***TAPED ONE NIGHT PRIOR TO CONTEST OF CHAMPIONS V***

John Taylor sits alone in a corner booth of an upscale Atlanta lounge.  The well-furnished surroundings are serene, with the only sound coming from the occasional twang of a knife meeting a fork or a polite giggle or two.  Wearing an unusually plush striped shirt with rolled up sleeves, Taylor examines the remains of what was once a plate of Spaghetti Bolognese.  The Lone Gunman thinks about it for a moment before crossing his silverware across the plate, indicating that he is finished.  Almost instantly, a young, well-dressed male waiter strides over and expertly scoops up the plate.

"May I offer you a dessert, Mr. Taylor?"

The young man's neo-British accent visibly irritates the wrestler from Rapid City, South Dakota.  Taylor subconsciously strokes his neat goatee for a moment as if trying to mentally change the subject.

"A black coffee would be satisfactory, thank you."

A look of contempt and distaste comes across Taylor's face as the snide young waiter heads off screen, assumedly in the direction of the kitchen.  Taylor methodically removes the excess Bolognese sauce from around his mouth with a white napkin.  

"NOOO WAYYY - THE LONE GUNMAN!!!"

Taylor looks up.

"Johnboy! What's happenin'?"

Taylor sighs as former GZW2K1 Television Champion Jason Machiavelli steps into view.  Decked out in a mauve zip-down hoodie and a pair of loose Adidas warm-up pants, J-Mac pulls over a chair and sits in close to the Lone Gunman.  Taylor motions as if he is about to sock J-Mac when the Ring Of Honour Icon cracks one of his trademark grins and motions for his wife, Helen, to come over.

"Long time, no see, Gunman...  I hear you're a big cheese these days!  How's that workin' out for you, cat?"

Taylor stares back sullenly at GZW's former Giantkiller.

"What the hell are you doing here?  I though you were taken out years ago.  And I'm no cat."

"Relax, cat.  Yeah, yeah, I was taken care of.  Sincere put me away, I bit the big one.  So on and so forth.  But I'm still standin', Johnboy."

"You're actually sittin', Jase..."

Helen giggles as she pulls in a chair on the far side of HKWF's Hitman, sandwiching Taylor in between the young couple.

"What'd I be without you, babe?"

The two giggle at each other and mumble inaudible yet obviously affectionate nothings.  Taylor can apparently only take it for so long, interrupting them with an abrupt "Ahem".  He waits for the two to quiet down just as the waiter from earlier on arrives with an expensive looking mug of black coffee.  He hands it to the Lone Gunman who nods his appreciation.  The waiter strides off once again.

"Do you morons mind?  I'm trying to enjoy my coffee."

"Nah, cat, we're cool.  Don't worry about us."

"Yeah, we had a couple of cocoa's before coming out, I mean-"

The muscles in Taylor's face go completely tense as J-Mac trails off.  Taylor takes a sip of coffee and slams the mug down hard on the table.

"Do you mind, cat?  That was pretty rude, considering-"

"Ugh.  Why are you here, Fubu?"

"I don't know, really...  I was considerin' gettin' some food or something."

J-Mac slaps hands with the mother of his child in recognition of his own bad joke.  Taylor says nothing, but takes another sip of the bitter dark liquid.

"Nah, nah...  I'm just playin' with you.  I was in town filmin' a vignette for this year's Reading Rules festival, not to mention putting the filming touches on my NEW DVD!!!  Aaand, I got to talking with Andrew Excelsior  a couple of weeks back and he mentioned that there was a Contest Of Champions this week, I thought I'd better stick around to check it out."

"You're entering the battle royale?"

Jason raises an eyebrow at Taylor.

"Are you mad, son?  I'm a paying customer, strictly watchin' from the sidelines with my fabulous wife...  I'll leave the fighting to you guys."

Taylor lets out a sigh, probably of relief.

"So I take it you're enterin', Hitman?"

"Correct."

J-Mac looks genuinely offended at Taylor's rudeness.

"Come on, cat, we go waaay back!  Remember the Little Show?  The backstage attacks?  What was with that, by the way?"

"It was just business, Fubu."

"DID SOMEONE SAY JUST BUSINESS?!"

Clancy McClean bursts into the scene accompanied by two ridiculously large bodyguards.  The self-proclaimed Renaissance Man sports a particularly gaudy mink tuxedo and is chewing on a particularly fat cigar.  The initials "C M C" are emblazoned onto the right breast pocket of his tux.  Taylor shakes his head in both frustration and disbelief before taking another sip of coffee, as Clancy just stands there, grinning and posing.

"And why exactly are you here?"

"Why thanks for asking, kid...  I'm Clancy McClean and I'm here quite simply because I can afford to be wherever I want to be.  If I wanted to win the Contest Of Champions tomorrow night, I could.  If I wanted to come out and actually challenge James Corbin, I could.  Dare I say that, of the three men here, I am the only one capable of doing either...  Am I right, Flex?"

One of Clancy's bodyguards grunts heavily before answering the part-time Hotwire columnist.

"You're not wrong, boss..."  

"I'm never wrong, Flex.  Anyway...  I'm conducting the first-ever interactive edition of Just Business.  That's right, you, yes...  YOU-"

Clancy patronisingly taps Taylor on the forehead.  The Lone Gunman grabs him angrily by the collar and pulls him in close as if for a head butt, but Flex separates the two.  Clancy pulls at his collar for a moment and acts as though he finds it difficult to talk.

"As I was saying, I'm looking for a scoop, a unique selling point, if you will...  Taylor, we both know what that is.  Be a good boy and utter those most sought-after words!"

J-Mac yawns impatiently before beginning to make small talk with Flex and the other bodyguard.  Helen looks around awkwardly as Clancy, practically foaming from the mouth, continues to pry at Taylor.  He does so in a particularly condescending tone, as if he were talking to a small child.

"Confused, young man?  Let me give you a hint...  Repeat after me:  I challenge Monarch.  You give it a try!"

"Clancy, you'll milk nothing out of me.  I'll tell you that I'm the number one contender to the World Heavyweight Championship, and regardless of who wins this imminent battle royale, be it Monarch or be it Willie Haire, I still get my shot.  If Zachary Sharp wants to waltz in just as business is really beginning to pick up again and go straight for gold, then so be it.  It doesn't affect my goals in the slightest.  If anything, his presence, not only in the battle royale but in the future, can go a long way in keeping one Paul Spartan busy.  Most people in the very upper tier have their one mortal enemy.  Zac Sharp and Paul Spartan.  Nathan Williams and Sean Fiery.  Electric Sharpe and Jimmy Williams.  The list goes on.  It's all well and good for them, but it is always a mistake to allow things get too personal.  Sure, the two of you can get your faces on a poster of two, you can get the elusive video montage, but then what?  Magic and T-Rex have gone at it so many times at this stage that it's ridiculous.  Each encounter is to be The Final Showdown, The Big One, The Match To End All Matches...  But then what?  Time and time again, it never ends..."

Jason intentionally coughs for a moment.

"Psst...  Cat, what's your point?  You've been ramblin' on for a while now.  I wasn't sure if I should say somethin' or wh-"

Taylor glares right through the first-ever Ring Of Honour inductee.

"My point, Fubu, is that I am not susceptible to falling into the trap of personal rivalries.  Competition is perfectly acceptable, but when someone stoops as needlessly low as to bring another man's wife or whatever into it, then there's a problem."

Taylor takes another long sip of his coffee.

"Uhhh... John, what exactly has this got to do with the battle royale?"

"Take someone like Nathan Williams...  On paper, he can't lose.  He's seven-foot-whatever, nearly four hundred pounds.  Not to mention he's backed by four other guys in the Heretics.  Hypothetically, let's imagine he wins tomorrow night.  He's guaranteed a shot at Pimp Bizkit.  Okay, we've already heard about Heretic solidarity - it's unlikely that the Heretics would split over something so materialistic.  But imagine Williams vs. Pimp...  Who has the distinct advantage?  Nobody, as Heretic involvement is null and void.  So it's one on one...  Nathan's in control with his size advantage.  From out of nowhere comes Sean Fiery...  Immediately Nate's facing a two-on-one situation.  Well, not exactly...  Maybe Pimp doesn't see it...  Rex gets blindsided, Pimp gets the win.  Or maybe Pimp wants to defend his friend, so he intentionally gets disqualified in order to battle the intruder...  Either way, Nathan goes home without the GZW World Heavyweight Title, and it was his needless personal rivalry with Magic that cost him."

"Wow.  That's great, and all...  But what about Monarch?  Plannin' on challenging him any time soon?"

Taylor finishes the last of his coffee.  He looks up at Clancy for a moment, but looks straight through him and calls the waiter over.

"Anything else, sir?"

"Just the bill, please."

"Wait...  Tayyylorrrr...  Answer me, forgodsakes!"

The waiter returns and hands the Lone Gunman an expensive looking, pocket-sized leather folder.  Taylor pulls back his seat, gets up and heads off camera, assumedly to pay the bill.

"Hey guy, I think he just walked away from you..."

Both angered and embarrassed, Clancy bites his bottom lip.

"I had noticed.  Don't you have some floors to scrub?  I'd like a word with your 'old man' over here about a certain upcoming DVD..."

Helen seems less than amused, but laughs it off.  The beautiful young mother-of-one whips out a Gameboy Advance SP from her handbag and begins playing as Clancy brings J-Mac in close and begins to whisper into his ear.