The Camera Pans to the Parking Area we find Our Hero and Birdie seeminly headed to his limosine.

Birdie seems oddly different this time around, rather than being her usual ice cold indifferent self she looks a little concerned if you will.

Birdie: You needed me to come out here to help you look for what again?

Our Hero: My polka dot rage tie....Don't ask its a good luck charm!

Our Hero: Irregardless!, it gives us a chance to chat privatly the show is coming off the rails this has been one of the biggest if not the biggest Wrestlution of all time. And we haven't even gotten to the good stuff yet!!

Birdie: Alright and...

Our Hero: I wanted to talk to you about my match with Mugen.

Birdie: All ready covered, we have tactical support in case Cereal or The Messenger try any funny buisness. And I will be at ringside to make sure everything is five by five.

Our Hero: Oh you. Always looking after this crazy old fool!

Birdie: That's what you pay me for Boss.

Our Hero: You know I meant what I said earlier don't you?

Birdie: To the Inner Circle? sure, but there job isn't your personal safety. That's mine, and with all do respect you aren't going to stop me from doing my job!

Our Hero: I can always fire you.....

Birdie: ....I still have time left on my contract and I will forfill my obligations if you choose to terminate my employment.....

Our Hero: Ok ok....it's settled just try not to get to overzealous out there will you?

Birdie: Roger that!

Our Hero: Anyway lets find that tie, I will need every bit of luck if I am going to take on that mad man!

Our Hero points to his Limo as he opens the rear door for his assistant/bodyguard/friend. He instructs Birdie to look around inside while he checks out the trunk. Some rumbling is heard inside the car.

Birdie: I think its in the corner!

Our Hero walks over to the rear door where Birdie is, she is sitting on the inside digging through the Limo, when she makes a motion to further inside.

Birdie: I think I got it!

As she turns you can hear a door slam shut followed by the sound of the doors locking. Birdie looks through the tinted window to see Our Hero. She is slightly confused. But starts to put two and two together.

Birdie: Open this door.

Our Hero: I am sorry my dear you can't come with me on this trip.

Birdie begins to kick the ever loving hell out of the window, you can see small cracks starting to form. Our Hero bangs on the top of the Limo loudly signalling the driver to take off. For the first time in 11 Years the cold calculated stoic Birdie can be heard shouting with a tinge of emotion.

Birdie: NO..NO... OPEN THIS DOOR RIGHT NOW! OPEN THIS DOOR!!!

Birdie and Our Hero exchange a quick glance.

Birdie:....please..

The Limo peels off as Our Hero walks back into the arena as he prepares for the fight of his life!

The Camera pans to the announce team!  

	Was that wise?
	Sometimes a man has got to do, what a man has got to do!

	' Up next Turmoil takes center stage as The Turmoil Championship hangs in the balance. The Current Champion Jackson Montgomery takes on the Pretender Champion Kassidy Hayes and his Former best Friend B17.
	This is gonna be high octane all the way!

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The Camera pans to the announce team!  

	Two for the price of one!
	BAW GAWD!!!

The scene opens to the slow rhythmic pulse of smoldering sweet smelling fine North Carolinian tobacco as combustion and inhalation berth beautiful hues of ruby and tangerine.

A contorted cigarillo,chewed,chomped and nearly consumed, clings clamped between it’s compadre’s canines, being religiously retrieved between each engulfing exhale of poignant and pungent plumes of “Prime Time” watermelon flavored cigar by a pair of calloused digits protruding from the tips a heavily war-worn teflon tactical glove.

The maniacal mercenary’s mug dons its generations in the seasoned salt and pepper stubble and the war weathered wrinkles of persecution and perseverance; the product of the ebb and flow of time and his debt to street service.

A General Electric 80 watt suspended precariously by some length of orange ULINE extension cord,fizzles and flickers to life periodically with a hum and crackle serenading the Santa Clara, California safehouse in its artificial sunshine.

Palpable beads of perspiration plummet from the militant minded militia man’s clean shaven cranium, that assuredly attic an endless arsenal of artillery and tactics; before cascading toward a towering necropolis of ash and “Prime Time” tips that reside between a scuffed set of charcoal colored Corcoran Tactical Jump Boots.

Buried beneath a bundle of his black ribbed wifebeater tank top and military issued BDU’s, hangs the hammer and handle of the most powerful production revolver in the world today.

The radiant reflection of the massive .50 Smith & Wesson Magnum hunting handgun gleams, gripped with the gusto of a General before coming to rest on the tabletop, crib of currency comprised of both loose and banded, “Prime Time” ash, frosted, Franklins.

Lackadaisical leaning into the lumbar of the flash’s furniture, steel series folding chair with malcontent and volition, the grizzled “Godfather of the GhettOCW Movement” browses a tabletop buffet of burner “TracFones” before coming to rest on the buzzing BlackBerry with the ID “The Jew” ringing in on the display.

Herschel Dunny: Whats the knowledge Greeny?

Herschel’s bad habit hangs heavy with a stout head of ash sprinkling soot with each spoken word of his epilogue.

Herschel Dunny: When you come up in the slums and have nothing, It makes you humble... But we have been thinking too damn petty... It has always been about the profits.

Herschel nurtures his nicotine nostalgically nodding in conversation.

Herschel Dunny: But, I remember you said, “We good”.

Herschel Dunny: That, “Enough is enough”.

Herschel Dunny: We say enough is enough with the formalities and legalities Greeny... Hustling in our blood.

Herschel Dunny: It’s been over 2 long years and you gotta have more vision... If we ain’t getting this new money then what we waiting for?

In a billowing bliss of belligerence and bogey smoke Herschel hastily, hurls huge helping of bricked hundreds haphazardly throughout the household.

Herschel Dunny: You know in the times we grew up there wasn’t $h!t in the fridge and by any damn means necessary we gonna eat now.

Herschel Dunny: And don’t get it twisted Greeny. Your legal counsel has been indispensable.

Herschel Dunny: Just keep doing what you do.

Herschel Dunny: Launder that loot and crush our cases.

Dunny deposits the remains of his dwindling “Prime Time” snub on what could be called the dining room floor.

Herschel Dunny: But you know my partners and I..We ain't satisfied... You can't tame us..We the realest... And we love what we do… Ain't no way we finished yet Dun.

Herschel Dunny: There ain’t no more being patient..

Herschel Dunny: It’s time to clock back in and you know how we get down..

Dunny directs his attention to his un-holstered heatmaker.

Herschel Dunny: You’ll never catch us lacking, we stay ready for the Opps, take no days off and we don't ever get tired.

Herschel Dunny: What we fixing to do is sit all their five dollar asses down and make some change.

Herschel Dunny: We putting all yall on notice…

Being that it’s always the right time for a “Prime Time”, Dunny’s digits do their due diligence to deliver another watermelon rich aromatic appetizer.

Herschel Dunny: Let all the clientele know...

Herschel Dunny: We Back in business Bustas!!!

The Xtron Flickers On!

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The Camera pans to the announce team!  

	WHAT!!!!!!!
	THEY ARE BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!!!!!

The scene opens on the backstage area. From the echo of the pacing footsteps, the viewer can immediately recognize that they are looking at a mostly empty locker room.

The One Man Revolution, The Voice of the Purge, Bobby Minio, stomps into frame, smashing his fists against a locker as he explodes onto screen.

Bobby Minio: I was SO. DAMN. CLOSE.

He whirls around, not once, not twice, but three times, before smashing his fist back into the door of the locker. It bounces off of its frame, the crash of thin metal against thin metal filling the room.

Bobby Minio: I had that in the bag, until Versus resorted to CHEATING!

Bobby Minio: As if it’s not bad enough that I have to get in the ring with an unsafe worker! How many drugs can a man take before wandering into a ring? This is what Sensation considers acceptable?! THIS IS ALRIGHT?! I swear, at one point he thought he was someone else entirely… and I have to jeopardize my career in there? WITH HIM?

Another wild fist smashes into the now dented locker. Minio’s hands reach up, gripping palms-full of hair out of frustration.

Bobby Minio: That’s what these so called LEGENDS will do against the Veteran Killer. They’ll just cheat their way out of it, they’ll just do whatever they can to gain an edge! Jabbing that sharp object into my neck when I had him pinned after The Deadly Rhythm… just so he could kick out!

Bobby Minio: And… and… Of course. Of course the ref didn’t see. Sensation’s fleet of oblivious refs who let the precious few, the Legends, get away with anything they want.

Bobby Minio: This place… the way it operates. It makes me ILL. Versus does get to keep getting one over on me like this. The cheap shot, the volcano, the cheating, the flagrant drug abuse. No.

Bobby Minio: THIS DOES NOT END HERE!

As Minio’s voice raises to a booming level, he grips the door of the locker with both hands, slamming it with all of his strength. The locking mechanism broke about three minutes ago, resulting in the locker door bouncing off of the frame, right back into Minio’s grasp.

He begans shouting a slurring string of profanities while repeating the locker slamming ritual. Sensing the unhinged air around him, the cameraman begins backing out of the room slowly as the screen fades into the next segment.

The Camera pans to the announce team!  

	What a sore loser!
	You would be sore too if you lost to a guy who takes mushrooms and wears Pleated Khaki pants!

	Up next one of the most anticipated matches of the night. Drago and Crossbones do battle for one of the richest prizes in all of OCW The OCW North American Championship!
	And it takes place in a Cell so you know someone is going to get hurt! CANT WAIT!

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The Camera pans to the announce team!  

	How is he still alive?
	Sheer force of will, and duct tape, and hope!

The camera catches up with Big Ed who just lifted a caterer with his bare hands and demanded to know where Dennis and Madison had gone.

The caterer genuinely had no idea. This pissed off the mastodon even more. Before the caterer could say another word, he was slammed through a buffet table backstage. An assortment of food was lifted high. With all that wasted food, somewhere, Bill Ding was depressed.

He kicked the caterer for good measure before continue his tirade.

Ed: Where is he?! Joe! Where the hell is that Scottish piece of trash!

When he finally found Madison and Dennis’s dressing room, he kicked the door down with ease. Inside was an older white haired man cleaning up several articles of women’s clothing that was thrown about.

Ed: Where the hell is he?

Old man: Master Black? Ah well...he is rarely here at night you see. Probably off at a charity event.

Ed’s left eye twitched.

Ed: The hell...are you talking about?! Master Black?

Old man: Why yes, you’re in Master Black’s Estate.

Ed:.. This is a locker room!

Old man: To the untrained eye, yes. May I leave a message? I'm sure he will return from fighting crime at any moment.

Ed: Forget it. Old bastard…

Old man: I jest...Master Black, a crime fighting vigilante! Perish the thought.

The audience laughed at the X-tron.

Ed slammed the dressing room door behind him. It was clear, Dennis and Madison fled the arena.

Ed: Bastards…

The behemoth looked to the camera and made his intentions clear.

Ed: Joe, listen closely. I don’t know when...or how. But I do know that when i’m done with you, I might get fired. For years I watched and waited for my chance at revenge, and you stole it from me. Now, I steal every ounce of blood that I can without murdering you. Do you understand me? What I did to Dennis and Madison is ‘nothing’ compared to what I'm going to do you, boy!

Ed: You took everything from me! I only came to this damned place for revenge! And now i'm stuck here ten months? Ten more months!! I don't even like wrestling! Joe, you and anyone that stands between you and I is a dead man!

The Camera fades

The Camera pans to the announce team!  

	Oh he mad!
	You would be as well if you got screwed over by a blond jerk, a vanilla midget named Terri McGinnis, and whatever the hell Joe Zhivago is!

	He is Scottish!
	I don't care!