In the beginning, there was nothing, floating in blackness. The abyss lingered for many centuries, if not millenniums, dark and empty. The endless void contained no life, no rocks, no stars, no gasses, and no matter whatsoever. If you stared into this abyss long enough, eventually the abyss would stare back.

Kaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa-

BOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMmmmmmmmmmm!

From somewhere deep within the unerring and unending blackness, a massive explosion suddenly shatters the still silence of the void, literally out of nowhere. Immense flames illuminate the nothingness, filling the endless space with a dark gray smoke. The spontaneous combustion of the abyss shoots out like a mushroom cloud for what would amount to trillions or quadrillions of miles, were there any living thing to measure it.

"Now the sun has come to Earth, Shrouded in a mushroom cloud of death."

Rather than a mushroom cloud of death, this sudden detonation of nothingness brings a mushroom cloud of life. As the flames descend back into the blackness from whence they came- possibly over a span of thousands or millions of years- new matter bursts into existence, filling the former emptiness. Large balls of gas and rock spring from nowhere, suddenly popping into existence. Slowly, but suddenly, an entire abundant universe sprawls out across the massive void. Ash rains down on the newly formed planets and stars as the fire burns itself out, a bright and massive sun forming in the center of it all.

Countless massive rocks begin to spin and circle around the newly formed sun, almost as though the rocks themselves were born lost and confused. Not knowing what else to do, they spiral around on their axes and dance in one big elliptical oval around the huge flaming ball of gas that is their sun.

On one special rock, a bizarre liquid cuts through the stone and covers most of the infantile planet. Two parts hydrogen, one part water. This liquid is called WATER, and it will bring forth true life into the newborn galaxy. This planet will become known as the Earth, and it will serve as the home for the only life in this entire galaxy, if not the entire universe.

From out of the water came many living creatures, some known and some unknown to the world today. These creatures would exist for countless years, evolving and changing over the centuries. After an indeterminable amount of time- since the concept was still unknown to the spinning rock- an "intelligent" carbon-based life form came to be. Evolved from the primates, this brilliant beast would eventually name itself MAN.

Josh Konnely sits quietly in a bar on Bourbon Street in the French Quarter of New Orleans, Louisiana. He sips from a glass of "dry" Coca-Cola. On the television, ESPN is discussing and analyzing the night's Super Bowl from every imaginable aspect in preparation for the big game.

Josh is dressed to fit in, wearing a plain gold polo shirt and black jeans. Sitting on the bar in front of him is a black duffel bag sporting the gold fleur-de-lis of the New Orleans Saints. The bartender appears to be looking at Josh intently, and Konnely turns his head away from the golden-haired man.

"Hey, I knew I recognized you. You're that wrestler from... STF, is it? You're... Jake Connery? Something like that?" the bartender questions.

"It's S-F-T, and yes, I am. I'm the World Champion. Name's Josh Konnely. My friends call me Kyle, or at least they would if I had any friends."

"AH, yes. Josh Konnely. That's it."

The bartender grabs a microphone, and calls for the attention of the other patrons. Many are already gathered together crowding the bar, and Bourbon Street, and most of the city in anticipation of the upcoming championship game.

"Ladies and gentlemen, if I may have your attention for just a moment, we have a celebrity in the house. He is the SFT Champion, Josh Kennedy. Josh, would you mind speaking?"

"Ugh. It's not really my thing."

Put on the spot, Josh reluctantly takes the microphone from the bartender. He takes another sip of his Coke before standing and turning away from the bar.

"Well, hello, New Orleans. I'm not really the public speaking type, so please forgive me. Some of you may know me, some of you may not. As your friend here said, I am the SFT Champion. My name is Josh Konnely- not Kennedy.

Now, I know that you're all looking forward to your New Orleans Saints squaring off with the Indianapolis Colts in tonight's Super Bowl.

But whether the Saints win or lose, there will be one World Champion in New Orleans tonight."

Konnely unzips the zipper of his bag, and pulls out the SFT Championship belt. He holds it up for all to see.

"Because I am here."

The bar patrons, many wearing Saints jerseys or other apparel, boo Josh for just suggesting that their team might lose.

"See, that right there is what we call in my sport 'cheap heat.' Kayfabe aside, I think both Manning brothers are highly overrated and neither one is deserving of the championship they each already have. So I say good luck to the Saints, I hope they expose Peyton and bring him down a notch."

The gathered Saints fans cheer.

"Now, this Wednesday night SFT brings its weekly live television broadcast of Strike Towers Wrestling here to The Big Easy. This is why I am in town, as I prepare to defend my championship.

I hope you will all come down Wednesday after the Saints have won the Super Bowl and celebrate with Strike Towers. Celebrate the Saints' World Championship win by heading over to New Orleans Arena and watching me RETAIN my World Championship.

Of course, the Lord knows I am no 'Saint,' although my opponent claims to be one. Saint Jude may look at this city and see it as his opportunity to "come marching in" and capture the World Heavyweight Championship. But I'm not Peyton Manning, and I'm damn sure not Eli. I will march into the home of the New Orleans Hornets and march out STILL World Champion.

Being as it IS the home of the Hornets, that will probably be the only World Championship that the New Orleans Arena will ever see."

The New Orleans faithful groan a little, but considering the Hornets' history cannot offer too much argument.

"As Saint Jude has stated, Strike Towers is in a 'state of darkness.' Yes, Strike Towers has been in a 'state of darkness' for several years now. And I have not been able to be a savior to this place which was in darkness even before I arrived. What Saint Jude fails to realize is that he and his stable of friends are the main reason why. For years The Wall has been keeping people out of Strike Towers and causing others to leave."

Many of the bar patrons begin to tone Josh out, not really interested in the state of the SFT on a night when their hometown team plays for the NFL Championship.

"Again, I welcome you all to come on down to the old wrasslin' show at the Arena. We've got a National Championship match on the card, along with my defense of this World Championship. Between the NFL and the SFT, let us make New Orleans a true City of Champions!"

Josh tosses the microphone back to the bartender, not wanting to say anything else and knowing nobody wants to hear anything else. Konnely finishes his Coca-Cola without bothering to sit back down. He grabs his bag and heads out the door, out onto bustling Bourbon Street.

"Saint Jude, you are weak. You are an ADDICT. We all saw you consumed by a desire for tobacco and alcohol. I commend you for being wise enough not to cave to your past addictions. Still, all that addictions are is an escape from the world. An escape from reality. A way to numb your mind to the pain and the suffering that is simply a natural part of day-to-day life.

Jude, I must also commend you for your dedication to morality and decency, even if your interpretations of these are a bit skewed. You display humility to the point of self-doubt and self-loathing. Yet you have enough pride to make yourself out as the moral compass of SFT, when in truth you fall short of being what you see yourself as.

Though I can find no true fault in you, Saint Jude, I view the claims of 'Sainthood' as blasphemy. Saints are supposed to guide people toward the light: I believe you more often lead people into darkness. The Wall as a whole is a destroyer and a plague rather than a savior. By way of guilt by association, you are a detriment to Strike Towers even when your intention is to save it.

The Wall makes SFT into a prison. Those on the inside long to get out, and those on the outside never want to end up in it. I may not be capable of saving SFT, but in that pursuit you are more of an obstacle than an ally. The best thing I can do to save SFT? Destroy The Wall.

I am sorry, Saint Jude, but that is the way it has to be. I will be praying for your salvation even as I carry out your destruction. My ring is no place for saints. I am The Butcher of Bridgeport, the Park City Punisher. I do not believe there is such a thing as a righteous man in this world: only self-righteous men. It is your self-righteousness and that of The Wall that poisons the life blood of Strike Towers. If you call on me to save SFT, I will have to do so by cleansing SFT of your poison. I will eradicate the poison that is The Wall once and for all. With one big bang, I shall bring The Wall crumbling down."

Fade to darkness.