"What the fuck was that, McClean?  The best is yet to come?"

Backstage at the GZW Coliseum, a livid Reject barks at his manager directly after their in-ring appearance on Monday Night Throwdown.

"Jesus, 'Ject, calm down...  You've got to look at the bigger picture here.  Obviously, you're my grandest acquisition, but it'd be naive to believe that you won't need backup during this impending war of the stables..."

Reject, bare-chested, grabs McClean by his expensive collar and pulls him in close.

"BACKUP?!  I've never, EVER needed backup in my FUCKING life!  Don't even try to pull this bullshit with me.  We had a deal, McClean."

Reject releases his grip.  Clancy slumps backwards against the white brick wall.  He takes a moment to catch his breath and fix his collar.

"We did, we did...  I mean we still do, but that was just phase one.  The plan was to get in on the ground floor, and we've done that.  But we've done it in such a subtle way that Andrew Excelsior and his cronies won't know what hit them when phase two comes into fruition..."

"I don't give a flying fuck what Andrew Excelsior knows, thinks or does.  I don't give a flying fuck about his second rate UNStable.  Come to think of it, I don't give a flying fuck about YOU, McClean.  The only thing I care about is getting what's coming to me, getting what I've earned.  You'll remember that you came to me and told me that you could get that for me.  You told me you'd take a backseat, fork out necessary funds and let me do my own fucking thing.  Now you're telling me about fucking stables?"

"Well, yeah.  Stables are 'in' now, in a big way.  Just look at the Heretics and the DisOrder right now...  Combined, they cover some of the very top guys in the business, not to mention a lot of promising newcomers..."

Clancy trails off and peers up at Reject, apparently looking for his client's approval.  Reject shrugs.

"And?"

"...and that'll cause friction.  The trio of Monarch, T-Rex and my man Pimp Bizkit-"

Reject raises a critical eyebrow at his manager.

"-and Pimp Bizkit...  They have a limited shelf life in terms of co-operation.  Ditto for Sabre and Spartan.  That is, of course, if Andrew Excelsior can handle the pressure of managing another stable after New Xperience.  Our little conglomerate, on the other hand...  I envision you as the leader, Reject.  I can just picture it now.  GZW's flagship stable fronted by the toughest man in the business.  Below you, the very best competitors in their respective styles and divisions..."

"Why?  You said it yourself not ten minutes ago, I've already proved myself to be a one-man stable."

"A one man stable would be quite a unique selling point...  And it does have a nice ring to it.  But it'll never catch on, 'Ject.  They'll never buy into it.  We need to be big.  We need to cover every possible target market.  You've got the whole hardcore thing down, but that's only going to attract a small, very specific audience.  We need to look at the bigger picture here, for a moment..."

Clancy takes a deep breath and thinks for a moment.

"I've got it.  Think about this logically for just a tick, will you?  The Heretics have already got the whole 'bad crowd' image down to a 'T'.  With the likes of Spartan, Seven and Kaine, the DisOrder are surely heading down that route as well.  That's an already saturated market.  What say we play the Heroes?  We'll get you some new ring attire, a haircut and get someone like Zac Sharp on board and we'll be flying!"

"Whoa, whoa.  Calm the fuck down, McClean.  When we made our deal, I never agreed to 'playing' anything or anyone.  If you insist on this, I'll walk."

"Okay...  You don't like that idea, then.  I'm just brainstorming here.  Cut me some slack, will ya?  We've got all the time in the world to sort out the specifics, but right now I'm looking for your approval."

Clancy extends his pudgy right hand for a shake.  Reject pushes it away.

"McClean, when you fulfil your side of the bargain and I start being booked in worthwhile matches, then we'll talk."

Satisfied, Reject turns and begins to walk away.  Clancy scurries after him for a moment but just gives up.

----------------------

Bare-fisted, Reject lays into the lime green punching bag supplied to him by new manager Clancy McClean.  Despite his knuckles swelling to a shade of crimson and his hands being practically cemented into fists, he doesn't slow down for a second.  The shot zooms out to cover the entire room - a personal gym area.  The new and expensive looking equipment contrasting against the otherwise squalid room suggest that McClean probably had something to do with it.  The artificial lighting gives the naturally gloomy room a hazy glow as Reject maintains his rapid-fire rights and lefts.  Sweat drips down the six-time HKWF Hardcore Champion's back, giving off the effect that his tattoos are floating on his rather pale skin.  His rock solid muscles remain tense as ever until finally he begins to slow down and finally comes to a halt.  Grabbing a towel from a nearby bench press, he wipes his face down.

"What's this?  McClean supplies me with my own personal camera crew and the best they can do is film me work out?  I think I preferred when the 'evil eye' was simply non existent.  I suppose you vermin want to hear me trash talk any and every future opponent, just so you dorks will have something to stick in your little pre-match video packages, right?"

The room falls completely silent.

"...Cat got your fucking tongues?"

The squeaky voice of what can be assumed to be a young cameraman is heard.

"...Um, Mr. McClean said to act as though we're not here...  I'll probably get in trouble for ever saying this."

"Oh, fuck off and grow some fucking balls.  I'll operate the fucking camera myself.  Get out of here..."

Nothing seems to happen.

"...NOW!!!"

The camera shakes a little as the sound of hurried footsteps can be heard.  As the camera crew apparently leave, Reject walks up right in front of the camera.  He jerks the lens downwards so it focuses on his right fist.  The swelling seems to be less severe than earlier, but the scars of nearly eight years in HKWF.  In one quick motion, he rears his fist backwards before driving it straight into the lens, shattering it into a thousand pieces.  The scene cuts to static as Reject's voice begins to fade to complete silence.

"Your side of the bargain, McClean..."