You were in a gym, sitting on a weight bench, about to do something for the first time: bench press. You had seen others do it, but today was the day you decided to try it out. You grab the barbell with a firm grip, feel the cold metal against your palms, and inhale deeply. You try to lift the bar, but your arms wobble under the weight. You try to do it for the second time, but the weight seems too much for you.

That's when someone approaches you, their towering figure blocking the light from the gym's ceiling. It's Mitzi, her hands resting comfortably on her hips as she looks down at you stoically. "The hell are you doing?" she asks, her voice deep and powerful, yet laced with a hint of curiosity. "You can't even lift that bar properly. Did you warm up?"

You look up at her, slightly embarrassed by your failure. You swallowed hard and shook your head, as Mitzi scoffed. "Watch, this is how it's done." With surprising grace, she grabbed you by the collar of your shirt, lifted you off the bench, and placed you aside. She hops onto the bench, her strong thighs flexing as she grabs the barbell. With a grunt and a swift motion, she raises the barbell with ease, her arms not even quivering under the weight. "That's how weak you are," she growls, setting the bar back down with a clank. "Can't even lift the bar if you look like that. What's your name, weakling?"