“There is a fifth dimension beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man's fears and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of confusion. It is an area which we call the Chamelion Zone.”  

These words echo the current feelings of the devious and cunning one, known as Mark Sommers.   At London ’s Burning, he had a plan, a plan to lure that wretched referee Daniel Davis into his lair and then beat the ever loving crap out of him.  

In fact, he was having fun, letting Davis get the upper hand, building his confidence up.  Then, without warning….  

**CRACK**  

A Sweet Sound of Success, and Davis was done like an over cooked piece of steak.   

So he lay there, prone, on his back and oblivious to the world around him and that’s when Chamelion, well for lack of a better phrase; went psycho on the bastard.  A few chair shots to drive home the fact that he wasn’t too pleased with Davis ’s actions over the last couple of months and then a set up to take the little man out of the business for a good long time.  

Yeah, it seems a little cruel, maybe excessive what Chamelion had planned, but compared to the violence allowed in the PWA over the last decade, what he had planned was down right civil.  

Yeah, he had it all planned; down to the cracking of Davis’ neck between the metal bars of the steel chair, all he had to do was finish the job with a jump from the top rope.  

Enter: Hunter Sullivan.  

Who the hell is this kid? And where did he get off interjecting himself into Chamelion’s match?  

None the less, Sullivan comes out, hits his Viper Snap on the Devious one and pulls Davis over for the 1-2-3 .  

Sigh.  The media had a field day with THAT one.   

Chamelion sustained a bruised and bloodied nose, that thankfully didn’t get broken, but damn did it come close.  After taking some time backstage to recoup and break a few things in the locker room, Chamelion decided it was time to even the score, and returned the favor to Hunter in his match against Riona, costing him his title shot.  

A small consolation. 

So, Chamelion stands in the center of the ring in his private gym in downtown Vegas, the lights dimmed save the one directly over the ring.  Sweat glints off his forehead, and a white towel lays wrapped around his neck.  A thick bandage covers his nose, as well a square pad over his left eye brow.  Never the less, he’s been working his ass off, training, for the PWA has seen to it that despite the issues at London’s Burning, they feel it necessary to pit the Devious One against a veteran of the caliber of one Jonathon Wehali; better known to the world as ‘Nightmare.’  

“I can hear the whispering in the locker rooms already.  The laughing and chortling, that the four time PWA world champion got beat by a referee.  By all means, do laugh it up, do have a bit of fun with it.  Of course, while you do that, feel free to ignore the fact that Hunter decided to stick his nose into my business and it was his Viper Snap that did me in, not anything Davis could do.”  

He shrugs, a bit of a sigh escaping his lips.  

“So go ahead, look the fools by seeing through rose colored glasses, if it will make you feel better.  As for me, Davis may get the win in the record books, but the man is damaged goods, and it may be some time before we see him again.  For his sake, better be later then sooner.”  

Lifting the corner of the towel, Chamelion dabs his forehead and continues.  

“And Hunter?  Whatever your reasons were, I hope you realize you’ve targeted the worst prey you could think of, because like any wounded animal, once wounded, I become far more dangerous.  And wound me you have.  It does not please me that the PWA has tried to turn my attention away from you with this match against Nightmare; for you have garnered the bulk of my rage; and trust me kiddo; that’s never a good thing.”  

Slowly, Chamelion begins to pace the ring, his mind awash in many thoughts, and he turns his focus where it must be for the time being.  

“But you’ll have to go on the back burner.  Right now, I have to deal with Johnny Boy!  Good ol’ Nightmare.  I guess I should try to see the silver lining here.  You’re not eight foot tall, masked and mute.  You’re just a normal every day guy who’s chosen an odd sort of ‘stage name’ for yourself.  Why do you call yourself Nightmare anyway?  It’s not like you’re scary or anything, nor do you try to be.  You’re a veteran of the ring, sure, you get the job done quite a lot, but you don’t play mind games or tricks… so, I’m not sure the moniker fits you; so do tell me the story, I should find it quite entertaining.”  

He smirks, pacing still.  

“Seriously though; You and El Rey managed to capture the PWA Tag-Team titles and hold them for a while.  Count yourself lucky, since your original partners bailed, and allowed you and Rey-Rey to merge into a solid team.  But really? You lost to Jethro Hayes?  No offense to the hick, but really?  Flynn I could see, but… oh, never mind.  I respect Jethro, he’s a good kid, but Farm and Harm express?  Are we getting THAT desperate for tag teams?  Then again, a man called Nightmare and a Spanish luchidor isn’t that much different.  I’m really not trying to pick on anyone, it’s just humorous to see, sometimes.   Still, you lost, I lost… we both have some ground to make up.  And Friday could be a good launching ground for one of us.”  

He stops, turns full tilt to the camera and cocks his head.  

“I hear rumblings you may be going for the Television Title.  That three defense rule has made that belt far more attractive then it has been, and it’s interesting you’ve chosen that direction to take.  I, on the other hand, would very much like to just get back into the world title hunt where I belong.   I guess Friday would be a good test for the both of us, huh?”  

“I know you want to forge your own legacy, kiddo, and I understand where you’re coming from.  But like you said, it’s a per-match basis, how you focus… and yeah, I admit I have Hunter trailing me making my life miserable.  But don’t think for one moment I’m going to let that distract me from the bigger picture, and please don’t be like everyone else who tries to tell me how I’m thinking or what I’m doing.  I get enough of that from the narrow minded fools, who feel they know me better then I do.  Hunter is back there, on the back burner like I said.  You’re my only focus this week, because surpassing you will go along way in securing my bid to re-challenge for the PWA World Title… and a match against Scott Nash Strader? For all we’ve been through, would just be a perfect story telling moment!”  

“Bottom line; Our match Friday will be a classic; you and I have the chance to really rise to the top and showcase that not every match has to be personal or about anything more then a classic combat.  Granted, the prize for victory is the potential to rise once again to the top of the mountain. I’ve been there, I’ve tasted it, and I’m thirsty for more.  You?  Not quite there yet, but with multiple world title runs in other feds, you know the sweet taste as well.  Wanna know the difference?  People seem to believe my only chance lies in manipulation behind the scenes, even though deep down they know I’m capable and in most cases, earn my way… and I plan to, without question, to rise to the top through hard work, dedication and desire… that means Friday; I beat you.  I win, I rise, I conquer. It’s nothing personal kiddo; it’s just the only way it can happen.  GOT IT?”  

With a wink, Chamelion turns and slips out of the ring, walking off as we fade out.