(The luggage is being loaded into the back of a jet plane. The jet rests on a solitary runway, away from the hustle and bustle of a commercial airport. The man loading it is not dressed in a uniform, he is wearing a pair of comfortable looking khakis and a blue tee shirt.)

(Darrel Besolve stands behind him clad in a black Carmichael suit. Beside him is Teddy Valentine, who is breaking bad news to the newly crowned BWA Heavyweight champion.)

Teddy: They seem pretty set in their decision.

Darrel: Well, you tell them that there is just no way in hell. What in the world would I have to do in the WfWA? Who even wrestles in that piece of trash organization?

Teddy: I am researching the competition, Boss. What am I supposed to do? Should I look for another NeWA member federation for you to join? Ohio is lovely this time of year.

Darrel: I hate Ohio. Speed trap full of dimwit rednecks.

Teddy: That doesn't answer me as to what to do, sir.

Darrel: I want you to go to Cole and talk some sense into him. We can't leave the NeWA. Period. Make him understand that.

(This is like Mission Impossible, Teddy thought.)

Teddy: I'll do my best.

Darrel: Your best won't satisfy me. Make it happen. I am already going to have to deal with Alexis when I get home. She was definitely against me making this trip. I don't need alliance turmoil tagged on top of everything else, understood?

(Valentine nods as he turns and walks toward his parked Buick. Once everything is sufficently packed, Darrel walks to the entrance ramp and climbs the stairs.)

(The inside of Darrel's personal jet is meticulously clean. There is a bar in the back, which acts as a memory of days long past. Once filled with imported spice rum and tequila, now it is bare, as Besolve remains on the wagon. In the front of the plane is a large screen for viewing movies. Besolve ignores the many convenience items he possesses and goes to sit down. Snapping his seat belt on, he leans back and relaxes. It is going to be a long flight to Ireland and he knew it. Despite Alexis's plea for him to stay at home, he wanted to honor his commitment to return to his homeland. After all, what type of impression would it make if he skipped his first visit?)

(Fade to black)

 ***

Darrel: You want it back, don't you, May-lick? It is sad how badly you desire the BWA's pointless Heavyweight title. I suppose with skill as inferior as yours, one must be satisfied with regional glory--for it is all you merit.

(Fade in to a pre-recorder promo from Darrel Besolve. Long before he got onto a plane to Ireland. Long before he knew of this foolish plan to leave the NeWA. The Boy Wonder is wearing a pair of loose fitting blue jeans and no shirt. The room is empty. Each of the four walls are painted white. The carpet is white. No visual stimulation of any kind can be found in the room, with the exception of a small barstool next to Darrel.)

(While Besolve stands, the belt sits beside him on the barstool. It shines like it has never shined before, now in the possession of a true champion. The leather strap is thick and black. Mounted onto it is three gold plates. Two small ones at the sides and one large one in the center.)

(Each of the side plates simply have the BWA logo etched into them. The large center plate is the face of the title. It reads "BWA Heavyweight Champion" in bowing letters across the top. It has a picture of the state of Louisiana underneath the lettering and, finally, a removable square plate with the name of the champion at the bottom. The removable section says the name "Malik Johnson". Beside the belt is a screwdriver.)

Darrel: It is customary for the BWA office to remove the nameplate of the last champion, but I thought it would be more meaningful if I did it. I had my nameplate specially made.

(Besolve lifts the screwdriver in his right hand.)

Darrel: You see, despite this being such an easy victory for me. Despite the BWA heavyweight title not even ranking among my top five accomplishments in the sport, I recognize that for this poor-shit federation--this is the end of an era.

(The prongs dig in and twist.)

Darrel: How long was your reign, May-lick? Months? Nearly a half a year? I don't know the exact number to be honest, nor do I care. The history of this hunk of crap is meaningless.

(One screw out, now he is working on the second one)

Darrel: Paul Blake, The Crippler, even punk, dead-ass Jeremy Knyte held this worthless pile of crap. This poor belt has never had a real champion holding it...until now.

(With both screws removed, Besolve lifts the nameplate. Gently, he runs his finger along the engraved letters "Malik Johnson".)

Darrel: Goodbye, May-lick.

(Taking the plate in both hands, he snaps it with minimal effort. Tossing the two pieces into the corner of the room, a wicked smile crosses his face.)

Darrel: I wouldn't even keep this belt if it weren't for the fact that I know you want it, May-lick. I could toss it aside and pretend I never won it, hell, it's not like holding the BWA heavyweight title makes my career any stronger. But, being that you want it so badly, it amuses me to keep it from you. You actually took your shilling so far as to say that the BWA heavyweight title can compare with an NeWA title...

(Besolve begins to laugh.)

Darrel: You're an idiot. Everyone knows that already. But, that statement takes you to a whole new level. Even if you have the utmost pride in the BWA, you still must recognize that it is a subordinate to the umbrella alliance. Whether it is the NeWA, WfWA, NWC, or any other--the alliance titles are always more important than the regional titles. Still though, I'll dangle this carrot in front of you to lure you in to my trap again. 

(Besolve withdraws, from his back pocket, a nameplate. This one is polished gold with diamonds pressed into the plate as lettering. Each shining precious stone comes together to spell "Darrel Besolve".)

Darrel: (Dryly) Your reign is over, May-lick. Forever.

(Besolve places his specially made plate on the BWA championship. He lifts the screwdriver.)

Darrel: While it means everything to you and nothing to me, in every confrontation we ever have over it, I will still win. Not because I want it more. Not because I deserve it more. I will win because regardless of what you or I do before a match--no matter if you are at your peak and I am at my lowest of lows--I am still better than you. It has nothing to do with desire or effort, I was just born better than you.

(He's turning the screws now.)

Darrel: You exude a willingness to do anything to win. You try your little heart out every time you step into the ring. Me, I don't try. Just showing up makes me the favorite. Against chumps like you and Sloan, why should I go all out? 

(The second screw.)

Darrel: (Smirking) Gosh, I haven't even mentioned the other guy in the match. Granted, Mike Sloan is hardly worth mentioning, but he is a participant. What can I say that does his ineptitude justice? He got his much desired big chance at the NeWA World Heavyweight championship. And, like always, he dropped the ball. Given the perfect chance to dethrone that undeserving, overrated wretch, Vic Vary, he got close and then fell short. The story of Sloan's life is going into a big match with high hopes and then not performing to expectation. Mike is a master of overachieving against middle tier competition and then not quite having enough when it counts. This week will be no different. I am more than happy to erase both May-lick and Sloan in one foul swoop.

(Besolve looks down at the title. Baring his name, it now seems to belong to him that much more. Having walked all over the BWA's so-called stars to get it, he at least wanted it to look like his with adequate style.)

Darrel: Finally, I've come to Lennox and Ulfric. Ricky boy, I was a victim of circumstance when I took you out. I mean, you were in my way, you know? And, although it seems to have had quite the negative impact on you, I am not sorry. I would have gladly killed you to win. Not because I wanted to win that badly, but because your health and well being are completely irrelevant to me. So you stay in the hospital and see visions of whoever's mother you'd like--I'll be waiting in the real world with my newly acquired BWA Heavyweight title.

(Pausing, the Future raises the index finger on his left hand.)

Darrel: And don't be stupid, Lenny. You've got a nice, little thing going in the WfWA. Keep your nose out of my business. You may think that because I injured your brother that you are involved in this and that it is your business. Wipe those foolish thoughts from your mind. If you dare to come after me in some petty little plot of vengeance, you will only bring upon your head much worse than what I did to your brother. You know me, Lenny, you know that I am dangerous. That's not some hollow threat. Our past is filled with me whipping your ass in every arena the NeWA visited. Don't forget it. If you have forgot and you need a reminder just how dangerous I am, then look at your brother's throat. The rope burn around his neck should act as sufficient proof of my willingness to harm.

(Smiling)

Darrel: I'm sure you didn't like that. Neither did May-lick. Neither did Sloan. None of you can possibly be enjoying what I have brought to the BWA. I am the brilliant light that exposes you for the shams that you are. And I'm not going anywhere. Sleep on that.

(Fade to black)