For once, we see Luca not in some alley or hanging out in the dark at some park or wherever the fuck he films his promos at. This single, solitary time, we see him sitting backstage at some XWF house show, Steve Sayors seated next to him. Unnerved to say the least, Sayors isn't doing any of his usual pre interview stress relief exercises. He just sits there, still as a statue while the camera man counts backwards from five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

"This is Steve Sayors here with a special guest, the Black Circle's very own Luca Arzegotti!"

"Don't remind me who you are."

Luca turns his head away from the camera, seemingly embarrassed to be in the same room as the man who so many people rely on for relevancy. Y'know, people like Nightmare, who invite the man into their super fucking special castle of demons or some shit. You're so not desperately calling out for attention, are you?

"Oh, okay then. So Luca, one night removed from Leap of Faith, what are your thoughts on the way things played out?"

"Easy. I did what I was saying I'd do for over a month. I lost to John Madison, and in the process, made an even bigger mockery of all the people I beat in the tournament, all of the people who could've maybe made their opportunities count, although I doubt that last fact. Now, they never got the chance to even try. Heyman looked like a bigger fool than usual, and I walked away with a bigger paycheck than anyone else not in the Circle will ever see. All in all? A damn good night, if you ask me."

"Um, so, what do you think about the new stable known as the Connection? They must come as a threat to the Black Circle, right?"

Steve nervously twiddles his fingers, awaiting Luca's response. At the best, he'll just get berated, at the worst?

Well, there's a guillotine for that.

"Wrong. In fact, that answer is so far from the fucking truth, that you are no longer allowed to interview me. Go on, scram! I'll do it myself, you incompetent little worm."

Sayors decides it would be in his best interest to do what he was told, can't really say I blame him for that fact. Then again, I'm the narrator, what do I know? Oh yeah, I know that Paul Heyman fears Luca.

"So, camera man. Get this all recorded, I'm not doing a second take of this. Okay? The camera's on, right?"

The unnamed, faceless, soulless camera guy nods from behind the tripod.

"Good, this message goes out to the Connection. Well, no shit there, huh? Anyway, back to the whatever the fuck. How do you think I should do this, all at once, or one at a time?"

Once more, we cut to the camera man, who shrugs his shoulders in confusion.

"That's implying I'd let others make decisions for me! So, who to start with, what name to pull out of a hat at sheer fucking random? Speaking of random, what a weird fucking group of misfits you got here, Dezzy. An untalented Brit, an untalented Duke knock off second coming of Sebastian Duke, an untalented 'BEST WRESTLER ALIVE' and one of my opponents this week, an untalented poet.

Maybe this isn't so random after all!

Let's start with the leader of the group, and the man who will likely be the most talented member of this little ensemble. Hey Dezzy! Why do you have such a shitty eye for talent? I mean, a bunch of Madness' most underachieving members should not be plan A for the big stable that'll take everything by storm. Wait a minute, it wasn't Plan A, was it? It should never be plan A for the two Andrews of irrelevancy to be in your top picks for a stable, and yet there they are, in the Stable of the century, if you're a lower card punk like Alex Shawn and Swift "How come I get suspended for cocaine?" Ion.

So, to summarize, you either have a shitty eye for talent, or you had to compromise pretty fucking hard. Both are pathetic beyond belief, you moronic waste of a suit. Go on and feed your ego with the fact that you've aligned yourself with the bottom feeder squad some more, will ya? You're obviously not in the league of anyone worth a damn.

Next? Oh yeah, the British Bag Boy, Andrew Aldway. The man who claims himself on a winning streak when what he fails to realize is that none of the people he's beaten are worth bragging about. It's like me continuing to brag about beating Christian Carter and Triple L, irrelevant. So tally ho, old chap! Don't be dismayed, I'm sure there's plenty of nobodies for you to beat when you learn that you just can't hang with the big boys! Maybe, instead of making yourself look like a bloody English stereotype, you should be actually trying to get better. Y'know, so you could last maybe three and a half minutes in the ring with me. Oh well, keep on claiming that you could kick my ass. I'm sure that'll look good to all of your buddies when I drop you on your head so hard that you end up switching sides accidentally. You'll be a great asset to the ensemble of idiocy, I'm sure.

Moving on with the train of Andrews, we have the original hack himself, Mister Morrison! Now, what have you done since you've been here? Besides stealing Sebastian Duke's shtick and amounting to nothing, which is also his shtick. By all means however, go on about beating JTC for the umpteenth time, I'm sure he'll be a worthwhile opponent one of these days. Keep playing those hilariously cheesy mind games with people that result in you looking like a bigger and bigger waste of time. Keep on stalking that chick that Hunter Payne's been harassing for another rematch, that'll get you somewhere, I'm sure.

Fuck it, go ahead and come after me. Come into my home at night and cut a promo about how you'll kill my girlfriend or something. Because those juvenile mind games prove just how little you actually know. How truly worthless you really are. Because allow me to paint you a little picture.

Every.

Single.

Person.

Can.

Do.

Exactly.

That.

So please, go on. Show us all how much of a fucking amateur you really are. I'm waiting.

Hey Johnny Boy! Thought I had enough of you when I beat you? Nah, I was really only warming up, and my God, you've given me a lot to fucking work with. I mean, you're really going to call yourself the 'BEST WRESTLER ALIVE' after I pinned you and CM Punk in the middle of the ring? Let's look at you now, shall we? Relegated to being the man to carry the two Andrews of apathy to victory in a tag match over Matt Lennox, Jack Killborn, and Lightning? That's a pretty far fall, isn't it? Especially so, seeing that the DEBUTING member of your little conglomerate, Dezzy, is in the co main event! That's gotta leave a foul taste in your mouth, doesn't it? Doesn't it suck to be playing third fiddle to Dezzy and Knightmask I mean Nightmare, considering the latter is teaming with the man who made you look like even more of an embarrassment than normal.

Don't worry, your time will come, Johnny Boy. One day, I'll kill you in the main event once more, and all will be right with the world. Maybe you'll finally stop the insinuation that you're the best alive.

Then again, you were never too bright.

Wow, I'm surprised I could stay awake long enough to say all that...

...Speaking of sleep, let's look at one of my opponents, Nightmare.

Are you going to keep up with the stories of people who are in the same boat as me again? Will I have to fight the urge to sleep during your promos, hoping to find something worth discussing? Judging from the little tour you gave us through your Castle, I'm in for another long week of boring bullshit from the most horrifyingly bad poet I've ever heard in my entire life. Hell, there isn't a single thing about you that's worth even saying at this point, because it's all been done before. So, I'm going to counter your shitty poems with song lyrics, if I may.

Follow the truth.

Follow the lies.

Nobody wins.

Everything dies.

Oh, and Feder?

Don't worry, I'm not going to lump you in with these fucknuggets. You're going to get the special treatment real soon."

And like that, Luca walks out of view of the camera. He said it would be all one take, but he seemed to do it in one breath. A sound of struggling can be heard off camera, as well as the dragging of feet. Wait a minute...

Yeah, Luca just kidnapped the camera man. God dammit. That's the second one in two months!