"Kick them right in the face
Make them wish they weren't born
And if they bring up your name
Well they'll say you won the war.
Baby burst in the world
Never given a chance
Then they ask what went wrong
When you never had it right."

*The camera catches this setting in the deep of night. Someone loved this place very much. Someone treasured and cherished it. They gave their heart and soul to better it...but now it's gone. Burned to ash and rubble. The investment of a lifetime's work has been reduced to nothingness in a small instance. Walking amongst this rubble is Jonathan Storm. Dressed in baggy blue jeans, a gray long sleeved shirt promoting the band VAST, and a backwards red Houston Astros cap, with an aqua zipper up hooded sweatshirt over it all, he walks through the rubble, kneeling down to examine some of it. He tosses a small chunk of burnt wood away, and looks up to the camera. His expression remains that of somberness and depression. Not the usual arrogant smile, or even the bright smile he's shown us...but he looks ready to speak. Could this be as powerful as his last promo? Let's listen in...*

Jonathan "The Impact" Storm: In some ways, I can see how someone like Chris Davison could miss the point of the message I've conveyed over the past few days. I can see how they wouldn't understand. You see, Chris is a "selective listener". He chooses to hear what I say in a certain manner, or he chooses to neglect it at all. Chris doesn't want to understand that I have merely told world how I feel about him...how everyone else feels about him. The truth hurts, doesn't it, Chris? You see Chris, you've chosen to portray yourself as a man out for vengance, but at the same time, the noble hero, whose virtues are oh so chaste. You've chosen to portray me as a man of evil...and a man who is nothing more than a collaboration of strategically placed people and well-timed pyrotechnics. I can assure you that I am NOT Lance Sterling. I am Jonathan Storm...and I am very much real. Come Saturday Suicide, I'll also be one of the select few to become a two-time Canadian Champion.

"You think your half as good as me
The only thing you'll ever be
Is just a way for me to bleed
On this stage."

*He begins to walk farther and farther away from the wreckage of this burned down home. As he distances himself more, you find out that this was the smoke and mirrors. The blackness nothing more than a dark sheet, and the burned down home nothing more than a prop. He smiles for the first time and shakes his head, knowing he's duped the audience once more. He removes the hooded sweatshirt and walks on over to a chair with his name written on the back. He also gets a bottle of Evian water and some Oakleys. He carefully places the shades on, and opens the bottle before speaking again.*

Storm: Chris, I have already etched my name into the annals of HWF history. I have already left my mark here, by doing what I do best. Winning. No clever marketing, no apprenticeships working dark matches...just delivering a solid performance that most people have yet to match or best. I have even passed some of the veterans here in terms of my own greatness. Chris, I have become the future of the HWF. You see this, and you think that because we're on "the same level" in your eyes, and few others, that this will be something special. It won't. It won't because you're nothing more than I've already told you that you are. What gives me the right to proclaim you the perennial mid-carder? Who gave me that power? Because I know you already. I've seen you time and time again as I've traveled the world. I just turned 24...I've been doing this for six years, Chris. Every promotion, there's someone like you. Someone who busts their ass to achieve something better than what they have. Success is like a boiling pot, my friend...the longer you watch and wait for it, the farther it is from happening. Chris, you have waited for so long, you have become stagnant...just another victim of circumstance. You really want to believe that you can match me move for move with the little "success" you've experienced? Hardly. You're just another face that people will see when they watch highlight reels of my career...followed up with a "Who was that guy?" The band plays on regardless of whether or not you choose to stay with it, Mr. Davison...and I don't think you've got what it takes to keep up with it anymore. I've learned one valuable lesson...when you become a champion, they give you the title, and a t-shirt with a large bullseye in the center. Chris, you may have excellent aim, but how about your dodging skills? And while we're on the subject of the proverbial marksmanship...which one of us has accomplished all our goals to this point? I did add another one to my list as I watched Shawn Collins give her the Downtown Connection on Saturday though...total humilation of you. I think I'll hit my mark, if I haven't already.

"You are not your job. You are not how much you have in the bank. You are not the contents of your wallet. You are not your fucking Khakis. You are not a beautiful and unique snowflake. You are the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world."

*Storm takes a drink of his water and gets a towel handed to him. He finally stands up again and walks off, draping said towel over his shoulder. He walks over to another area on this studio lot, and we watch a good twenty people all in the same outfit, dancing. The scary thing about it, is that they all appear androgynous. Nothing could make them appear to be male or female...but they continue to dance in rhythm, none looking different from the next. Storm hops up onto a crate and continues to watch them all. Finally, the music stops. As all stars must rest, so must the supporting cast. Some begin to show signs of their gender, others don't. Storm looks down and speaks again.*

Storm: As your friend Michael Trey mentioned earlier in a recent promo, there isn't a day that goes by where someone doesn't sell their proverbial soul to get ahead in this world. In this case, people haven't sold their soul, but rather their identities, all to be seen on screen. They go home at night and pray to God, Buddah, Allah, Gavin Coens, or whatever diety they worship for that one "big break". For some of them, like that blond girl letting her hair down, she could be the next major starlet...but that man over there...this could be his only chance before he goes back to bussing tables. Chris, their chances will come at a point in time, but they won't right now. They all look alike...good little automotons that appear to feel nothing...that appear to be nothing. For every ten I have seen in my career, I have seen one original, ready to break out. I guess, as they say...for every HBK, there's a Marty Janetty. Who's that you ask? I'll tell you when you're older. What do I see you as? Just another minor obstacle on my way to gold. Can I ask you a question? Please be honest with me, Chris...how many people associate the word "threat" with you? How many people dread facing Chris Davison? How many people look at the match assignments and say "Oh no, I've got Chris Davison! I've got no chance now!" Please...enlighten me on this. I'd love to know. People fear me, Chris...and that fear is my power. People fear me because they know at any moment, I can beat them on my own, or that if they try anything ridiculous, I have allies prepared to even up the odds to something more of my liking. As dark as it sounds...I have power you could only wish you had. I don't fear you...I don't fear anyone. I am, what you fear most...the one man who knows you better than you know yourself. What do I know? You're no different than any face I've ever seen before. Chris...I'm afraid that your best just won't be good enough to get you noticed. Don't worry, though...your dishrag and paper hat are still waiting for you at the local fast food joint wherever you're from.

"HITTING BOTTOM ISN'T A WEEKEND RETREAT! IT'S NOT A SEMINAR! ONLY AFTER YOU'VE LOST EVERYTHING ARE YOU FREE TO DO ANYTHING! YOU SEE, YOU LISTEN, BUT YOU DON'T GET IT! YOU HAVE TO FORGET EVERYTHING YOU KNOW, EVERYTHING YOU THINK YOU KNOW!"

*Jonathan takes another swig from his water bottle and hops off the crate. He walks down the lot some more and notices a genuine homeless man. He leans down and wakes him up, before reaching into his wallet and handing him a hundred dollar bill...or so we think. He keeps hold of it as he looks the bum straight in his eyes with anger in his face. He speaks sternly, as if he's disciplining the man. The man is shocked and suprised, but listens...anything for a Benjamin, right?*

Storm: Pay close attention to the words I'm about to speak...because as far as I'm concerned, they're meant for two people. You, and Chris Davison. You have yet to see what it's like to be at the bottom of the barrel...to be passed over and forgotten. I have been there...too many times for me to count on my own two hands, and I will not go back. I have come too far to let somebody knock me down, and push me aside. Take all the advice I heed to you, and apply it to your life. You are the lowest of the low...nothing is under you but the mud you lay your carcass in. Why do I say that? Because, I believe that you're better than that! Both of you! This bum here could be a great man. Chris Davison could be a great man! The key word here is could...if you knew how to apply that. Unfortunately neither of you do. Look at you. You lay here in your own filth and feces waiting for a handout, hoping someone will take pity on you. Chris Davison speaks a sob story of the rage inside of him for what I did to his pretty little girlfriend. Let me explain something...you are both at the bottom of this barrel, and I have only begun pushing both of you farther down. Now you get off this studio lot before, I force security on you.

"I tried so hard
And got so far
But in the end
It doesn't even matter
I had to fall
To lose it all
But in the end
It doesn't even matter."

*Storm sneers and swipes his money back, placing it in his pocket. Before the man can do anything, Storm delivers a swift kick to the man's ribs, knocking the wind out of him. He spits on the man and continues to walk. He arrogantly chuckles and walks on, taking a sip of his water. Cut back to Storm walking the same stage we first saw him in...back again to walking amongst the debris of a "burned down" home. Does it suprise you that we end in the same place where we started? It shouldn't...we all go back to our roots sometime. Storm once again wears that aqua blue hooded sweatshirt he wore at the beginning, and he raises the Oakleys off his eyes, so that they rest on the hat upon his head. He leans up against a half-existing wall and looks down, ready to drive his point home. The man has been here, there, and everywhere in this promo...and he keeps the motion going on. Once again, we stop to listen.

Storm: Chris, the future of two men collide on Saturday, and that's really all there is to it. No flashy nicknames for the battle like "The Thrilla in Manila" or "The Night The Bomb Was Dropped...AGAIN". Nothing like that. It's two men competing in the main event of a show. Two men who people still have to ask who they are. The winner walks out with the pride and recognition they crave. The winner crawls back to the status quo they've been forced into...the mediocrity they've had no choice but to bear as their cross. What makes you think it's going to be that goes back? I have tasted the fine success we're chasing, and I want more. You may claim that you want this more than I do, but deep inside, you know you're wrong. When someone is willing to go to their limits and back, that's a start. When someone is willing to put their health on the line, then you're getting somewhere. When someone's willing to risk their career, then you get even warmer...only when someone is willing to put up their very existance, will they truely begin to understand what it means to achieve. I want to go that distance, Davison. No smoke and mirrors...no clever slight of hand...just me going the extra yard you wouldn't...no COULDN'T go. Saturday night...two lives dramatically alter...all because one person couldn't go that extra distance. One person has to dig down deeper than the other...and I think we know who the one to succeed will be. Chris, no fancy catchphrase is needed tonight, but all you need to know is this...

I don't know where you are, or where you've been...but I know where you're going...and that's back to the bottom.

*Fade.*