Post by Jason Kaine on Oct 3, 2013 20:47:57 GMT -5
Let’s Start from the Beginning…
The feed cuts directly in from static to an old video of TJ Pain. A video so old it is in fact the first time he was ever seen on a televised wrestling program. He is seated inside the training ring that he keeps as the nucleus of his expansive Maryland home and beside him is his wife, Roxxanne. Pain looks at the interviewer behind the camera with a threatening stare while Roxxanne sits there in a seemingly pleasant mood.
Interviewer (Chuck): “Hello ladies and gentlemen. I’m here with TJ Pai…”
TJ Pain: “Hey! That’s Mr. Pain to you.”
Chuck: “I apologize Mr. Pain.”
TJ Pain: “Damn right you do.”
Roxxanne gives her husband a pat on the leg as an attempt to calm her husband down a bit. It doesn’t work.
Chuck: “Now Mr. Pain, what are your plans now that you have signed on with EAW?”
TJ jumps to his feet and towers over Chuck with his fists clenched.
TJ Pain: “Who the fuck do you think you are talking like Roxxanne isn’t even here? We are a unit, a complete package. Any questions you have are to be directed at the both of us! Understand?”
Chuck: *Swallows hard* “Ye…yes, Mr. Pain. Again my apologies. What are the plans for the two of you in EAW and the wrestling business in general?”
At the assurance of Roxxanne, TJ slowly sits back down. Roxxanne crosses one leg over the other and speaks to Chuck in a polite tone.
Roxxanne: “It is actually quite simple. Our plan is for TJ to destroy anyone who crosses us while I support him in any way he needs me to the entire time. We are determined to be the most powerful wrestling couple to ever come into the sport and nothing is going to stop us.”
Chuck: “Interesting. Now how do you intend to achieve these goals?”
TJ Pain: “You know, Chuck, I think I’ve about had it with your fuckign questions so how about we just show you?”
Chuck: “Wha?”
In a flash, TJ jumps from his chair, snatches up the folding chair he was sitting on and crashes it across Chuck’s face. Chuck flails backwards with his nose a fountain of blood. TJ stalks the poor man as he slowly crawls into the corner of the ring in a dazed state. As he tries to collect himself, TJ holds the chair in front of Chuck’s face. From the opposite corner, Roxxanne flies across the ring and drives the chair into Chuck’s face with a hesitation dropkick. Chuck is immediately unconscious and Roxxanne laughs as TJ looks into the camera seething.
TJ Pain: “I suggest you pick up your boy and get the fuck out of my house…NOW!”
The camera man and the boom microphone technician rush to the aid of Chuck and slowly drag him out of the house’s front door. TJ slams the door behind them and the feed cuts to static again before quickly cutting again to satic. Words then appear over the fuzz.
“COULD CHELSEA ARMSTRONG PULL THAT OFF….”
The static fades slowly into another video clip and this time Pain is seen in the EAW ring on 2011’s United Kingdom tour. TJ is down on his hands and knees trying to recover from a flying crossbody received from a man named Alex Striker, a short-ish man with blonde hair who now stands in the corner dressed in all white ring gear and ready to deliver his finishing move, “The Aaz Effect”. TJ slowly gains his footing and as he tries to regain his faculties, Striker charges. Just as he gets within grasping distance of Pain, he is suddenly cut off by a rather large man dressed in a black suit with a crimson red blazer.
Striker: “What the fuck are you doing Conrad?!”
Conrad: “What should have been done by now little brother!”
The large man is Conrad Striker, Alex’s malevolent older brother. In a flash, he lifts Alex up with one hand and slams him into the mat with a chokeslam. Immediately, TJ covers Alex as the crowd erupts in boos.
Referee: “1…2…3!”
“Sticks and Bricks” by A day to Remember explodes out of the small arena’s sound system as TJ sits on his knees in disbelief.
Marcus Senerchia: “Here is your winner and NEEEEWWWW EAW IMPACT CHAMPION…TEE…JAAY….PAAAAAIIIIINNNN!”
TJ is presented with EAW’s IMPACT championship and looks down at it in awe as the crowd continues to boo violently. Conrad raises TJ’s hand high into the air in triumph as the feed once again cuts to static. Again words appear.
“THE ONLY MAN TO HOLD THE BELT TWICE…CAN CHELSEA ARMSTRONG CLAIM THAT…”
The static disappears almost instantly and is replaced by a video clip of TJ in the ring of a company now past named NWW. TJ’s face is a crimson mask as he stands over a beautiful young woman with fiery red hair and a matching stream of blood coming down her face. She is on her hands and knees in a pile of thumb tacks and unaware that one of her two opponents is right behind her with a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire in his hand. The woman’s name is Apathy and, believe it or not, she is one of three participants in this very violent matchup, the others being TJ and someone who doesn’t matter because he is on the arena floor. Before she knows it, apathy finds TJ holding her in a camel clutch with the bat across her face, causing more of her blood to pour out of her forehead. Looking like something straight from Hell itself the blood covered Pain mercilessly locks in the modified submission and shows no sign of giving it up. Heart stopping moments pass before Apathy finally taps out, the bell rings and “The South Is Rising” by The Sign of the Southern Cross plays.
Ring Announcer: “Here is your winner and….NEEEEEWWWWWW NWW WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION…..TEE…
JAAAY…..PAAAAAAAIIIINNNN!”
Pain releases his hold on Apathy and snatches the NWW World Title from the referee. HE climbs up onto the top turnbuckle and wipes his hand down his blood soaked face and wipes that all over the title belt before raising it high in the air in celebration. The video cuts to static for the final time as it fades slowly to black. Words again appear.
“IF YOU’RE GOING THROUGH HELL…BEST TO STOP FOLLOWING ME…”
The words disappear and a few moments pass before things begin to fade in from the darkness. Slowly the view of a grassy hill appears against the bright afternoon sky. The wind blows softly, creating a cool climate. Up the side of a hill, the sight of a man trudging long comes into the view. The man is TJ Pain and he is dressed in black cutoff denim shorts, a black tank top, black work boots and has a black and red bandanna tied across his forehead. The muscles in the backs of his legs and arms flex deeply with every step as he drags two burlap sacks, a spade and a flat headed shovel behind him. With a final effort, TJ makes it to the top of the hill and drops the sacks onto the ground. Out of one he pulls an iPod with a decent sized speaker plugged into it and a large bottle of Jack Daniels. He places the iPod onto the soft grass and presses play, smiling as “Have a Drink on Me” by ACDC cranks up. He cracks the top on the bottle of Jack and takes a long drink before putting it back down, still open mind you, and picks up his spade. Before breaking ground however, TJ pulls a fairly expensive and production grade camera out of the sack and places it oN its tripod beside the area he seems to be about to stab his spade into.
Once he presses record, he raises the shovel high into the air and brings it down into the dirt with the soft crunch of loose dirt. He jams the spade down with his foot and throws his first of many loads of dirt aside. Before continuing, TJ decides it’s time for another drink from the bottle and after that is accomplished he truly begins. Furiously he begins moving earth little by little as the camera catches his every shank into Mother Earth. Fast forward a few hours, and a half the bottle, and he seems to three feet into a four foot by four foot square hole. The sky has gone from a bright blue to a deep orange as the sun is beginning to go down on this early October day. TJ steps out of his hole and admires his work for a moment. ACDC has been replaced with Pantera and TJ now switches routinely between his spade and flat headed shovel as he has returned to his work, slowly and deliberately sinking deeper and deeper into the ground. As he digs, he know begins to address the camera after hours of only grunts, singing and cussing.
TJ: “They say you sweat the most when you’re diggin’ to Hell. Well, actually, they don’t. I just made that up but that’s besides the point. The point is that sometimes you have to stop taking short cuts in your life so you can stay in your own made up version of Heaven and start doing some actual work so you can go into Hell and kick the ass of every one of your personal demons. I know that all sounds like complete bullshit right now but trust me when I say it will all make sense here soon. You see, Chelsea Armstrong thinks that this Friday at Un-Killable she is going to be getting into that ring with the same guy that just got his ass almost literally handed to him by David Dreadful. She’s wrong. There is going be to be a new man in that ring on Friday night and in order for that to happen I gotta get this God damn hole dug. So if you’ll excuse me…”
TJ goes back to his digging with even more fire than before and he seems to disappear inch by inch into as the hole grows deeper and deeper with each spray of dirt he launches out. As night begins to fall, he pops out of the now five foot hole and pulls a set of Dewalt battery powered work lamps. He shines them into his work space and literally jumps back into his work with both feet, after yet another drink from his rapidly draining bottle of whiskey. Half an hour later and the two shovels sail out of the hole, hitting the ground with a clang. Then a single, dirt smeared hand rises up with all five fingers spread fully, an image oddly similar to the Un-Killable graphic. Quickly after TJ’s other hand rise up and with a heave he pulls himself out of the now six foot deep hole that now can be seen to be a surprisingly square grave. Covered in dirt and sweat and dirt, TJ takes deep breathes that heave his chest up and down. He walks around the grave and drags the still untouched second burlap sack close to the edge before sitting down with his feet dangling and grabbing his bottle. He takes another long drink and examines the third of whiskey still sitting untouched at the bottom of the square bottle. He turns off his iPod, cutting off Killswitch Engage’s cover of Dio’s “Holy Diver”. He directs his eyes to the camera as the light from the work lamps sheen him in an unnatural yellowish glow.
TJ: “What you see right here in front of you is a true monument to manual labor. Over the course of about five hours I have dug myself a grave but despite what most of you want to see, I’m not the one going into this hole. TJ Pain is.”
With those confusing words, TJ stands up and opens up the sack. He pears down into it with a sigh and proceeds to reach in, pulling out what appears to be two championship belts. One has a giant fist and the word “IMPACT” stamped onto it while the other has a blue globe set into the middle of it.
TJ: “What I hold right here and now are the EAW IMPACT championship and the NWW World Heavyweight Championships. Two of the biggest milestones of my career. I worked my ass off to get these belts and way back when they meant everything to me. I was the first person to ever win the IMPACT title twice and nothing but a scared little scrub in a company filled with legends when I won this World Title. Both times I did things that everyone said I couldn’t and I’m proud of that. No matter what roads I took to win. But these are nothing now but meaningless belts with the names of dead companies on them and where do all dead things belong?”
TJ drops both belts into the ground.
TJ: “In the grave.”
He reaches back into the sack and pulls out a black shirt. The shirt is a sleeveless mechanic’s shirt with the name “Pain” stitched over the breast pocket. TJ holds this shirt up with a full fist.
TJ: “For most of my career I wore this shirt. This shirt was my symbol, my trademark. It was just as much a part of me as it was a part of my ring gear but now it feels like the part of me that I showed back then has died and now this shirt is nothing but an anchor. Nothing but a bad memory like the ones you have when an ex-girlfriend leaves her shit at your house. The shirt and that dead, decaying part that I keep around are what’s keeping me from not just being good at what I do but also keeping me from walking out of Un-Killable proud of myself. It is the shirt of TJ Pain. It is the dust covered rag of a dead man.”
TJ tosses the shirt down into the grave and picks up the bottle of whiskey. He takes one last hit from the mouth of the bottle and dumps the rest on top of the two belts and shirt now occupying the grave. He pulls a pack of Marlboro Light Menthols out of his pocket. He lights one with a plain Bic lighter and takes a few drags before flicking it into the grave. Immediately the strong whiskey catches fire and the grave fills with an orange glow as the shirt catches. The scene resembles something close to an old Undertaker promo.
TJ: Tonight I’m killing TJ Pain and then I’m burying him six feet down. It’s something I would suggest to you, Chelsea. I see how you’ve been walking around talking to yourself. It’s hard to spot but it’s there. I know what that all means. It means that that bitch Mistress of Darkness is strollin’ into town and that’s not good for you. Don’t think for one fuckin’ second that your little alter ego is going to help you on Friday ‘cause here’s the thing, I don’t have a problem with you to be completely honest. All the attacks and all that other bullshit were precautionary efforts against this nonsense. My problems are all rooted in that cold bitch that took not just my brain but my damn soul and twisted them around to the point that I was almost in the front of the line for the nut house. She fucked with my life and fucked with my family and ‘cause of all of that, I have a big God damn problem with MoD. I promise you that if she’s the one that shows up at Un-Killable, you’re gonna be in some deep shit sister. That ain’t gonna be no weak ass TJ Pain out there. He’s dead. He’s gone. He’s nothin’ but a burning hole in the ground now. This Friday you’re gonna have to deal with the real man behind that gimmick. You got to fight…”
The sound of a phone ringing cuts him off. He whips a Nokia smart phone out of his pocket and answers.
TJ?: “Jason Kaine….”
Everything then cuts to black, ending things abruptly. Slowly static builds on the screen and words then form again also.
THE TREND IS DEAD…LONG LIVE KAINE”
Cut straight to black again.
The feed cuts directly in from static to an old video of TJ Pain. A video so old it is in fact the first time he was ever seen on a televised wrestling program. He is seated inside the training ring that he keeps as the nucleus of his expansive Maryland home and beside him is his wife, Roxxanne. Pain looks at the interviewer behind the camera with a threatening stare while Roxxanne sits there in a seemingly pleasant mood.
Interviewer (Chuck): “Hello ladies and gentlemen. I’m here with TJ Pai…”
TJ Pain: “Hey! That’s Mr. Pain to you.”
Chuck: “I apologize Mr. Pain.”
TJ Pain: “Damn right you do.”
Roxxanne gives her husband a pat on the leg as an attempt to calm her husband down a bit. It doesn’t work.
Chuck: “Now Mr. Pain, what are your plans now that you have signed on with EAW?”
TJ jumps to his feet and towers over Chuck with his fists clenched.
TJ Pain: “Who the fuck do you think you are talking like Roxxanne isn’t even here? We are a unit, a complete package. Any questions you have are to be directed at the both of us! Understand?”
Chuck: *Swallows hard* “Ye…yes, Mr. Pain. Again my apologies. What are the plans for the two of you in EAW and the wrestling business in general?”
At the assurance of Roxxanne, TJ slowly sits back down. Roxxanne crosses one leg over the other and speaks to Chuck in a polite tone.
Roxxanne: “It is actually quite simple. Our plan is for TJ to destroy anyone who crosses us while I support him in any way he needs me to the entire time. We are determined to be the most powerful wrestling couple to ever come into the sport and nothing is going to stop us.”
Chuck: “Interesting. Now how do you intend to achieve these goals?”
TJ Pain: “You know, Chuck, I think I’ve about had it with your fuckign questions so how about we just show you?”
Chuck: “Wha?”
In a flash, TJ jumps from his chair, snatches up the folding chair he was sitting on and crashes it across Chuck’s face. Chuck flails backwards with his nose a fountain of blood. TJ stalks the poor man as he slowly crawls into the corner of the ring in a dazed state. As he tries to collect himself, TJ holds the chair in front of Chuck’s face. From the opposite corner, Roxxanne flies across the ring and drives the chair into Chuck’s face with a hesitation dropkick. Chuck is immediately unconscious and Roxxanne laughs as TJ looks into the camera seething.
TJ Pain: “I suggest you pick up your boy and get the fuck out of my house…NOW!”
The camera man and the boom microphone technician rush to the aid of Chuck and slowly drag him out of the house’s front door. TJ slams the door behind them and the feed cuts to static again before quickly cutting again to satic. Words then appear over the fuzz.
“COULD CHELSEA ARMSTRONG PULL THAT OFF….”
The static fades slowly into another video clip and this time Pain is seen in the EAW ring on 2011’s United Kingdom tour. TJ is down on his hands and knees trying to recover from a flying crossbody received from a man named Alex Striker, a short-ish man with blonde hair who now stands in the corner dressed in all white ring gear and ready to deliver his finishing move, “The Aaz Effect”. TJ slowly gains his footing and as he tries to regain his faculties, Striker charges. Just as he gets within grasping distance of Pain, he is suddenly cut off by a rather large man dressed in a black suit with a crimson red blazer.
Striker: “What the fuck are you doing Conrad?!”
Conrad: “What should have been done by now little brother!”
The large man is Conrad Striker, Alex’s malevolent older brother. In a flash, he lifts Alex up with one hand and slams him into the mat with a chokeslam. Immediately, TJ covers Alex as the crowd erupts in boos.
Referee: “1…2…3!”
“Sticks and Bricks” by A day to Remember explodes out of the small arena’s sound system as TJ sits on his knees in disbelief.
Marcus Senerchia: “Here is your winner and NEEEEWWWW EAW IMPACT CHAMPION…TEE…JAAY….PAAAAAIIIIINNNN!”
TJ is presented with EAW’s IMPACT championship and looks down at it in awe as the crowd continues to boo violently. Conrad raises TJ’s hand high into the air in triumph as the feed once again cuts to static. Again words appear.
“THE ONLY MAN TO HOLD THE BELT TWICE…CAN CHELSEA ARMSTRONG CLAIM THAT…”
The static disappears almost instantly and is replaced by a video clip of TJ in the ring of a company now past named NWW. TJ’s face is a crimson mask as he stands over a beautiful young woman with fiery red hair and a matching stream of blood coming down her face. She is on her hands and knees in a pile of thumb tacks and unaware that one of her two opponents is right behind her with a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire in his hand. The woman’s name is Apathy and, believe it or not, she is one of three participants in this very violent matchup, the others being TJ and someone who doesn’t matter because he is on the arena floor. Before she knows it, apathy finds TJ holding her in a camel clutch with the bat across her face, causing more of her blood to pour out of her forehead. Looking like something straight from Hell itself the blood covered Pain mercilessly locks in the modified submission and shows no sign of giving it up. Heart stopping moments pass before Apathy finally taps out, the bell rings and “The South Is Rising” by The Sign of the Southern Cross plays.
Ring Announcer: “Here is your winner and….NEEEEEWWWWWW NWW WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION…..TEE…
JAAAY…..PAAAAAAAIIIINNNN!”
Pain releases his hold on Apathy and snatches the NWW World Title from the referee. HE climbs up onto the top turnbuckle and wipes his hand down his blood soaked face and wipes that all over the title belt before raising it high in the air in celebration. The video cuts to static for the final time as it fades slowly to black. Words again appear.
“IF YOU’RE GOING THROUGH HELL…BEST TO STOP FOLLOWING ME…”
The words disappear and a few moments pass before things begin to fade in from the darkness. Slowly the view of a grassy hill appears against the bright afternoon sky. The wind blows softly, creating a cool climate. Up the side of a hill, the sight of a man trudging long comes into the view. The man is TJ Pain and he is dressed in black cutoff denim shorts, a black tank top, black work boots and has a black and red bandanna tied across his forehead. The muscles in the backs of his legs and arms flex deeply with every step as he drags two burlap sacks, a spade and a flat headed shovel behind him. With a final effort, TJ makes it to the top of the hill and drops the sacks onto the ground. Out of one he pulls an iPod with a decent sized speaker plugged into it and a large bottle of Jack Daniels. He places the iPod onto the soft grass and presses play, smiling as “Have a Drink on Me” by ACDC cranks up. He cracks the top on the bottle of Jack and takes a long drink before putting it back down, still open mind you, and picks up his spade. Before breaking ground however, TJ pulls a fairly expensive and production grade camera out of the sack and places it oN its tripod beside the area he seems to be about to stab his spade into.
Once he presses record, he raises the shovel high into the air and brings it down into the dirt with the soft crunch of loose dirt. He jams the spade down with his foot and throws his first of many loads of dirt aside. Before continuing, TJ decides it’s time for another drink from the bottle and after that is accomplished he truly begins. Furiously he begins moving earth little by little as the camera catches his every shank into Mother Earth. Fast forward a few hours, and a half the bottle, and he seems to three feet into a four foot by four foot square hole. The sky has gone from a bright blue to a deep orange as the sun is beginning to go down on this early October day. TJ steps out of his hole and admires his work for a moment. ACDC has been replaced with Pantera and TJ now switches routinely between his spade and flat headed shovel as he has returned to his work, slowly and deliberately sinking deeper and deeper into the ground. As he digs, he know begins to address the camera after hours of only grunts, singing and cussing.
TJ: “They say you sweat the most when you’re diggin’ to Hell. Well, actually, they don’t. I just made that up but that’s besides the point. The point is that sometimes you have to stop taking short cuts in your life so you can stay in your own made up version of Heaven and start doing some actual work so you can go into Hell and kick the ass of every one of your personal demons. I know that all sounds like complete bullshit right now but trust me when I say it will all make sense here soon. You see, Chelsea Armstrong thinks that this Friday at Un-Killable she is going to be getting into that ring with the same guy that just got his ass almost literally handed to him by David Dreadful. She’s wrong. There is going be to be a new man in that ring on Friday night and in order for that to happen I gotta get this God damn hole dug. So if you’ll excuse me…”
TJ goes back to his digging with even more fire than before and he seems to disappear inch by inch into as the hole grows deeper and deeper with each spray of dirt he launches out. As night begins to fall, he pops out of the now five foot hole and pulls a set of Dewalt battery powered work lamps. He shines them into his work space and literally jumps back into his work with both feet, after yet another drink from his rapidly draining bottle of whiskey. Half an hour later and the two shovels sail out of the hole, hitting the ground with a clang. Then a single, dirt smeared hand rises up with all five fingers spread fully, an image oddly similar to the Un-Killable graphic. Quickly after TJ’s other hand rise up and with a heave he pulls himself out of the now six foot deep hole that now can be seen to be a surprisingly square grave. Covered in dirt and sweat and dirt, TJ takes deep breathes that heave his chest up and down. He walks around the grave and drags the still untouched second burlap sack close to the edge before sitting down with his feet dangling and grabbing his bottle. He takes another long drink and examines the third of whiskey still sitting untouched at the bottom of the square bottle. He turns off his iPod, cutting off Killswitch Engage’s cover of Dio’s “Holy Diver”. He directs his eyes to the camera as the light from the work lamps sheen him in an unnatural yellowish glow.
TJ: “What you see right here in front of you is a true monument to manual labor. Over the course of about five hours I have dug myself a grave but despite what most of you want to see, I’m not the one going into this hole. TJ Pain is.”
With those confusing words, TJ stands up and opens up the sack. He pears down into it with a sigh and proceeds to reach in, pulling out what appears to be two championship belts. One has a giant fist and the word “IMPACT” stamped onto it while the other has a blue globe set into the middle of it.
TJ: “What I hold right here and now are the EAW IMPACT championship and the NWW World Heavyweight Championships. Two of the biggest milestones of my career. I worked my ass off to get these belts and way back when they meant everything to me. I was the first person to ever win the IMPACT title twice and nothing but a scared little scrub in a company filled with legends when I won this World Title. Both times I did things that everyone said I couldn’t and I’m proud of that. No matter what roads I took to win. But these are nothing now but meaningless belts with the names of dead companies on them and where do all dead things belong?”
TJ drops both belts into the ground.
TJ: “In the grave.”
He reaches back into the sack and pulls out a black shirt. The shirt is a sleeveless mechanic’s shirt with the name “Pain” stitched over the breast pocket. TJ holds this shirt up with a full fist.
TJ: “For most of my career I wore this shirt. This shirt was my symbol, my trademark. It was just as much a part of me as it was a part of my ring gear but now it feels like the part of me that I showed back then has died and now this shirt is nothing but an anchor. Nothing but a bad memory like the ones you have when an ex-girlfriend leaves her shit at your house. The shirt and that dead, decaying part that I keep around are what’s keeping me from not just being good at what I do but also keeping me from walking out of Un-Killable proud of myself. It is the shirt of TJ Pain. It is the dust covered rag of a dead man.”
TJ tosses the shirt down into the grave and picks up the bottle of whiskey. He takes one last hit from the mouth of the bottle and dumps the rest on top of the two belts and shirt now occupying the grave. He pulls a pack of Marlboro Light Menthols out of his pocket. He lights one with a plain Bic lighter and takes a few drags before flicking it into the grave. Immediately the strong whiskey catches fire and the grave fills with an orange glow as the shirt catches. The scene resembles something close to an old Undertaker promo.
TJ: Tonight I’m killing TJ Pain and then I’m burying him six feet down. It’s something I would suggest to you, Chelsea. I see how you’ve been walking around talking to yourself. It’s hard to spot but it’s there. I know what that all means. It means that that bitch Mistress of Darkness is strollin’ into town and that’s not good for you. Don’t think for one fuckin’ second that your little alter ego is going to help you on Friday ‘cause here’s the thing, I don’t have a problem with you to be completely honest. All the attacks and all that other bullshit were precautionary efforts against this nonsense. My problems are all rooted in that cold bitch that took not just my brain but my damn soul and twisted them around to the point that I was almost in the front of the line for the nut house. She fucked with my life and fucked with my family and ‘cause of all of that, I have a big God damn problem with MoD. I promise you that if she’s the one that shows up at Un-Killable, you’re gonna be in some deep shit sister. That ain’t gonna be no weak ass TJ Pain out there. He’s dead. He’s gone. He’s nothin’ but a burning hole in the ground now. This Friday you’re gonna have to deal with the real man behind that gimmick. You got to fight…”
The sound of a phone ringing cuts him off. He whips a Nokia smart phone out of his pocket and answers.
TJ?: “Jason Kaine….”
Everything then cuts to black, ending things abruptly. Slowly static builds on the screen and words then form again also.
THE TREND IS DEAD…LONG LIVE KAINE”
Cut straight to black again.
