The scene opens at the Greyhound bus station in Boston, located at South Station, over near the Financial District. A bus is currently boarding passengers for what was supposed to be a departure of, well, 45 minutes ago. This cross-country bus is making stops in New York, Philadelphia, Pittsburgh, Columbus, Indianapolis, and Belleville, IL before making its way to Kansas City for Wednesday Night Warfare. Tony Santos can be seen frantically making his way through a crowd of travelers and homeless folk, torn jeans and his old, but favorite, St. Louis Cardinals baseball t-shirt on his back (no, he's not a baseball fan in the slightest). In tow is the mother of his child and ex-flame, Laura, and his 2-year-old son Troy, who is nuzzled in Laura's left bosom.

Santos: L, let's get a move on here! I gotta catch this damn bus or I'm out a few bills!

Laura, clearly annoyed, picks up the pace and finagles her way through the crowd in hopes of catching up to Tony... simply so she can yank his hair.

Laura: I'm still amazed that you pulled me out of work for this farewell garbage. I'm only doing this so Troy can give you a half-hearted hug as he watches his failure of a father go chase a pipe dream out in Missouri. Not that I care what you do with your life, but you should be here, in Boston, getting a real job and taking care of your damn kid. Instead, your immature, drunk a... um, butt, goes around the country, wrestling with half naked men in front of a popcorn crowd of 20 or 30 people, making barely enough money to buy a bag of Cheetos, and avoiding your responsibilities as a father.

Tony twirls around to face Laura, coming to a complete stop.

Santos: Cut the bull, L. This is the real deal. I'm going to be making some serious money now, so that I can adequately support the little dude over here. God knows we can't support him on your Dunkin' Donuts salary, and no, free donuts don't count as feeding him properly.

With that Laura gives Tony a slight backhand to the face, appalled by the affront that Tony just pulled.

Laura: How dare you insult me and what I do for a living. I'd be making my wage today if it wasn't for this ridiculous ritual. Also, don't forget that I also work at the tattoo parlor out in Allston during the week. I'm pulling together two paychecks and still supporting Troy full-time while you sit in your dingy apartment, playing video games and doing push-ups.

Also, don't call me L. You don't have the right to use any sort of nicknames with me.

Tony turns to see that he's next in line for the Greyhound bus, with an obviously agitated bus driver waiting at the base of the stairs. An old, gray man likely in his 60s, he's dealt with enough miscreants and nuisances in his lifetime to care to put up with the lovers tryst occurring in front of his eyes.

Santos: Fine. Hand me the little bugger so I can say goodbye.

Laura reluctantly hands Troy over. Tony whispers a few things in Troy's ear (most likely to avoid having Laura hear the bad things he is likely saying about his significant other), puts Troy down, and says a quick goodbye to Laura before boarding.

Tony, with bulky, black luggage bag in tow and duffle bag over his shoulder, pushes his way through the narrow row to an open seat, leaving his duffle bag on a seat next to him. Fumbling with his phone and earbuds, he manages to get some music playing as he sits, waiting for the bus driver to take off.

All of a sudden, a young, college-aged kid, comes running frantically to the bus, with bags upon bags, with one in particular causing him quite a bit of trouble. He hops on to the bus and manages to elbow at least three different people on his way to the seat next to Santos.

Santos: I was starting to think you wouldn't make it. What took you so long?

The kid, who goes by the name of Jeremy, just finished his first year at Boston University. He's a video journalism major who was looking to land a gig as a reporter or videographer, rather than going back to his high school job at the local movie theater in Burlington, MA. However, after a fruitless few months of searching (due to his lack of experience), he had given up. That's when he happened to run into Tony at a local Subway...

The long and short of it is that, after some embellishing from Tony on what he did for a living, Jeremy took Santos up on an offer for an unpaid internship to travel the country, taping Tony's vignettes and other bits and pieces of his time on the road. Thanks to wealthy parents and some saving that he had been doing in preparation for an unpaid internship (as well as plenty of leftover high school graduation money), this was not financially unreasonable.

Jeremy fumbles with his words in response to Santos's question, resulting in Tony's palm six inches from his face...

Santos: Never mind, it doesn't matter how you got here. It's a good thing you made it on time though. Now you get to listen to me ramble on throughout this two-day trip! Get your camera out, I'm ready to start!

Jeremy fumbles with the troublesome bag from earlier, still trying to get his bearings together with the others as well. Out he pulls a modest digital camera, nothing special about it, turns it on, and starts rolling...

Tony messes with his long, brown hair for a few seconds, clears his throat, and begins, cheesy smile and all.

Santos: Hello world, Tony Santos here, master of the alcoholic beverage and slayer of video game villains the world over. Welcome to my journey. Over the next few months, my good friend Jeremy here will be following me around the road as I master the art of wrestling and dominate all comers in the XWF.

And, if that doesn't work, you'll at least get to see me do push-ups, comb my hair, and antagonize some locals.

Jeremy, yet to put out a coherent sentence, pauses the video and finally speaks.

Jeremy: Excuse me, Mr. Santos?

Santos: What the hell, Jermaine? I was on a roll! Seriously, it only took me one take and I can already feel women getting a little moist from this. Don't stop me now!

Jeremy: Um, sir, it's Jeremy.

Tony certainly didn't hear Jeremy's correction, as he's already turned his focus to his phone, where he's found a great eCard on Facebook about kittens and ferris wheels.

Jeremy: Sir, I just want to pass a little bit of advice to you.

Santos: Advice? You're like 13.

Jeremy: 19, sir. Just a suggestion or two about how we should go about this. I think we'd be much better off if you acted like yourself, talked about your matches, both past and present, and just made the focus about the XWF.

Let's start off with your match on Wednesday, shall we?

Santos gives a grunt in less-than-thrilled agreement.

Santos: Sure. What's my match next week? Oh! Right! Six-man tag match! What do you want me to say?

Jeremy: Tell me about your opponents.

Santos: Sure, sure. So, um, let me pull the card up here.. Okay! So, from looking through this, I'm facing a janitor with an attitude problem, and, from the looks of his promo last week, a fixation with broomsticks...

Tony raises an eyebrow to the camera as his smile turns to a confused frown.

Santos: We have a man by the name of Brian Campbell, who, from watching his last little vignette last week, gets trained by getting kicked in the head repeatedly... Odd, concussing yourself doesn't seem to be the best way to prepare for a match. But hey, I probably concuss myself slightly every night when I hit the bar, so, we're probably on the same level.

Jeremy doesn't react to the subpar joke, taking Santos aback.

Santos: And finally, Slick Rick! A slick man wouldn't do the following:

1) Lose a fight to a mentally unstable janitor with potential daddy issues, then leave the hospital against the doctor's orders (couldn't have been too serious of an injury if you ask me)

2) Pick a terrible nickname that clearly just rhymes with his name and in no way fits his personality.

and 3) Not be able to compose himself enough for his headshot that he has spittle running down his mouth. Check the photo, XWF Universe, or whatever the bigwigs like to call these people for marketing purposes.

He looks back at the card and chuckles.

Santos: And apparently I'm supposed to care about this Eric Rex character. He just seems like a selfish bore who likes to spout off big words and long diatribes, but with no real substance or ideas. Apparently he has some family feuding of sorts to take care of as the referee of this match, so I'll let him do his thing. As long as he counts the 1-2-3 after I nail one of these poor excuses for human beings with the Final Destination, we'll be just fine. Hell, I'll sit in the back with him after the match and we can discuss the finer points of Kill Bill or even compare our notes on the dictionary!

Jeremy lowers the camera and gives Tony a look of disbelief and confusion.

Santos: Don't worry about it. I'm tired. Gonna hit the sack for a few. Get some rest, young grasshopper. It's gonna be a long and very weird ride to Kansas City.

Jeremy shuts off the camera and places it back in his bag. He puts his head back, ready to grab a little bit of shut eye to make the trip go by faster, only to have an already fast asleep Santos elbow him in the ribs.

Jeremy: This is going to be a long summer.