perpetual let downs up to this point. I'm not here to show the world anything other than my ability to wrestle, and I keep coming into every single match with this singular crusade banner of being a good sport draped over my shoulders and only find contention. Whether it's a samurai with a youjimbo complex, an industry standard with a bruised ego, or a grizzled young veteran whose lost soul has been found by some shoe obsessed harpy, I constantly run into the same wall of resentment toward my views of wrestling as a healthy competition. Maybe facing you is the natural progression of this journey I've been on through the bitter, jaded, and broken hearts that inhabit the Wrestleworld locker room. Perhaps it was all leading up to you, but personally I look at the big bad boogie man of Wrestleworld, this great deceiver, this prodigal son, and all I feel is remorse for a tortured human being that's been made out to be a monster by a big unruly mob of frightened villagers. Maybe you are the monster they've made you out to be. Torture an animal enough and inevitably it'll resort to fighting back, even if it knows it's attempts to fight out of the corner is a suicide mission that will only offer the solace of delivering fatal blows to it's predator in defeat. You've done that already, Raoul. You took everyone's criticisms and lowered expectations of you and used them to fuel your revenge fantasy. Part of me wonders if that mask you wear is one of shame more so than it is an executioner's hood. You resent what you pretended to be, so much so that you try to hide the face of it from the world. That's kind of sweet in a dark and twisted way if you think about it: The child pulls his security blanket over his head for fear that no one will take his threats seriously if he were to show his handsomely boyish face to the world. What he doesn't understand is that it's burned into our psyches already. When we look at you we see what lies under the hood. We see the scared little boy that was abandoned by the world, by his family, who lashes out without prejudice like a baby faced school shooter that will spawn a following of little girls to write fan fiction on their message boards devoted to the idea of fixing him. You're not a monster, Raoul. You do monstrous things to gain the attention of your father, but you're still just a confused little boy with his hoodie pulled over his eyes, trying to hide the blush as he tries to escape the half-hearted and dismissive 'bless your hearts' and 'Sweetie, you tried' backhanded praise that's rung through his head his entire existence and stabbed him through the heart more than any ill-spirited locker room scuttlebutt or mean mugging backtalk ever could. You live for being underestimated, but you'd rather die than be pitied. I know how that feels, Raoul. I know the cold sensation of that wet bellyache when someone underestimates you and writes you off without malice, bravado, or base in their voice."

(Cynthia chuckles under her breath, forcing cold air into her lungs as her sad and frightened face forces a sympathetic grin.)

"I'm afraid of you, Raoul. I'm afraid of you because I know who you really are, and now that you know that I know, the veil of menace and deceit is lifted. I know all that's left is that dire animal trying to fight it's way out of the corner, looking to take out as many predators as possible with a morbid acceptance of it's own cruel fate. All that's left is anger and desperation once the trap has been exposed and parried. I see you for what you are, because it's what I am too: a scared little child left to fend for itself in the woods, forced to pretend like it knows what it's doing as it throws everything at the wall in hopes of survival. I'm afraid of you because when I look at you I see the potential in me of becoming you. All of the Pizza Boy turned Professional comparisons come flooding back and I realize that at any given moment I could buckle under the pressure again and simply go sailing overboard with complete disregard of my own self-preservation and heck-bent on my own self-destruction. You're just another cautionary tale, like a ghost visiting Scrooge on Christmas Eve looking to show me my past, present, and potential future. Well my future wont be me hiding behind a mask in shame because I can't face the world or take responsibility for what I've done to others. When you look at me you see just another victim, but I refuse to let you torture, bend, and stretch me until I'm malleable enough to pour into the jagged little mold that you made for yourself. I've taken the worst from the best up until now and came away from it with a smile on my face and a self-assured attitude. You may stare across that ring and see another victim, but when I look back at you I see the same thing. The only difference is that I know that I'm not responsible for who you are. Instead of reaching out and trying to fix you like I've done so many times over now, only to be met with cold shoulders and ill regard, I'm going to tell you what someone should've told you a long time ago: fix yourself. You baited us all to underestimate you. You laid the trap because you knew there was always going to be someone ready and waiting to take the bait of running you down and rubbing your face in the mud, but that wont be me Raoul. I wont mock, or pity, or fawn over your tortured existence. I'm just going to beat you by catching you in the very trap you set for others. You preyed on others underestimating you and writing you off? Well prepare to be hoisted by your own petard. After the week I've had, my legs are screaming and my feet are aching, and I'm simply sick of running. Everyone else might run from you in fear, but not me. Not this time. This time I'm going to take every bitter chop and kick, suffer every popping and crackling bone, and when you think you've got the best of me, I'm going to submit you clean and break the hold as soon as the bell rings. It wont be mercy. It wont be weakness. It'll just be another day at the office for everyone's favorite Bell to Bell Tinkerbelle. As a man who was once corrupted and pushed to his limits by the betrayal and cynicism of this industry once said; 'It's nothing personal. It's simply business.' The only difference this time is that that statement will be true."

(Cynthia's anxiety melts away with a playful wink to the camera as the screen fades to black.)