Keith: Yeah, you would love to kick my ass, wouldn't you, Robbo? I guess it's too bad for you, though, that you can only dream about kicking my ass.

Keith: Let's get to the cold, hard facts, Young. You're annoying. You only beat Dirge because Hollow laid a heavy duty beating on his face the show previous to your win. If anybody around here has outlived their 15 minutes of fame, it's you. Jesus, you were getting old and stale back in the MMWF.

Keith: Oh, but wait, you 'reinvented' yourself and your game. I guess that's why we don't call you Bob Jobbo anymore, huh? And, guess what, Young, you won't get the job done. You can't hold a handle to me in the ring, and Brimstone's got a mean streak in him right now that even frightens me. And with amount of spirit Gol's been showing lately, you seem like you're going to be the work horse of the team.

Keith looks at the floor, and chuckles before looking back up with a smirk on his face.

Keith: Oh, hell, you might even be our whipping boy, Young. Lord knows that's about the only thing you're good at anymore. That and singing Gol's accolades. Jesus, Robbie, step out his shadow and make a name for yourself. Does Gol still make you carry his bags into the arena for him? How about polish his boots? Man, you're even Gol's lacky. How far the not-so-mighty have fallen.

Keith begins walking, the camera crew following his every step and word.

Keith: You know what, Young? I think myself and just about every person in this world knows that I can dominate you and make you look like the complete and utter ass you are. So I need you to do me a favor. Gol, if you decide to show up in public, you can play this game too. I want you two 'mates' to explain to me, and the general public, what you are going to do to defeat me at Fusion. And I don't want to hear the old 'Gol beat Keith at Suicide and I've beaten Brimstone before' bullsh*t you tend to throw around every other five minutes. Show me some originality, Robbo.

Keith's journey ends at the bar, where the bartender tosses him a Michelob Golden Draft Light to enjoy. Keith twists the top off, and leans against the bar as the camera begins moving away.

Keith: The ball is in your court, Gol and Young. So c'mon, Mr. Former North American champ and Mr. One week title reign, impress me. And Young, before you even begin spewing, Gol's win was a fluke. I know it, the world knows it, hell, I think he knows it, so maybe you should step out of the shadow and realize it yourself.

Keith puts down the brew and begins talking to a few men standing around the bar as we fade to black...