The camera cuts in on what looks like a party around a bonfire. The kind you would see the day before a rival football game. As the camera gets closer, there are people standing around the flames laughing, having a good time, and tossing things in to feed the raging fire. As you focus, you can see they are throwing old shirts, foam hands, belts, and other wrestling merchandise. You can just make out letters: IPWF, EPWF, XCW, XWA, UWA, 2DW, RDW, and many other combinations. As the camera revolves around to a bench on the other side, you see Ichabod, shaved bald with a more than serious look on his face. On his shoulder he carries the old IPWF intercontinental belt, the one he won just before the fed closed down. He stares intensely into the flames as he speaks without moving his head.

Hours of training, night after night in the ring, publicity shows, promos, and all the business efforts to make myself a better wrestler. In the course, you build rivalries, you fight your wars, you make yourself a legend. Then it all comes crashing down, time after time. It never comes into the equation how much you have worked. Well, I've written myself into a new equation. An equation that starts with this efed, and ends with seven days.
He stands up and walks around the fire still staring into the flames.

No matter how hard I've tried, the shadow of failure has always hung over me. Now I am the shadow hanging over each and every one of you. On the seventh day you will come to realize what it means to lose control, what it means to look up and see the imminent drawing of a storm as it sweeps into your world and disrupts your whole being.

Ichabod stops and edges near to the fire.
I leave you fuckin' choads with this warning; if you aren't a part of the solution, you are a part of the problem, and baby, I sure as hell am not the solution.

He raises the IC belt above his head and slams it into the fire as the flames suddenly leap up higher and the camera cuts the interview short.

7..6..5..4..3..2..........

Back to home.