A dark alley somewhere in the city of Boston, home of the strong.

A man in a suit, speaking with a man in a hoodie, a hold up if you’ve ever seen one.

But instead of the hooded man mugging the well-dressed yuppie, it is instead the tenderfoot who is stealing from the tough guy. He’s not stealing his money, at least not in the back alley, crowbar sense. But he’s taking him for the piss nonetheless.
Like the predator he is, the suited man suddenly senses the presence of a camera behind him. He stops praising the young thug, and instead turns his attention to the audience.

“Consumers of the XWF, may I humbly present myself to you-“ He bows, the light reflecting off of his head like a shield in the desert.
“My name is Clinton Sparks, and this is my ward, Eddie Sheehan.”

Clint adjusts his tie and smiles.

“Many of you know of Eddie after his complete domination and destruction of Cain and Paul Mancini. I might also add that it was his debut match, not only on Warfare, but in the XWF period. He was also jet lagged after the long flight from Boston to Iceland, and even took the match on less than a week’s notice! Eddie Sheehan had every excuse in the world to show up and lose, and yet he succeeded. Why? Because Eddie Sheehan is ELITE.”

Clint slaps Eddie on the shoulder.

“Just look at this kid! He’s made of iron, steel, stone, carved by Michelangelo himself and blessed by Zeus, an absolute specimen of a man, bred and created to dominate! He’s conquered the battlefields of Iraq and Afghanistan! He’s snapped the limbs and squeezed the necks of
every ‘MMA TOUGH GUY’ he’s ever come across! He’s ranked number 1 in the world in Call of Duty AND Battlefield!”

Clint snickers while Eddie nods behind him, his dark sideburns growing down his face like the tusks of a boar.

“Eddie Sheehan is capable of being the best in the world at ANYTHING he does. He could enter the NBA tomorrow, dunk over Lebron, and then beat Dale Jr in a race on his way to Denver, finishing his pre-workout warm up by running coverage on Wes Welker. Someday, when he retires, he’ll sit on a throne at the top of a hill made of broken dreams and skulls, and he’ll wonder, ‘What’s next? What else can I possibly accomplish?’”

Clint looks up to the stars.

“And that, my friends, is when he’ll create life and rule his new kingdom in benevolence!”

Clint looks back at the camera.

“You see, Eddie Sheehan is a GOD amongst you. He does what he wants to do, he says what he wants to say, and he takes what he wants to take. The day he signed an XWF contract was the day a target formed on all of your necks, and Eddie Sheehan, the Boston Strangler, is coming to collect.”

Eddie nods, clenching his jaw. He drops his hood and inches closer to the camera, his voice deep, and his tone murderous. Gravel pours from his throat.

“You have to wonder how much contempt management has for Jessie Diaz after seeing what I did to two MEN last week. You’ve put one little girl in a match with a monster bred for murder. Wednesday night, you’re Little Red Riding Hood, and I’m the big, bad wolf.”

Eddie lets his head back and howls as Clinton laughs.

“My, what sharp claws you have!”

“All the better to choke her out with!”

“And those teeth!”

“From which I spit venom!”

“And your face is so hairy!”

Eddie glares at the camera.

“It’ll be my whiskers you feel on the back of your neck as I make your world fade to black.”

Eddie lets out a breath and a growl as the shot fades to black.