Ben Jackman walks out of gateway 23 at the Philidelphia Airport, his gym bag slung over his left shoulder. He is freshly shaved, his goatee standing out in contrast to his clean shaven cheeks and neck. Jackman's jet black is pulled back tightly against his head, and his ponytail is secured back with several black rubberbands almost invisible against the color of his hair. He is dressed well, a navy blue dress shirt buttoned all the way up with exception of the neck, a pair of immaculately pressed khaki slacks, and a tan sport jacket. He pauses a few steps into the main concourse and looks from left to right in search of the nearest exit. Jackman's eyes settle on an exit sign to his left and he heads off in that direction, his face stoic, his eyes unmoving. After a few minutes, Jackman reaches the exit door and pushes it open, stepping out into a cool February Philadelphia afternoon. Jackman begins to walk purposefully across the parking lot in search of his rental car, the now universally expected 2003 Nissan 350Z. After several minutes of searching he finds his car, and fishes the keys out of his pants pocket to unlock the door. Jackman slides the key into the lock and as he looks out across the rows of cars to his left and right he spies an approaching SHOOT Project camera crew. Jackman lifts the door handle and tosses his gym bag inside. He pulls his jacket off his well-defined shoulders, folds it over and tosses it into the car as well. Jackman then shuts the car door, and leans against the hood waiting for the camera crew's arrival. After a few moments the camera crew arives and Jackman nods his hello as they set up to film an impromptu promo. A few seconds later the thumbs up is given and Jackman begins.

"It's that time again. The week after I suffer two losses in one show, and I can hear it coming. I can hear the whispers floating around the lockerrooms. Just like the last time."

'Ben Jackman's slipping.'

'Jackman doesn't have what everybody thought he did.'

'Jackman isn't ready for the limelight.'

"You just go ahead and think that way gentlemen. I'll be more than happy to prove you wrong..again. Go ahead. Think that I'm slipping. Think that now may be your time to step up to the plate and knock off one SHOOT's few remaining icons. Think that way, boys. And find out just how quick I'll make you change your mind. Think that way. And I'll help you find out just what canvas tastes like. Step up to the plate."

Jackman leans back against the hood of the car, his face still cold and emotionless.

"I've put in my work. Every week for a solid year, I haven't missed a single show. Not one solitary show. Who else can say that? NOONE. I am a rock. No matter how badly I've been pounded the week before, no matter the beating I've taken. I've always been right back the next week to return the favor to some other SHOOT Project superstar. Not once, have I packed up and stayed home, if there was a show I was there, and everytime I walked down the SHOOT Project ramp, and competed. EVERYTIME."

Jackman props his hands up against the hood, lifting himself up onto the hood in a seated position.

"And just like the last time I dropped two in a row, I'm back. I'm pissed off, and I'm back in the ring against someone on the slide back down the ladder. Last time it was "Mr. PPV" Eddie E., a former SHOOT Project Rule of Surrender Champion. I stepped into the ring, and I beat the living hell out of him, and he hasn't been seen since. This time, its relative SHOOT newcomer The Riot, a man that's been labeled a jobber, a dissapointment, but despite all that he keeps winning. That ends tommorow from the First Union Center right here in Philadelphia."

Jackman smirks, his lips barely parting.

"Riot. You've talked all week about how bad you and your 'partner', the Wildcard beat me in the Rumble. A two-on-one situation, and you take pride in that, albeit the fact remains that after all was said and done both of you shitstains had been elminated from the Rumble and I was still right in the middle of it standing tall. Of course, you know that. But I suppose it suits you to suffer from selective memory."

Jackman laughs, adjusting on the hood of the car,he continues.

"So, bring your ass, Riot. Hell bring your partner. I know you probably will anyway. I've got more backup than you know, but if you want to test that fact then feel free to step the fuck up. I'm in the business of making people look bad. I've done the job of removing SHOOT's undesirables for the last year. Now...its your turn. Lights out Riot. You want it all...I've got it all. All I want is more...You Got Nada."

Camera fades to black as Jackman slides off the hood and into the driver seat of his rental car.