Our scene opens, not surprisingly, to Luca being followed by this fiercely fanatical cameraman. Luca, drunk as can be, is still walking down a stretch of sidewalk, trying his hardest not to stumble over his feet. Remember mere moments prior when he managed to run and jump on top of a crate? Where did his motor skills go? Suddenly, he spins around to a slight squeal of delight from our cameraman. God dammit, who gave you the right to make noise?

"I thought I told you to get lost. Oh well, keep up. I got shit to do."

With that, our hero that no body asked for begins to pick up the pace, forcing our cameraman to do the same. In what looks more like a scene out of the Blair Witch Project, our inept camera operator tries their hardest to not only catch up to the rapidly fleeing man, but to not give us all motion sickness. Not doing a terribly great job at either, if you ask this narrator.

Just as quickly as he started, Luca stops, dead in his tracks. Our camera operator doesn't quite notice, multitasking ain't exactly their forte, and trips over his feet. Luca catches the camera just as it's about to hit the ground and points over to our fallen comrade. As the person who's caused us so much pain with their pisspoor ability begins to stand, we see that our pariah is in fact a girl who doesn't even look old enough to be out of high school yet, let alone hired to do camera work for a professional wrestling company that isn't a conglomerate of the only people Agent Orange can beat yardtard run.

"Oh shit, probably shouldn't get you on camera, Gilly's probably already masturbating! Quick, take the camera back!"

The camera goes back into the hands of the one (poorly) trained to hold it, and Luca continues on, in a normal walking pace. Looking up at the sky, he begins to speak in a sarcastic tone.

"Hey Gilly, I like the dark too! Does that make me fucking special or something? Will I get to ride the short bus to XWF events with you if I talk about how fucking edgy and cool the goddamn dark is? You see, or don't see, because its dark out har dee har, I like the dark because it's the perfect concealment. For what, you ask?"

Luca looks down at the ground, and picks up a rock that no one else noticed. Jeez guys, pay more attention to the scenery, will you? That way it doesn't come as a shock. Then again, our cameragirl should do a better job of making the scenery more easy to make out. Looking at the rock in his hand, he chuckles before throwing the rock right through the window of some guy's sedan. A whiny wail can be heard from the car, followed by flashing lights as Luca grabs the girl following him's hand and rushes into a nearby alleyway.

Laughing, he turns his face to the camera as we can see a man rushing to the vehicle in the background.

"See? Concealment. That guy is probably too smart to go walking into an alley to find the guy who threw a rock at his car, so I'll get off scot free for that. Easy as can be. However, Gilly likes the dark because it's so fucking scary and whatnot, and everyone else is scared of it. So, you like being a loner from the pack, huh? How long until you're flying the swastika proudly now that NAZI isn't here at the moment? See how that shitty line of thinking ends up? No, you're Peter Gilmour, logic doesn't apply to you.

Your true fans that worship you? Aren't you the type who would insult Eli James for leading a cult? Hypocritical statement number one, ladies and germs. There will be more to come, I assure you."

Further down the alley he walks, continuing to laugh. He comes to a stop once more, pulling out his cell phone, revealing that the King, John Madison, was indeed calling him. Quickly, he presses answer and sets the phone to speaker.

"Luca! I've been calling you all night!"

"Sorry, I've been a little busy."

"No matter! What're you doing right now?"

"Filming a promo-"

"Against that FAT FUCK Peter Gilmour? The one who injured me greatly with his diabetes breath?"

"Correctamundo!"

"Oh, carry on then! Swing by my place later on though, I'm throwing a party in honor of the guillotine and- fuck it, do I need a reason to party?! Swing by when you get the chance!"

Luca slides the phone back in his pocket after Madison hangs up (because Maddy is the one who knocks, and by association hangs up) and looks over behind the camera, and directly at the person controlling the only way to see what's occurring, with a face that silently asks the question "You're going to keep following me around like a lost puppy, aren't you?" To which, our only eye nods, bobbing the camera up and down.

Damn Heyman and his methods for saving money. She probably gets paid in college credits. What a fucking scumbag, that Heyman is. Our angel pulls out a small baggie of marijuana (something he seems to have no shortage of,) which the camera looks away from for a few moments. When the camera pans back, there's a joint in his hand, which he lights and takes a hit of. Fucking logic, how does it work? He walks closer to the camera, and appears to be offering the joint to the camera operator. Allow me to pause this and point out two things that are wrong with this scenario.

One: He's offering marijuana (something already illegal) to a minor (making it twice as illegal)

Two: She's already fucking awful at her job as it is, if she gets stoned I may just have to kill myself.

Back to the task at hand now, sadly.

As could be expected of a stupid fucking teenager, our nameless cameragirl accepts, and takes a hit of the blunt. Luca Arzegotti is the best role model ever. Of all time. He snatches it back and continues walking, the pair finding their way out of the alleyway at long last. Appearing back in the land of normal society (because normal people don't hang out in alleys) they see yet another bar, not unlike the one Luca left in the first promo. Parked outside of the bar is a motorcycle, and standing in an empty lot adjacent to the run down booze house is the man we can assume is the owner and a woman, dressed skimpily. Something tells me those two are together...

Luca rushes over to the empty lot, and approaches the leather jacket wearing man, laughing like an idiot.

"Hey man! Nice fucking bike!"

Biker McBikerson: "You got something to say about it, wiseass?"

"Well, the fact that the man driving it probably has low T is funny enough to keep me from insulting the bike."

With that, the biker throws a punch, clocking Luca square in the jaw. Luca stumbles over, spitting out blood but laughing nonetheless. He then throws a punch back at the man, knocking him off balance. Not through there, he then kicks the man in the groin, dropping him like a bad habit.

Biker Whore: "Oh my- I'm calling the cops!"

Luca quickly flashes a look of "Oh no, I'm so scared!" before going back to the weird laugh.

"Wrong answer."

Reaching into his other pocket, he pulls out a not so shiny handgun. Concealed from the woman's vision by the moonlight, he releases the safety, cocks it, and takes aim...

Firing (and hitting) the woman right in the kneecap! She falls to the ground, screaming bloody murder. Just in time, as a coincidentally placed police car pulls up to the lot. However, our hero doesn't realize that until a gun is placed to his own back.

"LAPD, Drop your weapon! You have the right to remain silent..."

The officer tightens the handcuffs around Luca's wrists and turns him around. Pushing him forward, the officer forces Luca to the police car, along with his partner forcing our cameragirl into the same car, not confiscating the video camera, unsurprisingly considering the fact that they are indeed nameless police officers.

"So, now that I'm stuck here, I guess I should talk about Peter Gilmour some more.

First, he's still talking about Juan Madison and John Madison, in a promo that should be directed at me. Hey Peter, you haven't won the Rumble yet, and I doubt you even will win it at all, so focus on the task at hand. Y'know, the surefire match between us on Wednesday? The one I'm going to win easily, despite the fact that you're more experienced in this match type than I am. Yeah, that one.

The Congregation? You mean the team that supposedly sucks so bad, but can still get one over on you with the greatest of ease? Wow, you sure know how to call out people other than your opponent, don't you? Anyone else who could kick your ass that you're going to mention? Maybe X Raided, because even that little shmuck would find you easier than Rose Smith. Yeah, I'm going to make jokes about your girl, don't get so offended so fast, Gawd.

Complaining about FAT jokes, and continuing with the gay jokes? Hypocritical statement two.

When will you learn that John Madison and I didn't actually screw you out of shit at WCW, and that I beat you because I was, still am, and forever will be the better man between us? It's pretty apparent to anyone whose eyes function within a mile of the way they should be that there is no question, I am better than you. A better wrestler by far, the fact that I haven't had to do all of these crazy clusterfuck explosions everywhere weapons on weapons matches to stay relevant, and people still recognize me a lot faster than they do you (by the by, what devoted fans? I don't think there exists ONE, single solitary fan of Peter Gilmour, just Circle hecklers.) Isn't that sad? You put your fat fucking ass on the line for those fans, and they don't give you the time of day, and it's all because you suck. Experience doesn't matter when you have as much talent as I do. The fact that I got a shot at the crown without Madison's involvement at WCW in six months, much faster than you have even gotten a single opportunity based on your own merits, proves it.

Peter, I don't want to hear what your dad said to you while he was molesting your brother. It matters not if I'm next, first, last, or somewhere in the middle, your plan has one flaw in that it requires you to beat me, an astrological impossibility. All of the pent of anger and repressed childhood memories in the world couldn't force that logical fallacy to come anywhere close to fruition. Just keep talking, I'm sure you'll find a thing to say that proves just what will happen when we meet. I'm thinking something along the lines of 'Luca's going to beat me in five minutes, and I'm going to keep bitching because I got cheated even though I lost fairly.' Yeah, sounds about right.

If what I said about you was just the same shit from everyone else, then how come it stands that you want to hurt me, maim me, other things you won't actually be able to do to me, based on the words I said in said promo? Sounds a bit like you get a little angry whenever anyone says anything mean about you, are you really that fucking thin skinned that you can't take a little bit of verbal abuse, after you've been the fat ass end of jokes from newcomers on up to your own partners? Cry more, will ya?

More references to Tax, The Yellow Pages, and "The Third Drywall Company" Slaterock McGee? Ah yes, because every single one of these new guys remembers those names, now don't they? Hell, that was even before my time, so the fact that you beat them means jack fucking shit to me. You could go as far to say that they were Jesus titty fucking Christ, and I'd still be so unimpressed that it hurts, because all of your accomplishments are lost in the past, just like whatever talent you supposedly had. The fact that it also took Sid Feder to clean them out of this company further proves my fucking point. You NEED someone else to carry your weight. Hey, what team did you beat for the titles? Oh wait, you beat one guy for the titles, not a team like you try to make people believe. Where is that guy, Mister Crossdresser? Oh yeah, he's gone too. Another fucking huge accomplishment, Gilly. Way to fucking go. I'm so damn impressed.

And to get this clear, if Duke and Griffin, the latter we both know won't lift a finger to help you, got involved in this match to screw me, and succeeded, it would be just them having your back, right? That's what I thought, you hypocritical piece of trash. Always needing people to do YOUR work for you. Just like back in the day, looking solely at facts, just like now, just like it will be forever...

And ever.

And ever.

There's a pattern here, Gilmour.

You can't get the job done.

I can.

That's why I won at WCW.

That's why you rely on an anemic and a geriatric to get you anywhere.

I've already won this match, and I may not be able to show up, depending on whether or not I get out of jail in time! How's that feel, Gilly?

Kinda stings, does it not?"