The room is dark, and smokey, in the corner we see the Pest sitting, alone, in a black leather wingback chair. His hat is pushed down, slightly covering his eye. He pulls a cigarette out of his pocket, and places it to his mouth before snapping his other fingers. The girl from earlier walks over, the fear dripping from her as if sweat. The Pest smells the fear, and smiles. For fear of being abused further, she lights the cigarette, and quickly hurries out of sight. The Pest speaks, his gravelly voice has not been properly heard for months.

Pest:Hello, XWF. Hello, Mister Jameson. Do you mind if I address you as such? It makes no difference to me, I shall do it anyway. You see, Lee, you are a returning great, in your own mind. I am the God of Emptiness. The beast with which you do not wish to tangle. You have felt defeat at the hands of Drew Archyle, and a man who paints himself gold. That in itself tells me everything I need to know about you. You are the weaker member of a team that involves Steve Davids. The man who wins titles, and loses them faster than Maverick. You are weaker than he is. Tremendous work there, Lee. I congratulate you. But, that is not what we are here to discuss. The true reason we are here, is because on Madness, you are to be the sacrificial lamb to the slaughter of my return.

The peasants of the XWF have prayed to the Heavens above and the Hells below. They have longed for my return, to see what I have been doing since the removal of the Black Hand, or its apparent removal. As we have been witnessing, the Black Hand is not truly gone, is it? You see, I orchestrated movements, and events without the slightest visibility. Michael, and My Angel, they were locked in a cell with Mister Dominance, for his title. A title my Angel had rightfully won, but was clearly held from achieving. No issue, Dominance was given a proper warning. His mistake will not be repeated.

Mister Bourbon feels that I have wronged him somehow, and he will seek revenge on me for it, I have no doubt. But, I am prepared for that as well. You see, The Pest plans. The Pest is always planning. Should I have chosen, I could have easily taken the snot nosed kid's title at Bad Medicine, but something you all should have noticed was going. I was planning something far grander. The Angel was out to fetch someone for me. A Tank, a Beast. Now, the Beast thought he would be brought before me as a part of his initiation. The Pest could smell his weakness, and would have beaten the man. Again. The Pest needed The Angel to fetch him, so the Pest could weed out the snake in his grass. Mister Waters. The man who pretended to be the Pest's ally, only to betray the Pest. The Pest knew of his growing deceit, and made arrangements to stop them from coming to fruition, and lo, they have come no further than mere planning.

The Black Hand survives, and grows. The Pest has not spoken directly to Michael, or to His Angel, but he has planned for their future. Mister Bourbon does not have the resources, or the time to fully stop us. None truly do. Mister Bourbon is no fool, though, he knows the battle is lopsided, in my favor. Yet, he trudges on. Because, unlike Mister Havok, he has something that gives him a slight edge. One point against my mountain. Mister Bourbon has the gift of knowledge. He knows that I am coming for him. He is able to prepare, and as the good worker bee that he is; he is preparing. It will never be enough, though. I am not the beast I was before. The savage murderer. The uncontrollable fuck. No, I am more. I am refined, I am planned, and coordinated. I am unfuckingstoppable.

Everything you are not, Havok. Everything you never will be. Everything you could ever hope to be. I am the Goddamned God of Emptiness. And, though my crown is retired, I still keep it. As a reminder to the world. What I am capable of.

The Pest snaps his fingers, and the girl comes into the light again. She drops the Dildo crown on the floor, in front of the Pest.

Pest:You do not know this imagery, Lee Jameson. Nor do you, Robert. What you two do not know is that this crown, once meant something. It meant that I was going to fuck things up. Well, things will continue to get fucked up. The thing is, those times have expired. The times I once wanted people to fear a crown and not the man, those days were gone the second I formed the Black Hand. The last time I wore the crown, I took the Doctor's eye. That is not the path I choose to walk anymore. I choose to not be the man who scrambles against old men for gold. No, I choose to lead others to the glory of fighting old men for gold. I will be leading the charge to get my Angel to be a third time Universal Champion.

The Pest gets to his feet, and reaches into his pocket and pulls out a container. He pours the contents all over the Dildo crown. One more reach into his jacket removes a gold plated lighter, and a cigarette. The Pest's cigarette is nearing the end of its life, he removes it and drops it by the crown. The Pest places the new cigarette between his lips and lights it. Before dropping the lighter. The crown is ablaze.

Pest:You see, Lee Jameson. I am done with the idea of that Pest. I am in charge of things now. I have taken a less hands on approach, and a more behind the scenes approach. You, Lee Jameson, are the sacrifice to erupt that flame. The Pest will use your broken and mangled corpse to send a message to the world, before pushing his Angel forward, and protecting Michael. Do you wish to find out what will happen to you when we do our dance? I can spell it out for you, very simply. I will make you scream, and I will end any chance of you think you have of moving up in this federation. I will take you to your limits, and I will push you past them, leaving you shattered. You will walk into the ring, thinking you have a shot. I will walk in knowing that you do not. And then, I show you that you do not have a shot, and you will not walk out of the back. You see, much like that crown, I will set you on fire.

There will be no ifs ands or buts about it. You will be burnt, and you will not succeed in defeating me, or anyone after I finish with you. You will know that your place is simply, standing by the back door preventing people from walking in through the exit, and assure them to not pull the fire alarm. Lee, you should be happy, I have just given you a new career opportunity. I will be expecting you to thank me for it. Perhaps, you could set up at the mall with a little table, and collect money for the local DAV group, or the Wounded Warrior Project. Tell them that you got burnt fighting off an insane Viet Cong fanatic or something. Either way, you will need to find a new line of work, one that does not involve you stepping foot in the wrestling ring. Because if you step foot in another wrestling ring, I will personally set you ablaze again. And I will continue this every time you step into the goddamn ring. Tell me, Lee Jameson, how frequently do you wish to be burnt?