Welcome to Gaia! ::

The lights dim, fading to blackness, leaving the natural light of the evening to guide those standing to their seats. On the titantron, an image of the galaxy is displayed, with thousands of stars swirling through the cosmos. A feint music begins to play, a solemn song to match the final frontier. After a few seconds, something begins to come into view - a hulking metal monstrosity, somehow bulky and sleek. A true ship of the stars. Along the side is a name: "MARINER." The grandest ship in all the skies.

Inside the ship, a skeleton crew scurries to their positions. Hundreds of screens, filled with miles of code, numbers and letters which mean nothing to the unlearned, adorn the walls of the ship, failing to hide the cold military grey of the walls. Despite the hubbub, a clear voice booms out over the dry mumbling of the marines:

"Launch Sequence Initiated. Launch in five..."

A single pod emerges from the front of the ship, propelled by a burst of flame. It hurriedly speeds towards a nearby planet. A small, pale blue dot.

"BREAKING ATMO. GET READY."

Back in the arena, all power seems to cut off. Sparks fly from the sides of the titantron, seeming to signal something. Before anybody knows what is happening, something falls from the sky, landing with a hard thud, dust rising from the ground. The lights slowly turn back on, revealing what it was: the pod from the ship has landed once more, leaving a crater in the floor. Smoke slowly begins to rise, shrouding the ground.

Suddenly, the curtains are pulled apart, as no less than nine men pour out of the backstage area, surrounding the pod, as if to guard it. They are wearing helmets, and what appears to be some sort of high-tech SWAT uniform, in a dark shade of grey - the kind of uniform you see in science fiction. On their arm was a badge, a symbol of their allegiance; these were space marines, men of the Galactic Dogs! Armed to the teeth with laser rifles and an assortment of other weapons, they stood ready to defend, aiming their shooters at the crowd.

The door of the pod slowly opened, more smoke pouring out. After agonising seconds, a tall, strong-looking man emerges, dressed in a distinct manner; gone are the dark colours of the marines, in their place a less palatable, but more distinct array of earthly colours, topped by a distinct brown coat. But perhaps the greatest accent of his uniform was a shiny championship belt around his waist - the very prize he had to defend tonight. The Galactic Dogs turn to him, standing to attention, and salute. This was the leader of their troupe. This was Commander Rhorus!

He stepped down from his pod, arms behind his back, before coming to attention. He saluted, his gaze fixed on the ring. He broke his salute, marching down the ramp. His marines, in formation, followed. They all stepped in time as they walked. Upon reaching the ring, the formation split, and the marines surrounded it, armed and alert. The good captain headed to the steel steps, up to the ring apron, where he wiped his feet before entering the ring. He was, after all, a classy sort of gent, who did not wish to tread space dust all over people's property. He walked to the middle of the ring, offering a salute to the audience, his hard stare still piercing those before him. He dropped the salute once more, staring into Cartwright's eyes with a fierce intent, the title still around his waist.

He took a step back, taking off his coat, and the title belt, handing them both to one of his men, who had fully scouted the ring, ready for any ninja clowns who may so happen to wander into the arena tonight.