April 27th, 2014. That date is etched in my memory like a chisel on slate, scratched on the inside of my skull with a pocket knife. April 27th, 2014. That date was supposed to be my judgment day, my reckoning, the redemption I so richly craved and rightly deserved. April 27th, 2014, OWF Quest For The Best, the day the Movement was supposed to fall and the Jackrabbit would be held high as a hero. A savior of the people. After twelve long years, the Jackrabbit would finally defeat Talon one-on-one and I would relish in the retribution of the crimes you commit on that lonely rooftop. Twelve long years! It didn’t happen. It wasn’t to be. You snatched all of that from me on that one night in Louisiana. April 27th 2014, the night the Jackrabbit fell and the OWF died. Well, my old friend, I have a new date for you. The chisel is in my hand; the knife is in my pocket. I will set you down on that mat and I will carve the date so deep into your skull that it will be the only words you know. I will write it thick with your own blood. August 28th 2016, the night Talon fell and the NLW died. Aaaaaahahhaha hahahaha ahhahaaaa!!! Old friend, isn’t it an act of fate that on the final day of NLW we are set to do this dance once more? Somebody cue the pale moonlight, aahaa! And let it be said that when Fusion fight, federations fall! Aaahahahaaaa! But let me never be called a fool. I am not naïve. I understand my folly in OWF, old friend. I came at you unprepared, born anew and with the innocence of a child still in the crib. I saw my goal, but I had not reckoned on how to get there. I fought with the sycophants in the audience on my side, I fought with passion and desire and purpose. And like a deity to a demigod, you smote me in the middle of that ring and you turned your back on me to pursue your greater goal- your quest for the best. Rest assured, Hunter, I am no newborn now, and I know my past misgivings. Where there was passion, there is drive. Where there was desire, there is calculation. And where there was purpose, there is a plan. I have spent four months with my mission in mind, and that mission comes to fruition this weekend. At Stillbirth #1, I told all of the insolent imbeciles in the crowd that I would win this tournament and that I would go through you to do it. I told all of the ignorant ignoramuses that I would take the NLW World Championship as my prize. And I told all of the impudent idiots that I would watch NLW roll back into the grave it crawled out of. And I will get to say I told you so, aaahaaahaahaa! August 28th 2016, you will see all of these little tunnels reach the surface, and I will stand upon the wreckage with my head held high. I have turned the mind of the Prince of Violence, Nick Perry, that I may have a loyal puppet to assist in my goal of taking the championship. Happy Kitty has proved an interesting experiment, old friend, and I have at last understood the sick pleasure you must have taken when you irrevocably raped the mind of Jay Ethelon all those years ago. Nick proved to me last week that he has embraced the seed of madness I planted and thus he is a worthy pawn to conquer Anarchy X in my name, but one more talisman of NLW’s glory to add to my collection. But the mind of Young Nicholas was only one strand in this web, and thus I have weaved the insecurities into the mind of the Hellacious One so that he will do exactly what I wish at Climax, and he will erase Jack Sullivan from NLW, necessitating the company’s untimely demise, aaahahaha! And that leaves the final strand to me and me alone, Talon; finally vanquishing you, my demon, and holding my shiny gold trophy above your fallen carcass. I will not do these things for the people, I will not do these things for the good of the company, and I will certainly not do these things for you, Talon. I will do all of this for the Jackrabbit. I am the master of my own fate, the Fatemaker, and for the first time in my life I am not being bossed, patronized, and used. Least of all by you. For too long, old friend, too long you have sat in your dusty tower, surveying the world around you with no understanding of what it is to live in it. For too long, you have busied yourself with being a teacher to a pack of sniveling hounds to massage your own inflated ego. You fight invisible wars with imaginary enemies beside your archaic cult, weaving words into tapestries that are only good for wiping your boots on. You enter the squared circle only long enough to impart a beating on hapless fools half your size but who somehow don’t see you coming. Then you leave again, swishing your big flappy coat and you are unheard from until the next battle, once more returned to your pontificating. The difference between you and I, old friend, is that I enter the NLW arena each week with a purpose. Whilst you preach your dogma to your lapdogs in your tower, I will be adding the final coat to the masterpiece I have crafted here. If you are the philosopher fighter, Talon, then from now forth consider me the Artist Assassin. The final stroke of my work is the slaying of the Enigma, and it comes not a moment too soon on this Sunday, when they lock us inside that steel cell; two caged animals, and only a bloody carcass will set us free. In the year 2008, the New Legends of Wrestling saw the rise of the greatest tag team it would ever know. Fusion, they called us, a “true synergy of styles” they said. We defeated every tag team the company had to offer, and maintained a stranglehold on our prize. And why? Because that prize was a symbol. A beacon of the friendship we held, a sign that the past grievances of GWO and ICWF were behind us at last. A union of friends that could not be broken by any man. Lies. Falsehoods! The dominant towering Enigma, the dark lord with the court jester at his knees. This was no synergy; this was no union of friendship! Our championship reign was the manipulation of the Hunted Turn Hunter turning the comedy idiot to his own purpose. You needed me to take that gold, Talon, whether you are man enough to admit it or not. You used my ability to claim your prize, and you made a mockery of me in the process. And for all those years, I remained blind to it. A happy laughing fool, slurring words and cracking jokes because that suited your agenda. A complacent ally with no ability to rise against you like all your other lackeys have. In OWF I learned the truth when you dumped me into that Pool of Blood. We were never a “Fusion”, old friend, we were never One. We were never Fusion because our successes were never shared. They were never ours. They were mine. At Climax I will show you something I have come to understand. Let me be the teacher at last, and you may finally learn something, student. And as you are staring up at the lights inside that cell, wondering what could possibly have gone wrong, then you will have the clarity I have. We were never Fusion. I am Fusion.