The scene opens to Ned on a New York rooftop, looking over towards the sunrise. His city always seemed bigger from below, but viewing it like this gave him an overwhelming feeling of calmness and meaning. Like he could feel the life of the city flow inward and outward through him.

The feeling of home. Something any man would fight on behalf of. And he would be no exception.

"So, Centurion..."

He turns to face the camera, illuminated by sunlight with his city behind him.

"Those people in the front office root for you? That's wonderful. You know who rallies behind me?"

Ned points his finger and slowly moves his arm so it trails over the horizon.

"Those people. My supporters, some who've known of me for ages, others learning about me week by week. They are clamoring for my ascension and I refuse to disappoint. If the XWF is in want of good business, they should listen to the people purchasing their product. With that said, there is a statement of yours I must address."

"You're absolutely correct, Centurion. I have never faced someone even remotely similar to you. And you know what?"

He smirks as his intensity pulses through the camera.

"It won't change a damn thing."

"When I signed with the XWF, I had every intention of forcing my limits upward exponentially. I wanted opportunity, so I committed to being the most outstanding version of myself I could be. Say what you will about indie guys, I've easily proven that I was ready for the big leagues long ago. There's a reason you know my name. It is not charity that worked me to this point in my career, nor having everything laid out so easily. I've been through hell and I've lost things that would shatter other men. Yet I remain the man with a will that boils more intense than magma. Because when you fight Ned Kaye, you fight every individual who ever worked for peanuts when they were certain they were worth more. When you fight Ned Kaye, you take arms against all the folk who hold onto hope when optimism seems a perverse fantasy. But what has sealed your fate Wednesday night, to the point where no Prophecy can rearrange the outcomes, when you fight Ned Kaye, you do battle with me. And even if you had never taken a hiatus, you're not prepared for me. Your experience fuels me, Centurion, as much as it empowers yourself. If you consider your career to be one of the greatest declarations of success in our business, then I am the rebuttal."

"But I sincerely respect you, Centurion. You're not past your prime and this match is seemingly a dream come true for a man like myself. However, you are in the path of my unflinching tenacity and an ocean of honor cannot quell my ambition. To prove myself to the best men in the business, I must prove I'm up to snuff and you are that chance. It is bitter irony that has us in such similar situations. Both researching matches of old, both surrounded by old gyms. Both prepared to clash for hours if it means victory. The key difference between us is not ability. I assure you that greatness never drifted from you and still dwells, awaiting reemergence. It requires just a spark and I am bursting with energy. What seperates you and I is legacy. Yours proceeds you; mine is yet to be writ. As I did at last Warfare and countless times in my past, I shall pull perfection from you so that I may topple your greatest effort."

"Centurion, I shall drag you to your peak so that I may plant my flag there. This is not a probability, this is the plan."

"However, some have dared to belittle me, confusing mediocre and meteoric. One particular man has been lucky enough to receive my full attention."

Ned seemingly stares daggers through the camera lens.

I'm in next Warfare you punk ass bitch. Where you at? WHERE YOU AT!?

— "Oh no, not that c*nt" Noah Jackson (@EvilKingNoah) March 29, 2019

"I'm right here."

"Here we see Noah Jackson, a man whose respect for life equals that of an active warzone, with a comparable amount of pleasantness. Sadly for him, he is nowhere near as dangerous as one. Noah, you believe I'm being handed things out of pity. Because "I tweet well." You label me undeserving and rattle on about how much better you are than everyone. Now, I'm not the best, not yet. But I'm the kind of man who can contend with the best and if you want a proper warning, look to Centurion's reaction to me. He knows the absolution of my triumph if he's complacent. What you are, Jackson, is a perfectly inelegant talker. You bark, whine, and screech at every wrestler in sight because in that ring you've nothing. You froth at the mouth, desperately convinced that you might be able to pester your opponents into submission. Allow me to let you in on something while you tweet how backbreaking cutting that promo was. I feel I should enlighten you on real effort."

"Effort isn't dicking about with friends while the camera's rolling. Effort isn't devaluing the accomplishments of others because you struggle to make your own. Effort is placing pride aside to improve. And with how much "hard work" you seem to be placing, I can easily provide a vision into your coming years."

"You're not the future Universal champion. You're not a future top 50 guy, fan favorite, or Hart title contender. You're not even qualified enough to be a future ticket salesman in this company. Your legacy is that of a mosquito. A blood sucking nuisance, crushed by a single hand of mine. You wanted to step up? Begged me for a match? It's ready, Noah. You are not."

"Furthermore, you haven't complained about your placement in this match. The man who tossed bargain bin insults at the Universal champion for attention. He who helplessly attempted to dig under my skin. I do my damndest to respect my opponents and the many skilled competitors I've been given the privilege to stand both alongside and across. You don't deserve the tiniest sliver of my respect. Hypocrisy? How about the hypocrisy of earning nothing and declaring that you deserve more than someone who lives to earn his spot in this company? You brought back Fuzz? Wrong. You preformed your usual routine of growling at someone for attention and it's apparent that you'll continue to for as long as it makes you feel marginally important. Any time in my life that good fortune has graced me it's been after years of exertion, missed opportunities, and putting my entire being into my work. My path has culminated in worldwide Notoriety. Your friend said it best. He loved my work in the indies because I have spent the last seven years of my life to prove myself as the greatest and now I'm both among and recognized by them."

"Between us, the man needy for unearned glory is yourself. Or did you not spout as much vitriol as would seep out your repulsive lips at every person you passed so you might face them? The only thing you've ever been extraordinary at is coming to false conclusions. Speaking of which, you insinuated that management played gentle with me to allow my upcoming title shot. The "Golden Boy treatment." Take a closer peek at the response of our president and look at the matches I'm scheduled for."

"At the inaugural episode of Anarchy, a show managed by Lane, he has me facing his fiancee's bodyguard, a woman who plays on my weaknesses. The next week is our match, where Centurion already admitted he holds support from higher up. Management wants to mold me into an "average, mid-tier preformer." Vincent Lane views me as a liability to the Universal title and only added a beneficial stipulation to spite Robert Main. Management doesn't want me to be the next big star. I wouldn't be shocked if they placed you in this in hopes that your conniving ways would secure me a loss. Management wants me to have no legacy in the XWF? Fine by me, cuz' I don't give a good goddamn what management wants, I hear the desires of the XWF Universe! And their wish is for me to overcome every odd! They have another desire, as well. To see me tear you another hole you can shove your disgusting maw into."

"You're not unpredictable. You're barely even suprising from moment to moment. I know how you operate and the only unfortunate fact of Wednesday's match is that I'll have to stare at the revolting sight on the front of your head to ensure you don't resort to cowardly behavior. As far as I see it, I'm in a match that has two wrestlers and Noah Jackson."

"But don't fret, Noah. No one here doubts that you can fill a novel with frivolous shit."

Kaye walks off screen as the scene cuts away.

"You can't run from yourself."