The Pest is sitting in his office at work, his feet are propped on his desk, and he is relaxing watching promos on the XWF website. He begins to ramble as he watches.

Pest: Peter fucking Gilmour, you imbecile, you. The Pest has no real desire to win this trivial trinket from Maverick, he will, but it is not his desire. The Pest's only desire is to see it removed from Maverick. The Pest is confused as to how you continue to prove to the world that you are as as you really are. By all accounts someone as handicapped as you are should not have survived infancy, and yet, here you are. Shining for all to see, a shining beacon to all the children born with brains to dysfunctional to survive. Tell the world how you beat the odds.

Peter, I have told you multiple times, I fail to see how you can possibly be confused at this point. The Pest was brought in in early days to fuck with you, because it amused the Pest and Giovanni Ferrari. The Pest was slated to lose that Loser Leaves town match, the one where you thought your career was on the line. The Pest was guaranteed that loss because it would amuse us, and we knew that whatever trivial antics you could push the Pest to do, they would be nothing. Because that is what the Pest believes Peter Gilmour to be, nothing.

Now, listen to the Pest and listen well, you Gelatinous fuck. The Pest is always going to be the Pest, but the Pest is also the God of Emptiness, and you are no God. Unless you claim to be the God of Disappointment, and a sad dickless life. How does it feel to know that your disembodied penis has more luck in the last month than you have? The Pest wonders why that is. The Pest wonders when the last time Peter Gilmour won a match. The Pest is certain is has been a long while. Peter, when is the last time you mattered? Tell me, Peter, how did you manage to not get a single pinfall in the Hart Scramble?

Peter, you have never beat K-Money, everyone knows this. Please stop pretending. You are Maverick are supposedly on the side of XWF, supposedly on my side, but you actually bring my side down when you align yourself with us. I do not believe that you are capable of understanding exactly what it is you are actually facing, here. What it is, that you are about to stare down. Peter, you toast yourself in your barrooms and hotel rooms with your painted harlots, and your inexplicably troublesome life, as the true Ruler of Xtreme, and what other nonsense you believe to be true, but Peter, you are the antithesis of Xtreme, and Hardcore.

You, Peter, shy away from all Xtreme challenges. You shy away from every aspect of the world that does not fit your cookie cutter idea of what a wrestler should be. Would you like to know why I am in this match? Because Kirk MacClay put me here, I never asked for it, nor did I ever establish that I would be willing to go for the Hart Title. Please, Peter, find me a time when I involved myself in this affair. And then tell me when it was stated that you would be fighting Maverick alone. Or, was this one of your hopes and dreams, that you created in the hopes you could puff it up onto a story about how you will remain victorious?

Peter, you are a joke of a character. You are a joke of a wrestler, and you are unnaturally obsessed with Adam Cole. You show us a picture of you, which is fat, and then you show us pictures of Adam Cole, and refer to him as sexy, as if he was you. Peter, we know you are not Adam Cole. You are fat, out of shape, and incapable of winning titles. Adam Cole, actually has titles, and can see his dick. If your penis had not been out about in the world winning titles, winning matches, being everything you are not, you still would not be able to look down and see it through the layers of fat.

The Pest sighs, and places a cigarette inside of his mouth. The left hand slowly moves towards the inside pocket of his suit jacket. There is a brief rumble, and then the hand is slowly removed. It is brought up to his face, holding a solid silver lighter. A flick of his finger, and a flame ignites from the tip of the lighter, it meets his cigarette, and lights it. Smoke fills into the Pest's lungs, and he silences the flames before placing it back into his pocket. His right hand pulls the cigarette away from his lips, and allows the smoke to fill his lungs before he exhales.

Pest: Maverick, Mister Solomon, why the fuck am I addressing you? Why is the Pest needing to lean in close, and speak into your ear one last time? You and I both know exactly how this is going to happen. When the bell rings, I am going to go out do my best to wreck your chances of winning, and then I will either pin Peter, or lay down and allow Peter to pin me for your title. The same way I took you our of the MacClay classic, which was hilarious. You must admit that it was great when you thought you had a chance, and in one fell swoop, I allowed my Angel to pin me to remove that delusion from your mind. Just like I will erase the delusion of you breaking Mister Lane's streak as Hart Champion from your mind.

Joshua, allow me to educate you on something. You are currently now, and always have been, my puppet. You are the things I tell you to become, you are the things I desire you to become. You are everything that you think you are, because I will it. Whether or not I approve of all of this, it should be on your mind at all times. Because, Joshua, I am your conscience, I am your guiding light. When you choose your actions, it is not truly you, it is me. As I am sure you have noticed, you shit dripping coward. Think on this, Joshua, why did you decide to follow me into the Black Hand? Why did you allow us to beat you so badly, and why did you allow me to take the pin at the MacClay Classic? Was it because deep down you are afraid of disappointing me? I wonder why that is, Joshua.

Tell me, why should be we believe that you have those powers and can do anything of actual note? Why should we believe that you are not Un, and you are not going to come screaming from the darkness that you have been cloned, and your clone made us believe you were of value before? You have failed to answer me. You addressed the situation in a hypothetical manner, failing to value the meaning of the word hypothetically. Because, hypothetically, I could be your father, but factually, you cannot use those flame powers you bragged about having. You cannot use them because they were a cheap ploy to get people to pay attention to you, and it failed miserably. Just as you will on Monday.

The Pest admits, you were correct on something, he will never understand Peace. Even after his soul leaves the mortal coil, Peace will elude him. The Pest will now know peace when he destroys your reign at Madness, and he will know it less when he destroys your hopes of garnishing a win at War Games, no matter which role you fall into. You will not walk away as a winner, even if you should actually hold a win in any match, because at the end of the day, you are still Maverick.

There is a knock on the door, and the Pest gets to his feet, he puts the cigarette out on the ashtray on his desk. It is glass, and clear, filled neatly with ashes and butts. He moves slowly, his body feels heavy from the previous night. Stacy had tried to fight the Pest's actions, and desires. Tried. She did eventually succumb to his desires, her jaw may have to be wire shut, but she did eventually consent. The Pest felt the lump in his pants as he thought about the broken and bloodied body of Stacy as he uses her for his pleasure. Promising her that he will abide her requests if she doesn't make a sound. Her whimpers were stifled beneath a pillow.

The Pest opens his door slowly, and the angry face of an HR member is looking back him. Her normally smiling face is red with fury, the brown of her hair compliments her eyes, hiding behind her thick framed glasses. She pushes her way into the Pest's office, and slams the door shut behind her.

HR: JIM! What the hell are you doing?!

The Pest looks nonplussed. He moves behind his desk, sits down, and lights up another cigarette.

Pest: What are you referring to, exactly? Please, enlighten me, Sophia.

Sophia: Janet was fired?

Pest: She referred to me as Ichobod. That was grounds for termination.

Sophia: You did call her a sow!

Pest: Yes, I did. And I found it funny.

Sophia: Jim, you can't do that. We have to give her her job back. Now, what's this about you speaking with Stacy with the door locked?

Pest: Yes, I did, and you would like the truth, I slept with her last night.

Sophia: You can't admit that! Why would you say that?

Pest: Because I know you will do nothing about it. You will keep this silent, because I know how you look at me, and I know how you are now wishing you were Stacy at this point.

The Pest leans forward, and kisses Sophia. Her anger subsides, and he quickly breaks the kiss before stroking her cheek.

Pest: You are just too old for me.