The Most Dangerous Brawl
They used to call me "NitroStrike, the most feared gladiator on TV." Now they call me "fire extinguisher".
Sure, I loved my old job. Running the Gauntlet of Pain. Wrestling high atop the Bloodsphere. Knocking contenders off of the Tower of Agony with a giant foam mallet. Signing autographs at mall openings. I won't lie: it was a great gig, and I didn't even have to cut my mullet.
But somewhere deep inside, a little voice was whispering, "NitroStrike, what your heart really wants is to extinguish fires." After several seasons of gladiating, I decided it was time to grapple with the greatest foe of all: the fear of chasing my dreams. Also, I was forced out by a totally bogus harassment suit because certain TV executives are wusses who would rather believe a bunch of lying cocktail waitresses than one of their biggest stars.
So I started over. NitroStrike the Gladiator is dead. Long live NitroStrike the Mini-Foamer. Instead of personal trainers from Iowa, I fight fire, the most elemental of all elements. Instead of rock-hard muscles, I hit with a proprietary foaming agent. Instead of a star-spangled leotard, I wear a recyclable can. And the only gauntlet I run these days is a rigorous gauntlet of government agencies around the world, to certify that I'm safe. To everyone but fire, that is.
I keep a lower profile these days, sure. But I'm happier extinguishing fires than I ever was brawling in the Combatatorium. If you're opening a mall anytime soon, though, I'm still available for personal appearances. Once mall-opening gets in your blood, it's hard to stop.