Our scene opens with a wide screen shot of Miami, Florida...ok it really doesn't. I mean it' s Tommy Drake, why would he be in Miami? It's not like he's a fan of Tyler Wells or something. Now really. The camera view opens with a wide screen shot of the Tommy Drake apartment building, the Boardwalk Complex. It's siding is built of fine quality bricking materials and almost looks like an old ware house of sorts. Slowly our camera switches to one inside, going to a full screen view. It appears to be a gym and lifting area, various bell bars, dumbbells, and other exercise equipment. Blaring throughout the room is Saliva "Click, Click, Boom" as our camera focuses upon the treadmills. Alone running with excellent base, is Tommy Drake. His hair slightly matted from the sweat in his hair giving it interesting look. He's adorned in only black jogging pant's and jogging shoe's, his well carved chest exposed. To his left their is a pile of women who have been passing out next to him for what seems like and hour or so, Tommy continues his jog, grabbing his nearby water bottle and lifting it high into the air and taking a long gulp out of it, dousing his face a bit as he wiped it off his mouth with his wrist. He eyed his watch and turned it off, slowing down slowly as he steps off and grabs a sweat towel looking to the camera, a slight pant to him.

    Tommy: "My lady audience, I please ask that if you do pass out, do so that you'll at least land safely."

        Your just always looking out for other's aren't you?

    Tommy: "What can I say? T-Drake care's about his lady fans."

        Well of coarse. You are a certified badass.

    Tommy: "Don't have to remind me."

        Tommy nods as he takes a seat on a nearby bench, resting his towel around his neck as he grabs his water bottle and takes another long sip, letting out an eerily familiar "aah" and sets it down, looking into the camera lenses, giving a little grin.

    Tommy: "What can I say T3? You can bring some valid point. You have a pretty big fan base. But what I don't think you understand is that you've never seen the Drake fans. I mean I could argue for them but I'll let them speak for themselves at Talent. I mean when I'm walking out with the bigger cheers, win or lose then there's no need for me to argue for them. I'm an international superstar, Mexico, Canada, United States, Europe, I'm not a certified badass for nothing! You speak of you night club metaphor but really man. I can understand we all come from a different walk of like but a DJ wrestler? That' s a new one on me. It's not bad, just something new, I mean it's kind of like a fat, dorito eating, pepsi drinking hick who wrestles. Wait, that's Rotten...Oh, here's an idea! A half passed out wrestler because he had too many doobies the night before! Wait...I think that's Owen. As for a rapping wrestler, well I mean Master P wrestled from what I remember. I mean it's not uncommon. Just some wrestler's who try and rap just aren't as talented as me."

        Tommy rolls his wrists out lightly, taking another sip of his drink. He slowly stands up as he exits the gym area, heading out into a large corridor of sorts. He peers about and begins to heading toward an elevator.

    Tommy: "Another thing my "T" obsessed adversary. You do realize my parents are alive and well. I mean they can't leave me notes saying they'll be right back. But oh wait. I suppose you were kind of busy with that diary thing to you know, even bother watching my promo. I mean would of had to see my matches and how I brutally stomped many of CCW's finest stars, right into the ground. But no worries right?"

        Tommy hits the "up" button on the elevator panel, slowly the shining steel door's opening as he steps in, the camera crew coming in as well as he hits 5th floor and slowly begin their ascent in likeness to his rise to fame in CCW.

    Tommy: "Now Rotten, what kind of marketable name is that? I mean seriously, you advertise all these products, with a name such as "Rotten". Dear god man if your going into show biz at least show some sort of care and change your last name. It's not like your a sex pistol. And I mean for someone who's getting his extra cash advertising you just don't seem that bright. I mean first off you call yourself the greatest wrestler the world's ever seen. Where's your proof? Don't bother bringing up any countless titles you brought or how after our 4 way dance the other three guys will know. Have you gone a round with Steve Somers? Have you Heard the Music, and this is not related to TTT. Well of coarse you haven't. In fact I doubt you know of the men I ramble a bit of, but hey, that just makes it that much more fun now doesn't? And before you go boasting about the greatest entertainer you could at least try and be charismatic, since your not making much of a connection with the fans, even if you are trying to be a pompous ass who we should all hate, since your not doing a good job of doing that either. Your just kind of coming off as lazy. You sit around all day doing ads, I mean really. Even if you did pop your knuckles it wasn't that intimidating."

        Slowly the Elevator reaches the 5th floor, opening the steel doors to show a man who looks rather similar to Jason from the Friday the Thirteenth Movies, yet isn't quite him. Tommy stares up at the massive man and gulps and then they embrace in a hug, breaking a moment later.

    Tommy: "Hey man! Where you been? I haven't seen you since the Country Club Incident in April!'

    Hockey Mask Man: "Figured it's my birthday and all, suppose I could check up. How's CCW going?"

        Tommy shrugs lightly as he steps out of the elevator, the door closing as Tommy pays little heed or attention to how casually Hockey Mask Man flips about his machete.

    Tommy: "It's been going ok. Been out of work for a bit, they haven't felt like booking me in a while but I got a big four way dance coming up."

    Hockey Mask Man: "You by chance facing an Owen?"

        Tommy eyes him curiously and responds cautiously.

    Tommy: "Yeah, Jason Owen. Why do you ask?"

        Hockey Mask Man pulls out a list full of names, and places a star oddly enough by Jason Owen's name. He gives a shifty glance to Tommy.

    Hockey Mask Man: "No reason, no reason at all."

        Hockey Mask Man slowly begins to pull his machete up...reading his coiled arm for the strike, Tommy innocently drops his sweat towel and picks it up, the machete flying over his head harmlessly. He grins and smiles to Hockey Mask Man, who appears angered.

    Tommy: "Well I must be off, later."

        Hockey Mask Man just gives a simple nod as Tommy whistles a little unknown tune, heading to his room number 187. He quietly pulls his keys out of his pockets and opens the door into his bachelor pad apartment, closing the door as he looks to the camera, walking inside deeper.

    Tommy: "Now Jason, you seem like a really nice guy. I mean I think you share a middle name with my Hockey Mask clad friend back there. But I don't think you've quite grasped this whole promo idea yet. I mean I can understand the night before you had a bit of a guys night out it seems but c'mon, you have a big debut match up and your out smoking? I mean seriously man, that just isn't healthy, plus it makes you look really stupid, especially when you wake up and you can't remember the night before. Then again that tends to happen a lot with me but at least I have an excuse."

        You do?


    Tommy: "No, but shut up."

        But I narrate.

    Tommy: "Good point."

        Tommy rubs his chin in a big of ponderment, heading into his bedroom as it reveals a medium size room, with a king sized bed with two mattresses, some black and navy blue striped sheets, 2 big pillows and various junk just kind of laying around. He heads over to his dresser and grabs his deodorant as he clasps it in his hand and looks to the camera as he slowly exits his room.

    Tommy: "Come TNT, T3 will learn why my fans just tend to be much more angrier and louder then his...and that I'm pretty confident I can pin his documenting ass to the mat. Rotten will shows us all his "excellent" wrestling skill when he confuses Owen's man hood for a pepsi bottle and attempts to shill it and of coarse at the price of that is Certified into the f'n stratosphere, and well, not sure about Jason. Maybe he should just listen to some rap and take after me."

        Tommy shrugs as he heads into his bathroom and closes the door.

        Fade to Black