Flynn's mysterious cellar...

The camera pans across darkness, blotches of gray and white impossible to make out the only evidence of motion amidst the darkness.

Finally, the screen crosses to a corner of light…

Which opens into a circle of yellow around a table.

Garnished with crème white tablecloth, a clear vase at the center, based with water and a single rose. The camera scales across the table…

Past the rose…

Onto a dinner plate. A beautiful steak. Lightly seasoned and chargrilled British Lamb Fillet. A fork on the left side of the plate. Knife on the other.

The camera stops at the end of the plate where it finds… a man.

Suit. Glass of wine swirling red in his hand. Staring into the crimson red drink as intently as a fortune teller.

His future?

Red. Seas of red…

Both victory and bloodshed await at this journey’s end…

The camera lingers as he presses the glass to his lips.

The velvet stains his lips as he sighs with a smile…

“Tonight…”

Flynn grins and continues swishing around his drink to enhance the flavor.

“Tonight, I take my rightful place as XWF United States Champion. As the top title holder on XWF's 'A' show.”

“Tonight, Mark Flynn takes what was indisputably his all along…”

“And tonight…”

“The only person that seems to expect the hurricane coming in and wrecking your little free-and-easy no-risk free range farm for your flock of up and coming 'XWF superstars'…”

“Is the mother(HUBBARD) bringing it…”

Flynn strokes his chin with his free hand and rests a leg across his knee.

“But, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Before I reclaim my rightful place as the head talent of an entire XWF program, there’s one relatively simple thing I have to do.”

“Of the fifteen other superstars entered in this tournament, tonight, I beat four of you young worthless punks that have decided to populate my precious wasteland… in one night…”

“In one two-hour show, I take on the best the new era has to offer. A group that, according to certain critics, has come to replace me as XWF’s workforce.”

"Lucky me."

"Because while my obsession with the past, my experience in the XWF certain superstars declare is a weakness?"

"There's one thing on my resume that I'm very proud of."

"I've ended the careers of more rookies than anyone else in the XWF."

"And reading the list of names in this tournament."

"It's like I'm in a candy store... Every rookie looks so unpromising... How can I restrain myself to finish just four? This is a group I can't resist destroying."

“This is a group that I plan on proving isn’t worth the ink on those f(LIPPING) contracts Witastick hands out like floss at the dentist.”

"Just giving it to whatever child walks into his office."

“Now, there are a lot of people in this tournament. Some have a chance of escaping the first round. The others, Mr. Natural and Benjaming Crane..”

“Among this former group, there are three people I felt at the week's start had the strongest claim towards threatening me…”

“The most impressive records and accomplishments when it comes to entering that ring…”

“The most…”

“Overall disappointing weeks from this collective of buffoons I’ve ever seen.”

“In the spirit of taking out four people in one night, I will, as I enjoy my pre-Warfare dinner, verbally dismantle four nothings.

"Three I was foolish enough to think would bring something impressive to this tournament.”

“And have failed miserably.”

Flynn’s hand leaves his chin and drops down to the table.

His fingers caress the tines on the fork as his hand slips down to lift it from the cloth.

It hovers over the steak a moment.

And then is set down on the meat…

“But before I begin picking apart three real meaty tender subjects I’d like to spend some time chewing on…”

Flynn’s eyes return to the glass of wine in his hand.

“Allow me to cleanse my palette with a morsel. To arouse my appetite on a whelp that could satisfy no predator’s hunger…”

“One AJ Powell…”

“A crumb, a molecule, a partially crushed skittle left on the floor, begging to be devoured by anyone to make you seem the tiniest unit more relevant.”

“You’ve been challenging above your weight class, Powell. Trying to trick people into watching your abysmal ring work perhaps?”

“Swinging for the European Title I lost to Neonero?”

“Saying you aren’t impressed by Angelus?”

“When was the last time you did anything that could be called ‘impressive’ in that ring?”

“Honestly, is there anyone else out there having difficulty believing AJ Powell has TWO DIFFERENT FANS?”

“You beat Cross’ lackey Stoney and two fellow rookies that were so embarrassed by their performances that they never bothered showing their faces again.”

“Maybe you should have followed their lead.”

“Of course, you really burned me good with that little pseudo-fact you hit me with….”

“And I quote…”

“Mark Flynn: The man that lost the European Championship and the Tag Team Championships IN THE SAME FRICKING WEEK! Damn! That must mean you suck monkey cow ass. And I actually pulled for you in that match. Why did I do that? You are worthless to XWF at this point.”

“And that was it. No real elaboration or point beyond the fact that I lost two championships in a short period of time.”

“Two more than you’ve ever possessed in your miserable excuse for a career.”

“Not to mention that I only lost one of them. The other was stripped from me by the corrupt and fired Randall Cross after a successful title defense. Way to do your homework, you pathetic nothing.”

“And while I failed to overcome the combined team of Neonero, Michael James and the same official that was hellbent on stripping every title he could from my waist…”

“You really think you’re the one that can challenge Neonero?”

“You claim the fact that I lost two belts is all the proof that I’m not XWF material.”

“You want my evidence that you don’t satisfy that criteria?”

“Your work.”

“Your moves.”

“You claim to be the high-flying soldier, but every match is a disappointment, every move not up to professional quality, every second a lesson in the joys of changing the channel.”

“Put in the ring with anyone beyond marginal talent and they split you in seconds.”

“You’re not fit to work for XWF. You’re not even fit to be the ring crew Tommy Carlos King bullies before matches.”

“You’re a worthless pile of excrement I’ve accidentally put my foot through.”

“And after Warfare, you’ll just be a smear on my shoe of my career. One I’ll have to clean off later so I don’t have to admit having been in the same ring with you.”

Flynn downs the rest of his drink…

“Now… let’s see…”

He presses his fork against the meat as red spills from the center of his meal…

Sets the glass down and pulls the blade toward the plate…

“Mmmmm…” He licks his lips with anticipation. “Where to begin… where to begin…”

He presses the fork in and with his other hand, carves into the steak.

“Angelus…”

“How many times do I have to beat your non-specifically foreign skull in before you stop going after my opportunities?”

“It’s funny how many are saying it’s time for a new era, it’s time for a new wave of superstars to overtake the XWF. And the one leading it, the one everyone in the locker room is pointing out as the surprise hit to lead the charge.”

“Can’t seem to get past the old man who’s time is up.”

“Lethal Lottery? Stopped.”

“European Championship? Blocked.”

“Hell, even if I wasn’t there, anybody actually think this clown would have pulled it out?”

“He hid for 80% of the match before getting knocked out by a kick from DEION F(REDERICK) PHILLIPS!”

“Angelus. You’re one of the most tragically overrated superstars I could possibly imagine. You’re just barely passable in the ring and because of that, everyone sees as you as a sign that the new can pass.”

“But, until you beat me. Until someone successfully knocks me off the top of this ladder?”

“It doesn’t matter how little Shane brings up his potatoes now.”

“It doesn’t matter how long ago the XWF Championship was a thing.”

“It doesn’t even matter if they make a g(ALLANTLY CLASSIC ON SALE NOW FROM WITASTICK ENTERTAINMENT ENTERPRISES FOR ONLY $19.99) DVD of the best of the XWF: Potato Era…”

“If I don’t go down.”

“Then, the ship’s still mine. And there’s no Cross around to screw me if I win.”

Flynn pops the cut into his mouth and chews.

“Michael James.”

He swallows down the bite.

He prods a meatier tougher piece and takes a little effort and time into carving deeply into it.

“How far can one punk nobody fall?”

“You beat a legend twice. You proclaim yourself the future of XWF.”

“Guaranteed XWF champion."

"Now look at your pathetic devolution."

"Last Impact, the Least Valuable Player in a 3 on 2 handicap match, one of the most underwhelming performances I've seen."

"But, hey, everyone has their off night."

"Leading up to Madness, you whimpered some s(TATEMENT) about the title being beneath you and then handed it off to Neonero when the two of you teamed up to overtake me with a crooked official. And when the time came, as you held XWF gold in your hands, when Nero the thief, the man who actually tried to seize opportunity and took what he wanted, asked for his belt."

"You gave it to him."

"Like the good little lap dog you are."

Flynn finally finishes cutting through his large bite. He twirls it in his fork, admiring the juices dripping down the side...

"But hey. Maybe this is the start of the empire. Maybe you will follow Nero's lead and deliver to the XWF the new era everyone wants to talk about this week."

"Or maybe you'll be silent until the very end and disappoint everyone involved."

"James, you make me physically ill. The only mark you've made in the XWF is the s(ALSA) stain running down this company's drawers."

"Because in another big opportunity, Michael James s(PILLS A GLASS OF WATER IN) the bed..."

Flynn pops the bit into his mouth and licks his lips, savoring the remnants still on his lips.

"Ah... who's left, really? Who will serve as my fourth?"

Flynn rapidly slices through meat, popping bits into his mouth, savoring the flavor and taste of smaller morsels.

"Cyren? Dead. A corpse floating down the river trying to swim upstream. Impossible. And headed toward a waterfall."

"The undefeated Dexter Bale? Silent as the grave. And while Witastick might try to fix the tournament so his little golden-haired child prospect doesn't get embarrassed."

"He can't win the whole thing without going through me. And I don't plan on losing to my designed for children counterpart, Mark Flynn Junior."

"Crimson Dong? Nice work this week. Good luck."

"Mr. Satellite.... Mmmm heheheh... Not yet... Not yet..."

"But there is one man that seems to be trying harder than anyone else to make an impact..."

"Someone desperate to steal this one out from under everyone..."

"The Angel of Darkness... Sebastian Duke..."

Flynn looks down at his plate and sees there's one tasty bite left in the steak. Perfectly browned. His mouth watering... The hunger about to subside...

He plunges his fork into the last bite.

"Oh Duke..."

"You're hysterical. You paint a target on your back, tell everyone to fire and think this display makes you the most likely candidate to take the prize."

"You think your little show of handling everyone as they deliver their promos, trash talking them in the exact order they send in their messages is impressive? Do you think it makes you the future?"

"Just like the cashier at a fast food restaurant. First come, first served. Ignoring complaints about your pitiful customer service, delivering barely passable product."

"And exactly like a fast food restaurant, your pathetic attempts make me physically ill. Can you imagine how difficult it is from an outsider's perspective trying to stomach your pathetic excuse for a promo?"

"Your central points have been... passive..."

"That I've been the best in the XWF for too long."

"That the world is ready for new superstars to rule the XWF."

"That management wants new blood holding belts."

"..."

"...Do you think I got to where I am today by listening to what the world wants? To what management wants? I don't give a s(CENT OF BLUEBERRY COLOGNE AVAILABLE WHEREVER COSMETICS ARE SOLD WITASTICK ENTERPRISES) about what management wants."

"Since July, management has wanted me to crawl into a hole and die. To stop eliminating their money-making talents and keep away from their bright shiny belts."

"...But not you, Duke... The boys upstairs seem to have taken a liking to you."

"You're... Marketable... You toss around slogans and pop culture reference sprinkles and set up the scene perfectly so idiots can keep up with the show."

"You're tall and say 'Angel of Darkness' but have just been going through a life of Situational Comedy with your fiancée and father. Kids like safe scary things. And that's what you are."

"You're the Ernest Scared Stupid of Warfare."

"But let me illustrate my central point."

"You're more marketable than me."

"I'm better than you."

"It doesn't matter how old I am."

"It doesn't matter what time period I'm referencing when I read off my list of victories."

"It doesn't matter which of us management wants to lead their company."

"The only thing that matters."

"Is who's better in that ring."

"And you can't out-wrestle me."

"That's it. No figurative language. No 'I could beat you with both arms tied'. No 'you couldn't wrestle your way out of a paper bag.'"

"Simply the truth you need to face."

"You're so tragically inferior, you can't see how far I am ahead of you."

"When we meet in that ring. IF you by some clerical error or otherwise, find your way in that squared circle."

"I'm going to dominate you from every angle."

"I'm going to clarify just how much of a joke you are and how little you've done to earn what little you've gained."

"And the old man who's 'time in the spotlight is over'."

"Is going to take your X-Treme Title..."

"Your US Title opportunity..."

"And for the second time in my career."

"Mark Flynn... Double Champion..."

Flynn smiles as he twirls the last bite into his mouth.

He grabs a napkin from his lap and cleans a bit of sauce from the corner of his mouth...

"Now."

"Get out of my ring."