The camera fades in. It's late in the night. Lampposts are on full-blaze, each streaming a white-orange circle of light onto the pavement, that are separated by intervals of darkness. The camera moves along the road, facing one side of the pavement. Behind the lampposts, barely visible against the dark, cloudy night sky, is the warehouse which hosts Wednesday Night Warfare every week.

The camera moves along the road for a bit before ever so slowly coming to a stop at a desolate and solitude bus stop. It is heavily covered in graffiti, which largely consist of profanities. Most of the glass is smashed, and the shards are thrown about the place, which creates an assortment of clear glass and green glass from the beer bottles of late night party-goers. The main structure of the bus stop is formed around a lamppost, which makes up the centre rear support pole. The post has seen better days, and it wasn't as bad as the bus stop. The light violently flickers every now and again due to years of damage from drunken idiots, and every few minutes or so it gets so violent it shuts off completely, only for it come back on after a few seconds.

The camera, still level slowly pans around the bus stop. Ever so slowly. You'd think with it in a state as it is no one would want to use it, surely? Well, you'd be wrong. The light surges and shuts off just as the camera gets into viewing angle of a person, previously visible. They are now simply a silhouette against the surrounding lamps and the city in the background. The camera quickly fades.

The lights come back on with a kzt-t and a thunk, and the camera comes back to life. The angle has changed to view the person - off-centred. It is Daniel W, leaning his back against the one unbroken piece of glass on the back of the bus stop. He has his hands in his jeans pockets, gazing up at the warehouse with a smile on his face. He seems to be lost in thought.

Daniel W. is a wrestler for the XWF, known by his ring alias of Smoke Man. He will soon be making his debut match in a 5-on-5 War Games match this upcoming Wednesday on Warfare. 200ft underneath his body in the War Room. After a second or two, Daniel starts speaking, but he does not look at the camera.

DANIEL W.: In many ways my family thought it was a silly decision to move to the United States to take up a wrestling career. They saw it as childish, fantastical, and not really worth the effort. But now, I couldn't care. Next Wednesday I finally get my chance I've been waiting 20 years for. Although I'm going to go through hell to get it. I'm just trying to get the chance to prove myself, to try an earn respect in this business, the respect of my fellow fighters. If I'm honest though, that's probably the best way to do it.

Daniel stretches and lets out a big yawn. He faces the camera.

This company is the X-Treme Wrestling Federation.

He turns back toward the warehouse and nods to it with his chin.

The more I think about it the more I agree there is no better way to debut my career in this company, than in a match that is clearly aimed towards the most enduring, and extreme that the world of wrestling has to offer. My combatants in the ring will not be going easy. Woah, no.

Daniel kicks out his left leg slightly, and uses this momentum to bring him out of leaning against the pane. He starts to slowly waltz around the bus stop with his arms behind his back, talking, and occasionally glancing at the camera.

First there's Peter Gilmour, a Trio Tag Champion, a former six-time X-Treme Champion, and leader of the opposing team. Clearly a man who thinks rape threats make you a complete and utter badass. Of course with excessive swearing sprinkled on top, as if to decorate the fat, annoying cake. His 'nickname', as it were, pretty much summarises your thoughts as he enters the room.

Pulling a face of disgust he snorts:

Oh look, it's Peter Fucking Gilmour...

He chuckles to himself at his attempt at humour. He continues smirking to say:

I mean, what more can you say about a guy who loves Dong? I think that speaks for himself.

He chuckles again, before shaking his head to concentrate on what to say next.

Okay, okay. Obviously I can't say much. The guys a terrific 'athlete' - if you dare call him that - and has obviously proved repeatedly that he is one tough son of a bitch. And I know if he hears what I just said, then... Well let's just say Ion will have something else of Peter Gilmour's to clean up, won't he?

He finally enters the bus stop and sits on the bench, leaning once more on the pane of glass he was leaning on not too long ago.

Then there's our team's captain: Paradoxica. He certainly deserves the title of captain, if not for the clear fact that he is as scary as hell itself. Perhaps even scarier, mind you. I tell you, I'm glad that he is on my side because that dude... or even; THING... can definitely fight like no one else, and I think that's pretty apparent. Isn't his deal like he's not human or something? He's got 'millennial fighting experience' in his blood or whatever? Regardless, I can see him kicking serious ass next Wednesday and will most certainly pull our team through. I just hope one of those asses isn't mine.

I'm not even joking.

At the end of the day I'll feel sorry for anyone that chooses to get in his way. I wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of his moves!

He suddenly looks off-shot, and a look of joyous surprise flashes across his face for a fraction of a second. In the background you can hear the approach and braking of a vehicle. Daniel jumps up, swings around the pole in the centre of the bus stop, walks out and onto the bus, which is empty. The cameras follow.

He takes a seat at the back, sitting oh-so casually. The camera-guy stops on the seat in front and keeps the camera centred on Daniel. The bus takes off again, shuddering over previously unseen potholes for short amount of time, and then carrying on fairly smoothly. The city can be seen slowly fading away in the backdrop.

Who's else...? How's about... Solokov Red? That man is a fighter, through-and-through, born and bred to beat his fellow man to a bloody pulp. But the thing is he's not Superman. He'll push against the boundaries of his limits and break out beyond, but running on fumes will not keep you going forever. After enough time, even a fighter such as yourself, will tire. And there will be someone there to capitalise on the situation, so you'd best be prepared. You have, of course had more experience than me in the XWF ring, but in a situation such as this...

He expands his arms slightly to his sides to emphasise his point.

You are as much of a rookie as I am.

He leans forward, bringing him closer to the camera, as his voice starts escalating slightly as his speaks. He is visibly becoming aggravated.

I understand what I'll be putting myself through next Wednesday, entering the War Room, and standing in that damning structure, facing some of the toughest fighters on the planet. It won't be easy, for any of us. Bodies will break. All of ours will. Because the cage is there to keep people from running away, and cowering into the night, and it is there to be used. To grind and mangle your opponents' bodies until they bleed more blood than they have ever bled. Blood will spill, and we will paint the canvases with red to let the others KNOW.

Let them know that we've had a war. A war laden with blood, sweat and tears from each individual. Created by each individual. And I'll be damned if I don't do some of the beating myself.

He exhales a deep breath, which at been built up, relieving the wash of red from his face. He leans forward more and rests his arms on his lap, bringing him even closer. His voice is more calm and quieter, but a thousand times more threatening.

The competition will be fierce, the violence; unadulterated. Next Wednesday those who try to get in my way will be taken down to the mat by the pure, unrelenting force of my Chokeslam, one by one. One by one, those who get caught back-down on the mat will adhere to the Smokescreen Armbar. I promise will dislocate your elbow, or even break your arm if you do not. Tap. Out.

The bus quickly brakes and stops. The camera teeters a little due to the speed of the breaking, and Daniel even has to hold on to the seat in front of him. He then sits as if ready to go. The camera quickly re-centres for him to say:

You have yet to see what I am capable of. And at Warfare? You'll see exactly that. A predator hides in the smoke.

This is my stop.

Daniel gets up and leaves. The camera remains looking at his empty seat for a few seconds.

Then fades.