Late in the evening, the smokey restaurant clouds over and the dull hum of conversation settles. Only a handfull of people remain in Admiral's Fish & Chips, none of whom have ordered in the past hour. Slumped back in a corner booth, his head hung low, his face thinly veiled behind a pair of silver Cool Hands Luke sunglasses and a Toronto Maple Leafs ball cap pulled low on his brow, is half the World Tag Team Champions: Zack Perry. In a distressed brown duster and olive drab shirt, he draws little attention outside the typical New Jersey white trash, blending in with the scenery as he nurses a Diet Coke which had long since melted into an ice-water laced abomination. His cold fries have been picked at, but few eaten, and his fingertips drum anxiously on the edge of the table. "Zack ol' buddy," Perry mumbles to himself, "You need to get your game face on. It's titles time. Get it together. Just get it together."

Perry peers over the top of his sunglasses, glancing to the entrance as the door opens, jostling a small bell perched overhead. Stepping into the restaurant in a black leather jacket, purple Oakleys, and an black and red OWF tshirt, Jesse Williams glances around, the smile fading from his face. It takes him several seconds to even notice Perry huddled back in the corner, but as he does he makes a beeline, cutting through the tables until he drops casually into the bench opposite Perry. "This is a real sh*BLEEP*ole you managed to find here," Williams laughs, "Better be some kick *BLEEP*ss catfish or I am so out of here."

"I didn't pick this place for the food," Perry says in hushed tones, "We were supposed to be incognito."

"What for?" Williams laughs.

The bell jingles over the door behind them and two men in dark coats enter following Williams, taking a seat across the room. "Paparazzi," Perry shudders, nudging a finger their direction, "You get alot of attention these days."

"That happens when you're the greatest," Williams laughs, "Heck, even you and my dipsh*BLEEP* cous get your share of the limelight. Don't think I haven't noticed how you two march around flaunting those belts. If I wasn't busy Domi-Hating my way to a World Title run, I might be tempted to grab Acanthus and show you what the world's greatest wrestler can do."

"I was hoping to do this on the downlow," Perry sighs, "Guess I should have known sublety and Jesse Williams don't mix."

"The biggest stars shine the brightest," Williams laughs, "It's no big anyways, duder. They're so in the dark. They'll never find out until it's way too late."

Perry breathes a bit easier. "You got the inside scoop then?"

"If you want to call it that," Williams shrugs, "I got their offer a while ago. Thought it over, made a few calls. That kinda thing."

"What'd you decide?"

Williams laughs, "Don't sweat it. It's nothing that concerns you. What I can tell you is, in the grand scheme of things, Cody Frost and Chris Stewart are the small potatoes. Their Wasted Youth stint is just a shadow of something much bigger, but the real power players got their hands full with things alot more important that you and Lightning. No offense."

"None taken," Perry grins, "Number three tell of a bluff is trying to recruit your opponants. If they were better than us, they wouldn't be bothering with me. And if the weak member of the team impresses them, Lightning must have them shaking in their boots. Which explains why they gun for him in the two on one."

"Gunning for Lightning is just smart tactics, Zack," Williams counters, "I said they were small potatoes. I didn't say they were stupid. They take out Lightning; they win those titles. You and me and a hundred thousand ASW fans all know you can't win a match without help. He might be a d*BLEEP*, but you need Sonny Lightning a heck of alot more than he needs you."

"Thanks for the performance evaluation, but that's not why I asked you to come here," Perry says unamused, "I want the inside skinny. Their impressive bloodline aside, what are they actually capable of in the ring. I did my digging and I've got nothing so far. This indy garbage they claim is so great isn't exactly plastered over continental television."

"It's just indy stuff," Williams shrugs, "Guys doing crazy, reckless, stupid things to try and get enough attention to be picked up in the big leagues. Now they're in ASW. If their underground junk was so amazing, they'd still be there. ASW means syndication and recognition, which is two things they were lacking. They're the better end of the rookies, but they're still just exactly that: rookies. I wouldn't take their offer serious at all."

Perry lets out a brief, loud burst of laughter, clapping both hands over his mouth to choke it off as he draws attention to their table. "That was an offer I didn't entertain for a second," Perry grins, "They're 'Wasted Youth' for crying out loud. I am neither wasted nor youth. I'm their polar opposite. Invested Age, or something like that. Late 30s, main eventer, running roughshod over ASW for the past five years since I made it to the majors. No, I wasn't ever thinking about joining them. But when they dropped your name, I figured you'd have already looked them over for me, so I was hoping for a bit of inside info. Any idea what their beef is with Lightning?"

"He's a di*BLEEP*" Williams says emphatically.

"Guess you're the wrong one to ask about that one," Perry chuckles, "When they came in looking for Lethal Intent though, I figured they might have had some sort of unfinished score to settle. And being as Tavix Blood hasn't shown his face since he decided he didn't want to have anything to do with Chaos Theory, and slunk back into the corner to sulk, I guess I'm part of the invincible tag-team the new guys talk about backstage. Our title run has gone longer than Trent Kiel's, and we've dropped more challengers than Cold Grass. I never thought I'd say this, but six months of Chaos Theory seems to be outshining six years of the best ASW's had to offer."

"I wouldn't mention Cold Grass around these two if I were you," Williams cautions, "They fancy themselves kinda a next generation of that. Riding in on the coattails of real wrestlers who actually earned respect."

"Having quality wrestlers in the family doesn't make you one yourself," Perry nods.

"Yeah. Just look at you," Williams teases, "Your pops used to be one of the best in the biz. I remember watching him when I was a kid. And I don't think a lick of that talent passed on to you."

"I'm a better buisnessman than he is," Perry reminds him, "Sports Entertainment is just another buisness. You make the right contacts, you sign the right deals, and anyone can end up on top."

"But in a fight, you're still a loser," Williams chides, "Hell, I'll bet Nicky can about kick your a*BLEEP now."

"Not why we're here, Jess," Perry says grimly.

"Ah, don't get your panties in a bunch," Williams laughs, "I'm just messing with you. It's hilarious how you get all serious whenever people point out how pitiful you are in the ring. Hang on, let me guess, your gameplan for Slaughter is... tag in Lightning and let him win the match for you."

Perry presses his thumbs against his eyes over the top of his glasses, rubbing away the beginning of a migraine. "So they're just the standard rookies and you can't tell me much about the angst towards Lightning. Super. Sure glad I can to Filthburg, New Jersey two days early to find that out."

"Why they want Lightning doesn't matter," Williams reminds him, "The fact is, they do want him, and they don't really care about you. They're not bluffing on that one. If you did want to bail on Lightning, they'd have let you in. Whatever the reason, their beef is with him. That's something you can use."

"That's a wild card we haven't faced before," Perry chuckles, "Seems like the past six teams we faced were all gunning for me, and Lightning was just kinda along for the ride. I'm normally the one walking around with the big red bullseye on my head. Should be nice to come into a title defense where I'm not a walking target for once."

"Enjoy it while it lasts," Williams snickers, "After this match, I'm sure you'll rate pretty high up on their People To Kill list. You have a knack for that."

"Not my fault everyone's so sensitive," Perry laughs, "I don't take this stuff personally. I don't know why anyone else should either."

"But they do," Williams reminds him, "And so does Lightning. Three men in that ring are there for a grudge match, and you're the only one really looking to the titles. And keeping it real, you ain't going to be the one tapping them out in the Perry-lizer, so if you want to get through this thing, you best make sure Sonny gets his head screwed on straight. He can't go in their half-cocked, like he's got something to prove. You keep him focused on the match and you've got this thing in the bag."

"You're close," Perry says raising a finger and tapping it to the tip of his nose, "So close, but so far. As the buisnessman, the evil genius, the freaking Lex Luthor of Wrestling, I know exactly how important it is to stay detached. To forget about the names and faces and concentrate on the matches and titles. It's one of the biggest rookie mistakes people make, turning a match into something personal, going for another punch when they should be looking for the pin. Almost every new guy who walks through these doors is another form of a Wasted Youth, some punk kid with a chip on his shoulder and something to prove, looking for the biggest, brightest, oldest guy they can find to try and prove themselves in one match to be better than what we've spent years building for those crowds. Wrestling is full of those flash-in-the-pan rookies. Just like firecrackers. They pop out, make alot of noise, and in a flash they're gone. The real reputation for greatness doesn't come in one match, in one night, or in one title. It's in the years that follow. You know that more than anybody."

"Yeah," Williams says nodding his head, "But Lightning's differant-"

"He sure as heck is," Perry agrees, "He made it personal on day one and it's stayed that way for decades since. He's the explosion that doesn't fade, the fire that burns down all of Chicago. I used to think that all the personal grudges and vendettas and things to prove would be what held him back, and with all the hate I had in my black heart I threw myself at him every chance I could. But heck if the guy didn't put me in my place every single time, the only man who could take my years of planning and preparation, walk right through it and still knock me on my ear. I'm unbeatable at my game, messing with minds and manipulating the little people, but Sonny Lightning was just untouchable. And all the rules about getting sloppy when it turns personal and needing to focus on the titles and the win, none of that applied to Sonny Lightning. He's some kind of wrestling anomoly."

"Don't make me puke," Williams grumbles, "You know I can't stand it when you wax all poetic about my cousin."

"I can count my losses on one hand," Perry admits, "But it took Lightning planting me for a third time before I realized the truth of it. Lightning isn't like normal people. Lightning doesn't get angry, decide he wants to hurt somebody, then walk into the match thinking more about dealing damage than walking away with the win. Lightning doesn't lose his focus and make mistakes because it gets personal. Because when it gets personal, Lightning doesn't get angry. He gets motivated. When somebody really gets under his skin, it doesn't distract him from the match. It locks him onto them like a homing torpedo. They're all he thinks about. His every waking moment is spent focused on the poor, unfortunate twit who managed to get under his skin. And by the time they march down to that ring ready to try and prove themselves against the cornerstone of professional wrestling, he's so fired up it's like he's spent his past forty years leading up to this moment. Lightning's been through everything that could be thrown at a man, and he's still here taking more. After the first decade or so, the filler matches lose their appeal. Facing off against just any Joe Blow, he comes out and does his thing. But the poor sucker that gets him mad, that makes everything personal and gets him motivated to do his absolute worst, that drums up years of experience and the demons in him that make children cry at night. When Wasted Youth decided to take their cheap shot at Lightning, and get their ten minutes of fame at his expense, they opened up a Pandora's Box of misery they didn't even know existed. And at Slaughter, they're going to find out exactly how explosive Lightning can be."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Williams says sarcastically, "Sonny Lightning's the greatest thing since sliced bread. There's nothing you middle-aged wonders can't do. But face it, pal, Lightning's squaring off against a team that's dedicated to taking him out. Two men who's only concern is him. I know firsthand the guy can take his lumps, but he's not the same human punching bag you are. Once he's down a few pegs, are you sure you can rise to the occasion? Because honestly, Zack, even in a tag match, I'm still not so sure you have what it takes."

"Thirty measly times I need help to win a match, and I'm branded for life," Perry chuckles, "You act like I've never won a match without you."

"Well sometimes you used Meca," Williams admits, "Or Vegas. Or Garrett. And now Lightning. But Zack Perry carrying his own weight? I've never seen it."

"Then prepare to be amazed," Perry grins, "Maybe it's time I showed the entire world the other side of Zack Perry. Maybe it's time I stopped answering challenges and started making my own rules. And maybe wasting a couple of youths is just the chance I need to give the ol' maple leaf a good turn over."

"That's alot of maybes."

Perry grins. "Maybes are just opportunities. And opportunity doesn't always find the strongest or the fastest, or even the most skilled. But luckily, the smartest, like me, don't have to wait for opportunity to find us. We just make our own."

Perry stands up, dropping down a five dollar Canadian tip, then tips off his cap and glasses, stepping away from the table walking side by side with Williams. Paparazzi cameras flash from across the room as this covert meeting goes public. "Say Cheese," Perry says with a grin, stepping out into the cool night air and a whole world of opportunity.