Last time, KnightMask had returned to the Slam Master's gym, intent on giving the knee he injured during Warfare's battle royal a good rest. However, his plans were foiled the moment he walked through the door. An upstart calling herself the Red Huntress was waiting for him, camera crew in tow, to challenge him to a fight.

KnightMask shifted his weight to take some of the burden of his 185-pound frame off his bad knee. The so-called Red Huntress' lips were curled back into a mirthless, predatory grin, her eyes glittering with the eagerness of a wolf to devour its prey. Glancing past her, KnightMask noticed that the camera crew behind her all wore shirts with the logo '"Primal Fury' emblazoned on them.

"Primal Fury". he'd heard of it. It was a supplement that claimed to be able to block the human body's production of myostatin, the protein that limited human muscle growth, opening the doors to nigh-superhuman strength levels. So that's what it is, he surmised, they're gonna use me to advertise just how effective their product is. So effective that if a woman half my size gets hopped up on it, she can mop the floor with me. It explained why something seemed a little "off" about the woman that stared across at him.

He was considering it when the Red Huntress suddenly hammered into his knee--his bad knee--with a low kick. Apparently, she wasn't going to wait for him to accept her challenge. KnightMask fell down to one knee as an onslaught of sharp pain course through him. Another kick came at his head, fast and hard enough to decapitate him. Catching the blow, KnightMask anchored its momentum into a dragon-screw, bringing the powerful woman to the ground, where he snaked his legs about her thigh, effectively imprisoning it. Myostatin inhibition or not, he didn't have to be stronger than her muscle for muscle...submissions were a numbers game of sorts, all about matching the strength of your entire body against one single limb of your opponent's.

With her thigh held fast and immobile, all he had to do was torque the lower half of her leg in an opposing direction. Once you had the leg control, even a neophyte could figure out the submission part. And if you really knew what you were doing, as KnightMask did, then imparting career-ending trauma upon the knee or ankle was a simple matter. But of course, KnightMask let her loose, because he was a nice guy and nice guys didn't injure people's legs in the gym...or even in the ring if it was at all avoidable.

Red Huntress, either not skilled enough to know the danger she was in or simply ungrateful, charged at him again as he was limping away. KnightMask rolled back into her, this time ensnaring both her legs and speedily arranging them into the Gordian Leg-Knot. There were a number of holds he could subject her to, such as the Achilles lock, biting the blade of his forearm into the tendon of that name or his KnightLock variant where he substituted the opponent's own shin for his forearm, a toe-hold, where he torqued the toes until they were nearly point towards the opponent's own knee. There was also the knee-bar, a simple hyper-extension of the joint. All of those holds generally hurt before they did damage, the pain giving a warning that danger was imminent and thus rendering them relatively safe as far.

Which was one reason KnightMask usually preferred them.

But he was tired, beaten down and really, uncertain if the drug-enhanced woman wrestler he now held at his mercy hadn't compounded a knee injury that might already be career threatening. And so he began to consider another hold. The hold which was called by many the silent-killer because of its tendency to begin shredding ligaments before the pain began. Once it hurt, they said, it was already too late for you. The hold which he had almost always barred himself from performing in grappling competitions. The hold he was even hesitant to utilize in the XWF ring, where the specter of death loomed over every bout: the heel-hook.

He flashed back to Mark Flynn's brass knuckles smashing against his visor. Chris MacBeth returning an offered hand-shake by practically driving him through the canvas with a spine-buster. His back was still sore from that one. Arnaud Chevailler spitting in his face. Agony pounding him into dust with the steel chair before he'd even made his way out of the dressing room.

And now this idiot, trying to beat him down--when he was injured--just the supplement company endorsing her can advertise her product. Maybe it was time to teach someone a lessons....maybe it was time to stop being so nice...


"Okay...okay..." Red Huntress's voice, no longer filled with exuberance and arrogance, interrupted his thoughts just as he was about to begin to apply the hold. "I guess you made your point..."

KnightMask undid the Gordian Leg-Knot and stalked off towards his room. Behind him, he could hear one of his training partners explaining to the Primal Fury crew how lucky they were that KnightMask was such a nice guy, that he didn't like to hurt people, that he stayed away from the more dangerous leg-locks.

"Hey, sorry 'bout those idiots..." his coach Hagar, began as he caught up to KnightMask. "They outright lied to me an' everyone in the gym about what they wanted...they said they wanted t'use you to shoot some footage advertising their stuff..." KnightMask walk into his room and slammed the door in Hagar's face before he could finish. Who cared what his explanation was? He'd let a bunch of idiots come in and jeopardize his career...for what? That idiot Red Huntress was going to walk away from her challenge to him on two good legs...meanwhile, she'd compounded his injury. And yet, he was the expert on destroying people's legs. He wondered where that guy, Mohawk, that tried to take his spot as the "new KnightMask" was right now...whatever he was doing, he sure wasn't nursing any injuries.

Nope. He'd picked the right man to fight with. Heck, challenge me anytime, KnightMask thought. I'm too frigging soft...too cowardly...to really hurt anyone.

Mr. Nice Guy.

Maybe that needed to change.