A fire burns. The flames flicker, an assault of reds, and yellows, and oranges, a translucent blue at the core. They tear upwards, seeking the oxygen that they feed on for life, striving ever higher so that their burning cascade is all there is to see. The heat is overwhelming, impenetrable, a waver in the air suggesting an unphysical barricade to any and to all. Somewhere, there is a hollow laughter, echoing from within the fire. The laughter is maniacal, incensed, crazed and delusional. It draws in any who hear, and spits them out, discarded and disenchanted. The laughter does not fail as a voice, shrill and wild, resonates. �Flamey? Ohhhh, Flaaaaamey? Don�t worry, bucko, I�ll be with you ever-so shortly�� The fire burns a hole in reality, a small but prominent charred blot in existence. And the camera, the capturer and transmitter of this scene, moves through it, parting the flames and leaving them long behind. Forgotten. The block of offices are grey, their only colour provided by the cars parked almost illogically around them. The camera shows the roofs of these buildings first, their dull flat surfaces and staircases to more worthy areas. The camera falls, showing the walls; passionless concrete, erected with all the love of a Zimdela Brudon plaything. In stark similarity is the sidewalk, monotonous, trodden. The only redeeming feature for this place of labour is the immense sign hanging above revolving glass double-doors. �NEW LEGENDS OF WRESTLING� and the pristine blue logo of the NLW. The camera zooms forward, seeking the certainly-more-interesting happenings within. The doors spin, a hazard to the simple minded, and there is the secretary, doing her job, as she should if she wishes to pay her husband�s crack habit. At this particular moment, though, someone is hassling the woman. That someone wears blue tartan shorts, shades on his eyes, a hair band in his long blonde hair, and a black T-shirt, emblazoned with a rabbit; a crazed rabbit, a red-eyed buck-toothed laughing rabbit. Only one man would so proudly wear this symbol, and that one man is one half of the grouping Fusion and one nineteenth of the NLW roster, The Jackrabbit. Try telling that to the secretary. SECRETARY: �No, sir, I don�t watch the programme, and yes, sir, I will call security if you continue causing me grief!� THE JACKRABBIT: �But but� I�m telling you, I�m your friendly neighborhood Jackrabbit!� SECRETARY: �You�re a jack-something, but it isn�t a rabbit!� THE JACKRABBIT: �Oh no, now I think you�re confusing me with Sully! Silly you, easy mistake to make! No, see, I get the Last Laugh, don�tchya-know?� SECRETARY: �I�m sorry sir, but I�m not laughing here. It�s my job to ensure only authorised personnel enter the offices upstairs, and if you don�t have a pass or a scheduled appointment, I�m going to have to ask you, again, to leave.� THE JACKRABBIT: �Okay, go on then�� SECRETARY: �What?� THE JACKRABBIT: �Ask me to leave, d�uuuh!� SECRETARY: �Uh, okay� can you please leave?� THE JACKRABBIT: �No.� SECRETARY: �For Christ�s sake! Secur-..� THE JACKRABBIT: ��-Just a second, lil� missy. I only needs to go visit Miss Sully and the Breaky Ladder Dude, and then I�ll be outta your hair. Not that I�m in your hair. But if I was, I�d be out of it�� SECRETARY: �Ms. Sullivan and Mr. Cyanide are both rather occupied at this moment and are unable to take visitors. Understand, they are busy people, there are signings to make, arenas to book, matches to organise� Lord knows you can�t just pull a 15-foot cage out of your ass� Look, I have a list of things to do here, four phonecalls to make in the next ten minutes, and a husband whose probably comatose. I�m going to have t-�� The secretary at this point realises that The Jackrabbit is not listening to her monologue, but instead is practically sumo-wrestling a very large ornamental plant beside her desk. He is muttering something inaudible about Brad Jackson. SECRETARY: �Oh, for fu-� And she picks up the phone to dial security. Immediately The Jackrabbit is beside her again, leaning over the desk. THE JACKRABBIT: �Hey, lady? You�ve got something icky on your shirt�� SECRETARY: �Wha-?� And as she looks down to see what he means, The Jackrabbit grabs her shirt and pulls it up over her head, trapping her inside her own top and inadvertently revealing a little more than she�d probably care to otherwise reveal. A smile on his uncharacteristically-bearded face, The Jackrabbit begins skipping off to the elevator, leaving the secretary struggling to free her arms and the phone from her shirt. The elevator closed, and became its ascent. Higher and higher. Upwards. Upwards. Always upwards. Numbers flitting by in a strange blue luminance. Gradually to the top, upwards. And what goes up must come down. The Jackrabbit, trapped in this mechanical aviator, looks squarely into the camera, an intense stare hidden only by his dark shades, a massive smirk on his lips breaking into a laugh, before calming out into a wide grin. THE JACKRABBIT: �Heya �Rabbit Fans! Well what a treat this be! Look where I am! This here is the base of En-El-Dub, where all the boss folks and important peoples stay when En-El-Dub isn�t on tele� yet! I guess you�re wonderings why The Jackrabbit � that�s me!� is in this place, huh? Well, �cos I�m an important peoples too! Hahaaa! But that�s not it, that�s not all, that�s not everything, don�tya know? I�m here �cos I wanna see Miss Sully and the Breaky Ladder Dude about mebbe� becoming friends with �um! See, when I joineded up with Gee-Dub-Oh I became great friends with Mr. Maggy, and he did me lotsa cool favours. And then in Eye-See-Dub-Ef, me and Mr. Odjie becomed good friends and he did me lotsa cool favours as well! So I�ma thinkin�, and I do that a lot you know?, I�ma thinkin� that if I made friends with Miss Sully and Breaky Ladder Dude, them�ll do me lotsa cool favours too! �Cos right now, I thinks mebbe I done something wrong� something naughty� �cos I�m being punished! Not like The Punisher punished in Gee-Dub-Oh, �cos I beat him, but like� being put in matches with nobody losers like Plaque, who I smishsmashsmushed like I said I would, and Flamey, who I�m going to whambamjam at Uprisening. With Miss Sully and Breaky Ladder dude on my side, I won�t get none of these jobbers no more. I know what you�re thinking, �Rabbit Fans and �Rabbit Fans alike� you�re thinking, my my, isn�t Jackrabbit clever!? Haha, well, of course I am!� DING! Elevator doors slide open. Uninspired wallpaper matches uninspired carpet, leading unenthusiastically to an uninspired wooden door. Upon this door is a silver plaque reading, in simple letters, �NLW Admin.� The camera pans back, to show The Jackrabbit, emerged from the elevator perhaps, and now inspecting the plaque on the door with great intrigue. THE JACKRABBIT: �Ooooooh!� Great intrigue, indeed. Slowly he pushes the door open on the admin office. It scrapes the carpet as it opens, but this is solved with a semi-gentle shove. The Jackrabbit peaks his head around the doorframe, peering through his dark shades into the office. The office itself is unexceptional, a wooden desk topped with uncountable paperwork and stationary. A chair, leather, on wheels, sits beside a tall standing lamp, an expensive design piece more than a functional tool. Blinds are pulled down over the windows; Miss Sullivan seemingly likes her privacy. Filing cabinets are a mainstay here, second in importance only to the computer set at a separate desk, already in the process of transferring something important. Jinroyale-entmusic.mp3 is loading across the monitor. The Jackrabbit hops across the room, looking around the room almost in the manner of his namesake. It seems to have taken him a moment to realise that neither Joan Sullivan or Silver Cyanide are currently in the office. A humphing sound is heard from his lips. THE JACKRABBIT: �Hmph!� Deciding to use his time �wisely,� The Jackrabbit seats himself at the computer� he hums, he arrs. THE JACKRABBIT: �Well well, what have we here, buckos and buckettes? I�d say it be one of them fancy fandangled typewriter thingymado-dahs, wouldn�t you? There could be real important things here! Like like like, Draco�s less-than-fantasmic IQ, and and and Aphrowhatsit�s bra size, and and and, whether or not Flamey is really as hot as his names makes out! Hahah, hmmmm� whats this button do?� He presses a key. The computer beeps at him. He jumps, nearly falling out of the chair. THE JACKRABBIT: �And what�s this button do?� He presses another key. The computer beeps again. THE JACKRABBIT: �And.. hmmm� this one?� Another key, another beep. The Jackrabbit shrugs, hopping off the chair, and making his way to the desk. He doesn�t seem to have noticed the computer monitor now flashing talon-entmusic.mp3 successfully deleted. Oblivious, The Jackrabbit bounces amicably into the wheeled desk-chair, squirming until he finally gets comfortable in its leather embrace. One foot, another foot, and both thick leather boots are firmly rested on Joan Sullivan�s desk. The Jackrabbit laughs completely randomly for a moment, then sighs deeply. THE JACKRABBIT: �Ya know, it�s really not as fun here as what I thinked it might be! And not a single solitamary sighting of Miss Sully or Breaky Ladder Dude. What a pity! Well, I doesn�t care! Come to think about it, which is �sactly what I�m doing, I don�t need the cool favours of them boss peoples to help me out here in En-El-Dub. I�ve got Talon, my bestest buddy in the whole wide world, and The Jackrabbit� that�s me!� to look after us-selves. I showed everybody what I can really do last week at Uprisening. Plaque couldn�t match up to The Jackrabbit, and I made quick work of him. Well, t�wasn�t really work for me, �cos t�was all fun. All fun and games, that�s how The Jackrabbit rolls. Weeee! First Plaque, then Flamey, then The Jackrabbit is two-and-zero in En-El-Dub and the big boss people will have to pay �tention. No worries though, Sauce City people can ignore Fusion all they wants, �cos sooner rather than later after sooner but before later, we�ll give them something to notice us for. And then we can pay �em back by ignoring them when we�re pinning �em to the mat, one-two-six. Or was it one-seven-six? One-three-nine? Either ways, we�ll be pinning �em� and your new En-El-Dub Tag Team Champeeeenos, Talon and Th-, no wait, I wanna go first� The Jackrabbit and Taloooon! Ahahahahah! Flamey, Sauce City Peoples, laugh it up fuzzballs, �cos The Jackrabbit always gets The Last Laugh! AHAHAHAHAHA!!� In his maniacal glee, the NLW superstar begins spinning around and around on Joan Sullivan�s chair, gaining more and more speed until the camera can barely keep up. It tilts, it sways, it spins and swirls and then it.. falls. The chair topples over, throwing over a very dizzy Jackrabbit who scrambles inadvertently into the standing lamp. Like a lumberjack to a forest oak, one could almost shout �tiiiimmmmbbeeeeeerrrr� as the lamp falls, backwards, into the large floor-to-ceiling window behind it. There is a loud crash. CRRRRRAAAAASSSSHHHHHH! The window has broken, a result of the falling lamp, and the chair, now lying on the carpet amongst a pile of usurped paperwork. And in the middle of this mess, The Jackrabbit, laying clumsily on his rear end, his shades at a cocked angle on his nose and eye. And in the doorway, suddenly, looking a little less than pleased; Joan Sullivan, a secretary and two security guards. THE JACKRABBIT: �Oops�?�