The only thing the camera can see is a dark room. Devoid. Empty. Almost.

Upon closer examination with the camera, it can become apparent that the room in examination is in fact a bedroom. Pale moonlight can be seen making a much needed visit through the window, however with the way the bed is situated in there, with the top portion leaning upwards, the bed perfectly covered the faint light outside, leaving that portion of the room completely in the dark.

Suddenly, a loud BUZZZT can be heard.

"Mmm..." a figure can be heard saying, their peaceful sleep no doubt disturbed due to the noise. The owner of the voice- masculine it seems- has his hand dart across his night stand, trying to find the perpetrator. Finally, his luck slams home as the culprit has been revealed- a cell phone. Trying to get himself into shape, the figure takes his pillows and arranges it so it gives him a comfortable "seat" to lay upon on his bed. Unfortunately for the viewers, it also blocked any moonlight that might have had a chance to slip past the bed completely, dashing any hope there might have been for viewers to catch a faint glimpse of the man.

"Let's see here..." the man muttered, turning on his phone. Even more unfortunately for viewers, in his sleepy haze, the man had the light from the phone shining down upon his chest, leaving his face- and therefore, his identity- still out of sight.

Going to his text messages section, the phone read:



That was odd. Whose number was this? The man didn't seem to be pleased as he quickly texted back--



He moaned- he was not in the mood. Why did Vincent Lane, owner of the XWF, have to bother him at this insane time?! Too tired to add him as a contact, the man continued the conversation.



His brow furrowed. A match, next Warfare? He wasn't exactly opposed to the idea, but it just felt... out of place.

Without him able to react, the conversation quickly continued.



He deadpanned. Great, he thought. His identity was forcibly concealed now. He was sure that if he was booked, the XWF cameras was following him.

How much did they see? Do they know who he is? What kind of match was he walking into come next Warfare? Multiple questions darted around the man’s mind, begging him to find some answers.

And warily, the man did just that.



Should the camera have been able to see the man’s face, without a doubt would they see a confused mug adorning it. Croaton? He thought. Wasn’t that the tribe of Native Americans around the town of Roanoke? Or was that the Croatans? The man shook his head, it was clear in his still-sleepy stupor he had no clue. Heeding the owner’s advice, he quickly went on the XWF official website and loaded up Croaton’s promo.

He promptly wished he hadn’t.

Instantly, he was launched into a world of mystery, a world of the unknown, and as the promo progressed, the man could feel goosebumps climbing up his arm. As Croaton cited the man’s deeds, he could feel himself shiver in fear. The fact that there was an entity watching his every move… it felt abhorrent. As if there was a singular pair of eyes always watching you and your actions, with you never leaving its sight. That was true horror. Not the wanna-be’s of the XWF who acted as if they’re tough but couldn’t prove it in the ring, like Ghost Tank, LeStrange or Adam Wednesday.

THUD.

The front door immediately shut closed as the man’s eyes immediately darted open, turning off the electronics currently in use, and trying to make himself hidden, the man fell to the side of the bed, hardly even breathing.

THUD.

THUD.

THUD.

Was the intruder walking up the stairs? The man could feel himself quivering in fear. He was about to retch, but he refused, clamping his hand right over his mouth to keep any puke from spilling out, which would be a dead giveaway for his location. He wanted to scream, to cry, to get away from this situation. Now Croaton would force him to be at death’s door, and dammit, he didn’t want to die. Warfare was awaiting him dammit!

He heard heavy breathing. Croaton, no doubt. A heavy silence, except the breathing, reverberated throughout the room. It was almost maddening. The man desperately wanted to scream. Then, he heard… crunching?!

Forcing the wretched puke down his throat, the man then said, “Who’s there?”

The intruder responded, “[NAME REDACTED TO PROTECT MYSTERY COMPETITOR’S IDENTITY], you there?”

A loud sigh of relief could be heard from the man, who promptly got himself up. Looking at the intruder, he said, “What the hell, [NAME REDACTED TO PREVENT CONNECTION TO MYSTERY COMPETITOR’S IDENTITY]?! I thought you were here to kill me! What the hell do you want?”

If the camera could see the intruder’s face, similar to the man’s earlier look of confusion, we’d see a look of pain here. “What? I thought you would have expected better from your friend, [REDACTED]. Anyway, I couldn’t sleep.”

A facepalm can be heard, before-- “And this concerns me how?”

The intruder shook his head before continuing, “Because I’m making it concern you. Lemme kick on the lights.”

The intruder barely took a step before the man shouted, “NO!”

Again from the intruder. “What’s wrong?”

A loud sigh before the man continued. “I’m a mystery competitor for this upcoming Warfare.”

A silence occurred again between the two men, before the intruder’s voice can be heard. “That’s… That’s fucking great! Who are you facing?”

“Ghost Tank.”

“Oh, uh… swell! Anyone else?”

“Croaton.”

“Erm… Croaton?”

“Croaton.”

“Who the bloody hell is Croaton?”

”Trust me, you don’t want to know. I just watched one of his promos.”

“What, is he a like Ghost Tank?”

“Something much worse, I’m afraid.”

“I don’t think it can get much worse than Ghost Tank. Show me the promo, it can’t be that bad.”

“Your funeral, pal.”

The man handed the intruder the laptop, before heading downstairs.

---

---

---

"So. Croaton. And Ghost Tank too, but it seems as if he's already given up, not even bothering to address me. It seems as if you're my first opponent back. I don't know a damned thing about you, but I suppose that's for the better."

"I don't know about this hocus-pocus shit you do. I mean, appearing in televisions? Making time stop? I don't bother with magic, nor do I believe it exists."

"I'd say you're a faker, you're hiring actors to do this, et cetra, but if my suspicions are correct and the camera filmed my reaction to your promo, then we both know that isn't true."

"But the fact of the matter is this- I'm not losing here. You may beg to disagree, maybe bring some stuff up that I've done in the past. But that's irrelevant. I'm not starting my return off on the wrong foot. I'm planning on rectifying my previous losses, and if you stand in my way, so be it. I've done a lot of soul searching over the time I've been away, and I don't know how, but I'm going to beat you AND Ghost Tank."

"Act as if you're superior to me. Try to belittle me. I dare you. Your intentions may be pure, getting people to right their wrongs in life, but how you do it is unforgivable. They must be approached with care and compassion, not encouraging them to take their own life. And before the obvious--"

"I don't force them to take their lives, they choose to--"

"Answer me this. How would you feel if an entity who has been watching everyone their entire lives suddenly came up to you and began rattling off your sins, and in the case of Elizabeth, force them to remember such a horrifying memory in intense detail? Try answering that riddle?"

"Honestly, both you and GT are making a mistake by not bringing me up. Your neglect to mention all competitors in this match implies you're underestimating me, which-- spoiler alert, is one of the worst things you can do in a match with me. I can prove you wrong. I will prove you wrong."

"I'm rambling now, so I'll cut this short. On Warfare, I won't know what will happen, except that you and Ghost Tank should be ready for the fight of your life."