The scene fades into an empty classroom. As we pan across rows of empty seats, chalk is sharply banging against a blackboard behind us. The afternoon sunlight creeps through dingy windows, relentlessly beaming at dilapidated tile. "I will not be beaten" reads incessantly across the faded emerald chalkboard. A hand vigorously survives the statement. SNAP! The tip of chalk breaks off at the cross of a "t", leaving the word "not" to stand unfinished at the edge of the blackboard. As flakes of chalk scatter to the ground, Mr. Rockwell reveals himself to us with a sinister smirk upon his face. His demeanor seems less ominous due to his gentle robin's-egg blue european-cut Alexander Price hugging his cameo pink turtle neck.

Are we paying attention?

Simon rests the chalk on the cherry desk in front of him before gripping the table with both hands, leaning towards the camera.

Last night I made an example of that dunce, Eric Rex. I set an expectation to every buffoon in the Wednesday Warfare locker room of what exactly I will accomplish here in the XWF. Eric Rex, you came after me with everything you had in that octagon and although we were in your wheelhouse, only one man's arm was raised. I commend your ferocity but at the end of the day a brute, senseless assault does not win matches. Strategy does. Psychology does. Most importantly, intellect does. You say you are not here to win gold but to make money and hurt people. That's one of the many virtues that separates the student from his teacher. I joined XWF for one reason only. To dominate.

Mr. Rockwell rolls a black leather executive chair over and languorously seats himself.

So next week we will have a...history exam, so to speak. The question is, class...who is to become the next steppingstone in Mr. Rockwell's climb to the top of Mount XWF? I'll let the locker room make that decision. For those of you who are ignorant to the language of subtleties, allow me to translate. I am offering an open challenge to anyone who would like to be an integral part in the legacy that is Mr. Simon Rockwell! Whoever it is, I suggest you study up for next Wednesday's test because for most of you...it will be short answer.

Simon tilts back in the chair and folds his feet on the desk, a corrupt grin emerging.

Class dismissed.

White Lion storms into the class room....and in ONE LION LIKE BOUND LEAPS ONTO THE DESK!

"I WILL....FIGHT YOU!!!!!!!!! ROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAR!!!!!!!"

(04-14-2013, 11:32 AM)John Madison Said:

HAHA! My thoughts exactly.

Mr. Rockwell, startlingly falls from his chair from the unexpected debut of White Lion. He jumps to his feet and puts both fists up, shaking in terror of the psychopath before him. White Lion licks his front right paw and cleans his mane all the while keeping his eyes on Simon. Mr. Rockwell stumbles to find words to respond to the new superstar.

Uhh...y...yea...oh-ok. I'll uh..take you anytime..an-anyplace..yea!

White Lion looks fiercely into the eyes of Mr. Rockwell, looking with the eyes of a jungle cat into his VERY SOUL!

"Then I just have one....more....question....WILL YOU....MAKE SURE....THAT THIS MATCH....IS THE MATCH THE FANS DESERVE....THE MATCH OF THE CENTURY....THE MATCH THAT DESTROYS THE RING BENEATH IT...! A MATCH THAT INSPIRES ALL THE CHILDREN TO BELIEVE IN THEMSELVES....ONCE AGAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIN! MR. ROCKWELL....WILL YOU.....ROAR! WITH! MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Mr. Rockwell regains his composure and fixes his tie, stretching his neck in the process. He surveys White Lion and raises a judgmental eyebrow.

The only thing that is going to be destroyed in that ring is you my wild friend. As for the fans, they can suck an egg for all I care. If it's a brutal match you want, then it's a brutal match you will get.

Simon circles the desk to the other side, White Lion keeping a close on his every move. Rockwell puts both hands behind his back. His head raised, he begins to ponder to himself.

Of course, that would mean a particular stipulation is in order.

The two meet eyes once again as Simon gives a menacing glare.

White Lion meets Mr. Rockwell, intensity for intensity! The jungle itself burns within the twin embers that are the White Lion's eyes....and it burns with POWER!

White Lion: There is only one match that can rock the ring and make this match....this ULTIMATE CLASH OF THE TITANS...THE BEST MATCH OF ALL TIME!

The White Lion looks away. He begins to have doubts. YES. Even the Lion Hero has doubts!

White Lion: Should I....? Dare I....? Can I....? No...it....it's not possible....its...too much....but....I....MUST!

Suddenly, the White Lion erupts in a MIGHTY ROAR and wheels around to face Mr. Rockwell ONCE AGAIN!

White Lion: What match Mr. Rockwell? Under what format will two rising stars blast into each other in an explosion that will engulf the stars themselves in a cosmic conflagration of sheer power?

Three words, Mr. Rockwell.

HECK.

IN.

A CELL!!!!!!!

Mr. Rockwell grins nefariously as he envisions the diabolical structure. What kind of torment would come from the steel abyss? Is the reward worth the risk? Simon leers at White Lion intently considering what damage would be afflicted upon the two men. Indeed a victory from such a merciless brawl would find itself to truly jump start any superstar's career, but at what cost? Simon found himself to be even bolder than originally conceived.

Alright.

The deal was done. The next time the two would meet would be in the infamous Hell in a Cell.