"Never made it as a wise man
I couldn't cut it as a poor man stealin'
Tired of livin' like a blind man
I'm sick inside without a sense of feelin'
And this is how you remind me
This is how you remind me
Of what I really am
This is how you remind me
Of what I really am
It's not like you to say sorry
I was waiting on a different story
This time I'm mistaken
For handing you a heart worth breakin'
I've been wrong, I've been down
To the bottom of every bottle
Despite words in my head
Scream "Are we having fun yet?"
Yet?, Yet?, Yet?, no no"

{The scene fades in, with the camera blinking slowly, the focus coming more into view until an object can be made out-an object of evil, a figure of hate, a bringer of silence. This is a man known only to long time GZW Followers, a man who has recently seen his career slowly rot away like a wounded animal carcass in the plains of africa. Each day that passes, another stab in the chest of past glory, a dig at past achievements and a pull of the plug of success. This man is an artist, about to paint his final picture, a storyteller, about to inscript his last words in the saga of GZW. John Taylor bows his head down, maybe in respect, maybe in shame, not wanting the world of GZW to see what was once a face of fear in the ranks of Ground Zero, but is now merely an insignificant nobody. Taylor does not seem like the gunman of old, no cocky sneer is present, no chest held high, or shiny piece of goldware over his shoulder. Replacing the prestigious light heavyweight championship is a blunt elbow on a cold shoulder. He breathes heavily, and still doesn't even glance up at the set. The camera zooms out gradually and we can see he is sitting on a Monday Night Manslaughter promotional folding chair. The chair, symbolising his whole career. Each leg is a passage in his story, from the 27th of August edition of Manslaughter when he first attained GZW gold, to when he defeated Sho Murakame one on one, to this moment, memories brought back in the blink of an eye, a twitch. Taylor looks up at the camera, his face covered in a ravaged beard, his eyes, withered and old, tired of holding so many secrets, tired of life. Taylor looks like a homeless man, he has really let himself go. Before opening his mouth, the mouth that has brought so much hate and anger, violence and destruction to GZW, he twitches, and begins to speak.}

"Why has it come to this? Why do I stand here in this miserable room amid some rotten furniture and a low payed cameraman, but why is it that I am the weakest link here, I am the insignifance, I am the lost lamb. Where is my shepherd? My shepherd was Tate Edmonson, the leader of the flock that was GZW, then it was John Profit in the totally different world of HKWF, then it was the unnamed GZE employees, trying to bring back the old John Taylor from the puddle of nothing I have become. But then it all comes together, these people are not shepherds, they are warlords, dictators, trying to make a tool out of me, trying to make me their "hired gun", their "secret weapon". Each man wants me for their army, GZW...HKWF, whatever, and next thing I am flavour of the month...but then the flavour turns sour when the new hired hitman comes into town, and the gunman gets left behind. Well I'm here now, do they want me? No, they don't. All these young fools, each with a different flavour, line up, like a shower of lemmings, all marching in single file to their demise, to be put in Tate's Toolbox, to be constantly screwed out of what should rightfully be theirs. But am I going to be the one to step in and help these plebeians? Why should I? I mean, they get all the TV Time, all the title shots, everything, they must learn it the hard way, just like I did. Young titlists like Desecrater, Jake Mackinnon and Adam Cage, all on top of the world with there pieces of gold, their 15 minutes of fame. But what happens when they lose it, what happens when the gold melts, their day in the sun is over, the gates of the garden of happiness are shut, and they are out in the cold. What good is a flashy nickname or entrance video then? Its' worth nothing then, the kid's little run o' fun slips away from under them and turns to a lifetime of living hell....GZW."

{Taylor grabs his patented gym bag from beside the chair, and sits down. The camera awaits to see what is inside...one of his trademark weapons? a title? a video? a book? The few seconds it takes for him to unzip the leather bag, seem like a lifetime, he reaches into his bag. He doesn't take out a weapon, a title, a video or a book...he takes out a bundle of papers. He raises it to the camera, not for one minute breaking the silence. On the front of the papers, reads in big black lettering "Ground Zero Enterprises Contract". He shifts through it, and the shocking reality comes to mind. This is Taylor's GZW Contract, his whole career rests inside these documents. Gunman places the papers on his lap, and reaches into the bag, and takes out a box of matches. He opens up the small cardboard box, as we hear pleas from the cameraman not to do anything rash. Faded accross the screen flash some of Taylor's biggest matches and achievements, as the sick look on taylors face, the Gunman of old, strikes the match. While still sitting, he calmly drops the lit match onto the documents that rest on his lap. The camera begins to blur, as we see the flame grow, still sitting calmly, Taylor twitches as if he is already gone, and in his body is the spirit of a demon, a monster. This twitch signals not only the end of a GZW Wrestler's contract, but the end...of a GZW Wrestler. The scene fuzzes out as the camera goes to static.}