Your television/computer monitor, or whatever youre watching quality XWF programming, fires up to a dramatic crane shot of a pristine stage bathed in gold and white spotlights. Something straight out of a Donald Trump wet dream. A massive XWF banner hangs perfectly behind an mahogany podium that had to be errected from Theo Pryce's old desk. Giant LED screens cycle through Thunder Knuckles highlights.

A balled out limousine pulls up bumping "Bad idea, right?" by Olivia Rodrigo. Once stopped the driver gets out, walks around, and opens the rear door. Thunder Knuckles steps out in the same tailored suit from earlier, not to mention his always fashionable Pit Viper shades. The same glamorous women from before step out behind him, laughing as camera, flashes of camrea bulbs explode around them. One straightens TK's tie, another dusts off his shoulder, as TK smiles.

"Now this is more fucking like it."

He walks to the podium  once in front of it, he adjusts the microphone.

"Ladies and goddamn gentlemen. It's amazing what happens when you've got a budget."

He looks around.

"Last time y'all saw me. I was in a busted-down gym standin' on a fucked up XWF logo."

He gestures toward the immaculate banner behind him.

"Now look at this. They finally figured out if Thunder Knuckles is gonna speak, maybe, just maybe don't shoot it with a flip phone in somebody's garage."

The crowd chuckles.

"I ain't one of these fuck boys recordin' audio-only promos straight into a cellphone while drivin' seventy-three miles an hour."

He taps the podium.

"Nah, when Thunder Knuckles has something to say. These mother fuckers build a stage."

TK adjusts his cufflinks.

"Now, let's discuss Jim Ceadus."

A sigh escapes TK's lips, which Jim is obviously focused on.

"I've noticed something. You spend an awful lotta time wantin' grown men to call you Daddy."

TK slowly removes his sunglasses.

"...That's fuckin' weird. I mean... really fuckin' weird. I don't know what happened in your life and frankly, I ain't qualified to unpack that shit for you. If this whole comback revolves around convincing other men to call you Daddy... Brah. you don't need a championships, you need a therapist."

The women behind him exchange amused glances as TK grins.

"You walk around actin' like every room owes you respect. Brother, respect ain't somethin' you demand, son. It's what's said about you about after you've left. Oh and the only thing folks say after you leave is..."

TK gives the hand geasture than made him famous.

"'...did he really say Daddy again?'"

He shakes his head.

"Creepy... Real fucking creepy."

TK leans into the microphone.

"I could give a good goddamn what these imps say about me. You know why? Cause I fucking earned it. Good or bad I didn't workshop it. I didn't beg people to say it."

The crowd laughs but just then...





Soft music begins playing. TK stops and looks around.

"The actual hell is that?"

The music grows louder. An offstage assistant gives a gand signal to wrap it up. TK nods after rolling his eyes.

"Oh, so I'm gettin' the Oscar music."

He smiles.

"Fair the fuck enough. You'd think id have more time..."

TK straightens his jacket.

"I'd like to thank the XWF production crew for upping myproduction budget. I know its been awhile. I'd like to thank every person who bought a ticket just to watch me make an absolute mockery of yet another memeber of Apex."

He glances toward the women standing behind him.

"I'd like to thank my lovely guests for reminding Jim Ceadus that confidence doesn't have to be announced every five goddamned minutes."

The music swells louder.

TK places both hands on the podium.

"Jim, you keep chasing attention. I'll keep making history."

TK gives the audience a slight bow.

"Thank you, XWF. You've been a wonderful audience."

Thunder Knuckles steps away from the podium as the women fall in line beside him. They exit together under the bright stage lights while the orchestra crescendos, the pristine XWF banner filling the screen as it fades to black like the end of a career.[/b][/b]