Chris rolled the tape around his fist. The crowd was hot, or so the angents told him. Not that they needed to, mind you, he c ould hear them from back here. He shared the locker room with Quincy and Mark, and two green boys who dropped their bags outside and were prepared to change. They let them dress with them and the boys introduced themselves at Sven and Howie. They were being squashed tonight.
It was just another night, he lied. Just another day in the office. He smacked his fist into his open palm and heard the satisfying slap of knuckle tape of skin. He cut and rolled smaller strips of tapes around the joints of his fingers and a final loop around the base of his wrist. With a sharpie, he affixed a black cross on the back of his hand. He got up and went to the mirror at the back of the room. He begun face painting when he saw how wrestlers did it in Japan, using art sponges for broad stroke and nylon-hair brushes for accents. He'd learn to design intricate geometric pattern over his face over the years but for tonight he reduced it to a single black bar over his eyes.
He taped two stripes to his face, keeping them parallel and spaced, then passed the black shoe-polish over his eyes. Some use grease paint, but polish was oil based and harder to rub off. Critical when he began to sweat and grapple. It all eventually comes off, someone told him, one way or another. There was a knock on the door
" Two minutes " Someone said and disappeared down the corridor. Chris could hear the banging of the sheet metal signs in front of the guard railing. The crowd was chanting something indistinct, banging on the metal to keep the rhythm. He listened closely and realized it was " Seven Nation Army ", David's music. He smiled and finished up. Standing, he looks at himself in the mirror.
" I am Kira " He said