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"May I help who's next in line please?"

"Good afternoon gorgeous. I have a plane ticket reserved."

"May I have your name please?"

"Michael Payne."

"...Okay Mr. Payne. Oh...I'm sorry to hear about your sister. Our first class attendant's put together some of their money to buy you some flowers if it were to make you feel any better. We also made sure to apply the fractioned price to your ticket."


Desk Clerk
"Your sister...the one that died yesterday... Mr. Phoenix Brandt called and told us about the reservation that you wanted made for today so you could get to the funeral."

"...oh yeah, her... *sniffle* We were close... anyway, thank you for your condolences."

Desk Clerk
"No problem Mr. Payne. Here's your ticket and your gate is right down the hallway at B15."

Walking away, trying all in his power not to let that hidden smirk escape it's cage, the light shining off of his shades causes a slight glare on the camera as he passes up the desk clerk and slings his gym bag over his shoulder. His broad shoulders sticking out as he tries to make his way out of the narrow line formed between the passengers and the desk that seemingly goes a thousand miles in the direction he's heading. Passing several massive chunks of people standing in line and/or making their way across the airport, Michael notices a small group of passerby college females staring at the massive bulge in his...arm as they smile and eyeball all those oh SOoOooOoOoOo sexy muscles. He can't help but to smile back and give a quick wink at the one with the giant rack. Snapping his head back towards his gate, narrowly escaping a giant erection, Payne stands in line waiting to board, nearly beating the shit out of the two kids screaming gibberish behind him.

Having boarded already and being greeted by the stewardesses, a petite blonde approaches Payne's seat with an orange envelope and a small brown package. Michael lowers his shades after opening the envelope labeled "CAGED" and quietly reads to himself.

"Thank you for joining CAGED...blah blah...looking forward to seeing you perform...I like lambas...and in the package is a video of your opponents current promos recorded thus far in the week as of Tuesday. Hmm...Jackson Herod...I thought I saw the guy's name on that wrestling flier a few months ago back in Houston."

Michael sets the letter next to him as he tears apart the wrapping paper on the video tape. He reaches for his pack of cigarrettes on the floor inside of his gymbag pocket while he hunches over putting the tape inside of the VHS located under the television in front of him. After a few minutes of seeing some grizzly looking dude with a skullcap on that has an "H" on the front struggling to jog three feet without falling over and dying on the side of the road due to obesity cause he's rather large *gasps for breath*, Mike now looks at the television with a slight shade of red on his face as he clenches his hands into fists. Temper flaring, Michael tries to hold back the anger raging inside of him...not neccessarily due to the attempt of verbally thrashing Payne...but because he has what you would call a "short, violent temper" built up inside from all of the emotional pain he had to endure when he was in his younger stages of life.

After seeing his face and hearing of Herod's past accolades, Payne remembers where he heard that name from. Jackson Herod, both NAWF and NEWF wrestling legend, was indeed a local Houston boy who competed with the likes of other famed wrestling legends such as REDRUM, Nighthawk, Marsley, Mage, and Carnage [in his early days as Dooms-day]. Remembering the headlines of him winning that "big match" or being awarded that "glourious titles" doesn't make him think any more or any less of the man that he claims to be. Jackson Herod. Fatass. Michael Payne. Not. Jackson Herod. NAWF/NEWF Legend. Michael Payne. Not. Jackson Herod. CAGED rookie. Michael Payne. CAGED rookie. That, THAT alone is why Michael begins to calm. Herod can boast about being a wrestling legend, but he can't boast about being an MMA legend. Payne feels like relaxing on the airplane ride to the city where First Blood is being held, so he is going to try and conserve his words and energy until he hits a gym and starts training...buuut he can't do that WITH THAT KID KICKING THE BACK OF HIS SEAT EVER SINCE HE SAT DOWN. So, standing up, turning his massive body towards the ten year old boy, and trying his best to sound as kind and sweet-hearted as he can be, he gently tells the boy...



Running towards the back of the plane so he can sit next to mommy and daddy, Michael plumps down back in his seat and tries to calm the hell down, tightly gripping the edge of the arm rest with a vein slightly bulging out of his forehead. Michael tries to sit back in his seat, but him being new to the world of men who actually have the balls to talk trash at this beast of a man, he can't help but to think of every word that Herod had to say about him. Claiming immediate victory. Promising pain and blood. The rage in Payne slowly begins to surge in his body as he once again tries to calm himself. Instead, while grinding his teeth, he calms himself by muttering words that only he can hear.

" all I have to do is harpoon that fatass whale and move onto the next fucking be it. At first I was just in it to win it...but now I just got another beat the shit out of wrestling legend, and fellow CAGED rookie Jackson Herod. Shiat, I need a damn beer..."

He lets out a deep sigh as his temper stifles and his blood pressure goes down. Loosening his grip on the rest, Michael takes a sip of his gatorade as he imagines an actual image of Herod being a whale and him penetrating his blubber with a sharpened spear. Payne leans his head back and closes his eyes as we fade to black while hearing the noise of a cart rolling past the camera.