Ned Kaye sits in his office, appearing to be incredibly worn. As the camera pans over the various papers on his desk, it reveals various documents, many involving his father's remaining time and his plans for opening the gym. Despite being well dressed, his exhaustion is palpable. The sun's setting light pierces his window, the rays looking almost physically present with the intensity of their glow. The soft humming of an AC is the only thing heard until Ned's phone abruptly begins to ring.

Glancing at the screen, he sees that it's his father calling. With a newfound energy, he answers.

"Hey Dad."

With an infectious enthusiasm, Ned's father responds with haste.

"Hey there, kiddo! I know you've probably got your fill o' me today, but Ethan was telling me you were feeling a little down lately."

"I mean, I suppose. I didn't say anything like that to him."

"Yeah, he was just getting some vibes. What's wrong, Ned? You broke that losing streak, but today you seemed to be in that same funk."

Ned exhales slightly, his face growing more somber.

"It's just becoming a lot more real to me... that you're not gonna be here soon. And no matter how many matches I win or lose, I can't... I can't stop it."

"Ned..."

"How can I take pride in my victories if I know it all really only amounts to a wrestling match? I lost Lily and now I have to just sit by helplessly while you're growing sicker..."

Ned's voice cracks somewhat.

"I'm just still not ready to lose you... I don't know if I can be."

"Ned... it's going to be alright. It's tough on everybody in our family right now and we just have to go through as best we can. But, kiddo, you can't halt your life just because of me. I don't want you to toss away your best years to grief. You're gonna be alright. It's all gonna be alright."

"I know, it just doesn't make it easier..."

"...That's true, but it's not like you've got nobody here to help you. You got Mom and Ethan, obviously, but you also got all those supporters of yours. You don't have to go through this alone."

He pauses for a second.

"You know what used to cheer you up?"

Ned wipes his cheeks, breathing more steadily now.

"What's that, Dad?"

"Going on jogs through the city. You really love seeing all the familiar faces. The only time you're happier is in that ring, fighting your heart out!"

They chuckle a bit together.

"Yeah, you're right, Dad. You know, I think a jog could really do me a lot of good about now. Thank you for calling."

"Anytime, kiddo. Oh, and Ned?"

"Yeah?"

"Give that Page fella hell!"

"Of course. Talk to you later, Dad."

"Love ya, kid."

"Love you, too."

Smiling, he ends the call, placing his phone on the desk in front of him. He swiftly makes his way downstairs, looking towards his refurbished gym equipment, then to the door. With a long gaze, he walks to a punching bag, sighing a bit.

"Jogging will have to wait."

The Notorious One stretches a tad before delivering some speedy kicks the the bag, working on his power.


Later, at the same bag, Ned continues his striking practice, his kicks noticeably harder despite the hours he spent training.

"How do you hurt Chris Page? How do you catapult him back to Earth?"

Ned lands a devastating kick onto the punching bag in front of him, letting it swing a while before he answers his own question.

"You remind him of exactly what he is. Deep down below the skin."

"And Chris, you're one hell of a specimen. You see, when I was facing Robert Main I made some bold claims about him. Claims I was truly wrong about. That he was nothing without the belt. That the only thing that mattered to him was that title and that he would trade everything with even a semblance of meaning in his life just to keep it. Little did I know, Chris, that I had described you to a tee. You waltz back to the XWF, making bold demands left and right because you are still not over the truth of the matter: You aren't worthy of that belt, let alone any belt in this company. Why have you not signed a contract for your return? Because behind that proud exterior, you are fully aware you can't make it. You're putting all your chips on the sheer luck that you might slyly steal a victory from Robert, but you know how low your odds really are."

"So you run your mouth. Try and demoralize me; claim I'll only be known because you're facing me; pretend I'm not a threat. Chris, I don't wish to sound pompous, but I'm a tad tired of this constant insistence that I'm nothing without my competition pulling my name up. I've proven my work ethic, I'm proven my persistence! The thing I fight for is refinement! I'm not fighting to prove anything, that's on you, Chris. And you know it. That's why you play this game of lazy insults, attempting to disrespect myself and others by calling us different names. See, I don't have to resort to such juvenile behavior because the most insulting name I can call you is Chris Page. The man who can't stand the idea of earning things. The man who whines loudly about anything and everything, whilst embracing the nickname "Chronic." But at least you acknowledge you're an illness to this company and it's wrestlers through your moniker. And those wrestlers are more deserving of each opportunity you throw tantrums over."

"People like Lux, Mastermind, Vita Valenteen, Bobbi London, Tony Santos, Brian Storm. All of them true talents, Brian managing to go undefeated through sheer will, but because he keeps his head down, working his heart out and you use all that time to scream up a storm, you get the media attention. Hell, even Sarah Lacklan, whom I couldn't care less for, has earned more than you ever could. Your day is done Chris, not because you can't wrestle, not because you're bad at the craft, but because you're only in it to spite the generation that moved on from you. You are a sickness, Page, and my generation is the cure for you. The future is the cure for you. So, throw everything you have at me. Try as hard as you possibly can and it won't make a lick of difference. I'm going to show the world that accomplishment cannot overcome attitude in a straight fight and I'll take a good deal of pleasure doing so. Your time has ended, Chris, and my time is just getting started."

Ned walks over to the nearest window, looking for only a moment before turning his head profile to the camera.

"You may forget what I am. You may forget why I am. But after Warfare, Chris, you'll never forget who I am. And that's that."

The picture fades out as Ned looks back over his city.

"You can't run from yourself."