A doorbell rings...once, twice, three times as Ben Jackman comes walking slowly down the hall of his Tampa home. He is shirtless, his chest and stomach still peppered with drops of water from his just completed shower. His hair is pulled up and tied back and his goatee and attached braid have been trimmed to perfection. Jackman hikes his black and red windshorts up gently as his massive left hand reaches out and encircles the doorknow swining it open. Mike Pecina, a man who is quickly becoming Ben's personal SHOOT Project 'camera crew' stands outside the door, a bright smile on his face. Jackman returns the smile, gesturing for Mike to step inside, which he does as Jackman turns and walks back toward the kitchen his voice floating over and back into the living room.

"You wanna beer, Mike?"

The cameraman cranes his neck toward the kitchen, raising his voice in response.

"Nah, Ben. Thats alright, you know I'm here to work."

Jackman returns from the kitchen two beers in tow. He pauses at the edge of the living room, and tosses one of the bottles Mike's way. Mike catches it deftly in his right hand, and arching his eyebrow at Jackman.

"Ah, for God's sake, Mike. Drink a beer. Besides I'd imagine you've brought me whatever 'work' the Riot has done so far this week. So drink up while I look that over, and then we'll get my thoughts on his thoughts, if he has any immediatly after."

Mike shakes his head as he pops his beer, and pulls out two DVDs of The Riot's two previous promos. Mike slides the first of the DVD's into the player and tosses Jackman a remote before settling into a chair across from Jackman's station on the couch. Jackman looks over to Mike with a smile, holding his beer up in the air, as he presses play, and the Riot's first promo begins.

"Cheers Mike."

Jackman leans back into the soft leather of his couch, alternately sipping his beer, arching his eyebrow at The Riot's unique blend of bullshit, and chuckling under his breath. The first promo ends, and Mike holds up the camera in silent question as to whether Jackman wants to respond to each of the promos seperately. Jackman only shakes his head, instead rising to his feet and sliding the DVD containing The Riot's second promo into the player before settling back down onto the couch. Jackman grunts disapprovingly as the title of The Riot's second promo appears on the screen, but remains silent until the promo ends, then with a broad he turns to Mike and nods. Mike takes a few moments to set the camera up before giving the thumbs up. Jackman clears his throat and begins.

"Well, would you look at this shit? Looks like I'm up against something I've never seen before. And here I thought I'd seen it all, but sadly in all my days in the SHOOT Project, now nearing a year I've never had the distinct yet laughable honor of fighting someone who spent the early portion of the week documenting their adventures in Tennis and Interior Decorating."

Jackman chuckles softly, a smile slowly breaking across his face.

"You know Riot, you must know that you're a bad motherfucker if you actually have the nuts to show me that shit. But here in lies your one problem, if you're getting winded playing tennis with a personal trainer then bitch...have I got a suprise for you. If running from side to side with a racket is gonna wear you out, then Riot, I'm am going to in no uncertain terms beat you until you can't move and then hang your sorry ass up by the ankles in the ring ropes and let you drip dry."

Jackman winks slyly at the camera.

"You see, you fucked around and showed weakness and thats the worst mistake you could ever make facing me. EVER. But you through it out there early...most people try to hide that kinda shit, maybe thats just your little way of saying 'Hey, Ben. Look how bad your gonna kick my ass. Wow, this tennis racket sure is heavy.' Maybe you know that you're little bad run of good luck has run out. Maybe you know the kind of shit you're in."

Jackman stands up from the couch, popping his neck back and forth as its still quite sore from Sunday's back to back fights.

"You see, Riot. You've showed a bull a red flag. You've let me smell blood on you almost a week in advance and now before it even begins, your game is all over. I am going to fucking eat you alive. Simple as that, and the sad shit is I had absolutely no problem with you until you had to go and mimic half the other no talent hacks I've had the extreme pleasure of beating the shit out of since joining SHOOT early last year. But then again, just like everything else you've sad and done, you just probably didn't know any better."

Jackman shakes his head in consternation

"Ben Jackoff? Bitch please. And here I thought you might actually have something to show, I've seen you in the ring, and as much as I hate to say it there ain't much to see, and the worst part is you can wrestle infinitely better than you can talk. You're out of your league fucking with me. Better part of valor says to run while you still can, but you don't like your too bright so I fully expect to see you come boucning down the ramp Sunday night."

Jackman looks down at the floor momentarily, unable to believe what hes up against in the Riot.

"Lets break this shit down for just a second, Riot. You say that I'm well respected and highly thought of around here, and on that point for once in your life, you're right. And then you follow that up with another close to true statement, you're right you don't have to beat me, and simply put you won't. But by the way you phrase what you've been saying you already know that. You know I'm right. You're openly admitting that you won't beat me, and then Riot, your logic all takes a flying leap out the window."

Jackman laughs.

"What you bring next is a barrage of bullshit like none I've EVER seen before. 'Jackman isn't that tough.' 'All I have to do is keeping him working his ass off.' 'That doesn't seem like much of a challenge at all.' And then you go out of your way again, and bite the style of EVERY OTHER jobber I've faced and insinuated gay escapades between myself and Del Carver. I can say easily right now that neither Ben Jackman nor Del Carver is gay, and even were I gay, I wouldn't be laying Carver, he's too old for my blood."

Jackman bellows with laughter, slowly regaining his composure.

"Carver, you know I'm fuckin with you. But Riot, I'm not fuckin with you in the least. You're in deep shit. Deeper than you can begin to imagine. Without my partner, I'm nothing? I think not son. I'm everything you've ever wanted to be. I'm the you, you've dreamt of being. I've got all the success...all the money...all the skills, and you? You Got Nada."

Jackman smiles broadly as the camera fades to black.