Cole Adams: Francine, move!

Francine Andrews: You're mad. I can see that. This isn't the way to go about it. It's really not. Just take a few minutes, cool off. Beating him to a bloody pulp right now isn't going to do you any good.

Cole Adams: So, I'm just supposed to do nothing?

Francine Andrews: Precisely! Do nothing! Wait until the rumble and than go in there with a vengeance and beat his ass!

Cole Adams: Fine. I'll do nothing... happy?

Francine Andrews: I'll be happy when we leave. I don't like you showing up for these pre-Warfare shows.

Cole Adams: And you call yourself a wrestling agent slash manager. Can't you feel the excitement? This got me through a pretty rotten childhood. I wish you could have seen XWF when it was in it's prime and not this watered down version. There was real talent back then.

Francine Andrews: So you've said. I think you are making a very big mistake in counting out even a third of the superstars that are entering the rumble...

Cole Adams: Believe me, I'm not. In fact, I'm probably wasting precious breath even mentioning them. I mean...

Cole holds up his hands and shakes his head. Francine smiles and compliments him on his self control to which he simply rolls his eyes and walks past her towards the door to the arenas. As soon as he opens the arena door, he is transported back to his childhood by the smells and sounds that he had experienced when he used to sneak backstage. Francine follows him in and immediately crinkles her nose as the same smells that Cole was just relishing.

Francine Andrews: Oh my God, it's smells like stale hotdogs mixed with sweat and pussy...

Cole Adams: Charming...

Francine Andrews: Aren't I, though? I'm going to wander over to the food court and grab something... if it's edible. I'll keep my eyes out for anyone interesting...

Cole Adams: Shane , for example?

Francine Andrews: God willing! Do you want anything?

Cole Adams: Nope. I'm just going to have a look around the arena.

Francine Andrews: Suit yourself. Remember... no killing anyone.

Cole ignores her and heads off in the opposite direction towards the talent locker rooms. When he spots the general locker room, the locker room where most of the talent except the big name stars all share, he heads for the door to check the room out. Suddenly, a bald security guard dressed all in black steps in his way.

Security Guard: Sir, this is not your locker room.

Cole laughs and shakes his head.

Cole Adams: Check the list again. The name is Cole Adams.

Security Guard: Oh, I know who you are, sir. Mr. has decided to give you your own locker room. It seems you have pissed off several of the talent with your radio stunt.

Cole Adams: My own locker room! Maybe Shane is starting to grow a brain and realizes just how crucial I am to the survival of this company. Take me to my locker room.

Security Guard: Yes, sir.

Cole follows the security guard with his head held high. Before his first match, he was getting his own locker room. That alone should send a message to the boys in the back. The security guard finally stops outside of a door and sure enough, the name “Cole Adams” is written on the sign that is taped to the door. Cole smiles at the sign and then opens the door to check out the new locker room. The smile fades immediately as he stands in the doorway, staring ahead. The camera slowly pans over his shoulder to see that he is staring into a broom closet.

Cole Adams: A broom closet?

Security Guard: Sir, Mr. has asked me to give you a message. He hopes you like your new locker room and for you to keep in mind who you are dealing with.

Cole continues to stare into the broom closet and barely realizes that the security guard is walking away, laughing. Cole steps into the broom closet and grabs the industrial grade broom before walking up to the security guard and swinging it like a baseball bat. The broom stick connects with the back of his head, knocking him forward onto the ground. Cole slowly walks towards the man's head, climbs over his back and slides the broom stick under the man's throat before pulling up into a modified Camel Clutch.

Cole Adams: Tell Shane that I said thanks.

Cole continues to choke the security guard, not noticing that Francine has turned the corner on him with a bag of Doritos in hand. Instead of telling him to stop, she watches for a few seconds as the security guard struggles to remain conscious. Finally, she taps Cole on the shoulder and he lets go.

Francine Andrews: What was that all about?

Cole Adams: Your boyfriend.

Francine looks over his shoulder at the broom closet and then back at the security guard who is holding his throat, gulping air. Reaching into her pocket, Francine removes the Snickers bar that she just purchased and hands it to him.

Francine Andrews: Here. Eat this.

Cole takes the Snickers bar and starts to unwrap it.

Cole Adams: Why?

Francine Andrews: Because you are a real asshole when you're hungry.

Cole takes a bite out of the Snickers bar.

Francine Andrews: Better?

Cole Adams: Hell no, it's not better. Eating a Snickers bar isn't going to change the fact that my locker room is a broom closet or that...you know what? Why am I wasting this on you?

Cole turns away and starts heading towards the entrance area, sometimes known as the Gorilla position in memory of the late Gorilla Monsoon. As soon as he arrives, he walks right past the audio technician and out through the curtain. The crowd seems stunned by his appearance without entrance music. About half way down the aisle, “Voodoo” by Godsmack begins to play and the crowd begins cheering. Cole walks around the ring towards the ring announcer and grabs the microphone before calling for his music to be cut. He slowly enters the ring and finally the music cuts off.

Cole Adams: I would say that what just happened surprises me but it really doesn't. If Shane is too stupid to hire wrestlers that actually have some talent than I really can't expect much more from the audio guy who is getting paid to sit in the back and jerk off to Hustler magazines in between his one and only job of flipping the right switch when someone heads towards the curtain.

Cole walks over to the ropes closest to the announce table and leans on them, peering down at Crack and Katie who are sitting there speechless.

Cole Adams: What's the matter? You don't have nothing to say? That's fine with me. Sit there and keep your mouths shut because I have some things that I need to get off my chest and I don't want the people at home to have to listen to your mediocre style of commentating while I'm talking.

Cole climbs out of the ring and grabs a steel chair from near the announce table and pushes it into the ring. Once back in the ring, he sets the steel chair up and sits down, listening to the crowd in Detroit who are mostly cheering.

Cole Adams: If you're sitting at home and wondering why the crowd is cheering for me when you people hate me, let me tell you that there are three cities in this country where you will not find one person in this company that gets a better reaction than I do. New Orleans... my home town. Chicago... where I got my wrestling career started thanks to C.M. Punk... and Detroit! Detroit and I go way back to a well known indy company known as UHW but I'm not out here to talk about that. As good as it would be to reminisce over the good old days, there are some things that need to be said in the here and now and that's exactly what I'm going to do.

I'm not looking for respect from the assholes in the back but one thing is for sure, I'm damn sure not going to stand around while I get disrespected, either. This whole little rumble match that we've got going on, there is only one person so far that has had the balls to speak to me directly and I have more respect for him than I do for anyone else in this company. Trax, you and I might agree on quite a bit of things including the stupidity of the staff but eventually the well runs dry and when that well runs dry, there is no more similarities. I'm not looking to be your friend and if we end up as enemies, so be it. All of your past accomplishments became obsolete the moment I arrived in this company. Up until I signed, you were a small fish in an even smaller pond so that you appeared to be a big fish to everyone around you.

I don't care how fast your feet are. If we were running a foot race, that might concern me but we're not. You see, Trax, I am an opportunistic person. Little by little, as the rumble rumbles on, you are going to start to slow down. Your stamina is going to decrease and your agility will start to fail. I only need a split second when your conditioning becomes unconditioned and that is when I will strike. You won't see it happen, you will only feel my hands on the back of your head just before I toss you over the top rope and onto the floor. The only chance you have of survival is the most likely scenario. You, and a bunch of these other worthless pieces of roster space team up and get me out of there.

Besides Trax, there are a lot of colorful entrants into the Rumble. We've got, a guy who has obviously watched one too many Undertaker promos. We've got two guys that make Jim Carey and Jeff Daniels look like rocket scientists. Travis McCoy is another one who didn't have the balls to come right at me. He mentioned Shade, he mentioned Tommy Gunn, who isn't even in the damn thing anymore... he mentioned everyone except me. I've seen so many promos, that it would take me forever to mention them all. Each one was pointless and boring. Save for one. There was only one promo that got my attention, one hundred percent. That, of course, is the promo from the Intercontinental Champion, Tush.

Tush, I want you to look into my eyes and listen very carefully to what I am about to tell you. Overlooking me, in this rumble match, is the biggest mistake you will ever make. Winning the rumble would be an added bonus. My sole purpose is to make sure that you do not win. I hate everything you stand for. I hate everything you are and I'm pretty sure that I'm going to hate what you are in the future. No matter what happens, no matter if I win or lose, and even if you some how do win... I'm not going to stop coming at you. I may have a little business to tend to on the 23rd in the form of Wittle J, but that will do nothing to curb my appetite for taking you down.

Whether the Intercontinental title is on the line or not, the war will continue week in and week out. If you do win, which you won't, but if you do, and I am barred from a title shot for thirty days, then you will do well to consider those thirty days to be your personal purgatory and I will be your personal spawn from hell, tormenting you at every turn. I'm going to give you the same notice that I am giving everyone else in the back and every single person that enters the rumble... I'm here to play, stay, and rule the day. Who Dat!!

Cole tosses the microphone down and remains in the ring a few more minutes to soak up the cheers from Detroit. “Voodoo” by Godsmack finally kicks in and Cole shrugs his shoulders and mouths something to the fans. Finally, he climbs out of the ring and heads towards the back.