Bartender:
I think you’ve had enough for the night, Jason. Why don’t you sleep it off?

Fading into a derelict bar in the metro area of Seattle, Jason Reeves sits hunched over two empty drinking glasses and an ashtray that still reeks from hours spent smoking and sitting in this damp and deserted bar.

Jason Reeves:
Two more for the road.

Pushing his glasses across the wooden table the bartender gives him a disappointing shake of his head. Nonetheless, however, the bartender follows through with Jason’s request as he grabs the nearby whiskey bottle and pours two additional shots for Jason ‘Stalker’ Reeves. The current juncture in his career saw Jason two years dispatched from wrestling anywhere. Nothing on his mind was even related to wrestling these days. Uber was not around either so, Jason’s daily routine typically involved sitting at this particular bar on a nightly basis.

Jason Reeves:
Appreciate it, Bill.

Bill the Bartender:
Does your body just absorb everything you put into it? I… I’ve never met a drinker like you.

Jason lets out a grumble as he disposes the offered whiskey in a quick fashion. After standing up Stalker digs into his pockets for what little cash he has, tossing a few bills onto the counter before nodding at Bill and shuffling his feet towards the exit.

As the cameras switch to the darkness and night time of the rainy Seattle night, Jason ‘Stalker’ Reeves does his best to move through the shadows and onwards to his nearby home. Unfortunately, destiny by design has a different plan for the Hardcore Icon, a paved road to place all the way in Lousiana, he just didn’t know it…. Yet.

The Collector:
Well… well… well…..

The unwelcoming voice of the man who would be known as Nigel Trickelbush makes Jason Reeves stop in his tracks, he turns to face the dark shadows behind him and Nigel’s smirk is enough to remind Jason of his time in the hospital room where The Collector first visited him.

The Collector:
I wonder… why you? What makes you so special to them that they consistently request me to find you and remind you that they are awaiting your response to their request.

Jason Reeves:
I have no fucking clue what you are talking about?

Moving in a circle around Jason, Nigel inspects the former Superior Championship Wrestling World Champion, the man who won the title, the grandest of them all right off the bat in his career. Never again did Jason ascend that position or ever match that success. It wasn’t for lack of trying - either, as his most critical moment saw Jason’s vengeance against Rocko Daymon cost his rival the coveted title that he always thirsted for the most, but none of that mattered for what was ahead of Jason Reeves now. The Kabal were seeking his presence now.

The Collector:
You know Jason… you know very well whom I am referring to. The Kabal has requested your presence to Say The Pledge.

Jason Reeves:
Oh… this fucking shit again. I knew.. You.. Where… Like do you just fucking poof around like a magic fucking dragon or something? How the hell did you find me and I told you once already I have no interest in The Kabal, a Pledge or whatever business shit you all are selling. I’m done with wrestling, I’m through with the life. I have no desire to risk my fucking neck anymore for anyone. I’m not your god damn Chosen One.

Chuckling with a sinister but satisfyingly weird cackle, Nigel shakes his head in the darkness of Seattle’s worst nights.

The Collector:
You seem to think it’s my interest in you that is why I am here. I simply have your destiny laid out before you, Jason. The Kabal doesn’t accept ‘No’. In three days you will receive a call.

Jason Reeves:
I don’t have a phone, who the fuck is going to call me?

The Collector:
They’ll find a way Jason. They always do, your family will reach out to you, if they have to.

Jason’s reaction to this statement is that of anger as he cracks his neck, balling up his fists he attempts to swing at Nigel but the drunken attempt is easily dodged by the shadowy Collector.

The Collector:
I’m not the enemy, Mr. Reeves, simply their messenger. You’d be wise not to do that again as I can bite back just as hard in my own special way.

Somehow the shadows help Nigel Tricklebush bring Jason to the flat of his back as the Hardcore Icon of Empire Pro Wrestling was suddenly looking up into the air and holding his back in pain.

Jason Reeves:
What the f… I have NO INTEREST MAN! Get the fuck away from me with your Kabal shit. I don’t know what they want from me but i’m not some god damn experiment. Just let me be, I don’t want to wrestle anymore.

The Collector:
…. You’d be surprised what I know about your future little man, don’t think of yourself as something special to me. My role here is that of priorities and what I get in exchange. Your pain that you endure now will pale in comparison to what they will do to you if you refuse their pledge. Does that resonate with your small witted brain? The Cheerleader will be sacrificed, your family scarred for life. 

Jason Reeves:
FUCK OFF! 

Hopping to his feet Jason once again charges into the shadows in an attempt to swing at Nigel but once again Nigel’s voice appears elsewhere and out of Jason’s reach. Sputtering around in the darkness, it’s a sight to see, as the grizzly and old Jason Reeves attempts to fight an invisible enemy.

The Collector:
Three Days, Jason. For whatever reason you exist in this world for… as you call it… ‘Stalker’s World’ - This Kabal wants you to have everything you desire in the palm of your hand. Don’t be foolish to yourself or those you care about and walk away from them. You are their Chosen One, Jason and they will ensure you become their sword.

With that the shadows begin to dissipate around a confused and angry Jason Reeves, looking ready for a fight Jason stares into the Seattle night at nothing but the surrounding streets around him. Little did he know that The Collector was right, about everything. Fade to Black.

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