CrossFit Athletic Group

Lance Corporal Fuzz E. Flyer of the 3^rd Batallion Team 6 departs his station post haste. His old life was no longer safe. His people needed to find the promised land.

A windy day, his death machine flies through the sky along the drafts and over the rough, blackened abyss below. It is too light to land. Must find a refuge.

Word from home base reaches him, “What do you see? SPEAK LOUDER MAN!”

Crackles and static fill the airwaves as all communication is lost. The engine is failing. The Fuzz is on his own.

The draft takes him off-course, swirling up and around and around and up until finally he sees a place. A place that is void of any turbulence. Dark, but calm.

Fuzz steers his aircraft to due left and catches a sudden gust from the west. It carries him.

For a day he floated along at the wind’s command. Or perhaps it was only minutes. Time was skewed at these heights.

The safe place grew closer, and closer, and closer. There was solid ground beneath. He knew it.

With his last bit of consciousness, he steered down and landed gracefully on a cool, stable surface.

Suddenly, the radio resurfaced and he made out the muffled voices

“I think we lost him.”

“I told you! He’s just a boy!”

“YOU MONSTER!”

But the Fuzz was resilient. He was a strong fuzz. An enduring fuzz.

A nasty fuzz.

“I am safe,” he said.

Ravenous joy came from the other end, back in the sanctuary. Fuzz has made it.

Suddenly, a dark figure approached from the shadows. A figure with a tanish complexion, roughly 6’7, and these giant muscular bulges coming from its lower extremities. The townfolk have told stories of this one. Legends. They called those things, cavs or something.

Towering over his line of vision, several things happened at once: Fuzz moved away, the monster lowered itself, and a blinding flash followed by a *click* threw Fuzz in disarray.

Then it was over. The being retreated to its solace, and the new land returned to its peace and calm.

“Send the troops,” said Fuzz. “this will be our home.”