Let me introduce to you Michelle Renee Simmons. You can call her Shelley. It's fine. Hell, she's fine. She's about five eight, ling blonde hair, glasses. Green eyes. She wears a black leather skirt and pink halter top, her her pulled back in a bun. Right now, she looks a bit creeper out. She's walking through an old dilapidated house. It's abandoned, save for three people. Shelly. Her camera man. And then there's a man sitting on an old tore up leather couch. He's young, late twenties. Long dyed purple hair, black jeans, white wifebeater. His face is covered by his hair and you can see his white contacts glowing in the darkness. Shelly timidly approaches him. He doesn't make a move. Not one.

"Ummm...hello..."

He stares blankly off into space, and Shelly waves her hand in front of his eyes.

Poke. Poke. Poke.

He doesn't move.

"I think he's dead..." she frowns, speaking to her cameraman. "...probably overdosed or something."

She says, looking over the young man, who's face is painted in a rather odd way. White foundation, with a blood red smile painters across his mouth. Black circles around his eyes.

"Shelly, this is fucking creepy. Let's go."

She sighs. "Ummm no...I'm gonna call nine-one-one."

She searches around in her pocketbook for her phone

"Need to use my...hehe...phone?"

Shelly nearly jumps out of her heels.

"EEK!"

Before she knows it, she's in the arms of the newest member of the Warfare roster. He has a huge grin on his face as ahe just stares at the clearly insane enigma.

"Oh, but we hardly know one another, honey!"

"Please..." she gulps."...put me down?"

"Ummm...why? Are you a sick dog?"

"That's not what I meant..."

He drops her on the couch and stares at her, his neck tilted at an awkward angle.

"Ummm....why are you looking at me like that?"

"Who..." he pauses, corner of his lip curling upward. "...are you?"

She hesitates. "I'm Shelly Simmons. I'm here for the interview..."

"...the position has been filled."

"What position?"

"What?"

What indeed. The two stare at one another in an awkward silence.

"So...about your opponents.."

"What opponents?"

"Well, first we've got Tyson F-..."

He sits down next to her. Literally pops down as he interrupts the rookie interviewer.

"Well, Tyson, in his heyday he was a legend. I still remember as a kid playing Mike Tyson's Punch Out on the NESTICLE...." he snickers. "...that rhymes with testicle...but yes. I did it. I beat Bald Bull. I beat King Hippo. Hell, Soda Popinski was a bad ass. But somehow, someway...the Master of the Wyndz destroyed them! Then came Tyson..." he gulps dramatically. "...it was three in the morning on a school night. Mom kept yelling, but dad was quiet. He wasn't there anyway, but anyway, that's what famous serial killers are like as fathers."

"Your dad was a serial ki-"

"Quiet woman! This is my story, and YES. But enough about him. Because I beat Tyson that night. I'll fucking do it again!"

"Actually, his name is Tyson Fury..."

"Who?"

"A wrestler in the XWF ... like you. This is your first match, you know..."

"Ummm no..."

"Really?"

"Yep...I smoked to cigarettes earlier...and lit them with matches. So this is my third match."

"That's not..." she shakes her head. "...nevermind. Your next opponent..."

His eyes lit up and he took her right hand between both of his and shook it furiously, a huge grin on his painted face.

"Congratulations!"

"Wait...what are you talking about?"

"You got the job, silly billy! You're my personal backstage interviewer!"

"But I already got hired by..."

"Well fuck them! Let's do this interview!"

"Umm...we've been recording this whole time..."

The two look at the camera...and we cut to commercial...it's gonna be a long broadcast day.