Saturday, June 20, 2015. 8:43 pm.

The highly tensioned hemp ropes hum with vibration as a lone man dashes from side to side, springing himself recklessly inside the squared circle. The dimly lit building causes shadows to cringe and hide. Heavy footsteps are intensified by the nearly empty arena. A few gruff men, at ringside, bluster out some incoherent words, seemingly giving unwelcome advice to the masked figure bouncing about.

A bright light flares to life revealing XWF's prime interviewer, Steve Sayors. He draws a microphone to his face while straightening his polka dotted tie. He silently nods to the camera man to initiate filming.

"XWF, where the action never slows down, has and always will be the pinnacle of the wrestling industry" Steve's vocal pace slightly hastens, his tone filled with excitement. "No one else gives the people what they want like we do. Imagination is the limits. From virtual people to psychotic psychiatrists to dim witted goons, every challenger welcomed."

"SNEAK ATTACK!" El Quardo exclaims while he launches over the top turnbuckle. A mass of thundering muscle scatters the few spectators violently.

Kippin up to his feet, the masked maniac gently brushes off his back and shoulders before strolling out of the devastated commotion to the impeding conversation.

The slightly confused Steve Sayors quickly catches his professionalism back.

"Speaking of challengers, let me be the first to welcome one of our newest members to our XWF roster, El Quardo." The interviewer states as he invites a handshake.

"X... W... F..." the death defying daredevil briefly pauses, leaving Steve's hand hanging. "Isn't this the Extreme Wrestling Federation?"

A flock of lawyers scuttle from out of no where to El Quardo's side. Hushed whispers bombard obscured ears.

Idly standing by, Steve shrugs his shoulders to the camera, giving the universal sign of "WTF".

"Earth Wildlife Fund??" ponders El Quardo out loud. "Promotion could be sued for damages if mention of EWF??"

Scuttling his legal team off after a brief conference, the interview commences.

"You were saying..." trails off El Quardo, beckoning the dialogue to begin again.

"You are making your debut at Monday Madness, what kind of impression are you hoping to make?" asked the reporter.

"I don't do impressions. I tried to imitate Seth Rogen's voice once but I sounded more like Mantis from Kung Fu Panda" quipped Quardo.

A puzzled look adorned Mr. Sayors' face. Ignoring the last remark, he embarks forward.

"And your first opponent, Trax..."

"Is he a clown?" interrupts the disguised wrestler.

"Not that I know of" replies Steve hesitantly.

"With a moniker like Mr. Fun Dominance, I was worried that if I hit him in the face, his trick pants would fall to his ankles" said El Quardo mockingly.

"Am I suppose to take a guy seriously when he claims that whenever he has a match, he sheds blood, sweat and tears?" rhetorically asks El Quardo. "Crying when you get a boo boo is acceptable here?"

"I don't believe that's what he meant" remarked Sayors.

"That's what he stated" harshly answered the masked maniac.

Swiping the microphone out of Steve's grasp, El Quardo beckons for his task force to escort Steve away. A small legion of thugs, women, thug women and bodyguards pour out of the shadows, grab the interviewer and recoil to their birth.

Quardo's mask tightens on his face, jaw clenched with disgust. He lunges at the camera, grasping it with his left hand. Bright yellow eyes burn bright behind a cruel visage of colors and symbols.

"Trax, let's clear up these ignorant misconceptions you have."

He draws his right hand up to the camera, holding four fingers up.

"One" counts El Quardo as he lowers his little finger. "The mask. It's not a crutch. It's not about tradition. It's about being anonymous. It gives liberties that only others can imagine. It's empowering to have the freedom to be anyone. It is easier to do things you wouldn't normally when you don't have to face yourself in the mirror."

"Two" he remarks when he bends his ring finger into his taped palm. "My motivation. I'm certainly not here to be "Kevin Owens" or "Ginger Snaps". I'm El Quardo. I will not settle for following someone else's footprints. I will blaze my own trail. And I certainly won't be babbling on repetitively about lost opportunities and becoming X-treme royalty."

"Three" he grumbles while folding his index finger. "My need for glory. I'm not here solely for championships. I'm not here for crowd admiration. I'm here for an audience. Love or hate me, you will be captivated.

"Four" he fervently states, still holding up his remaining digit. "You. Are you so insecure that you need to stack the odds in your favour and bring in a special referee? Let me guess, it's your gal Jackie. Makes sense to me. Seems like she's the one who wear the big boy pants in your household. A strong woman like that deserves a strong man so you might want to leave her home.

The death defying daredevil grasps the recording device with both hands, like he were choking the life out of it.

"Monday Madness. Beware of the SNEAK ATTACK!"

A vicious kick, from an exquiste boot, connects with the camera man's groin sending the reeling man to the floor. With a crashing thud, the recording ends.