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Steven Kessler · **10-30-2014, 05:20 AM**

BANG. BANG. BANG.

For a solid five minutes Steven Kessler has been banging on a flimsy white door somewhere backstage at Madison Square Garden. A few people pass by, wondering what the hell he is doing, but he is left undisturbed in his task. Even with just under a week to go until the King of the Ring Tournament begins on Monday Night Madness, the arena is a bustling hive of activity as XWF staff prepare for the event. The door he's pounding on, the sheet of plastic and wood feeling the full weight of his right fist, is labelled "Steve Sayors" and has not opened since the beating began.

The knocking grows more urgent, and Kessler's brow furrows in frustration at the lack of attention this loud rapping is garnering. A small droplet of sweat forms on his brow which he wipes away before knocking one more time. When the door still doesn't open, he tries the only other thing he can think of. In fact, he probably should have tried it four minutes and thirty-two seconds ago. Sure enough, as he turns the door knob he finds that it is not only unlocked, but it pops open quite easily. He looks around to make sure nobody noticed his stupidity. They didn't.

Stepping into the temporary office, the first thing Kessler notices is a distinct lack of Steve Sayors. The lights are off, the room is tidy and it doesn't really look like anybody has inhabited it recently.

Kessler: "Well, at least I know now that he wasn't just being rude."

He sighs loudly and turns to leave. Instead, however, he goes further into the office and takes a seat behind Sayors' desk, putting his feet up on the desktop. He folds his arms behind his head and looks around the office with curiosity. He looks around the room for anything of interest, knowing that before it was assigned to Steve Sayors for Madness it was probably a spacious janitors closet. An old clock sits on the wall, ticking off second by second as he looks around. One thing that quickly grabs his attention is a digital camcorder sitting off to the side of the desktop, almost as if it were placed there in anticipation of his arrival. He picks it up and rewinds to the beginning, not bothering to check if there was anything important filmed on there already. He clicks the record button and returns to the desk, folding his hands on the desktop politely.

Kessler: "If you're watching this, unfortunately, Steve Sayors is dead."

He chuckles at his own morbid sense of humor. He quickly gets back on track, clearing his throat.

Kessler: "Sorry, I can't help making a bad joke, even one in poor taste. I'm sure it'd be a tragedy if the XWF lost their lone surviving interviewer. Anyway, this recording is just another piece of Steven Kessler propaganda. After I've sent it through for television syndication, some of you will fast forward through it, while some others may want to watch it again and again. Some will laugh, some will roll their eyes, and yet others will actually see the point behind it. As with anything I do, it doesn't matter to me how you react to it, just as long as you remember what I said when it's all over.

Now, I was called here for an interview with Mister Sayors, which probably wouldn't have been all that important. You should all know what I'm like by now, I probably would've gone on record and complained about the circumstances surrounding Team Erebus and their loss at War Games, or I might've had a few choice words about Ghost Tank's weight or something. Usually, that would've been the case, but this week is different. You see, after War Games... it took me three days to get up and moving. I could hardly get out of bed. And what do I find out when I'm finally ready to get up and get out of bed? I've been booked in the King of the Ring Tournament. Now, I suppose I'm going to have to address all of my potential opponents in due course, and don't worry, I have choice words for each and every competitor. But right now, I'm only going to focus on the people who have managed to get my attention now that I've been here in the hallowed halls of the XWF for a grand total of three weeks.

Now, it wouldn't be a Steven Kessler promo without a few pointed jabs at Ghost Tank, so I guess I'll get that out of the way nice and early. He's still sprouting some cockamamy idiocy about beating me in a Battle Royal and then again at War Games, despite, y'know... not actually pinning me, or making me tap out. There must be a few people out there who enjoy his work though, especially after his little scene at the airport, but honestly I got lost halfway through his explanation of what exactly a clone is and went to go and buy a sandwich. I can sit here with a video camera I found in an empty office and entertain millions of fans across the world. Ghost Tank, though? He needs a cameo from a one-hit viral wonder just to make whatever useless babble he has to say seem interesting enough to warrant time on television. Sad, isn't it?"

Kessler chuckles to himself, shaking his head in mock sadness.

Kessler: "There's another competitor who calls himself Wrestler 82, just in case we all forget what he's out there in the ring to do. What kind of a name is that? I'm pretty proficient with a crossface and a few painful holds, but I don't call myself "Submission Wrestler", do I? I can use a steel chair, or a sledgehammer, yet I don't have to call myself "Hardcore". And I'm certainly not about to give up my expert takedowns and or superior technical skills... I'm just not going to call myself "Mat Technician". Tell you what, I'll give you a bit of advice... if you want to name yourself after what you are, better change your ring name to "Inferior to Steven Kessler"."

Kessler rolls his eyes dismissively.

Kessler: "Gator. I haven't really interacted with you all that much since I started here, but in the interest of understanding any and all of my potential opponents for the King of the Ring, I took the time to check out your work. Uh... yeah. I guess somewhere deep down you must have some degree of talent, since you're the Television Champion, but... well, miracles happen every day, I guess. You see, we have a few things in common. We both believe that when it comes to talent, we're head and shoulders above everybody else here. We both grew up with fathers who were involved in the wrestling business. We both worked our way up to become the men we are today. But... that's where the similarities end. You see, I never had to rob old ladies at knifepoint of their hard-earned bingo winnings. I never had to fight or scrape in school against bullies, because I wasn't some kind of social outcast. Do what you feel you have to do, Gator. Flee the country again if you want to. Treasure your pride, treasure your dignity, and treasure your physical health, because getting in my way in this tournament will endanger all three.

Justin Sane. I believe congratulations are in order following your winning performance at War Games. You see, unlike certain others here, I'm willing to admit it when I'm wrong. It's all part of being a mature adult. So, from one competitor to another, good work. Enjoy it while you can, because it's the only time you'll ever see your name mentioned in relation to defeating me in that ring. You've got the talent. You've got the ability to go far in this business. Hell, we both know that sooner or later you're going to end up as a champion. It's just poor planning on your part to enter a tournament where there was an excellent chance that we'd cross paths. When it's all said and done, there won't be any hard feelings. There will just be me, one step closer to becoming the King of the Ring, and you with the lovely consolation prize of a Television Championship match."

There's a small beep from the camera. It's starting to run flat.

Kessler: "Dammit. Guess I'm going to have to wrap this up. For those of you I didn't mention, don't worry, I'll be sure to get to you in due time. See you soon, kids."

Kessler presses a button on the camcorder and removes the SD card, slipping into his pocket as he approaches the door. He peeks his head out and disappears into the hallway, whistling a tune as the scene fades out.

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