GARY BLOOMFIELD:  “Folks, we are going backstage again with an update on Akira Wyld after his brutal match with “The Divine Psycho” Nakamura Yamasaki.”

*PWA backstage cameras catch up with Akira Wyld following his brutal match with Yamasaki Nakamura.  Wyld is sitting on a blood and sweat soaked stretcher being tended to by trainers.  His silver hair is a matted and caked red mess and he is bleeding from half-a-dozen wounds all over his body. He has visible bite marks on his arm and forehead. A gauze bandage has already been wrapped around his head, covering one eye.  As the cameras approach, Wyld is loudly fighting with the trainer who is tending his wounds.*

WYLD:  “Get the HELL away from me you no-talent, quack!  I need a real doctor, not a Boy Scout with a first-aid merit badge! I’m INJURED.  I’m a bloody mess!  Just clean me up so I can get the hell off this gurney and out of this arena!”

*Wyld notices the camera and sneers.*

WYLD:  “And what the HELL do you want?!”

PWA BACKSTAGE REPORTER:  “Mr. Wyld, I was just hoping I could get a word with you regarding your match with…”

WYLD:  “NO!  No, no, no, no.  You don’t get to do that. You don’t come walking back here and talk me like I’m some winded competitor ready to reflect on a hard fought victory. I just had a SICKLE raked across my orbital bone.  I just had an adult man sink his teeth into my flesh and draw BLOOD.  I just spent the past 23 minutes being physically assaulted by a certifiable lunatic who just so happens to be on the PWA payroll!  EVERYTHING that happened out there happened because PWA management MADE it happen. You think I don’t know what this was?  I spent the past 5 years working in promotions across Japan.  I know how things work. You don’t send freakin’ YAMASAKI NAKAMURA to the ring just to have a “match”.  That maniac is a HIT MAN.  He’s a goddamn ringer you bring in when you want to HURT somebody!  Whoever is responsible for sending that… that… DEMON in to answer my open challenge did it ON PURPOSE!”

*Wyld tries to get up from the stretcher but slips on his own blood and careens to the floor, taking out a trash can and a set of backstage lights with his flailing arms.  The trainers try to help him to his feet.*

WYLD:  “Get the HELL off of me!”

*He drags himself to his feet with an insane look in his eye.  He dives at the reporter and grabs him by both lapels.  Blood runs down his face.*

WYLD:  “Nobody does that to Akira Wyld!  Nobody!  I’m going to find out who is behind this insulting JOKE of a promotion, and I’m going to make them sorry they ever signed on the dotted line with Akira Wyld.  I’m a champion dammit!  I’m a freakin’ franchise!  I’m AKIRA WYLD, and I’m going to bring this entire company to its KNEES!”

*Wyld shoves himself away from the reporter and shambles down the hall, cursing loudly.*