"Just don't mess up the shot."

It was the evening prior to XWF Wednesday Warfare, and something incredible is about to happen…Centurion is going to be receiving a title shot.

After his disastrous performance against Thebe Nwadike, it seemed more likely that Centurion would be spending the rest of his career wrestling random gimmicks off the street, but the need for Anarchy to have a fighting champion, coupled with Centurion's status as a recent holder of the title has lead to this match.

And Centurion couldn't be any more ready.

We open up in a park somewhere in Wildwood, New Jersey. The leaves have turned, and anyone within the area is wearing either a jacket or a sweatshirt to protect themselves from the autumn air. A camera crew has their equipment pointed at a bench, and the rest of the folks in the park all seem to be huddled just a few feet behind the camera, interested in what is happening.

Sitting on the bench, in front of the camera, sits Centurion, who is holding a cigar in one hand and a glass of scotch in another. He is wearing a full suit with a hat, but he has an uneasy look on his face - a look of worry in regards to the situation he is currently in. Standing just off to the side of him is Nellie, who is pointing at members of the crew and giving directions.

"You." Nellie says to one of the camera operators. "Try not to get anything from the knees down. His shoes look horrible, and it would give off the wrong impression."

"What's wrong with my shoes?" Centurion says in an almost sad tone.

"Dad" Nellie responds in a much quieter voice now that she's not yelling at the crew. "Those shoes are from 1994. I don't know why you couldn't have gone with one of your fancier suits."

"Because" Centurion responds, defiantly. "Not everything needs a fancy suit. You're lucky I'm wearing a suit at all. And why am I holding a glass of scotch? It's 10 in the morning!"

"It makes you look dapper!" Nellie responds.

"It makes me look like an alcoholic!" Centurion retorts back, almost immediately. Nellie, seeing his point but also not wanting to make it known that she sees his point, scoffs and, in a huff, snatches the glass out of Centurion's hand.

"Fine," Nellie says, angerily "but you're keeping the cigar! Now...EVERYBODY QUIET!"

Nellie screams to the crew and the bystanders, who were all primarily quiet to begin with, as she walks away from Centurion and back behind the camera. She takes a peak into one of the cameras before nodding over to Centurion. Centurion studies the unlit cigar for a second and slowly places it into his jacket pocket, infuriating Nellie. Before she can say anything, however, Centurion begins to speak.

"Latina Submission Machine! LSM! I am so happy to finally make your acquaintance. You have been quite the force to be reckoned with since your debut on Anarchy. You took down Big Money Oswald. Won the Anarchy Title. Gone toe to toe with some of the best talents we have on the roster. That's awesome, and I'm sure you've learned a lot.

But playtimes over."

Centurion smirks as he stands up from the bench. He casually unbuttons his jacket and opens it up to reveal the UGWC Conquest Title.

"See this?" Centurion asks confidently. "I know you probably don't know what this it. The other place I wrestle for likely isn't on your radar at all, nor should it be. What I'm holding here has nothing to do with the belt itself, but rather, what it represents.

I'm a champion. At my age, after being apparently "washed up" and "too old", I'm still taking down wrestlers half my age and picking up gold all around the world. I'm not the past of this profession, LSM - I'm the past, present, AND FUTURE! Wrestling me isn't just some "honor" - it's a fucking war, and one you are not equipped to fight.

The last time I held the Anarchy Title, I had to beat Ruby to win it. I didn't want to fight her. It was never my intention to take it from her, and I wrestled with the morality if even stepping foot in that ring knowing I could bring emotional distraught and physical pain to her. You, LSM?

I do not have those same reservations. I have no problem stepping in the ring with you and beating the unholy hell out of you, and that isn't because I dislike you. It's because I don't know you. Honestly, that might be worse. When I hate someone I'm in the ring with, I am so passionate about what I'm doing I can sometimes make mistakes. But with you, I have no emotions. You're nothing to me. Just a title holder. One I'm going to steamroll in order to get back to the top of Anarchy. And the sad part is…

You already know that to be true. You know you were nothing more than a placeholder for me, and that, when I decided I was ready to return to Anarchy, nobody - not you, not Oswald, not Borden, NOBODY, was going to stop me from reclaiming the title that belongs around my waist.

But hey, you had a hell of a run, LSM. And who knows, maybe you can get yourself out into that TV Title Tournament? I'm sure there are plenty of other opportunities available for you when you meet your…

Fantasía Final!!