Our scene opens up outside the lone haven of Logan Treasure, his locally owned gym and wrestling ring in Kansas City, Missouri. The camera peers in through the main window, the place apparently "inhabited" as some of the lights are on inside. The camera just views blankly their for moments on end, with no motion of movement but the calm sound of the camera man's breathing. Slowly the flights flicker off as a shadowy silhouette begins to move toward the Plexiglas with steel handle and hinges door, and pushes it open with a bit of ease. A slight breeze overtakes the area as the man, steps out of the door, his scruffy brown hair blowing in the wind as he draws a key from his pockets in what appears to be some jeans, and locks the place up. It is of coarse Logan Treasure, wearing a black T-shirt, jeans, Doc Martin boots and holding a rather large Fed-Ex box under his right arm as he begins to walk over to his nearby parked 2002 Dodge Ram. The camera man hustles over as Logan stops right in front of his door and sneers loudly, his head raising high.

    Logan: "You know... my impatience for you tool is matched only by the number of questions you want me to rant about on an endless, boring tirade. Am I correct?"

The camera man only let out a little gulp as Logan appeared quite menacing. Especially when it's night out, and you two are the only people for a good mile. Logan's face grunts, getting a bit angered by his lack of response.

    "Respond tool."


Logan's face exuded the emotion of anger to non chalantess. He really didn't care. Why should he? He has the world champion's belt. He coughed as he stared into the camera man's lense, slowly beginning to pace as he set the FedEx box into the bed of truck. His eyes no longer show that fiery passion, but more so a bitter, yet conniving mind now. The determined, pridefull wrestler seems to have turned into a true assassin at glance.

    "For a long, and barren nineteen days I have said little more then nothing to you fair camera. As I stand at the forefront of the Outlaws, I ask myself why I speak not? But yet, if we take a stroll back to Saturday, to a night I'm sure Black will be remembering for quite some time I've made my statement as clear as crystal. Now I'm sure all of you at home who are scratching your empty heads in ponderment of what statement I made as you just happened to catch glance of this? Or maybe your Josh Styles, who's naivety lead not only to his downfall, but a chance at revenge at Mr. Black and a maybe a glance at the next Outlaw Champion. It matters not."

Logan loudly twists his neck to the left, a resounding "pop" heard as he rolls his neck a bit, his eyes closing as he stops, facing the camera once more. His right hand clenches into a fist as it's clasped in his left hand.

    "My point was this. That I am the superior wrestler of this federation. Now I know what your saying? Oh Logan, you've never beaten Black, or Critical. Well your right. But they've never beaten me. And I am the only man Black never beat due to the help of his friends. And seeing as anyone, even Prime can throw around the name "World Champion". So Black, I've stolen that "precious" belt of yours because in reality it belongs to not you. Hell as far as I care no one should hold that belt, par none maybe me. Seeing as with this I at least mean something to you boy, I think I may keep this around a little bit. And no, you can go on endlessly on how at Stampede your going to disgrace me, defeat me and retain. Why? Because it won't happen. You will fail Black. You've failed because in your own right you've always relied on the kindness of others to get you way. Your blanket of security has usually been LPM, which I must say your quite brave to go wrestling without the net. And then you have Malicious Intent? And oh, and lest we forget the Untouchables? I've always made it clear that I gun look out for number one, and win by being number one. Their is no flock of men to follow in the case of failure. Because I do not fail. I get the job done, and I will do it once more at Stampede."

Logan bears a bit of that cocky smile he's displayed on a rare occasion or two. He smiles as he unclasps his right fist and rolls it out.

    "So far now Black, you have not much left you can do, except cling hold tight to what you have. Whether it be Tasha, Tommy Gunn, or maybe that belt I left for you. Because the future is imminent. And you my friend, will be back in the pits of the mid card as that name "Outlaw Wrestling World Champion" is robbed away from you just like your belt and crested justly to me."

Logan calmly paces back and forth, back and forth as he thinks for a moment. His head always looking upward, toward the cloudy sky above.

    "But you Black, are not alone in your fate. Their is another. A man who've you've invited into your one undoing as World Champion? Now why do you drag in such, possible talent into your messes? I mean you do understand Josh that this is where the men wrestle, not the boys. This isn't some tag match you can stride into and hope that you'll get your pay back on the Whirlybirdz. This is mean, dismantling Black, and if your in my way, you piece by piece by whatever means I shall attain to do so I may continue to hold that belt over my shoulder."

Logan rubs his stubbled chin for a moment in ponderment when a sinister grin comes upon his face.

    "You know son. It has come clear to me that not only will I take much pleasure in stealing what Black treasures quietly, but the consequences of even caring to face a systematic assassin on the verge of hysteria. Oh I am Insane, I admit it. No sane man would go about, slaughtering them with sledgehammers and leaving a cryptic message spray painted upon a foam toy. No sane person would be thrilled with the surmounting pain I'll cause, if not physically the psychologically. The wear and tear as you see the walls of fate closing in upon you both. As you stare doom in the face and cannot escape it, not even with your cleverest tricks. And your sir, Mr. Black call yourself a sadist."

Logan gives a little toothy grin. His face lightly illuminating with an glow of pleasure? Can it be happiness? No. No man can find happiness in the pain of others. Only pleasure. His eyes burn brightly with a passion for pain, of misery in others. The grin slowly fades as he opens the door to his truck and with ease climbs in. The window up as he slides the key in and the engine begins to hum. Logan slowly draws the window down as he looks to the camera man, his voice non chalant, without a care.

    "I've left you two gentlemen to believe what you want. Believe that their is a chance, believe that you'll be walking out of San Antonio with that golden belt, whether to retain your title or to steal it from the man who betrayed you. Because in the end, the wild card of this equation will undoubtedly, leave San Antonio covered in bumps, bruises, and blood. But he will still be holding that golden belt."

Fade to Black