Scene opens to darkness. Music begins playing. As the music beats in the background still images begin appearing. They follow the beats in the music.

The pictures start off showing Mike Manson and Joe O'Brien pounding on Shane, they are scenes from Monday's match. The first image is of Joe putting a trash can on Shane. The second is of Mike hitting the can with a pipe. Third shot is of Mike slamming Shane into some doors. The fourth image is from near the end of the match, it's of Shane throwing Joe into the ring post.

The images continue like this, three of Jackson being attacked and the fourth of Shane retaliating.

Soon images of Jeckel's interfearence creep into the pictures. There's a whole set built around it. The first is of Jeckel standing in the ring. The second, of Mike being downed by a chair. The third of Jeckel strapping Joe into the Ticket To Hell. The fourth, and final, image is of Shane covering Joe for the win. This picture holds longer than the others. It slowly fades away, as it does a new picture fades in. It's of a night club.

A dancefloor occupies the center of the club, everything else is positioned around it. The tables and bar are raised, slightly, above the dancefloor. Colored lights and smoke fill the club, adding a very modern feel and atmosphere to everything.

People fill the club, almost elbow to elbow. The dancefloor is packed, as well as the area around the tables and near the bar. Waitresses shuffle through the crowd as they move around the tables. The crowd gives little room move, and the little they do give lasts mere seconds forcing you to walk only as the crowd dictates.

Sitting above the dancefloor, at one of the tables sits the "Natural Wonder" Shane Jackson. He's leaning back in one of the wooden chairs. He has one foot up on the chair next to him. He wears an open face green Hawaiian shirt, underneath is a dark blue T-shirt with the Superman insignia on it. His orange cargo pants are finished with a pair of ankle high Doc Martins. On the table infront of his sits an empty glass, moments ago it held a pint of Miller Genuine Draft. Shane looks relaxed and comfortable in his surroundings.

Shane: It's nice when things work out the way you wanted.

It almost seems like the crowd, the music and the noise of the club quiet themselves to Shane Jackon. The center of the club has shifted from the dancefloor to Shane, an occurance that seems to happens where ever he goes.

Shane: Did it ever cross your minds that I lost those previous matches on purpose? That maybe I was setting YOU two up? I've wanted MY Title back since I left the ICWA, it'll be nice to see the gold back around my waist.

A hot looking waitress, in a tight, black, dress shuffles up to Shane and picks up his empty glass.

Waitress: Can I get you anything?

Shane: A White Russian.

The waitress shuffles off through the crowd to get Shane's order.

Shane: Mike, I don't care where this match is going to leave us Monday. Chances are you're going to hate me even more than you already do, especially after I steal the spotlight and capture the gold. I don't ever see an end the hatred between us, I also don't mind adding fuel to the fire. Hehe.

A smirk crosses Shane's face, but only, for a second.

Shane: Joe....Joe O'Brien. As much as it sickens me it looks like we're stuck with each other, wether we like it or not. It's a good thing that there's an impartial member on our team. I know you want the CWF Title, so do I, and so does Decot. The problem is WE don't exactly see eye to eye.

The waitress reaches the bar. It takes only a few minutes for her to recieve the White Russian. She then starts making the turbulent journey back to Shane's table.

Shane: How about we call a true Joe? On Monday, after the match, we call a truce to our problems.

A man bumps against the waitress nearly causing her to spill Shane's drink.

Shane: Look at it Joe. If we put our problems aside until we are done fighting the other teams then we can take it out on each other in the Three Way match. As much as I would like to see both the ICWA and CWF Title's around my waist I can't do it without you and Bob's cooperation. The Human Highlight Reel can only do so much on his own.

The waitress makes it back to Shane's table and hands him the White Russian. Shane flashes her a smile and she blushes.

Shane: Why don't you sit down?

Shane kicks the chair next to him. It slides out right next to the waitress.

Shane: It's ok, your boss will make an exception.

The waitress puts her tray on the table and sits down next to Shane.

Shane: If you'll excuse me Joe, Bob, but the Cleveland Express has just found a new passenger.

Shane leans over and whispers something to the waitress. She blushes again, a big smile crosses her face. The scene cuts to black.