Un renacido dragón, un dragón ascendente. Cuando uno falla, el califa de los dragones lo conseguiremos!
A black and white shot of a beaten down gym appears on the screen and soon the camera slowly enters the building, revealing a large six sided wrestling ring sitting in the center of the gym, various mats cover the floor along with a couple speed bag stations as well as a standard punching bag off in the corner. Other workout equipment is spread out around the gym, the equipment in about as good of condition as the rest of the building. Inside the ring a man in only jeans sits on a small wooden stool with his head lowered and staring at a mask he holds in his hands. His fingers move along the designs of the mask. As the camera zooms in on the man, he slowly lifts his head, his face still turned away from the camera. He begins to speak, his voice carrying a prominent Mexican accent.
For the last ten years I've been in my home land, this great country of México, perfecting my craft in lucha libre. I've been stretched and tossed around in gyms such as this all across this nation, just for the opportunity to be taught the very basics. I started out thinking I was hot shit, a Gold Glove winner and an accomplished kick boxer. Wrestling would be easy, and yet they showed me what a pendejo I was. I walked home to the run down piss poor shack I called a home, every inch of my body writhing in pain. Every bump, every fall, each and every crash to the canvas made this my life one bit at a time. I wasn't born into a prominent lucha libre family. I wasn't given the golden opportunity to train with the best. I sucked it up and I worked my way up. I showed up at events where forty people sitting on the back of pick up trucks no one had any business driving would show up. Every garbage show that I could get on, making 50 pesos a night just to get tossed around the ring by the "local legend". Pin me, pay me was the motto. As those pesos were saved, so too were my skills improving. Soon I was traveling all around México, training with the absolute best, and when that training was complete. I began performing at a higher level.
The man slowly lifts the mask up, slipping it up over his head and down over his ears. He adjusts the mask, leaving the strings in the back untied and falling down to his shoulders as he clasps his hands in front of him. The camera moves to the side, revealing his tattoo sleeve runs down the entirety of his arm. The man turns his head away from the camera again, preventing it from seeing the designs of his mask. He lifts his hands and quickly ties the strings of the mask together, tightening it as best he can before returning his hands in front of him.
Gloria, la fama, la riqueza, todos eran pronto a ser el mío. Lo puedo resumir en tan poco tiempo, pero tomó años. Tomó mi sangre y años de mi vida, sólo para llegar a la cima. The world was mine, and my compatriotas soon grew to love me. My reputation spread throughout the country, and thus, it had become reality. The ascension, the roar of the beast echoed throughout the land and they all knew in their hearts, they knew the legend of...
The man suddenly stands up and turns towards the camera, fully revealing his mask finally. The shot remains black and white except for the mask itself. Razor point teeth circle around where his eyes would be, forming the shape of a giant maw while intricate green scale shapes circle around the outside of the mask, moving up and forming horns at the top. Intricate designs in the shape of a dragon's face complete the mask, black with green trim to go with the green designs. He crosses his arms as he holds his head high.
El Califa Dragón!
The man spreads his arms out by his hips before walking over one of the six corners of the ring and leaning against it, his head placed squarely on the turnbuckle for a few moments before lifting his head up quickly and turning back to the camera.
I have accomplished all I could in México. And while I never want to leave my home country, it is time for this dragon to soar to even greater heights in the wrestling world. There is more to conquer in this world, and it points me to here, WZCW, the greatest wrestling promotion in the world. The greatest wrestlers, the most devious villains, and the bravest heroes all residing in one location. It's time for El Califa to paint this company red and leave his mark on American wrestling. Lucha Libre is in my blood, it is all I live for, and it's what I will represent in WZCW!
Califa turns and hops up onto the top turnbuckle in one smooth motion, balancing with ease on the buckle as he stands up tall in the air. He spreads his arms out once more, motioning to the ring below him.
This is my life, this is all I've ever wanted. And now, I get to live that at the biggest stage in professional wrestling. On Meltdown, I face the Eurasian Champion Rush, a man of great size and strength. Some may think it's for a warm up match for the champion, that the higher ups in WZCW decided it would be best for their champion, but in truth, I requested this match. I was taught as a niño that if you walk in to a fight, you go after the biggest and baddest bufón and punch him square in the mouth. And that is exactly what I'm going to do when I get in that ring Rush. Not only am I punching you in the mouth, the roar of the dragón will echo throughout the arena and just as the mighty Goliat fell to a smaller yet greater man, you will too.
Califa suddenly springs off the turnbuckle, rotating in the air before landing on his feet in the center of the ring. He lowers his head briefly as the camera zooms in on him.
You can't defeat what you can't touch Rush. Speed kills, but so does size. However this dragon's heart is greater and stronger then your might. It will withstand your attack and have you ending on your back, while my arm gets raised in victory.
Califa points towards the camera, his head rising slowly as he speaks one final time.
México celebrará su victoria héroe en Meltdown, y usted será el primero en caer en El Califa Dragón!
