Our scene begins inside what appears a local Kansas City Chevy car dealership. The lightly tinted glass still eminates a low light in the Wednesday afternoon as cars dot the show room floor for the pickings of anyone willing to cough up the cash. To the camera's eye we seem to catch two men by themselves, surveying the display of Chevy trucks. The camera zooms in. One is an inch or so taller, his hair buzzed or possible balding. He's casually adorned in a red with white stripe polo shit, some knee length khaki shorts, and some New Balance running shoes. The man standing next to him has lightly slicked back brown hair, a clean shave face, adorned in a simple black T-shirt tucked into some baggy jeans and wearing some Doc Martin boots. But what seems to stand about it all is that shimmering golden belt resting carefully on his left shoulder, in which he grips close along the leather strap. This man is non other the Outlaw Wrestling World Champion, Logan Treasure and the man standing beside him is the only man he trusts: "Strait Shooter" Gene Blanchard. They casually begin to move forward to a 2003 Chevy Silverado, with a large cab and black paint job as they look over it.

    Gene: "I thought you told me you'd never trade in the Dodge?"

    Logan: "People change son. Plus that piece of shit isn't worthy of the Outlaw World Champion."

Logan lets out an unsatisfied grunt at the arrogant comment but continues looking.

    "People don't change son. They either get rusty or stay sharp."

Logan gives an arrogant smirk as Gene responds with a simple nod. Logan casually rubs his hand along the steel framing of the new car, his right hand lightly caressing it as he held his head high, in an arrogant manner.

    "I caught Prime's promo."

    "I didn't care to bother. He's taken to repetitive nature with what he has to say. Did he rant on endlessly of how my title will be his by Stampede and how my mind games apparently failed to pass beneath the surface?"

Gene raises an eyebrow.

    "Something along those lines. He spoke of how if he doesn't win this match, he'll keep coming relentlessly for your belt, seeing as it resides high in the game of wrestling. He also spoke of how your win over him meant nothing, seeing as the interference was what truly beat him. Best you watch it yourself.."

Logan raised an eyebrow as Gene held up a tape labeled "Prime's promo" and shook it a little as Logan quickly strode over to him, grabbing it from his grasps as he strode over to the small tv and vcr resting on a table. The TV showed various in-depth looks into the Chevy lines of cars and trucks as he abruptly hit stop, not giving a damn who would try to stop him. Hitting eject the tape slowly slid out as he grabbed it, and tossed it across the show room floor, landing with a  loud thud by an aniversary edition Corvette. He slid in the other tape and stepped back, turning the volume up on the tv as he begun to watch the fuzz from the tv fade into blackness, then Prime's promo.

Sometime later...

We fade to the outside of the car dealership, where Logan idly holds in his left hands some car keys. Gene is seen walking off else where, back to his truck at the other side of the parking lot. Logan seems to be approaching a brand new 2003 Chevy Silverado. He quietly begins to lean upon it, his shimmering gold belt reflecting in the late afternoon sun. He casually grabs what appears to be some Oakley sunglasses out of his pocket and slide them on as he no grin, but a look of non chalant care, of nothing.

    "Oh, Prime. How we so try to understand one another in our battle of words. Do you honestly think I fear the thought of you taking my title? Or get scared at the thought of my words not effecting you? Why should I son? You'd think after maybe a competing against me you'd learn that no matter how much you speak, now matter how hard you try you can't match skills with the man who made you tap, along with a list of countless others that all at least have more dignity then compared to what you have now. Your a failure Prime. You've failed to capture the tag team titles, you've failed to beat me, and now you ultimately fail to capture the title you want so badly by the man you've failed to beat. Now how can I just sit back here, enjoying the wealth of being the best and yet, back up my claims that fall upon your clearly uncomprehending ears? It's quite simple.

Logan idly popped his knuckles loudly, looking to the camera.

    "We both know that each of has the tools, the drive, and will to beat the other. But here in lies what may be tricky to you? What makes me superior to you? What's makes me so sure that my title rein will last so long? It's not just a stroke of ego, oh no. It's not a back up plan or a safety net of men. It's my attitude of simply put, ruthless aggression. Oh, you've coined that name quite famously? Powerbombing people through tables, beating them senseless, that's all well in good. But look at what I've done in the same time frame as you son. I've broken Dick Johnson's leg. I've caused more commotion and publicity by merely faking my leave of this company than you or Brujah have. I've taken the belt that you and I both know rightfully belong to me. I've beaten our fabled champion to a bloody pulp. Not only that but I've made sure that he'll never dare to face me again, as he quickly strode out of the company. You prime have lost, and lost, and lost. Yes, you did put Billy Joe Helford out of action, and you've taken on the authorities of this company, but you yet again fail to exemplify and put into action what you preach."

Logan gave a small smirk, his left hand tapping his World Title.

    "When I first came here you've obviously pointed out something about me. That I was impatient, that I was hell unleashed and scattered. Yet look at me now? Calm, collected, and holding this title belt forever close to me. You see when I made Black tap at long last in that ring, and I was crowned World Champion my whole outlook changed. I have the power. I have the skills, drive, and motivation to take on any challenger and make them my bitch, including you. I have the power to make the competitors run in fear of having to face me, knowing that afterwards they'll be thrown on the injured list. Surely that's why Black left? Black's the scum of this company but your only half the man he was in actually wrestling skills and talents. You could only dream of the fact that Black actually put up more of a fight then you ever could, and it slowly kills you inside.

Logan gave a confident grin as he slowly begun to open the drivers seat door to his truck and through his title to the passenger's side as he slowly hopped onto the drivers seat, not closing the door yet as he took his sunglasses off, tossing them aside without a care.

    "Prime, come Saturday I'm not going to give a rat's ass where you believe the title should rest. Whether it be in one of your various glass cases, or that steel briefcase you showed off. The point is that once your forced to slam your hand against the mat from sheer exhaustion and pain once again, it won't matter where you would put that belt. Because it will always be around my waist. If I must prove that to every man in this federation then I will.

He gently closed the door on his new Silverado and slipped the keys into the engine, turning the ignition as it started up with a low hum. Logan pressed down on his side panel, the window lowering as he looked to the camera.

    "In the end Prime, take my words of kind advice. After our match, just move on. Your days with World Championship belts will be through. Go on, leave Outlaw and take Brujah with you. It's not as if anyone will actually miss you. I'm sure in that over the hill company where the competition is hard to come by, you'll fit in just fine with the likes of old names such as Piper, Hellraiser, and Triple Six among others. I don't need to defend myself against your comments. Your telling me nothing I haven't heard before. My reign will be short live, you'll keep coming, I didn't actually beat you. Just for your own good, shut up. It'll save your children the pain of their first memory of daddy having a cast on his arm because work got too dangerous for him. You say you're ready to risk life and limb to beat me? Son, you have no idea what you just got yourself into. You thought Round one was fun? Oh, then just wait for round two. It'll be a slobberknocker."

Fade to Black