Following whatever the fuck came before this, some people being too lazy to keep up with such things, the camera comes to life with an image of the newest #1 contender for the XWA Heavyweight Championship, Vladimir Strife. He is sitting upon a hospital bed, his typical attire traded in for a blue gown meant to protect his modesty. His knee is heavily wrapped in gauze and propped by foam pillows, meant to support it while keeping it still. The Barbarian Lord, in spite of such an informal appearance, still has the Lionheart Championship held to his midsection as he gazes into the lens and smirks.



"Before you go getting all fucking cheery and excited, it's not as bad as it looks. Unfortunately for Danny Diamond and all his screaming little ringrats, I'm going to be just fucking fine to wrestle at Xtrememania, so clutch that belt tight while you still have time."



The fans begin to jeer his remarks, quickly displaying their favoritism for the reigning world champ.



"First of all, kudos to Akira Kobayashi. I'm not sure if you speak my language, so maybe you have no fucking idea what I'm even saying, but you took it to me like I haven't been treated to in a long fucking time. I underestimated you in that first match. I'm not using that as an excuse, because if that was the difference maker, then it's my own fucking fault anyhow, but I did and you beat me. I came into XWA thinking I would dominate without resistance as I had before in my career and you knocked my head out of my ass. Even in that second match, you gave me a hell of a fight. The slightest difference, like if the night drug on and the match happened an hour later or something, who knows what would have happened? But I'm not going to sit here and drag on with the 'what if?' bullshit. Domi arigato, Mr. Roboto."



The GodKing readjusts the wooden title and clears his throats, lounging back and relaxing for a moment.



"Oh, Daniel-san. How easy would it be if my knee was torn to shit and you got to just go to Xtrememania and parade that title around a bit more, maybe show how you're a fighting champion by taking on Joey Jobberton or whatever lucky up and comer got scrounged up at the last second when the champ decided to give some poor soul a chance they'd never gotten before? You could have gone out there and wagged your dick around, wrapped your Farrah Fawcet hair around your finger seductively, excited a couple of women who are into the androgynous thing because they're curious at heart, but have a conservative daddy that would like totally disown them if they ever got caught with a girl.. It could have been a glorious night for you."



"Instead, poor Danny, you're going to be facing the most dominant wrestler to ever step foot inside a ring. You are going to endure the most violent hell on Earth you've ever felt and when it is all done.. you are going to lose that title you covet so dearly."



More disapproving calls from the audience punctuate his remarks, but the GodKing ignores them, stroking his chin a moment.



"See, when I came here to XWA, I told everyone what to expect. I told all of you that I was the greatest wrestler in the history of this business, that I would wrought destruction on a scale unseen before, that your idols would fall.. that there was only those who were afraid and those who would learn to."



"Danny, after our little conversation a few weeks back, I have come to understand that you are the latter. I will be forced to instill fear into you, to break you, to humble you, to beat you worse than you've ever known to be possible. The odd part of this is that, well, I don't know you. I've seen you on television, had our little run in, but I have no idea who you are underneath all that hairspray. I've never sat down and talked with you or shared a drink or taught you how to do karate through a montage consisting of seeming basic household chores. And yet.. I despise you."



The Czar of Scars scowls for a second before calming himself.



"Daniel-san, I have faced dozens of men in my career... 92 to be exact.. and there has not been a one that was so.. opposite myself. See, I come to the ring and I beat the fuck out of anything in my way. It's brutal, exacting, and ugly. Not a star to face me yet in XWA has left the ring without knowing the sight of his blood upon my hands. I am a fucking war machine. I come out to that ring, decimate whatever stands before me, nice and simple But you, Danny Diamond, you wake up at 5 AM, do your tae bo for a while to tighten up your core and your glutes and what the fuck not, dump a couple of gallons of hair spray on your head and start brushing it ever so meticulously so you can get to Kohl's by noon for all the good fucking deals on leather pants, furry boots, shiny sunglasses, a new 'neck massager', the works. Then you get into what I'm going to presume is a Corvette or a Mustang custom-rigged to spritz out Axe body deodorant at the press of a button and toss your hair back, refusing to put the top down so you don't have to worry about getting knots in your hair and you crank up a little Van Halen or something else slightly edgy but still safe until you're sure enough no one isn't looking that you can flip it over to your Taylor Swift album. You get to the arena, pass the keys off to the valet and strut over to your locker room, checking yourself out in every mirror available along the way before the panic sets in when you realize that the hair at the back is just absolutely flat from your car's headrest, which simply will not do at'all. So you dig into the pocket of your skinny jeans, hoping they don't split from the effort it takes to dig out your iPhone what-the-fuck-ever-is-popular-now and call your emergency stylist. She's expensive, but goddamnit, she gets the job done. She comes, fixes it up, you blow-dry your hair for a half hour to get that wind-blown look just perfect while your assistant polishes up the XWA Heavyweight Championship and then goes off to advise the camera crew on how best to capture your 'good side'. You come out here, give a little speech, wipe the drops of sweat from your brow with the back of your hand and retire to your locker room for a cold LIGHT beer, because god fucking help you if those sons of bitches saddle you with unnecessary calories. You come back out later that night and wrestle in pristine condition, dazzling and wowing the crowd with your displays of speed and grace and athleticism. You maybe hit them with a few big moves at the end and take in their cheers before returning to the back and heading home so you can be back up early the next morning and really tone those abs more..."




A smirk comes to Vlad's face as he chuckles and looks down to his belt.



"Danny, you represent everything I despise about this business. You are a greedy, narcissistic, gold-hungry, attention-seeking, pretty-boy whore. You are a 'superstar'! You are a 'sports entertainer'! You're flashy and showy and revel in the praises of the fans..."



Vladimir shakes his head and sighs before continuing.



"I'm not a superstar, Danny... I'm not a sports entertainer. I am a wrestler. I'm not here to make these mouth-breathing dogfuckers like me. I'm never going to be the popular, pretty one and I wouldn't fucking want to be. I don't have the aura of a celebrity about me. I'm not proper and primped and what not, hell, I'm currently a kneelift from showing my hairy balls to the entire world.."



Strife teases doing so, but doesn't follow through, chuckling a little.



"But Daniel, what I lack in affect, I more than make up for in effect. I heard them call me a rising star recently, but that belies the truth. You see, I don't rise, I drag the competition down. I am the single most dominant, violent, and skilled wrestler of all times. Ninety wins, four losses.. not a man who has stepped into that ring against me hasn't come to taste defeat at my hands.. I'm not here to look good or etch my name in the record books or be praised or collect some gaudy belt buckles, Diamond... I'm here to prove that I am the greatest wrestler in the world and that's exactly what I'm going to do at Xtrememania.."



The Barbarian Lord takes the Lionheart championship out of his lap and sets it on a side table. He holds up a finger to a nurse as they walk into the room, signaling to them that he's almost finished as he sits up and leans in toward the lens.



"So I hope you kept your job at Abercrombie & Fitch, Danny boy.. because after I'm finished with you... all the product and makeup in the fucking world isn't going to help you show your face in that ring again."



The fans begin to boo again as the feed cuts out, returning them to their scheduled events of the evening.