Strange bedfellows are made in the heat of battle. Enemies become allies; friends become expendable, or worse, enemies. Sometimes you can bide your time, play the percentages, and wait until the opportune moment to choose your allegiance, taking advantage of the opportunity and be not only on the winning side, but also be the one who gains the most from the victory. Unfortunately, this isn't one of those times....or is it?


Eight men, all with their own agendas, all with sin, some more sinful than others. Eight men, all standing on the rock that they believe in, whether that rock be molded by righteousness or degradation. But that's not the point of this little encounter. Ratings are. Ticket sales are. And above everything else....money. Money trumps it all. Under normal circumstances, these things would be true. Unfortunately...these aren't normal times.


Some of the participants have clear motives. A few have slightly hidden theirs, but are still seen through. And then there's me...


It's nice of you, old man, to think that I'm concerned with anyone in this match going after my gold. My gold is mine, and you can't put anyone in my way that can take it from me. Especially not anyone in this match.


Buff...I've beaten, left dangling and humiliated.


Butch...I've beaten and humiliated.


Talon...I've beaten, at the top of his game.


Eddie...I've beaten, teamed with, and beaten again.


Hans...this belt I'm holding is proof enough.


And then there's Altair James. My own creation. Someone I took from the gutter and made him into a star. Someone who to this day, has never been able to beat me. Turn on me, stick his nose in my business, and cheat me out of a win here and there, yes. But actually beat me in a match, whether there is nothing but pride, or championship gold, or even the RingMaster Crown on the line....not a chance. And we're supposed to be the best of the best that HWA has to offer. Looks like the best stands right here, in Birmingham...the All-Star champion, and the best champion in all of the HWA.


On the other hand, there's you, old man. I've yet to have the pleasure to share ring space with you, other than a few training sessions. Even then, neither of us were going full bore, just merely perfecting technique. It will be nice to see what you're like firsthand inside those ropes. I doubt you'll admit to be looking forward to seeing me again, and you will be quick to point out whatever inconceivable flaw you may think you see, but in the end, we will butt heads in the match. Not because I have some ulterior motive, but because I love the challenge, and you're the only one that will be in the ring that I haven't already conquered. Nothing against my partners or my opponents, but I have no grudge...no axe to grind. I'm just here to get the win. Maybe you yourself can prevent that, but there's no chance that Eddie, AC, or a juiced-up Butch will stand a chance. They're just not good enough to beat this Living Legend...and they never will be.


Ronnie stands up from the chair he was sitting in, turns around, and walks into the light as the scene fades