The scene opens inside the locker room of Tony Santos, within Kemper Arena, where in a matter of hours he will be competing in his second match in XWF, a six-man tag match. Sitting back in his chair is Tony, head tilted back, looking at the white plaster tiles above. To his right is Jeremy, fumbling with a Lemon Lime Gatorade for Tony. Jeremy finally unscrews the cap and hands it to Tony, but Tony doesn't respond.

Jeremy: Um, sir? Here's your Gatorade.

No response. Tony continues to stare blankly at the ceiling.

Jeremy: Sir? I really had to work hard to find this Gatorade. They have no vending machines down in this area of the building. The staffers were honestly surprised that any of the performers were even located down here. Sir?

Tony's head tilts forward, a stern look and focused gaze on his face.

Santos: Sorry, Jeremy, I was just, well, reflecting. Reflecting on my life up to this point. The trials and tribulations that I have endured. The pain that I have suffered and the pain that I have caused. I am a broken man, Jeremy. A man who, even at the age of 25, has managed to father a child who's practically a stranger, ruined relationships with family and friends, and come out of it with injuries and not a penny to my name.

Jeremy, I have made foolish decisions. Decisions that have brought me to the breaking point. A fire has built up in my soul, and I will unleash that fury on my pathetic, weak little opponents. They WILL feel my wrath!

Spittle runs down the left side of Santos's cherry red face, hair over his eyes, beads of sweat running down his forehead. Jeremy is taken aback, fearful of an uncharacteristically angry Santos in front of him.

Jeremy: Uh, uh, sir... was, the, um, Greyhound bus tah, too much?

Jeremy's hands are shaking frantically as he can barely utter another word. Tony continues to glare at Jeremy, intense as ever. Then, finally, his frown cracks and he breaks into hysterical laughter.

Santos: Hahahaha, I had you, you little bugger! The look on your face was priceless!

Don't worry, I was just copying the yahoos that are in my match tonight. They're all so deep and introspective, yet also a bit psychotic. I have to pop some Xanax to truly get in to their souls. Since I don't touch the hard stuff, I guess those acting classes I took for easy college credits will have to do.

Jeremy lets out a heavy sigh and kicks the Gatorade bottle to Tony. As Jeremy gets up and attempts to walk out the door, Tony bolts over to the door and gets in Jeremy's way.

Santos: Sorry pal, my bad for making you all jumpy. I know how you BU students get. Too much work, too little sleep, and too much Ritalin. It makes you all a bit on edge.

Please, please, just sit down and pull that camera out. I want to send something to the way of my opponents and teammates.

Jeremy reluctantly turns around and heads toward the camera bag. He pulls out the camera, which only has 15% battery left, and focuses it toward Santos.

Santos: Hey, dudenesses. Look over here. It's your buddy Tony Santos. Yup, that dashing *brushes hair back* son of a gun that you've been blessed with from the good Lord above!

Jeremy flashes Tony an "are you kidding me?" look and refocuses the camera.

Santos: Janitor. You clearly haven't done your homework on even the simplest details of my life. Spoiled rich boy? Hell, I've come from practically nothing and have consistently had nothing. I know that mopping floors and cleaning toilets (which you'll be doing soon after your fledgling career ends) doesn't pay well, but that shouldn't skew your perception of what is "rich." Go play with that broomstick of yours in the back and leave the wrestling to the real wrestlers.

Slick Rick. Go get your head checked out and stop worrying about a fabricated mess of a life that is swirling around in your head. Pop some Advil, find a doctor, and lay down for a few weeks. I'm not even sure you'll make it to the ring in time.

Campbell. I haven't heard a peep from you, so I assume you're training for the 2014 Olympics in gymnastics. Good luck to you... this wasn't the sport for you anyway. I was really looking forward to enhancing your training with a few kicks to the jaw, since you seem to love that.

And to my teammates. I'm not in this match for you, I'm in this for myself. I'll just as quickly and easily dispose of each and every one of you when given the opportunity, so see this as a brief respite before a Final Destination eventually comes your way.

Good luck tonight, to all of you. You'll most certainly need it. Cut it, Jeremy.

The scene fades to black.