In the beginning, God created the heavens and the Earth. And also hell, because he's the ultimate troll.

John Michael White: This place looks like hell.

--It does. It's a dilapidated husk of a locker-room: peeling walls, damp patches in the corners, a rickety bench with the varnish peeling off. Just the place for fresh blood to cut their teeth as they join the wild world of wrestling and try to make a name for themselves.--

Andrea: They're still undergoing refurbishment, they're trying to build an identity. Money isn't exactly growing on trees in this business. I guess that explains the B-grade locker-room, but you're new here, remember. Anyway it's the Staples Center, how bad can it be?

--That's his nurse, a pain management professional. John looks at his cane, the reminder of his lifetime of hard knocks and cheap shots. John Michael White is no n00b. He is a multi-time world champion, the longest reigning in two different federations. He was named by his peers the hardest man to beat. He is a businessman, an entrepreneur, a political pundit, a highly successful criminal defence lawyer. He is a star. He is broke.--

John Michael White: I sure hope they sold plenty of tickets. I'm tired of wrestling in empty caverns. Who am I beating anyway?

Andrea: A newcomer by the name of Dexter Bale.

John Michael White: Dexter Bale? What is he, some kind of hay-based serial killer?

Andrea: He's something of a blue blood. I thought he'd be right up your alley.

John Michael White: Blue bloods only go up my alley if it's to mug me. People like me still aren't allowed to play golf at their country clubs. The irony. We own their city, so I guess it's the only place they have left to get away from us.

Andrea: Before you get started on another rant about the plight of our people, let's concentrate on just beating this one guy rather than saving the world, OK?

John Michael White: "Our" people? You converted to Christianity, remember?

Andrea: Moving on... Dexter Bale's a big guy according to the profile I received. Really tough striker, but those muscles make it hard for him to keep up with a grappling game.

--John flashes his devilish grin.--

John Michael White: Now he is up my alley.

Andrea: Thought so. His theme describes him as the Devil's son.

--The lawyer laughs.--

John Michael White: In that case, it's time to show him who is the Daddy.

--The lawyer walks off, his red Prada shoes echoing round the empty locker-room, as the scene fades to white.--