In the early morning light, Smoke stands on the sidewalk. He is on the edge of the pavement, staring up at the building above him with a stone expression, digesting the sight in front of him one last time. The concrete block looms over him like a teacher looking over their student, large and foreboding. While he stares, his attention is only drawn toward a single spot; an open window. A small stream of smoke still seeping out the large hole, a deep black void beyond, sooty and dead.

That window is... was... what Smoke had spent so long slaving over for the past few months, trying to carve his way into American life with a place to call his own. But a couple of weeks ago that dream flew away, all he had done had been for naught, and now while he has a place to stay at least; nothing will replace what he had lost in the fire. Nothing.

The ashes still snow down, drifting like balled-up black feathers to the ground. Smoke holds his hands out in front of him, letting a single drop land on his palm, quickly spreading warmth coursing not only through his hand, but a slight warm glow resonating in his body.

Having not been able to enter for the past week, and only now has the building been given clearance, Smoke finds himself wanting to go through, to find out the full extent of the damage but... in a way, he doesn't. He doesn't want to come face to face with the full extent of the damage, to have the image of the grey soot engulfing everything engraved in his mind for days and weeks to come, and while that image will do nothing but enflame the rage, there has to be a limit.

There has to be.

Smoke half-turns to one side, preparing to leave and get back to the arena. However, one thing catches his eye, buried beneath the deep patch of cluttered ash that had settled against the wall of the building. A shine, a flicker of light reflecting off of what appears to be a small silver surface.

Smoke walks over to it and uncovers the black substance, enough to see most of the object. He picks it up and examines it, brushing it clean so that it sparkles against the streetlamp.

Here, out of seemingly nowhere, is Smoke's apartment key, waiting there as if someone knew he was coming here, in a place so diffucult to ignore, it had to have been placed there not five minutes ago, almost like a hint to just look. Whoever it was, they clearly want Smoke to go into the apartment. For all he knows they could be nearby, they could be right around the corner, or even in the apartment itself. Either way, Smoke is going to come face to face with the damage, whether he likes it or not.

Reluctantly, he enters the main hallway, on the opposite end of the staircase leading up. Hesitating on every step, Smoke slowly climbs. One step at a time.

Smoke realises he's breathing heavily in the tense circumstances, but he doesn't stop himself. He rounds the banister and begins to climb again. Left foot. Right foot. Left foot. Right. Left. Right.

He reaches the next floor, his floor, and the door to what was once his apartment sticks out amongst the other doors, as it has a thin stream of smoke seeping out from under the closed door. He tentatively walks over, key prepped in hand.

He slides the key in the lock successfully, without having to struggle in the slightest. With shaking hands, he turns the key, until-

clck!

The door pushes open a little with a creak, letting out a large wave of dried air out, releasing a burning smell in Smoke's nostrils, making him cough, choke and splutter. With tears welling in his eyes, he pushes it open all the way.

And there it is. The place he had worked over for months on end, scraping together every last cent he could for his own place and now... it's just... nothing. Piles of soot dot the room to landmark the final place for furnishings, and ash stains all along the wall. The only thing to see is the dark grey that encompasses literally everything in the room, the stiffness in the air making Smoke's clothes cling to his skin, as well as warm-up his body in the tight space. The stray dust still floating around like lost flies, catching in Smoke's eyes and nostrils and making him writhe in the mixture of his body's reactions.

Suddenly, movement. Smoke quickly turns to what used to be his bedroom, only to see a cameraman walk out, $1000 camera in hand, and appears to be recording Smoke's utterly confused reaction. From where he stands, Smoke can see the side of the camera has a big XWF logo plastered on the side. He instinctively turns and begins an improvised promo, not wanting to be cut short at this... sudden appearance.

If anybody would like to know why I'm suddenly such a 'rampaging monster', here you go!

Smoke throws his arms out, as if presenting the ungodly scene around him.

This place I used to call home, the place that is now reduced to nothing but ash, leaving me homeless and helpless, without the care of our so-called 'generous patron', Shane . This was the reason I fought. This was the reason I had done everything in the XWF. Well, up until a couple of weeks ago. And now... Now I have a vendetta. A thirst for vengeance and most importantly; knowledge.

But at the end of the day I mustn't forget one thing, and that's that I. Am. A wrestler. And let's just say this little 'apprenticeship' that I've been on with Shane has somewhat... improved my abilities. Hate can be strong, making men, breaking men, whatever. Hate has given me the first hand power to break men. To break anybody. Hatred, a bubbled up fury, all of which can be traced to a single source.

Smoke once again points behind himself.

This.

Smoke sarcastically claps.

This is to whoever did it. Bravo. Really, bravo.

Bravo on creating a monster. Bravo on having that monster terrorise innocent staff and employees. Bravo for having that monster want to rip your fucking throat out.

As Smoke's hands comes together again, he balls one into a fist, punching his hand against his palm.

It doesn't matter where, when, who or how. Or even why. All that matters is cold-blooded revenge so, I guess this is an overall public service announcement. A PSA to anyone who even so much as momentarily considers stalling me because if you do; I will throw you aside and beat the ever-loving shit out of you until I get what I want. Answers. If not from you, then from anybody.

The longer you wait to reveal yourself, the more people that's going to get hurt, and the more I will bend your arm back until it snaps, and you cry out for your dear mother.

The ashes that have fallen have merely been the seeds. And this deadly flower is yet to fully bloom.

He stares into the camera, his expression has become solid and threatening all the same. But despite that, he quickly turns and stands with his back turned to the camera, pretending to admire the 'work' that had been done.

But anyway. Onto more... current issues.

He turns to the camera with a demonic smirk on his face, and putting his arms behind his back, he stands in a formal stance, as if about to address a nation.

Current issues of course being... AJ Powell.

Now AJ is part of the band of straight-edge facsists, walking around preaching about anti-marijuana and all that crap. Now, let's get one thing straight. Depsite the fact that I'm facing AJ, I am straight edge myself. I think alcohol's for pussies who have no idea how to have a good time, and that stuff like drugs are only good for, well, nothing. However, little AJ here has it in his mind that I condone the use of these substances because I 'disrespected him' or some shit.

Okay one; what!? How? And how is that even relevant to... anything!? Second; no. I don't. Shut up. Three; you basically gabber on about 'manipulating me into thinking that drugs are the anti-christ'.

Smoke sighs and rubs his hands through his hair and takes a deep breath.

Clearly you're a fucking weirdo. Both you and your group of misfits. And I know what crazy is, I've been hanging around with Shane all week. I would explain how you're inferior, have a serious case of the heeby-jeebies but I know you'll either ignore it or it'll just pass through your hollow skull so I'll just keep it simple.

Smoke pretends to clear his throat. He gets close to the camera and whispers.

Spoiler alert... I'm going to beat you at Warfare.

Smoke steps back.

You hear that? I'm going to beat you at Warfare. To me it doesn't matter what you say, it doesn't matter what you think. Whether the title is on the line, whether it's X-Treme Rules, if it's a single's competition, it doesn't. Matter.

We'll see who the better competitor is alright, ooh, we shall see. And understand that when I'm towering over you with my fists in the air in pure victory, even denial can't stop you from looking like a fool.

Smoke Man pretends to light an invisible cigarette in his mouth using an invisible lighter.

At least you can run home to your 'brothers' and tell them you've at least tried to fight the 'smoke'. Tell the psycho bitch, tell the leather-coated asshole, tell the Brotherhood reject. I bet they'll be so proud of you. But when you tell them you've lost, well...

Smoke holds up his hands and acts 'innocent'.

Don't blame me. Blame your big mouth hotshot.

He nods to himself a little, thinking for a couple of seconds.

Had I disrespected SEX before? Probably not. Have I just done it now?

Smoke looks at the camera a chuckles.

You bet your ass I just did.