Andrew is standing outside of Madison Square Garden, dressed in a black suit and white tie, people walk past not paying attention to him or the young man standing about a meter away putting together a camera. Andrew is tapping his foot, looking slightly annoyed. Finally the man seems to get the camera together and hoists it up on his shoulder and gives Andrew a thumbs up. Andrew smooths out his jacket and returns the gesture, the cameraman presses a button on the camera and Andrew looks towards it lazily.

"With the little stunt I pulled on Steve Sayors and the young cameraman last week he has refused to interview me for Monday, so I had to go out and find my own camera and monkey."

He chuckles a little and gives a thumbs up to the man behind the camera, who tentatively returns the gesture off camera.

"Mr. Braxton, before I start I must admit I'm not like the other lying twits and bloody sadists here in the XWF, I'm not particularly fond of pain, at least not when it comes to myself. I am however a masochist, which is something I assume we have in common, with all your talk of pain. There are many things that separate us though, and I would like to bring those to your attention since you seem a little too focused on the whole bringing the pain thing, or the European title hell in a cell match at Leap of Faith, that you weaseled your way into to actually use your god given half brain."

Andrew points to his head and taps it.

"First, and probably the most obvious, is so simple that even you should understand, but I'll say it slow and stupid just to make sure you can. Me.... British..... You.... American."

He chuckles again.

"I'm just kidding Brian, I know you're not quite that stupid, not far off, but not quite there either."

A young women on a phone walks between Andrew and the camera, briefly stops Andrew who steps a little closer to the camera and his tone gets more serious.

"You see Brian, if you honestly think you are going to walk into MY home country and beat me one on one, you are more delusional than the pain rants you go on. The only way you're beating me Monday is if I'm not breathing when you pin me."

He stops and claps his hands together, his voice becomes a little less serious as he continues.

"Secondly good sir, I do not brag about pain, I bring pain. I honestly can't think of a single person who has wasted so much time talking of pain, and delivered pain, but not on their own, but by using three gits in masks to do it for them while they stand back like a pathetic excuse for a mouthpiece. Mark Henry for example, the Hall of Pain, he sure did talk about pain alot but at least he brought the pain all by himself, that's right Brian, by himself."

His voice becomes more serious again.

"Which brings me to my final point, I don't need three masked prats to help me beat up a man that just went through a match with three others. If I want to make a statement I'll do it by myself, not with three other men doing all the work and me standing idly by taking all the credit for something it took six, yes I said six, men to do."

He holds up six fingers and puts them slowly down one by one as if counting them.

"But on Monday it's one on one Mr. Braxton, you aren't going to have three goons beat me down after I've all ready had a match while you run your mouth, it's just me and you. That means no sneak attacks and no bloody gits to help you when I stretch you out like the cunt you are."

Andrew makes the cut sign and the cameraman presses the button again and takes the camera off his shoulder as a group of people watching the promo from the side clear from the sidewalk and continue on their ways.

"So twit, what's your bloody name?"

The camera fades out.