As the camera panned behind an object, we can hear the Hooded Man's loud, ragged breathing. As of right now, we can hear one thing going through his mind--

Pain.

Pain is what shot through the Hooded Man's body, as he laid, eyes closed, on something... soft? Pillowy?

Why is he on a bed?

Slowly, the man opened his eyes, to find that...

He was in a hospital. Of course. He did suppose the beatdown from Cain definately took him by surprise, and was perhaps enough to take him to the hospital, but he preferred-

"THE HOOD! WHERE'S THE HOOD!"

...Crap.

The hood had now disappeared from the Hooded Man's face, and before the camera could get a good look at his face as it turned around, the No- Longer- Hooded Man covered his face with a blanket, his ragged breathing intensified.

"...Fuck."

All of a sudden, footsteps can be heard, piercing through the air. The man takes note of this and perks up ever so slightly, but continues to not let his face be seen.

"Oh, hello? I was hearing screaming from this room, and I came to see what was the problem. I'm your nurse, Jenny."

A nurse. Fan- fuckin'- tastic. A nurse would not replace the no longer adorned hood of the man. Regardless, the man could see this was a way to gather up some answers.

"N- Nurse, I would like some answers here. First things first, what happened to my hood?"

"Your hood? OH! Yes, about that... You see, about that, right at the end of your match, when the person you were facing against, Cain, performed his finishing move, that 'Devastation of Man' thing? I'd have a more technical name for it, but unfortunately, I'm not real big on wrestling, sorry. Anyway, that move literally busted you wide open- bad. The medical staff had rush you to the hospital, and an emergency incision had to be performed, meaning you now have over 20 stitches on your forehead. And as for the hood, well..... it was too stained from the blood. We attempted to wash it, but it was too far gone. We had to dispose of it. I apologize."

A large breath could be heard from the body of the man, almost as if it was punched out of him.

"Of course, while I may not be big into the wrestling scene, my husband is, and he did watch that promo you put up a couple of weeks back, and he knew ALL about the fact that you want your identity hidden. As such, I managed to scrounge up and use what little pull I had, and, well, we managed to find some plastic surgeons, who operated on you on such short notice, and gave you a new face over your old one."

"Assuming the said plastic surgeons don't even work at this hospital, how is that even legal?"

A smile showing off Jenny's purely- white teeth could be seen on her face.

"Hun, since you don't know, I might as well let you in on the secret now-- this town 'bends' the law from time to time. And from time to time, I mean often. I also got a mirror, for when you would realize you don't have the hood and want to see what you look like. Here."

Slowly but surely, the man lowered his blanket and grasped the mirror, shining it to his face, now noticeable to the camera for the very first time.



...And he had to say, he didn't look THAT bad. Maybe a little rough around the edges, but overall, in terms of hiding his true identity, it did a very good job. The man began running his hands down his new face, a mask of surprise now noticeable.

"I take it you like the new design?"

"You could say that..."

After a few minutes after coping with the fact that the man had a new face, he gave up the mirror, handing it back to Jenny.

"So, if you don't mind me asking, how'd a cute girl like you end up in Japan, being a nurse?"

"Oh, long story short, I had a falling out with my parents, they wanted me to be a teacher, I wanted to go into the medical field for a profession, so I went overseas to Japan and study to be a nurse, really, I'm nothing special."

The small talk would have gone on for a while, but Jenny had to see to other patients. After a brief goodbye, the man was now left alone.

An identity. Now that his face was revealed, the man now needed an identity, as well as a permanent place of residence.

It was about to seem like the man was about to finally figure out what his new name would be when two figures popped out from the shadows- the resident interviewer of the XWF, Steven Sayors, and a man who had a notepad following suit.

The man was quiet, only saying, "Steven."

As soon as the interviewer was about to speak, he was cut off by the man with the notepad. He was a short, Hispanic man who easily looked like he was in his mid- 40's, wrinkles lining his face. When he spoke, he spoke with a rapid pace in Spanglish.

"Hola, Senor. I am Senor Gonzalez of the XWF. My job is to make sure all roster applications are sent into the archinves of the XWF, and are organized."

After arching an eyebrow, the man said, "What does this have to do with me? I already sent in my roster application."

"Ah, Senor, that is why I'm here. Your roster application, well... you hardly put anything on it. For the majority of the sections on the page, you filled them in with question marks. Well, that can't happen, Senor, so we are going to re- do the roster page before you get an interview with Steve Sayors, which will be published as an article on the XWF official website."

"WHAT?!"

"Please, Senor. My ears. They hurt. Now then, let's get started. Como de llama?"

The man banged his head on his bed, the very little bit of Spanish he heard in school having to work overtime now, as he was roughly able to translate Mr. Gonzalez's bit of Spanish into 'What's your name?'

This was it. An identity, tailor- made for him. There'd be no going back, and he had to act fucking fast, as Mr. Gonzalez was growing more and more impatient.

Having to come up with a fairly common, nasty name on the fly to appease Mr. Gonzalez, the man said, "Erick. Erick Sinclair."

A faint scratching of the pencil could be heard as Mr. Gonzalez was writing down the ma- I mean, Erick's name down. This was going to be a long day.

---

---

---

"Alright, Senor, thank you for being patient with me. We're nearly done here. What is the name of your finishers, and what are said finishers?"

Erick's level of aggravation was steadily rising. If he had it his way, he would have simply taken the interview and told Gonzalez to fuck off. But now, his job is nearly complete, and Erick could very nearly sense peace coming.

A soft chuckle could be heard from Erick, as he turned his head to the interviewer, saying, "Hey, Sayors, be sure to take a note of this. I'm sure it'll look great on the interview."

Well, he couldn't disappoint now, not with getting Sayors hyped up like that. Erick racked his head, just TRYING to find something, ANYTHING that can fit, and then suddenly, it hit him like a ton of bricks-

"Fate." Erick said calmly, a smirk developing on his face.

"Pardon, Senor?"

"It was the passage of Fate that I became an XWF superstar. It was the passage of Fate that dictated I get betrayed. It was the passage of Fate that said I get demolished by Cain. And it will be Fate's doing that I WILL prosper in the XWF. It WILL be Fate's doing that I WILL get a championship. One of the first steps will start here, against Hero Xtreme, Robbie Bourbon, and Hastur. And the move that will guide me to victory, heh. Fate's Wrath, a move that is one of the most flashiest, yet deadliest moves on the planet- the feared Canadian Destroyer. When I perform Fate's Wrath, a three- count will be guaranteed."

Mr. Gonzalez finished writing down the explanation of Fate's Wrath, muttering it as the pencil scratched against the paper.

"Ai, gracias Senor Sinclair. I will submit this as soon as possible." Mr. Gonzalez then turned his head to Steve Sayors, then said, "Senor Sayors, I will wait for you out front." And with that, Mr. Gonzalez left the room.

Finally, Steve leaned forward, ready to talk to Erick. "Mr. Sinclair, I realize you must be tired from the questions from Senor Gonzalez, so I'll keep this brief. How would you sum up one of your opponents, Hero Xtreme 7.9?"

"Hero Xtreme 7.9? Pfft. Please. The man is throwing away this match, and is leaving, good riddance. I hope the door doesn't kick him on the way out."

"Alright, now, what would you say about Hastur? Robbie Bourbon?"

"As for Hastur, the man practically has nothing to say. He just called me a cunt, and that's that. Personally, I'll sum up my feelings towards that Hastur guy in a quick poem.

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
I have five fingers,
The third one's for Hastur.

As for Robbie Bourbon? Pfft, please. Just some fat guy. He'll be no trouble for me. Hell, he's so fat, I bet the only letters in the alphabet he knows is K, F, and C!"

Erick than began laughing. A maniacal laugh, a laugh that went on too hard, and for too long. "OH, YOU ARE TOO FUNNY, MY DEAR FRIEND! I BET THAT FAT FUCK WON'T EVEN BE ABLE TO WOBBLE HIS WAY DOWN TO THE RING! AHAHAHAHA!"

Steve looked on, a creeped- out visage noticeable on his face, as he quietly walked out the room, and the footage fades to black.