The Bell Centre in Montreal, Quebec, Canada. Quite the arena. Road to Ruin is almost upon the wrestling world and the online community is buzzing for the next instalment of the war between HWA World Champion Michael James and the number one contender, Butch Parker. The latter-mentioned is standing in the empty ring in the empty arena. Technicians and other assorted HWA staff have left for the day, the Bell Centre almost road for the pay-per-view to come. Butch stands in the centre of the ring, allowing his emerald gaze to cast its bright gleam across all aspects of the arena. He takes a deep breath in, as if taking in the atmosphere to come when his music hits and he steps out on to the stage for his championship match with Michael James. The camera pans across Butch from behind, to the side until it reaches him front on. It focuses on his face for a long moment. Expressionless. Pokerfaced. Deadpan. Until the silence breaks and Butch speaks.


You only hear what you want to hear, that is the long-and-short of it, Michael. No matter how much I say, no matter how much of it makes sense to you on the inside, you just can't bear to let it sink so you let it go through one ear and out the other, only containing fragments that you then manipulate like Play-Doh to suit what you want to hear.

Your continual facades of me not being intelligent people and the other nonsensical bullshit that pours from that asshole on your face you call a mouth only serve to make you look and sound even more ridiculous than the time before.

Essentially inferring I'm some of sort Nazi-type deity and then slandering for me apparently thinking I'm good like to taking umbrage with me turning the tables and describing you of being Hitler-esque? Christ, you hypocrisy really is limitless, James!

Like I said last time, Michael, you're interactions with me, this rivalry we've been embroiled in for the past eighteen months or so, it is but a mere drop in the ocean that is my career. You are nothing but a mere ripple in the water that won't even make it into my Hall of Fame speech. You won't even make my best of, Michael, THAT is how insignificant you are in the grand scheme of things you piece of shit. You talk about me holding on to the past but you grasp on your two measly victories over me like a child's security blanket. You think beating me twice and recounting meaningless disqualification losses to the likes of Fallen grant you superiority over me? They are, like you, nothing and meaningless. I will outlast you Michael, I am, and forever will be, an everlasting force in the Hardcore Wrestling Alliance. You on the other hand are like the cock of a high school virgin; pulsing and ready to go, keen to the taste the moist vaginal flesh of success but you come far too quickly and become limp and flaccid all too soon, leaving everyone left unsatisfied, looking for someone with more stamina that can last longer and do the job properly. This also coming from a man whose sole title defence was scraping to a victory against William Draconis? Just another notch on the bedpost of the kingsized bed of lies you sleep in every night, eh Michael?

You can misinterpret my sudden cocky, confident, assured whatever you want attitude all you want but every word is the God's honest truth and everyone apart from you and that small circle you choose to associate yourself with are simply too blind and ignorant to see otherwise. You're too busy scraping the barrel for insults, still calling my beautiful wife all sorts just try and prise a reaction from me.

Butch smirks and narrows his eyes.

(Butch): Pathetic.

Butch abandons his vigil-like stance in the centre of the ring and begins walking around it, allowing the top rope to glide smoothly through his fingers. He stops and leans his body weight on to the top rope.

(Butch): As I said at Havoc, I've heard every word that has spewed from that mouth of yours in your native tongue from the first moment you dared speak my name, my wife's and my child's. I've listened to you ignorantly address others about me as opposed to speaking to me directly like a man. I've listened to you paper over the cracks of the perverted truths you've been advocating. You've chosen to ignore the gravity of my warnings for the storm that is coming your way in just a short time. So if you're ever going to heed anything I say now is the time for I will not repeat myself or address you again until we stare across the octagon from one another. If you have any loved ones make your peace, if you have debts, pay them, affairs? Set them in order for I promise you the Michael James that leaves the cage at Road to Ruin will be far different than that who walked into it and I don't just mean absent from the World Championship you will not retain, you will be a shell of whatever person you claim to be. You'll have to superglue the shattered pieces I will leave behind of the man you were but you won't quite be able to put it back to the way it was before. You won't be the same again.

Butch doesn't say another word. He merely gives the camera one last long gaze before climbing out of the ring and walks out of the frame as the scene fades to black.