The scene opens up at some raver club in Los Angeles. The camera pans over people's head, various lights flashing everywhere with "Dark Machine" by Paul Oakenfold pulsating throughout the place. Hundreds of beautiful people wearing flashy clothes, covered in glitter as various cannons in the walls, ceiling, and ground shoot some a pop out once every few seconds, from just one various air-cannon in the whole club though at a time. Passing over various people's heads, people of various ethnicities, races, moving with the music as if they're programmed to do so. This is real, no pop choreography done with the so-called musicians who care more about fame and money than actual music. Oakenfold is the name, his pulse makes you dance, once you let him in. And if you aren't dancing, you're bobbing your head, there's no denial, Oakenfold is like no other. The best DJ in the world, unquestioned. Trance, Rave, Club, Dance, it's all the same, even if it gets mixed in as common pop culture calls it techno. Yet they don't realize that pop is mimicking techno, they don't know it. Some more panning of the participants, those able to pass the bouncer's qualifications to merely get in, those deemed cool enough. Ah, here we go, Alica Helmsley is a purple-metallic minidress with the back cutout, or something like that, as the texture of the fabric practically meshes with the naked skin of her soft body and around every curve. Groovin', dancin', grindin', bobbin', kickin'..her body convulsing with the beat like the hot potato she is, and attracting whatever attention to herself that she can. Men and women get up close to her for the next minute or two, pulsating with the sound as they express themselves without thinking. Eventually the song switches up to another as Alicia breaks her trance and starts walking through the sea of people. After a little while, she comes to the wall where a few people are sitting around, one of them sitting on a curved bench just off from the wall, a foot on either side with his laptop sitting between his legs, as he sits hunched over, typing away.

Alicia: Hey D, come on, get up and start ravin'.

Dorito lifts his head toward her, glitter in his hair as he looks at her through his mirror-reflective silver morpheus sunglasses.

Dorito: Nah, you go ahead. I'm reading something.

Alicia: Reading, writing, and thinking, that's all you ever do. And you didn't even want to go to Distortion last week, and now look, you're fighting the number one contender next week. So why don't you just get up for a few minutes at least and come rave, it is a bit of a workout actually.

Dorito just looks back down at his computer, throwing his hand out as if to wave her off.

Alicia: Fine, but you're dancing later tonight, like it or not, you're going to. Depressing piece of...

And with that, Alicia turns and wanders back into the crowd, mumbling the last sentence as she goes. Dorito sits silently for a few seconds, thinking, scheming, planning, seeing, rethinking, then begins to speak to himself.

Dorito: Much has changed in the past ten days. My ally, my tag team partner kicked me in the face to knock me out of the battle royal. He kicked me in the face when I was reaching for something I wanted more than some decrepid world title. The Crow kicked me in the face of what belongs to my family. He kicked me in the face for the tag team title. To be aligned with his biggest enemy, fa la la la. Like that's never been seen before. Good teammates, better enemies. Yet after taking anything and everything over and over in succession tuesday night, Crow took ten seconds to turn around and retain the titles on his own. If he has just thought of what the actions of his consequences could have done, this whole mess with Loanwolfe could have been avoided, tsk tsk. For being the supreme being that the Crow is, that Loanwolfe was altered to be, that forty-two and three-sevenths of other supreme begins came and went through N-C-dub. No one is born to be that. Actually, no one is born, period. For all that is, creation 'twas key.

Dorito reaches down underneath the bench, and picks up a glass with some sort of liquid that appears to be glowing. He takes a sip, then sets it back underneath him.

Dorito: Act before thinking brings consequences. Scheming before considering brings consequences. Consequences come from actions. Everything is a consequence from a prior action. Whether you caused it or not, it's still a consequence that may encounter you. Your action, thinking or not thinking, still brings you to encounter this consequence. Some pay, some don't. What would have happened if Crow hadn't had the ulterior motive to kick me in the face? He made the action that brought me to elimination. Yet my own actions brought me to that as well. A simple breath may have brought me to that during the course of the rumble. Everyone in that battle royal consequated to my elimination. Crow and Loanwolfe, worst of friends, best of enemies, and the clock is ticking before the final tock of the detonation. I will take the tag team titles, but what person in WorldWide would deem themselves crazy enough, so they proclaim, to team with me? Crow seemed to be, or was he afterall? Being upfront is what people want, but they fear what is grinding in the subconscious. What they can do but try to regress, for they're programmed to not let it take over. Yet for some, it does take over. Someone whom may be feared, not for their thoughts, but for their actions. Someone who won't just look down at someone like the Crow and Loanwolfe for their staple on the roster, but want to fight and fight til there is no chance of even an encore. Someone like...

Someone drops down onto the bench just behind Dorito, touching his back, and he looks over his shoulder to see a couple of women(?) with their faces painted up and are glowing in the dark a couple of colors. He looks back at his machine.

Dorito: ...The Great Malinko. He'd work as a partner. He's undefeated, a monster, destroyed Peccant, but that's not a feat. Who can't beat Peccant? Just blow him and he falls over. Yet, tuesday night I face the number one contender to the greatest in the world. Ooh, the greatest in the whole wide world, Mr. I'm Not Going To Say Very Much But I'm Going To Talk More Than Three College Professors Giving Lectures One After The Other. If that's not talking very much for Pain Express, then I'd hate to see what a lecture from him is like. Good thing he never went to school to become a teacher and instead turned to be a farmboy who ran off to Japan and Mexico and everywhere. What is the reason for this? Consequences. One thing we don't like is being controlled, yet last Distortion, at the start, he was practically licking Mm'K's shoes. Odd as well is Mm'K calling him just Malinko and not Great Malinko, when I've seen him pretty much try bite people's fingers off for not adding in the 'Great' part in his surname. Yet, the Great Malinko did absolutely nothing in response. Yet later on in the show he was upset and bitter once more. Maybe someone slipped in the Mini Moni cd into his music assortment before the show as some rib. Since when did he kiss up so much like that? He never did that to Missle. No matter. Tuesday night won't be quite a distortion, more like...

The Paul Oakenfold remix of "Out of the Blue" by System F switches in and Dorito gets grabbed from behind and pulled to his feet and his one leg taken over the bench. He turns about, throwing the arms out of who grabbed him to look at Alicia.

Alicia: Come on! Let's go bro otherwise you'll be sitting there til the place closes and never moved an inch. It's time you at least lived a for a few minutes.

Dorito: How 'bout not?

He turns back toward his spot, but Alicia grabs his shoulder and jerks him back around.

Alicia: What? Afraid you'll embarass yourself?

Dorito: How about embarassing you? I don't dance.

He shrugs her hand off and turns back and takes a step, but she grabs him by the hair and pulls him back, and Dorito turns to look up at her as she holds him down a little.

Alicia: Don't send in the clown?

Dorito: No, send in the clown. Throw them all in a friggin' box, don't cut out any holes, and send them through the damn mail. As long as you send in the clowns.

Alicia: Soo, you want to dance?

Dorito: Britney Spears never once touched her own instrument, everything is programmed to go with her voice. What would you really think of her though if you never seen her face, or heard about everything she did and said today in private or public? There'd be no sex appeal to appease corporations in the aid of selling. Musicians are whores for the RIAA, and for some, the MPAA. Britney, Eminem, Aerosmith, they're all whores. And I don't intend to be one for Mm'K or Kylie.

Alicia: Shutup, you're my whore, got it?

Dorito looks at her for a couple of seconds as everyone around is raving, and he turns his head to look back at the beautiful women with their faces painted, the clowns, whom look right at him at that very moment. He looks back at Alicia then.

Dorito: Tuesday night I face the Great Malinko. The way it kind of looked last week, he become Mm'K's whore. So we'll see if there's anything great to this whore, aside from his name.

Alicia starts to lightly dance with the music as she seems to pull him a little bit more and more into the crowd of people.

Alicia: At least you're done with Matt and over him and this world title thing. But I still think you deserve a rematch.

Dorito: Don't worry about any of that, I've got a bite.

Alicia: A bite?! What's that supposed to mean?!

As they sink further and further into the crowd, the music gets louder, for they raise their voices.

Dorito: Nothing!

The sound of Oakenfold pulls you in, once you actually hear it. And Dorito starts to listen as he starts a little dancing as the scene looks over to see the clowns looking over at the unattended laptop, just pointing and talking, as the scene abruptly cuts to snow and the sound that goes with it. You, being the person you are, change the channel with one simple click.