It's the dead of night, the stars are out shining, and the crickets can be heard, creaking and tweeting in the distance. The grass blows steadily in the late, winter winds, ushering in a breeze of icy-cold temperatures, that could make your nose numb.

The cliff that overlooks the sleeping denizens of San Diego lights up a startling red, as this red smoke also filters high into the sky. It appears to be a deep red flare, being held up by someone who is clad in jeans and a hoodie, holding the burning torch out in front of him.

The shot changes, and instead it's a shot from on top of the cliff, behind the warmed-up siren holding the flare, who's toes are seemingly perched over the edge of the cliff. The way they're is standing there, with their arm stretched to one side, legs apart, and looking down at the city, it's clear that they are supposedly sending some kind of message. To someone we're not quite certain of.

The figure chuckles, adamantly keeping their position, as the voice of Smoke begins to speak.

I think it's only fair if there's a warning, don't you? There's a message that needs to be let across here, and this message is more... important than you may or may not realise. At least... as far as the XWF is concerned.

The figure turns its body to the camera. You cannot quite see its face, particularly under the starlight or the hood, but it's clear that they are slowly walking toward the camera, with flare still in hand. The red smoke seems to be kicking up to wherever the face would be on the figure, thanks to the wind. But that doesn't seem to even effect the figure, or even make them flinch.

Everything that the XWF has been built upon. Everything that has happened over the past week, month, year, or even its entire lifespan. Everything is about to change. The wheels are turning. The cogs are beginning to creak. The light-bulb at the helm is quivering in anticipation to light up, and shine in its new light. Its... new era.

Come this Friday, the plan will be set in motion. With the rise of a title-bearing fist, the certain fall of a plagued empire will soon be at hand. And sooner than you might think.

The figure stops but a couple feet away from the camera. The arm that is carrying the flare turns and, despite the violent crackling, the figure places it beneath its chin, causing an eerie light to form, casting shadows along the features of Smoke's face, who we can now see as the figure. His lips do not move as he stares intently at the camera, and only his voice clouds the shot.

Since a certain rallying cry took place, many people have tried to step up and stand against this tyrannical force, by which we name the Black Circle. But there is only one who can uphold this promise, this talk of rebellion, this spark at fighting back.

In and around the Lethal Lottery Pay-Per-View, these talks of rebellion, of fighting back, first rose up again. And if I'm right, following these... precautions, there has never before been so much of a buzz over this 'forgotten' and 'trivial' concept.

Sid's return, the rallying cry, the return of one Scott Charlotte, and the inception of the team between Sid and former Black Circle member Luca Arzegotti. All with one goal:

No. More. Black. Circle.

The wind begins to violently pick up once more. And with that, Smoke turns away, keeping the flare at his side as if he is carrying a shopping back, and walking slowly back toward the cliff edge. The camera follows.

There has never been this kind of buzz before. Not during the Extreme Revolution. Not since the Dark Brotherhood was first brought about. And right now, it seems like this... 'rebellion' is the most solid idea yet.

We may not all agree. Fuck, we may not even like one another. But all it takes is a little bit of courage. A little bit of... something. And the spark can turn into a flame.

Smoke stops again at the end of the cliff, returning to his previous position. But the camera keeps moving, floating past the cliff edge, and seemingly drifting down to the greenery below, which is filled with junk. Above, the unmistakable red flare is still pouring out smoke, and is held over said junk, and cliff-edge. The voice echoes over the shot once more.

That flame can turn into an explosion.

Suddenly, the flare is dropped, and everything seems to slow as it tumbles down to the trashy fate below.

And the explosion will create destruction.

Change.

...Hope.

The flare slowly descends onto the scattered debris, and in slow motion, we can see it slowly fall behind some gas canisters...
















...
























The entire plot erupts in a huge ball of flame, sending junk flying all over the place, burning down the cardboard and sizzling the plastics and glass around the entire yard. The fire eventually trickles its way over to the scattered oil and gas around the place, snaking its way back to the canisters and--



The entire place explodes, with rubbish and trash flying everywhere, even managing to land on the distant streets in ferocious fireballs of fury, clouding the streets with thick smoke and black fog.

Suddenly, Smoke comes up to the camera out of no where, and stands so that he's in front of the explosion, and in the middle of the furious rainstorm of smoldering debris, speaking at the camera from the street, rather than through voice over.

I come to you with a choice. When this whole thing escalates, you must choose a side. I'm not here to make you choose, that's not my place. But you must decide.

Smoke pretends to look down at a watch.

And it appears to have less than a week to do so.


Smoke smirks as he usually does, before turning toward the fireball in the distance, with his arms wide to his side, as if praising some kind of twisted lord.

The camera slowly fades out on this scene.