Spring’s breath was still a new – but entirely welcome - phenomenon. The icy cold drafts that the crimson home had been accustomed to were slowly making their leave, ushered out by the sickly sweet smells of freshly bloomed flowers. The rejuvenation of energy permeated the very pavement of this concrete jungle, vibrating earnestly with the bustling feet parading over it. Seated by the window ledge on the second floor of his home, Danny took in everything this new season had to offer.

Danny’s gaze flitted from face to face, of the thousands who passed his window on Park Avenue, New York City, New York. He relished the mingling of so many different faces, the tanned skin of South Asians, the pearly pink-flushed cherubic faces of Slovaks, the yellowish tinge of Eastern Asians, the coffee toned skin of Polynesians like himself, the subtle and conspicuous details alike bringing him such delight. Uniqueness was the core principle with which he lived his life, and witnessing natural differences amongst individual brought him happiness like no other. For though we were all naturally unique, he sought a conscious difference, he sought to go above and beyond one’s understanding of idiosyncrasy.

Peeling his eyes away from the outside world, Danny turns his gaze towards the objects scattered around the room he made his personal study. Contrasting the rooms below that he’d used in promotional videos in the past, this room resembled the eccentricity of our quirky protagonist far more. The walls, rather than the deep bring used below, were covered with chalk boards. Every exposed inch was covered the in the black, smooth surface. All across the giant board were inscriptions and sketches, seemingly thousands of detached thoughts. A couple of sketches for outfit ideas are hidden away in one corner, in another are some draft tattoo ideas, in between lie an array of quotes and catchy one-liners.

Danny reaches up to his forehead, which has been bandaged down, a slight red tinge on the covering. His left eye is a dark red, clear sign of some internal bleeding. Messy locks of his hair stick out haphazardly over the bandage in contrast to his neatly tied down beard. Still rubbing around the wound on his head, he walks over to a rack mounted onto his wall. The rack, made up of brass hooks drilled into the blackboard wall in rows and columns of 6, is full of an array of luchador and wrestling masks. Recognizable ones like those used by Kane in the mid-1990s, Mankind, Rey Mysterio and Thunder Liger, along with lesser known ones line the hooks prominently.

Danny takes one down, an unknown mask made to mimic the look of a silvery lion. He lifts it up to his face, looking out through the eyeholes and purring silently. He lowers the mask, a giggle bursting out through his lips as he lets his hand and the mask fall down to his side. Throwing his head back, his giggle evolves into a resounding roar of a laugh, manic clear in his eyes. As the laugh dies down within his heart, he lowers his face, chewing on a tip of a finger to control himself.

The well set man turns back to the chalkboard wall after just one word, his shirtless torso bulges with muscle, marred by scars of hundreds of bouts in the ring. His muscles tense and relax as he walks towards one section of the wall. Glancing up, he reaches for a piece of chalk that’s attached to the board on a holder drilled in to the wall. Taking the white colored piece of chalk, he begins to write.

Danny glances up at the writing, letting a grin cover the lower half of his face. Twirling the piece of chalk in his hand, he faces away from the board and just takes in the feeling. Fresh off his win on Saturday at his debut match, Danny had never felt better. His first match for the Xtreme Wrestling Federation, at a live Pay-Per-View and against a former Universal Champion at that, a more potent seal of approval he’d never felt before. This was evidence that he was ready to step up to the big league, that signing for XWF hadn’t been a case of premature ejaculation. Wink.

Though it had taken absorbing a ring bell to the forehead and perhaps a little distraction from the great Paul Heyman, Danny knew the match was his to win, the crowd knew it had been his match to win and most importantly, those who ran the place knew it was his match to win. It wouldn’t be long till someone sitting on seats that mattered saw him fit to chase a title, saw him fit to chase THE title, and saw him fit to be the emblematic, charismatic, enigmatic and slightly problematic face of the business.

There was still a ways to go until that happened however, a few more opponents to crush beneath his heel till he enveloped the Xtreme universe in awe of his abilities; delusions were not a game Danny prided himself in playing. Just then, he glances up towards the door, right as a double knock raps against it. With a quick response, the door swings open to reveal the always well-dressed Jackson Turi.

Jackson turns on his heel with the slightest glimpse of a smile on his face. Danny shakes off the annoyance from his expression and glances back into the camera.

Danny grins at the camera, licking his lips. He extends his full body, stretching to his full height as he feels each vertebrae in his back pop satisfyingly.