Disclaimer: own nothing except the unnamed guy. He's my creation so hands
off!
"Just a week off" Oscar muttered to himself "just a week off"
He punched the bag hung from the ceiling hard as he spoke, punctuating his words with hits. He'd been doing the same thing for a little over half an hour, alternating punches and kicks and flowing combinations on the bag. He'd already spent an hour on a crash mat practising some of his difficult counters and tumbles with a trainer. It had been exhilarating to be able to do that; to feel back in control of his body again
After his match against the Big Show or Paul Wight as he was in real life at Backlash, he'd been off TV because of the painful stretcher bump after the match. Show had picked him while strapped to a gurney and slammed him baseball bat-style against the ring post before letting him drop to the floor. It wasn't so much the hitting the ring post that did it but the unprotected impact from a height to the floor that did. He hadn't been able to feel parts of his body and had been taken to the hospital for some scans and tests. Luckily for the luchador, it had been temporary numbness which had worn off soon after leaving just bruising and bad memories. Paul had been really upset and apologised profusely as soon as he'd seen Oscar afterwards. Oscar had told him it was fine, it didn't matter and that it wasn't his fault. Stephanie had thought otherwise and given Paul a dressing down afterwards about protecting the smaller talent when doing big bumps.
Oscar had been warned when he came to the WWE about it being known as 'the land of the giants' and there had certainly been a history of sizable opponents making their mark; Andre the Giant, Big John Studd, King Kong Bundy, The Undertaker, Big Show, Kane. The list went on. But from the nineties onwards, the WWE's biggest stars weren't always the ones biggest in size; Shawn Michaels, Bret Hart, Stone Cold Steve Austin, The Rock, Triple H, Kurt Angle, Chris Benoit, Eddie Guerrero. When Oscar had seen his old friends from WCW like Benoit and Guerrero do so well despite their size, he knew he could now make his way to the surviving wrestling company he was always told he was too small for.
And he'd had success since his debut last year. He'd formed an excellent tag team with fellow Smackdown superstar Edge and they'd feuded with Angle, Benoit and the Guerreros resulting in an astonishing series of matches. He and Edge had even won the Smackdown tag team titles together. Now Edge was out with a very bad neck injury leaving Oscar to feud first with Matt Hardy for the Cruiserweight Title and now Big Show.
Ever since he'd been ordered time off to recuperate and reassess his game plan, Oscar had been suffered from a bout of doubts. Were all those critics who'd told him he couldn't make it right? Was the WWE really too big for him? Was there room for a tiny Mexican luchador with a penchant for jumping out the skies? He'd thought so but now, he wasn't so sure. He slammed his fist into the punch bag again and caught it as it flew back at him. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand with a deep intake of breath. Maybe this was God's way of telling him to move to somewhere else that would appreciate his talents more, where he'd fit in more comfortably like Japan or perhaps even back to Mexico. The WWE did want their workers to stop being so high risk which basically cut him out of the game. Maybe he did belong somewhere else
"Or perhaps not" a voice replied to his thoughts
Oscar whirled around at the voice, nearly swinging the punch bag into the offending voice's owner as he did. A young scrawny guy stood there, he couldn't have been older than twenty and he hardly looked like the gym type but there he stood, in loose black pants, a grey t-shirt and black jacket, looking expectantly at Oscar
"Do you want to use the bag or something?" Oscar asked, trying to keep the confrontational tone from his voice, still annoyed at being startled
"Do I look like the sort of person who'd punch something for fun?" the guy snorted before holding up a hand "wait don't answer that, you're doing pretty good without me stopping you"
Oscar grinned to himself and carried on punching the bag hanging in front of him, ignoring the guy's presence. He could see him out of the corner of his eye; still there, still watching. It was beginning to get on his nerves.
"How long have you been out with that injury?" the guy asked suddenly
Oscar groaned inwardly; the guy was a fan, which explained everything. Fans could be very creepy sometimes and you learnt to deal with them.
"Long enough" he replied "since the Backlash PPV"
"Oh so nearly a month then"
"Trying not to think of it being that long" Oscar replied through gritted teeth "just a few weeks that's all, I'm gonna be back on Smackdown next week anyway"
"You've handled it well then"
Oscar turned around exasperated. The guy stood, hands in his pockets, looking expectantly at him, a slight smile on his face. Oscar resisted the urge to vent frustrated anger on him. But the guy was getting on his nerves now.
"You don't know what I've been through" he replied at last "got no idea at all"
"You mean about your life in general or just the injury?"
"Both"
"So explain"
Oscar shook his head. Fans didn't deserve to hear the bitter side of the story, all the frustrating parts which wrestlers hide so well beneath their performance. But there was something about this guy. Something in his eyes. They looked pale green but they could have been anything. They kept changing behind his glasses in the light. He couldn't put his finger on it but the guy was not ordinary.
"Fans don't need to hear the bad side of the story" he said finally
"Who said I was a fan?" the guy protested
He looked to the ceiling with a grin
"Alright so I'm not a fan, happy?"
With a sigh, Oscar turned back to the guy and shook his head again. He picked up his gym bag and made his way over to the free weights in front of a massive wall-covering mirror. The guy followed him silently and watched as Oscar picked up two small dumbbells to start working with. Finally under the guy's mysterious probing stare, Oscar began talking
"WWE is just too big for a luchador like me" he said, grunting a little as he worked out "it's full of giants who could squash me if they wanted to or even if they didn't want to by accident, it ain't safe for me to be out there flying around, maybe this is just a sign I should move somewhere where I won't get squashed or moved down for the bigger talent"
"You think because you're small you're not going to get anywhere?" the guy said slowly "look at what you've done already, you've done some excellent in-ring matches I'm told with a young man called Adam and even battled an Olympic Champion"
"But people are always going to say I'm too small to main event or win the title" Oscar protested "and that's what we're all here for"
"Your size makes you different, no one else moves the way you do" the guy reaffirmed "I think it's very impressive that you do what you do, very courageous"
"Or stupid" Oscar muttered to himself
"Not stupid, brave and you have a lot more to do before you hang up your mask for good"
The guy reached down and pulled a mask from Oscar's bag. It was one of the ones he wore in the ring, highly colourful and decorative. He smiled at it in his hands
"This makes you different, you bring a certain edge to the proceedings and you most certainly entertain" the guy smiled, throwing the mask to Oscar who caught it in the crook of his arm "just don't lose hope"
Oscar looked down at his mask and remembered his uncle, the original Rey Mysterio Jnr who'd trained him and helped him create his unique ring style. The one who'd bestowed the name to his nephew when he was ready and respectful. Could he really throw that away because of one injury? Maybe the guy was right. Oscar looked up but the guy had disappeared. Oscar shrugged, that guy had been very unsettling, like he knew what Oscar was thinking, what his fears were. What did he know about what Oscar went through on a daily basis? He was probably some nutty fan but he did speak some sense even if he was unhinged. Oscar dropped the mask to his feet and in the gaze of the empty eyes of his uncle, began lifting the dumbbells with renewed vigour.
"Just a week off" Oscar muttered to himself "just a week off"
He punched the bag hung from the ceiling hard as he spoke, punctuating his words with hits. He'd been doing the same thing for a little over half an hour, alternating punches and kicks and flowing combinations on the bag. He'd already spent an hour on a crash mat practising some of his difficult counters and tumbles with a trainer. It had been exhilarating to be able to do that; to feel back in control of his body again
After his match against the Big Show or Paul Wight as he was in real life at Backlash, he'd been off TV because of the painful stretcher bump after the match. Show had picked him while strapped to a gurney and slammed him baseball bat-style against the ring post before letting him drop to the floor. It wasn't so much the hitting the ring post that did it but the unprotected impact from a height to the floor that did. He hadn't been able to feel parts of his body and had been taken to the hospital for some scans and tests. Luckily for the luchador, it had been temporary numbness which had worn off soon after leaving just bruising and bad memories. Paul had been really upset and apologised profusely as soon as he'd seen Oscar afterwards. Oscar had told him it was fine, it didn't matter and that it wasn't his fault. Stephanie had thought otherwise and given Paul a dressing down afterwards about protecting the smaller talent when doing big bumps.
Oscar had been warned when he came to the WWE about it being known as 'the land of the giants' and there had certainly been a history of sizable opponents making their mark; Andre the Giant, Big John Studd, King Kong Bundy, The Undertaker, Big Show, Kane. The list went on. But from the nineties onwards, the WWE's biggest stars weren't always the ones biggest in size; Shawn Michaels, Bret Hart, Stone Cold Steve Austin, The Rock, Triple H, Kurt Angle, Chris Benoit, Eddie Guerrero. When Oscar had seen his old friends from WCW like Benoit and Guerrero do so well despite their size, he knew he could now make his way to the surviving wrestling company he was always told he was too small for.
And he'd had success since his debut last year. He'd formed an excellent tag team with fellow Smackdown superstar Edge and they'd feuded with Angle, Benoit and the Guerreros resulting in an astonishing series of matches. He and Edge had even won the Smackdown tag team titles together. Now Edge was out with a very bad neck injury leaving Oscar to feud first with Matt Hardy for the Cruiserweight Title and now Big Show.
Ever since he'd been ordered time off to recuperate and reassess his game plan, Oscar had been suffered from a bout of doubts. Were all those critics who'd told him he couldn't make it right? Was the WWE really too big for him? Was there room for a tiny Mexican luchador with a penchant for jumping out the skies? He'd thought so but now, he wasn't so sure. He slammed his fist into the punch bag again and caught it as it flew back at him. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand with a deep intake of breath. Maybe this was God's way of telling him to move to somewhere else that would appreciate his talents more, where he'd fit in more comfortably like Japan or perhaps even back to Mexico. The WWE did want their workers to stop being so high risk which basically cut him out of the game. Maybe he did belong somewhere else
"Or perhaps not" a voice replied to his thoughts
Oscar whirled around at the voice, nearly swinging the punch bag into the offending voice's owner as he did. A young scrawny guy stood there, he couldn't have been older than twenty and he hardly looked like the gym type but there he stood, in loose black pants, a grey t-shirt and black jacket, looking expectantly at Oscar
"Do you want to use the bag or something?" Oscar asked, trying to keep the confrontational tone from his voice, still annoyed at being startled
"Do I look like the sort of person who'd punch something for fun?" the guy snorted before holding up a hand "wait don't answer that, you're doing pretty good without me stopping you"
Oscar grinned to himself and carried on punching the bag hanging in front of him, ignoring the guy's presence. He could see him out of the corner of his eye; still there, still watching. It was beginning to get on his nerves.
"How long have you been out with that injury?" the guy asked suddenly
Oscar groaned inwardly; the guy was a fan, which explained everything. Fans could be very creepy sometimes and you learnt to deal with them.
"Long enough" he replied "since the Backlash PPV"
"Oh so nearly a month then"
"Trying not to think of it being that long" Oscar replied through gritted teeth "just a few weeks that's all, I'm gonna be back on Smackdown next week anyway"
"You've handled it well then"
Oscar turned around exasperated. The guy stood, hands in his pockets, looking expectantly at him, a slight smile on his face. Oscar resisted the urge to vent frustrated anger on him. But the guy was getting on his nerves now.
"You don't know what I've been through" he replied at last "got no idea at all"
"You mean about your life in general or just the injury?"
"Both"
"So explain"
Oscar shook his head. Fans didn't deserve to hear the bitter side of the story, all the frustrating parts which wrestlers hide so well beneath their performance. But there was something about this guy. Something in his eyes. They looked pale green but they could have been anything. They kept changing behind his glasses in the light. He couldn't put his finger on it but the guy was not ordinary.
"Fans don't need to hear the bad side of the story" he said finally
"Who said I was a fan?" the guy protested
He looked to the ceiling with a grin
"Alright so I'm not a fan, happy?"
With a sigh, Oscar turned back to the guy and shook his head again. He picked up his gym bag and made his way over to the free weights in front of a massive wall-covering mirror. The guy followed him silently and watched as Oscar picked up two small dumbbells to start working with. Finally under the guy's mysterious probing stare, Oscar began talking
"WWE is just too big for a luchador like me" he said, grunting a little as he worked out "it's full of giants who could squash me if they wanted to or even if they didn't want to by accident, it ain't safe for me to be out there flying around, maybe this is just a sign I should move somewhere where I won't get squashed or moved down for the bigger talent"
"You think because you're small you're not going to get anywhere?" the guy said slowly "look at what you've done already, you've done some excellent in-ring matches I'm told with a young man called Adam and even battled an Olympic Champion"
"But people are always going to say I'm too small to main event or win the title" Oscar protested "and that's what we're all here for"
"Your size makes you different, no one else moves the way you do" the guy reaffirmed "I think it's very impressive that you do what you do, very courageous"
"Or stupid" Oscar muttered to himself
"Not stupid, brave and you have a lot more to do before you hang up your mask for good"
The guy reached down and pulled a mask from Oscar's bag. It was one of the ones he wore in the ring, highly colourful and decorative. He smiled at it in his hands
"This makes you different, you bring a certain edge to the proceedings and you most certainly entertain" the guy smiled, throwing the mask to Oscar who caught it in the crook of his arm "just don't lose hope"
Oscar looked down at his mask and remembered his uncle, the original Rey Mysterio Jnr who'd trained him and helped him create his unique ring style. The one who'd bestowed the name to his nephew when he was ready and respectful. Could he really throw that away because of one injury? Maybe the guy was right. Oscar looked up but the guy had disappeared. Oscar shrugged, that guy had been very unsettling, like he knew what Oscar was thinking, what his fears were. What did he know about what Oscar went through on a daily basis? He was probably some nutty fan but he did speak some sense even if he was unhinged. Oscar dropped the mask to his feet and in the gaze of the empty eyes of his uncle, began lifting the dumbbells with renewed vigour.