"Fuck this.  I'm going to the airport tonight."

Reject angrily stares down at a seated Clancy McClean.  Sweat dripping profusely from the six-time HKWF Hardcore Champion's face, he growls once again at the self-proclaimed Renaissance Man.

"You promised me it all, McClean...  Big money.  Household recognition.  Title shots.  Neophyte of the fucking year status...  WHERE THE FUCK IS IT?!!"

Clancy timidly peers up at the livid HKWF veteran. 

"Reject, Reject...  Calm down.  We both know that you wouldn't do anything rash like going back to Hong Kong just yet.  You've got a great thing going for you here...  Realise that."

"I do in my fucking arse.  I've had ONE televised match in the last month and a half...  And that was only available through the fucking GZW website!  I wasn't even APPROACHED concerning the Contest Of Champions battle royale, for fuck's sake..."

Clancy scratches at his slightly balding head for a moment, as if deep in thought.

"Not many people were.  But really, look at the participants - Edwin MacPhisto, Seven, Joshua Cleaver...  It was won by James Freakin' Tanner for crying out loud.  You didn't miss much, Reject.  It was merely a formality, a compulsory 'thank-you-and-keep-working-for-me' for the blue-collar bozo's making up the undercard..."

Reject furiously brings his fist down onto Clancy's desk, rattling his variety of ridiculously expensive stationery.

"WHAT ABOUT BRIAN FUCKING SABRE AND ERIC FORTUNE?!"

Clancy almost comically tugs at his collar.

"Well, uh, they, did, uhm..."

Reject drives his fist into his own stomach and exerts a gut-wrenching howl.

"Enough of the fucking executive speak, McClean...  Tell me what the fuck is going on.  Tell me why Sabre's appearance was hyped and-"

Clancy calmly raises his right hand, going on to politely interrupt the man that was eliminated from the Neophyte Of The Year tournament by the Cursed Angel.

"Okay...  Okay...  Relax.  Sabre's return received such hype because he was being handled by [Clancy's face turns sour] Andrew Excelsior...  On his own, Excelsior is nothing more than an average manager, agent or whatever he's calling himself at the moment.  However, it just so happens that he's weaselled his way into the pocket of one Tonya Glory."

"Glory?  What has any of this got to do with that bitch?"

Clancy retrieves a glass of expensive-looking white wine from somewhere under his desk and takes a sip.  Placing it down on the desk, he continues.

"All in it's own good time, Reject...  Wait for it.  It just so happens that Glory is one of the hottest properties within the company at the moment.  Her stock is sky-high, and that can be attributed to a number of factors-"

"I SAID ENOUGH WITH THE FUCKING EXECUTIVE SPEAK!!!"  

"Fine, fine.  The gist of it is that Tonya Glory is the current Television Champion.  Not only that, but she's set to challenge Pimp Bizkit for the World Heavyweight Title at this upcoming Crimson.  Not only that, but she's also the head Trouble Trax Trainer and just happens to have Commissioner Devotion in the palm of her hand.  To put it bluntly, she's got a lot of pull.  She's got a lot of pull that will go a long way in aiding someone like Brian Sabre...  Now, myself on the other hand.  Whilst I am by far the superior manager, PR man, agent and technical advisor to Andrew Excelsior, I simply don't have access to someone in Glory's position for the time being..."

Reject turns to walk away.

"So I'm wasting my fucking time with you, then?  I'm going to find Excelsior."

"WAIT!!!"

Reject turns around to see what looks like desperation in Clancy's eyes.

"What, McClean?"

A wide grin comes across Clancy's face and he practically licks his lips.

"Good...  Now hear me out."

"You've got two minutes."

"That's all I'll need...  Now Reject, when I told you all of that about Tonya Glory, I had one specific point in mind.  I told you her stock was at an all-time high..."

Clancy trails off, apparently looking for Reject's approval.  Unimpressed, Reject stares down at the writer of Just Business.

"...Well, it is.  The up-side of that for us is the old saying that what goes up must come down.  It's only a matter of time before Glory's little gravy train snags a mushroom and sinks to a thick, pleasant-tasting grave.  That time may come as soon as this upcoming Crimson, when she will unsuccessfully challenge my man Pimp Bizkit for his World Heavyweight Title.  When she inevitably loses, she'll lose a certain edge of her mystique.  From there, it's elementary that she will slip into the unforgiving world of the GZW undercard, doomed to ply her trade against men with names like Mick McNasty and Mr. Klown..."

"And how exactly is that supposed to convince me that I'm not just wasting my time here?"

"...Wasting your time?  I'd call it biding your time.  As soon as Glory's stock plummets, Andrew Excelsior and his clientele will take the brunt of it.  No longer will he have the status to have your fellow HKWF peers like Brian Sabre receive all the opportunities while you're forced to watch from the sidelines.  Things will get real good, real fast, my friend.  Without the gimmick of having the first female TV Champion by his side, Excelsior will be forced into the background, doomed to sit idly by and wait for another Eddie Knoxville to come along.  Clancy McClean, however..."

Clancy takes another sip of the fine wine, obviously savouring the sweet taste.

"With Excelsior out of the way, it'll be your time to shine...  You're upset about being eliminated from the Neophyte tournament?  Forget it.  You'll be seen as above and beyond a neophyte.  You'll be seen for what you truly are, one of the top students of the modern extreme style.  So many possible doors will be opened for you.  Title shots in whatever division you want - "Wild Card" Eddie Knoxville Television division, the soon-to-be-reinstated extreme division or even the World Heavyweight Division...  If nobodies like Taylor, Tanner and Glory are getting title shots, then why shouldn't you?"

"Are you calling me a fucking nobody, McClean?"

"No, no, no...  You completely misunderstood me.  The way I see it, you've got all the potential in the world, and you just need the financial backing of a true patron of the sport to really kick-start your career and allow you to come out of your shell.  The first phase was getting you over here.  The next was the subliminal promotion.  Then there were the T-Shirts and assorted merchandise-"

Furiously, Reject tears in two the newly-manufactured "Reject" T-Shirt he was wearing, exposing his rock-hard upper body, nearly completely covered in tattoos.  He throws the torn shirt at Clancy, startling the rotund columnist.

"FUCK the T-Shirts!  Fuck the phases!  Fuck YOU, McClean!!!  Do you expect me to just sit around for some indefinite amount of time just so as you can feel good about yourself that one of your rivals is out of luck?  I don't WANT to wait around, and I don't HAVE to wait around."

"Oh please, Reject.  Where are you going to go?  HKWF?  The place is in shambles.  Their hottest prospect and then-World Heavyweight Champion, Mychael Lord willingly jumped ship to here to toil away at mid-card level.  What does that say about the company's morale and state of affairs.  For crying out loud, the belt's on Nathan Williams at the moment!  This is a guy that hasn't appeared on HKWF television nor defended the strap in over two months.  What does that say about the company?"

  "HKWF may be in the shitter, but there's any number of other CCW promotions that'd bend over backwards to have me within their ranks.  On top of that, they'd know talent when they see it and finally would be able to utilise my abilities to their fullest potential."

"Come off it...  UJW?  You'd barely be in the front door five minutes before one of Wylder's buddies would stab you to death.  BCWF?  No.  We both know that your involvement with the disgraceful Real Wrestling Federation back in 2001 has had dire effects on your credibility and popularity on the English circuit...  You're here, Reject.  The GZW is the best you can hope for, and if you don't like that, you've got yourself and your pathetic gimmick to blame.  Speaking of which, how about a name change?"

"Are you fucking kidding me, McClean?  Think very fucking long and very fucking hard before answering me."

The anger inside Reject appears to be on the verge of its boiling point.

"......Yeah, I was kidding.  I suppose I can work with the whole Reject thing for the time being.  I'll make some calls on Monday morning and see what I can do...  No promises, but..."

Clancy falls silent as Reject stares at him, in effect telling him to just stop talking.  Clancy does just that.  Reject tightens his hair back and runs his hands along his shaved undercut before turning around and walking out of the office.  Clancy mutters something under his breath as the scene fades out.