Out in Albany, a GXW house show is taking place. Though this event is not televised, and though the event features a large number of lesser-known wrestlers or even local indy guys, the crowd is still hot, eagerly following the action as the superstars work tirelessly to put on great matches.
At the moment, a match is going on between two competitors who cannot be identified from the camera's position just behind the curtain leading onto the ramp. After a moment, the camera slowly pans to the left, bringing another individual into view. The fellow is clad in a black mask and a form-fitting black body suit, looking for all the world like a ninja of some sort. He sits silently atop a crate, his chin resting on the knuckles of his right hand.
A soft hmm escapes the lips of the wrestler known as Dragon Assassin as he looks up from his contemplation. Behind his mask, he blinks, noticing the camera as if for the first time today; he takes a slow breath. "Well, then," he says in a deceptively deep voice with a noticeable Japanese accent. "Let us begin."
The Dragon Assassin lowers his head, then lifts it again, folding his hands in his lap. "El Martyr," he begins. "You know, Martyr, I will confess something to you: I am no luchadore. I do not know why the GXW management seems to think I am a luchadore. Perhaps the mask gives them the mistaken impression. However, I CAN wrestle in such a style." He pauses, hmming thoughtfully: "You know, perhaps it is only fitting that you and I face each other in our first match in GXW. We both know how to wrestle at a level these American fans have never witnessed. That is why the match between you and I shall be a spectacle - a night to remember, an Onslaught for the record books."
Quietly, the Assassin folds his hands in front of him, ducking his head slightly. "Understand that I bear you no ill will," he says. "In fact, I would happily call you friend. Thus, I hope that we can treat this match as a test of skill between friends and not a bitter war to the death. After all, I did not come here to make enemies; I came here to wrestle the best that America has to offer." A low chuckle escapes Dragon Assassin's lips as he smirks a bit. "This is usually where I make a witty little joke about American wrestlers. However, I will refrain from my customary defamations this time, seeing as you are a luchadore - a step above the rest of the Americans out there."
The Assassin takes a slow breath, then lets it out. "Again, do not misunderstand me," he says with a raised hand. "Friend or not, I will make every attempt to win this match - in the spirit of competition, of course. A little competition is always healthy for performers of our caliber. In the quest to outdo the other, one will only become better. It is a constant cycle. But let me say this: Win or lose, we shall both gain from this match. I think that we can learn much from each other - and the fans can learn much from us."
Rising to a standing position, Dragon Assassin again folds his hands together, this time bowing formally at the waist. "With that, I bid you farewell," he says. "I eagerly await our meeting at Onslaught. It shall be a test of skill for both of us."
With that, the Assassin turns and walks off, pushing aside a curtain to head for the backstage area. The camera watches his departure before fading to black...
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