Our scene opens up, to a drunken Luca Arzegotti, seated at the counter of some bar that no one cares enough to remember the name of. A short, wide glass in his hands that he presses to his lips. Downing all of the liquid in the glass, he hands it back to the bartender, who fills it back up and places it on the counter next to our unfortunate hero.

"Oh, hey camera guy who seems to not have a fucking grasp on the concept of privacy! How has your day been? Oh wait, no one fucking cares about your day, because all you do is point a camera at a person who's actually worth watching, and pretty poorly at that! So, you heard that I have another match with Peter Gilmour, huh?"

The unprofessional as fuck cameraman decides it would be the right thing to nod and shake the camera all about as if Luca himself was filming this. Hey, whose idea was it to hire this guy? Heyman's? Yeah, doesn't surprise me in the slightest, considering he was the one who gave Alex Shawn a job.

"What do you want me to say? He sucks, he's FAT, he has no talent and rides coattails to surprisingly stay afloat? Well, he's all those things. But what's the fun in making fun of that BEFORE he gets all upset about it and starts showing his gut while in his delusions there's like a seven hundred thirty twelve pack there? There isn't much, let me tell you. So, come on Gilly, get all bent even more out of shape than you usually are, err I mean get, well and are. Fuck it, you're FAT! I'm done trying to sugarcoat it, because I'm sure you'd try to eat that too. Lame joke? I need new material? Am I still a gay who sucks John Madison's dick? Yeah, that's what I thought, you hypocritical piece of subhuman garbage."

Luca stands up, knocking the stool he was previously sitting on over. He grabs the glass off the counter and begins walking to the door, drinking the liquid on the way. He motions for the cameraman to follow him, and stops in front of an older gentleman. Finishing the drink, he tosses the glass on the floor, and the sound of it shattering silences the entire establishment.

"Mazel Tov!"

Angrily, the old man responds.

"I'm not even Jewish, you fucking idiot!"

"Yeah? Well, fuck you then!"

The bartender tries to rush over to the two, but Luca begins walking again, flipping off the older gentleman and pushing the door to the outside open. Stepping onto the streets again, he stops and takes a deep breath. Exhaling, he leans against the outer wall of the bar.

"So, camera guy. Up here, you fucking pervert."

It's at this point when we realize our cameraman is indeed pointing the camera at Luca's crotch. Seriously, where does Heyman get these fucking people at? Next thing you know, there's going to be a lens cap covering every fucking thing! Wait no, I'll jinx it! The camera pans upward to see Luca's face, marked with a drunken smile that's sure to make people yearn for the camera to be aimed on his cock again.

"Better! Now, as I was saying... Wait, what was I saying?"

Luca laughs as he pounds the side of the wall his closed fist, bringing it up to the camera to show blood beginning to leak from his knuckles. He looks at his hand, continuing to laugh hysterically for no discernible reason. Maybe he's crazy, maybe he's drunk, or maybe there's a fucking fistfight between two midgets going on not even ten feet in front of him.

Yeah, he's drunk. Or on something. Probably both, now that I think about it.

"Hey, can I send something personal out to my younger sister for a second, If she's even watching this, that is...?"

Wait, what?

"Hey, Gnat. Don't end up like me."

Something we don't see every day, Luca actually being serious. Sure, the seriousness is impacted by the fact that he's so drunk that he's legitimately not even speaking into the camera. Instead, he's off center, speaking into a window. However, that probably got the message across clearer than if he were facing the right way...

"Now, come to think of it, I probably shouldn't have mentioned her in this promo, because the next thing I know, Peter Gilmour will talk about how he fucked her. You would, wouldn't you, Peter? Even if you knew this little fact, the one that says she's underage. Then again, you tuned out after you heard about her existence, huh? You think that maybe if you did fuck her, that you would inherit my level of effortless talent, don't you? Instead of having to work your ass off to be mediocre, don't you just wish you were half as good as me at my lowest? I bet you do."

Looking around, Luca sees something that most weren't paying attention to, a wooden crate. He rushes into the alleyway that houses it and jumps on it, surprisingly agile for his level of intoxication.

"Peter Gilmour is going to announce that he's a fucking pedophile!"

Yeah, stop the fucking presses. That's headline material there, it's not like anyone already guessed that. Sucks that Mox got in trouble for it, but Gilly's getting a clean rap. Bullshit man, fucking bullshit. Whose pussy, if any, do you think he's getting?

Luca steps down from the crate, falling face first onto the ground and busting his nose in the process. He stands up quickly, wiping his nose of the blood that's beginning to pour from the wound.

"Hey, Gilly. About that pussy you supposedly get. Do you like it when Poppa Feder goes first, or do you like forcing your junk into an unwilling woman first? Bonus question, how often do you frequent Feder and Soldier's Rape Factory? I'd bet all the times you get this obscene amount of sex, and I'm right, huh? Beautiful, how reality falls into place, isn't it? Speaking of reality, wake up, Peter.

No one thinks you're a threat to the King, the Circle, the Congregation, or half of the damn roster.

I could be replaced with a fucking broomstick, and it would outwrestle you.

With the greatest of ease, I could fuck twelve hundred Rose Smiths. Hell, that's a conservative guess, really.

And yet, you're engaged to someone so stuck in the middle.

Just like you. Always twenty steps above the truly low, and twenty below anyone worth a fucking damn, when you're on your own. Go ahead and keep wishing someone else would end me so you don't have to stare at the truth again.

That truth?

That you just can't beat me.

See you on Wednesday, Peter."

With that, Luca snickers and begins to walk out of camera view. However, our loyal cameraman follows him. This journey?

Far from over.