What you were previously watching suddenly turns to snow for several seconds, then blinks out, decreasing the picture to the small white dot in the screen. After a couple seconds, there's a ripple in the screen and the small dot comes back, increasing in size, to the full screen where the scene begins with Dorito sitting at his computer, just sitting there as he looks at a picture of Kylie Muller in a lingerie spread out over the three multisync monitors.

Dorito: Was that her bra? Was it? It smelled just like her. But it couldn't have been. There is no way Matt and Kylie are together. She's only liked Sonic when she was managing someone. Only him. Never Donovan, not Chris, not Lance, not anyone. She's a manipulator, yet she's too beautiful to do anything wrong. Matt's a manipulator. Mmmaaattt...grrr...is hhhe manipulating her? Or is she manipulating him? She can't sleep with him. She can't. I can't let her get infected.

Matt is a germ. You can be around him for so long and never know at all that he's simply infecting you. Infecting himself into you. Radical BreakDown was his way of infecting me. And then the time came that symptoms began to appear to show of what he really was. I became ill because of him and from then on I spent months fighting him before what I thought was the antidote, Sonic, kicked me in the face and cut me off. I fell to the virus until one day last summer when Alicia came to me. Came to me because of Matt. She became the new antidote, and it's definitely working because I know how to kill the virus. And the only way to do that, is to take what it lives for, so you draw the virus to fight you face to face, all out war in one battle. Matt Helmsley and Dorito will headline a pay-per view together one day because the possibility of them doing it on Distortion will leave at least one man dead on live television.

Television, hmpf, I once was the king of television. My first night in the business I defeated three men to become NCW television champion. A title that was taken away from me only two weeks later when I was injured and forced by the commissioner. For long I never thought about it, but then suddenly I had a craving for it. I had to have the title back, and the only way to get it back was to fight Pain Express for it. I had to ram the train and derail it to get what I wanted it. But there was another that wanted it, that needed it, that thrived to be TV champion for his mass-media company. Did I beat Pain Express for it? No. Did he beat me to retain it? No. But that title, that title was in my grasp, but no referee to see me with my hand on it. It was mine, but then it was stolen from me. It was stolen from Pain. Much time passes by until a few weeks ago when I thought I would finally get my chance. My opportunity to prove to all that it should have been my title. Rico lost to Pain one on one. Now we complete the round robin and prove that I can beat you, Pain Express. I can...and I will, this tuesday. You ran away when the time came for us last time. You ran away. Why? Why did you run away? Did you know what your fate was? Did you see it in your own eyes that the roadblock that you were, was going to get turned to mulch?

You saw it and you had to move yourself to the side of the road. A broken triangle can be mended together, but when it's shattered, there's nothing left for you in this business. Simply because you know that you're not good enough to ever rightfully be known as the best in the world, the world champion, because you know, and everyone else knows, that I beat you until you were nothing. And from that point you lose some of yourself. You lose some of your ego, your confidence, your will, because I own you, and it fears you.

I've been waiting since June for this match, but instead of simply fighting until one person cannot go any longer, it's a test to see whose skin is the strongest. First blood match. I could annihilate you in this match, but one strike from you and it could be over, for I may be bleeding. It's not wrestling. It's a fight, simple as that. As it stands, the ball is completely in your court. It's your field of play. It's all in your advantage. You're the King of the Gimmick matches. You're the Indiana Terminator. You're a farmboy who was raised working the finger to the bone, and then some. While I'm a cyberculturist. And although the rankings may say I'm ranked number one for the second week in a row, it doesn't matter to me at all what they say, as long as no one is listed above me. But perhaps as my fingers get ever closer to feeling Matt's blood, it makes me thirsty for some. If there is any one thing the Wired lacks, it's blood. The smell of, the feel of, the taste of the force that keeps each entity intact and alive. However blood creates some people to turn animalistic. They begin a desire for it and crave more and more once getting a sample taste. I got a sample of Pain Express back in july, and it's been driving me nuts since. And like a junkie, I need more of it. I need the taste of Pain Express. I've been waiting seven months for my next drink of it. Seven months. Waiting. Blood. Blood. Warm, fresh, blood. Blood.

Dorito licks his lips and takes a deep breath before exhaling it. Dorito sits back, looking euphorically far away as the scene suddenly blinks out, shrinking to a tiny white dot in the center of the screen followed by a ripple in the screen. The white dot expands to full size, turning from white to black in the process, leaving the screen blank.