Flynn cracks a smile.

"Steven, please. We've played this game before."

He leans back comfortably in his chair.

"I hope you don't think a pocket knife is enough to prevent me from gutting you, should you err and offend me."

Flynn then strokes his chin pondering the question.

"Well. First off, congratulations on winning your $500 bet."

"Second. If these half-wits think their minor league whining and moaning matters, they can check the win-loss column. It reads, Flynn W. Rookies L."

"Why do college basketball centers lose their first tip off when they make it to the NBA? They're legitimately surprised when they catch an elbow to the jaw on their way up."

"Welcome to the big leagues, kids. You don't like it, you're welcome to go back to working $15 a night on the Indy circuit. If you ever pass through Battle Creek Wrestling's Hallowed Halls, tell them all to keep calling Hell home. From the one who made it out."

Flynn stops a moment as if he's done answering the question. When Sayors tries to continue, Flynn goes off.

"See, this is the problem with rookies. They're idiots. Screaming under an accelerating foot about how immortal they are."

"You want proof that these rookies have minds that have the same consistency and quickness as vanilla pudding? Ask any of these chimps who the top of the XWF is, as you have."

"Sebastian Duke? Mister Mystery? Cyren?"

"It fills me with the deepest disgust seeing these heathens worship their false idols."

"Let me hit you with facts, Sayors."

"Undefeated in Singles Competiton since January 31st."

"Only man currently employed by the XWF to hold two different 'Top Titles.'"

"THE KING OF THE XWF!"

"Mark."

"F***ing."

"Flynn."

"So, if these mud-covered peasants want to pretend one of their filthy inbred kin is their true aim, the highest level they can imagine."

"Fine. They're allowed to be wrong."

"Makes about as much difference when they enter the ring with me as Tyrone does when he tries to figure oUt how to do instant replay on his iPad."