So that's all there was to it? So confident was Tommy Casper going into Crimson that he felt he could choose to allocate airtime to ambiguous phone calls at the expense of the traditional war of words? As cocky as they hyped the former Manservant to be, John Taylor had genuinely expected more from a student of James Corbin's.

It was that disappointing notion that would've forced Taylor to emit a dull sigh as the cameramen rigged the media room up for him, had he not mentally slapped himself in the face and reminded himself exactly who he was.

The Lord Of The Coliseum.

"Ready, John?" Disrespectingly asked the main camera operator, a plump man of about thirty-five. At one point, John would've thrown a fit and insisted to a point that he be addressed only as 'Lord Taylor'. Lately, he hadn't felt so strongly about it. He decided not to waste his breath.

Naturally he didn't bother to give the cameraman the dignity of a verbal response. He nodded slightly which was enough. Promptly the lighting at the back of the media room brought the 'scene' - a small room with three visible white walls, not one of them standing out from the other two - shot to life. Taylor was tempted to sigh once again, if only for effect.  He'd made a habit of that recently.

"So this is what you wanted, Tommy?" The Lone Gunman asked abruptly, pulling a steel chair into view and setting it up for himself. He dusted down his gray workshirt and black cordurouy jeans before taking a seat. "You wanted me to cast the first stone? Then consider this it. If silence and all but writing the Lord Of The Coliseum off is your idea of an effective means of disrespecting this franchise's player, then I pity you. Thankfully, I'm inclined to give you the benefit of the doubt as far as not getting into the leadup to our contest and see through all of that. You're a student of Monarch. That accounts for something. If you've spoken to that miserable old fuck any time in the last three months, I'm sure at the very least that he prewarned you not to overlook this. In fact, it wouldn't surprise me in the slightest if every word you say is spoken under his direction..."

"But maybe I'm just being paranoid. With that said, would you blame me if I was? My career is being played with and gnawed at by a makeshift army, Tommy. It's soldiers come in all shapes and sizes. All colours and cultures. All professions. Some of them don't even know they're taking part.  Tommy, I've always been something of a marked man, but the last three months have seen that multiplied to infinite... The entire world saw me overtake a whole generation of legends during my World Heavyweight title run. I beat people that I looked up to and looked down upon alike. I beat competitors, in their own words,whose jock straps I shouldn't even be able to carry. I beat people that called themselves the greatest. I beat people who hadn't quite yet earned the right for that elusive ego expansion in order to call themselves the greatest in the future. Without tooting my own horn too much, "Future", I am far too relevant to this company for you to simply disgregard. You know that, and it is for that reason that I simply refuse to take offence to your most recent TV offering, regardless of whether or not any was intended."

"You're also too smart to simply overlook the similarities between you and I at different points in our careers. In 2001, I was 'HKWF's Hitman'... As glorious and enviable a position as 'Manservant' or 'Flagbearer', I think it's safe to assume. Back then I knew I was being misused. I was treated like a fucking dog, something just a notch above the common slave. Yet for months I didn't do a thing about it. Most people don't see the rationale behind that, Tommy. Most people gawk and guffaw over the fact that I served loyally to those pigs as long as I did before walking out. Most people are narrow-minded idiots, Tommy. Fortunately, you aren't most people. Somewhat like myself, you put up with the demeaning, humiliating job before you... But you did it for a reason. Just as Jimmy Williams and Adam Cage were out being badasses during my run as lapdog, the likes of Chains and Maxx Pain did the same thing during yours. All that needs to be said about that is 'Where are they now?'."

"The former Big Country, stuck in the same go-nowhere rut since the restart, has apparently opted to move into the world of showbiz... That'll last, no doubt."

Taylor cracked a grin so fast that it could've been regarded as subliminal advertising for sarcasm. He went on.

"As for the rest - Who cares? They decided to use up all their lifelines quick and early in an effort to cash in short-term. Fat lot of good that did them, eh? People like you and I, however, Casper, were smarter about it. We sucked it up, down there at the very bottom, long enough to leave that distant memory imprinted in the morons' minds. Then we dropped out of sight. Granted, it was for different reasons and for different periods of time, but the basic principle was the same. You give a baby one toy for five minutes and then take it away again, the stupid kid'll want it ten times more than he even should and as such will appreciate it all the more when you give it back to him... These people are the proverbial baby in that situation. When you made your recent return, Tommy, they appreciated it all the more because they remembered you that little bit - They feel that they have some connection with you, one that they don't have with a flat-out newcomer like your pal Vyle or Kid X. The point is that all that pretime back then pays off in the long run. Do you think for a second that, back at the restart, 'John Taylor' would've been received any differently than an Edwin MacPhisto or Joshua Cleaver, had I not put in the hours beforehand and left that hazy, blurry memory behind me?"

"A hazy, blurry memory is still a memory, and just happens to be very workable to the average fan. They mightn't remember much about you, but they at least remember you. Instantly, something clicks. In the ever-changing GZW world, they've found someone to grip on to, for better or for worse, to protect them against a newcomer, an outsider in the vein of a Jay Jameson or Phillip Tytan. From there, they mould this image of you into something they themselves want to see, and instantly you've got a cult following. Sure, it's a screwy, inconsistent way to make it big, but to be frank, it works."

"So if that's all well and dandy, what have I got to be paranoid about? What's stopping me from living life to the fullest, following Bane and living each day like it was some wacky daytime sitcom? Why don't I just accept the world for what it is and master the craft of the Pimp Bizkit promo? Empty threats aren't that hard to get a handle on, I'd bet... So what is it? Why should I be paranoid?"

Because...

"...Because they're all gunning for me.  Every single of them.  You are too, Tommy Casper.  You know, when I served faithfully to John Profit and Fox Giovanni, I yearned to be in the position of Sean Fiery or Union Jack.  They were getting their high-profile asses handed to them every single night, but they were stars.  They were the breakaway individuals, those that were wrestling not for fame by association, but for the sake of being able to legitimately call yourself better than the rest...  From afar, I wished I could've been in their boots.  Sometimes, during the seven millionth HKWF mass run-in of a Monday Night Manslaughter main event, I went extra hard on those guys with my kendo stick for the simple fact that I knew I couldn't be in their positions.  For every successive catchphrase they'd utter, my tolerance would slip that little bit further, and I'd take it out on them twice as hard again.  Sure, my HKWF associates and I were in theory beating the shit out of those guys for the money, or for the simple fact that we were HKWF and that's what we did...  But behind it all lay a bitter, rabid and envious John Taylor.  And now, in some warped twist of fate, those that I hate have become what I once was...  It's a philosopher's wet dream, Casper, really and truly.  And you're right up there, partaking in all of it..."

"Enjoy this false sense of security while it lasts, Future. John Taylor will only stand for so much before a change must be made. I'm sick and tired already of the game of dominoes that started at Aftermath 2K4... One moron gets a cheap victory over me, the next one that comes along just assumes that I must be fair game...  I refuse to allow this travesty happen a third time. In the end, it's only the company that loses in the long run... You allow some dumb piece of meat like Seven any leeway, from an administrative point of you, and you're screwed long term. What happens when I retire? Or when one of the vastly undertrained newcomers floods in and breaks my spine whilst trying to apply an armbar? Is Seven supposed to replace me? Does Pimp Bizkit have the longevity and long-haul appeal to still carry the company when I'm gone?"

"No."

"Casper, whilst I have no doubt that marketing will indeed see to it that you become "The Future", I must also inform you that you showed up just a little too early...  Despite what an exiting Sean Fiery might have led some sheep to believe, I'm not done yet. Your battle is not with me, Tommy. It's with people like Electric Sharpe, Vyle and Kid Kaos. It's with the younger generation not yet competent or confident enough to support the company or even themselves..."

"For that reason, don't come into Crimson expecting to leapfrog the Lord and squeeze into the top spot. Expect to be faced with a test, the oppurtunity for a superstar of tomorrow to show what he can do today...  Crimson will be but a pitstop for both of us on our individual journeys - Make the most of it, but don't forget that you've nowhere near the finish line..."

Taylor felt that he'd said about enough. Returning the favour from earlier on, he simply clicked his fingers at the cameraman. All throughout America, screens faded to black.