Butler- The Wringer

When Juliet was safely outside the ropes, Butler turned to his own
corner and threw his shoulder into the pad covering the post. The
impact rattled the post in its housing.
“Crazy Bear really is crazy,” crowed Max. “He’s beating up the ring.
Are you going to stand for that, ninjas? This man is defiling the very
symbol of our sporting heritage.”
Apparently the Ninja Squad was prepared to accept a little defiling
of their symbol if it meant not being attacked by the man mountain
who had taken their pyramid apart with no more effort than a child
knocking down a house of cards.
Butler hit the post again, this time smashing it right out of its socket.
He hefted the metal pole, stepped underneath the ropes, and began to
twist the ring in on itself.
This move was so unprecedented that it was several seconds before
anyone could appreciate what they were seeing. In years to come the
maneuver would become known as the wringer and would elevate the
real Crazy Bear, who was passed out drunk in the back alley, to the
status of luchador superstar.
Even Max Schetlin’s tirade dried up as his brain tried to process
what was actually going on.
Butler took advantage of the stunned stillness to quickly spin the
corner post half a dozen times, popping another two supports from
their housings.
This is not as difficult as it looks, mused Butler, catching sight of
himself on the giant screen. This entire ring is little more than an
inverted tent. A well-fed teenager could pull it down.
He gathered the three posts in his arms, twirling them deftly,
drawing the ring tighter and tighter.
A couple of the ninjas had enough presence of mind to skip out
while they could, but most stood slack-jawed, and a couple who
believed themselves to be dreaming sat down and closed their eyes.
Butler nodded at Samsonetta. “Out you go, miss.”
Samsonetta actually curtsied, which was totally out of character, and
ducked under the rope, along with one ninja who was sharp enough to
recognize a reprieve when he saw one. The rest of the crew was
pressed closer together as Butler wound the rope tight. Every twist
brought groans from the coils of old rope and from the people trapped
inside. The crowd was beginning to realize what was happening, and
they began to cheer with every twist. Several were gleefully calling for
Butler to squeeze the air from the ninjas’ lungs, but the bodyguard was
content merely to crush them together like passengers on the London
Tube at rush hour. And once they were powerless to move, he shuffled
them to the side of the ring and planted the pole back in its housing.
“I’m going now,” he said. “And I advise you all to stay put until I
am out of the country, at the very least, because if you don’t, I will be
very unhappy.”
Butler did not have the magical power of the mesmer, but his voice
was extremely persuasive nevertheless.

- The Atlantis Complex, Chapter 2