Locker rooms were weird for him, to say the least. They were weird in general, the idea of a bunch of muscular men gathered before spending a few minutes grappling each other for often insane sums of money in front of a paying audience…. Maybe he shouldn't think so deeply on these things? He'd made a grand total of one actual friend in his time at the performance centre, another trainee by the name of Corey, He wished he could class his trainers as friends, but he instead saw them as a curious mix of a noose tightening around his throat and the worst imaginable gym coaches from high school… the ones that would take your inhaler and pick insane numbers to assign for press up punishments… numbers you'd yet to conquer in maths class.

Rauiri himself had been an MMA reject, mostly due to the fact he wasn't all he seemed. Here, people didn't ask questions, and that was good. After seeing the likes of Chyna back in the 90's… a slender and effeminate built man didn't raise any suspicion.

"So I was thinking…"

Rauiri spoke out with a mouthful of pastry, something he'd randomly grabbed from catering.

"With the Battle Royal coming up… Who they gonna push for the top spot?"

"Not you, young blood.."

"How comes?"

"Ribs are still taped."

Rauiri paused and laughed. Course, since signing he'd had a persistent rib injury meaning he had tape across them. Injuries meant less chance at the title, particularly considering how hot the competition was.

"I dunno… Rauiri throws a mean punch." came the deep and almost monotonous voice of Ambrose in the corner, lacing his boots. His teammates all snickered, Rauiri now staring at his shoes with a look of disdain. Where the fuck was Corey anyways, he was supposed to come up straight from the hotel.

"Rauiri."

He was brought out of his thoughts by the voice of one of the runners.

"Message from higher ups, you're managing tonight."

He sighed, it was something at least. Television exposure couldn't hurt, and time working meant a chance of a paycheck, managing meant that without chance of injury. After glancing at the match card for the show, it seemed it would be relatively easy.

Triple Powerbomb wasn't easy. They'd ran the spot previously, but it still hurt like the devil. Once they were behind the curtain, he had Corey on one side and Dean on the other helping him. "I need to shower off.. Warm water."

Corey assured Dean he had it from here, and as much as the other felt a little guilty for adding maybe too much energy to the slam, he let Rauiri and Corey leave. Thankfully the shower room was empty, Corey speaking softly.

"Want a hand to remove the bandages?"

"No! Uh… no, thanks.. I got it.."

Corey arched an eyebrow, waving a hand dismissively.

"Whatever you got under that, can't be too bad… but whatever."

Rauiri shot him a look, one that Corey had learnt meant t drop the conversation as he sighed.

"Alright… I'll be out here if you need me."

It took only a matter of moments after the shower began to run, for Corey to hear a thud and a muffled curse. Assuming Rauiri had fallen, he rushed to the shower area and froze at what he saw.