"Is the camera on?" asks a voice through the pitch blackness that our scene opens up to. Then, silence. A silence that feels like an eternity as the darkness rules over all, making seconds into hours as the heavy waves of confusion crash hard onto the shores of this, well whatever it is. Finally, a reprieve. A light shining through the darkness. Not a very bright one mind you, but prominent enough so that everything that needs to be revealed, is. And as fate would have it, the faint light shines just above Douglas Delacroix, courtesy of a bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. The look on his face is one of vague disappointment and less vague confusion as he glares into the camera.

"Yes sir, it is," says a shaky, less than confident voice on the other end. Presumably the cameraman.

"Very well then," Douglas says, chuckling despite showing no visible signs of glee. "Let's get to work."

"Which would be... ?" the wavering voice of the cameraman asks, allowing the uneasiness to bleed into his filming, resulting in an awkward almost Dutch Angle as Douglas cracks something reminiscent of a smile with a lack of emotion prevalent in his eyes.

"I'm sure you heard about my new profession, Chris."

"Pro wrestler, yeah. What's the gotta do with the camera and the--" he starts before Douglas' halfhearted smile contorts into a wide eyed glare that gets him to shut up immediately.

"The camera's important, Chris. Apparently, I'm up against someone who really likes to talk. Even when he has absolutely nothing at all to say."

"That seems pointless."

"It does, doesn't it? I don't think he quite gets the concept. A shame, really. Come."

Douglas waves Chris the Cameraman over to where he was previously sitting as he stands up. The room, wherever it is they are is completely barren sans the hanging, exposed bulb and the stool that Douglas had been sitting on. Shaking his head, he leads his camera operator out the door and into the night, towards a large white house.

"What about the--"

"It can wait. Focus on the task at hand, don't be like Johnathan."

"Johnathan?"

"Right. My apologies. 'The Ariel Knight' Johnathan Heartsford. My first opponent, the one who doesn't quite understand the value of not shoving his foot into his mouth."

"Oh," Chris says, pointing the camera down at the ground for a second before jerking it back up towards the star of this little show. "I just think we oughtta--"

"We'll clean up the mess soon. No need to be so anal about it right now."

After a few more seconds of walking, they approach the house, climbing up the steps that lead to the deck. Once on the deck, they both take a seat on opposite sides of a glass, circular table. Douglas retrieves a small handkerchief from his jacket's breast pocket and uses it to wipe a bead of sweat from his forehead before he lays it down on the table.

"So, your opponent. What was his name again?"

"Johnathan Heartsford. He's something, I'll give him that." Douglas breaks out into a chuckle before shaking his head and resting his hands down on the table, running his fingers along the glass.

"A good something?"

"Now, don't go putting words into my mouth there Chris. He gets easily confused."

"Whatdya mean?"

"I don't think words alone will give you the full scope of it, boy. You got one of them smart phones, don't ya?"

"Well yeah, I do but uh--"

"Give it here."

Reluctantly, Chris jams his hand into his pocket and pulls out his phone, placing it on the table and into the camera's line of sight before sliding it across the glass surface to Douglas, who grabs it and starts fiddling with it.

"You really ought to a get a password lock on this thing, boy."

"Yeah, sure thing."

After a few more seconds of fiddling around the technological marvel, Douglas holds up the phone, which has the beginning of The Ariel Knight's most recent promo about him queued up and ready to play.

"You can see this alright, can't ya?"

A nod, from both the operator and the camera.

"Alrightie then," he says before pressing play on the video. An action that brings up the ever so confusing disclaimer he saw fit to throw at the beginning.

Disclaimer Said:The following is a possible demonstration about how Douglas Delacroix entered the XWF. No actors were harmed nor traumatized in this promo. If you do not like people being stared at in a villainous manner, turn away from this promo now. Otherwise, have a fun read.

"Now, here's where things start to get interesting. Johnny boy puts up a disclaimer, givin' full disclosure that everythin' in this little promo, at least the first part, is a dramatization with actors and everything, and yet still tells people to have a fun read. It's like he doesn't know which words to use because he's too busy reading into things that aren't important to keep his eyes on the bigger picture. The match. Where my motivations aren't relevant. I don't need to stand here and tell ya all the things I've done in my life because there's no need. My actions in life prior to joining the XWF are not on trial, nor am I as a person. The only thing to be tested in this debut match is my skills, up against yours. And yet you Johnny boy, you feel the need to poke and prod into needless territories. Why's that, boy? Oh, I think I know why. It's because for all his tough talk about how 'brawlin' is for drunks and how he's so much better than I for his style, he and his style couldn't pick him up a win against a long haired Nancy boy in his debut.

Oh, so the plot thickens.

There's the reason he's been looking into everything other than the threat I pose. Why he felt the need to show footage of himself interjecting in a fight between two untrained mooks who, from the way I see it, were paid off prior to shooting to take dives like the good little extras they are, to try and build himself up as a tough guy. Because he knows he isn't. Hell, he already admitted the obviously poor acting job of whoever he paid to be me was a lie, why is there any doubt that he'd pay people to make him look good when he can't do that on his own? There shouldn't be, because it's obvious plain as day, clear as crystal. This 'Ariel Knight' as he calls himself for, by his own admission, no reason, is a fraud. Not a true man. A true man wouldn't puff out his chest and hide behind non sequiturs to conceal the fact that he's a failure.

And so he takes the coward's way out.

Sad.

Really.

He's already proven himself so deficient of any single redeeming quality, that I'll consider it a favor when I inevitably beat him into a coma and leave his scraps there for the EMTs. Leave him laying out like roadkill. A slimy piece of subhuman filth crushed beneath the wheel of an ever moving machine. The Ariel Knight, grounded.

That's his life though. Projected on the screens as he desperately cries out for attention like a child does the love of its mother.

And the truth flashing before his eyes.

Defeat. Destruction. Failure.

Yes, a failure in your goals. Just the first stomped, snuffed out dream on my rise to the top.

And that, I'll have no regrets about, Johnny Boy.

Now Chris, if you don't mind; turn off the camera. We have some clean up to do."

Without a word in response, Chris cuts the camera's power, sending us right back to the world of silence and darkness. Much like the state The Ariel Knight will find himself in once they meet in the ring.

Cut.

Flatline.