Sitting in a stuffy cab with a driver who constantly spoke in a ferocious Japanese tongue to no one in particular was not exactly how Quietus had intended to spend his day. Without bothering to ask he rolled down the window in the back seat, which brought more gibberish from the driver. The Australian ignored him and the car crawled forward in the afternoon traffic. Horns blared here and there with the cab driver adding his assessment to the situation with a few yells out of his window. The sun that shone down seemed to be making a bee-line for the WWA wrestler, so much so that his leather jacket was tossed aside and very much off his shoulders. His white t-shirt clung to his back, sticky and wet from the undesired perspiration that February the twentieth brought. They were hopefully heading in the direction of a remote airport where a private jet would take Quietus to wherever he wanted to go. That was provided that Quietus' mocking hand gestures and scrawled directions on a piece of paper had been sufficient for the driver to know where he was to take this giant of a man.

As he sat in the back, seat belt not bothered with, he found little else to do but think about his life. And his life was quite simple -- the WWA, training for the WWA, and the WWA. The family were probably still all huddled around his father's hospital bed, if he was even still in hospital, that was. And knowing his old man, he'd probably have this notion that his only son had simply been unable to take time out from his mad schedule to go and visit him. For a guy who had travelled most of the world, Hugh Irwin was one naive aging man. And Ross was determined to leave such idiocy behind him.

A snigger and a sigh almost together followed, as Quietus sat back and stared out of the window. Dia De Los Muertos hadn't exactly gone to plan. The idiot with the long hair was probably on cloud bloody nine acknowledging his victory with as wide a smile as was possible for a twisted giant. Pushing a hand through his gelled back hair, Quietus couldn't help but giggle at Fathom's own naivety. If he thought that their one encounter would end it all; he'd need to think again. Quietus never enjoyed losing, and unlike some who may simply take it on the chin and walk off, he'd milk this for days and days -- kick up a fuss and curse at just about anyone within earshot. But not just yet. Because right there and then, he felt better than he usually would, coming off a loss at a Supercard. The reasoning was simple - he had gotten another one over on Ian Tense. Where's the Intercontinental belt, old boy? he felt like asking, but would leave it for a bit. He first wanted to taunt Ian in his own mind, just for the hell of it.

And so he simply sat in the car, slightly amused, but more agitated with his cab driver, who without warning took a quick right and they were on a much quieter street, traffic wise. A whoop of joy and an "I told you so" gesture to himself came from the driver, beads of sweat starting at his forehead and working their way down. He turned around and said something to Quietus with a grin, who returned the grin, sarcastically, but failed to respond. How could he? This drunken son of a bitch was talking faster than the speed of light. And then some more.

With Quietus' mind still somewhere away from the stuffy cab, it came to a halt abruptly beside a row of stalls. Quietus suddenly sat upright and took a quick glance around at his surroundings. There was no airstrip, certainly no aeroplanes, and not even the slightest sniff of an airport. The driver waited for his customer to get the hell out of his car, but he didn't for several seconds. He simply sat there, resigned to the fact that unless he suddenly found himself fluent in Japanese - he wouldn't be going to the airport just yet. Sticking a gum in his mouth to calm his nerves he finally got out, grabbing his leather jacket, before tossing a couple of notes in the driver's window. The car drove off immediately - so quickly that Quietus decided he had probably given way too much. But he didn't care. The Yen was a stupid currency anyway; there was no need to hold onto it.

Nothing in the stalls tickled his fancy by any stretch of the imagination. Plastic jewellery, t-shirts with Japanese writing, baseball caps, plastic shades, and other such meaningless items that brainless tourists would buy were all that was there. Just as Quietus was about to walk off and look for a proper place to go for a jog, a car pulled up right beside him on the footpath, ignoring the horns behind. Out of the car jumped a few cameramen, staring a hole right through the grinning giant.

"What the hell you doin' here?" one demanded gruffly, not at all impressed with his own grey t-shirt which was soaked beyond repair with sweat.

Quietus shook his head, as if to say "don't start" and the three slowly changed their mood. He was, after all, a lot bigger than any of them, and if he decided against a promo in the airport, they could deal with that. Hell, they still hadn't a clue if they were going in the right direction. They'd clubbed in to hire a taxi-driver who could speak English, and ended up with just that sort of driver. Well, he was able to say "hello" and burp to the letter 'D', anyway. The same taxi-driver yelled the humorous "hello" in the cameramen's direction, and one of the three strolled over, dug into his pockets, and handed some notes and coins over to the driver. He gave a look of disapproval to his customer, but drove off nonetheless.

Impatiently, Quietus drifted a little further down the path away from the stalls, which made the cameramen a lot happier. The smell of fish from that place had been unbearable. Finally the cameras were rolling, the necessary calls had been made to the higher-ups to confirm the change of scenery, and the promo could begin. The WWA audience's first picture was that of Quietus grinning broadly, his hair wetter than usual, this being credited to the sweat rather than an excess of gel.

"In a new season there has been an alarming change in conditions. At least in this hell-hole part of the world. And with the beginning of spring comes the usual spring cleaning - a chore to most, a pleasure to others. And with a certain Enigma apparently too big to lower himself to winning the World Title -- the WWA is in some need of a little dusting here and there as well."

As Quietus continued to walk he came back the way he had been driven, with a traffic-jam not far off. Not wanting to get up close and too cosy with the natives in their sleazy cars, he turned in the opposite direction to a part of town that wasn't the centre of attention. The buildings for the most part were derelict, all showing signs of wanting to simply collapse. The odd teenager here and there walked by, glancing around nervously at the camera as they turned into an alley. Other than them, however, this part of town was simply deserted. And it suited Quietus and his cameramen down to the ground. The less Japanese they heard and saw, the better.

"You see, the purpose of this is, according to an idiot named Bridge who reckons he's King Kong, to convince some important people that I'm someone worthy of getting involved with Grunge, humiliating him, and beating him. Unfortunately, and if you were alert enough you'd know, I don't work that way. So we'll see what we can do. I don't think it's all that intelligent to state the reasons why I, the person who's only achievement thus far has been humiliating Ian Tense enough to make him blink, should be in the front of the queue. Instead, I ask you to think, yes I'm sorry, you will need your thinking caps today somewhat, and gimme a couple of reasons why I shouldn't be there."

For a moment he stood still, arms folded mockingly, hand on chin, which he stroked every now and then, doing an unsuccessful attempt of acting like someone who was taking points from a huge audience. This brought him near tears as he began spluttering with laughter - mainly giggles - and bending down to further his point of what a funny guy he was. One of the cameramen shook his head off-screen, but no one else noticed.

"Silence speaks a thousand words, doesn't it? I mean, I would have expected a tonne of people screaming out things right now, telling me that I've yet to pay my dues...that I've only just arrived, et cetera, and yet, I've not heard a damn thing. And, you know what they say - no news is good news, right? So allow me to slowly but very surely turn your heads by doing very little indeed. Firstly, and just to ensure that we're on the same wavelength -- how many fingers am I holding up?"

Waving his hand in front of the camera just brought more laughter out of the Australian. Quietus the comedian. It had a nice ring to it. Unfortunately, no one else was all that interested in his jokes and sarcasm. Not that this bothered him in the slightest.

They were a bunch of grinches anyway.

"Good, so we can continue then. I've got no doubt in my mind that Ian Tense, my ol' buddy, wants a slice of the cake. I've also got no doubt that you don't want to see him with that belt in his grasp ever again. So, allow me to be your...how should I put it...saviour. Sent by God, as I told Fathom all those days again, if you're able to remember that far back. I'll save the WWA from certain damnation by keeping Iany outta the World Title frame. Oh I'm sure he's going to be quite angry over how he lost his match the other day to a monkey who wears shades, and I'd gladly be the person to calm him down, if you will. No, no, this isn't a challenge -- this is an agreement; no matter who Iany faces, if, of course, he scares you enough to pick him - I'll make sure he goes no further. But, with an agreement, comes my end of the bargain, yeah? What can you possibly do for me? Well, furthermore, what could you possibly do for me that would be good for you? Ah ha -- did you get it yet? Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

Quietus smiled goofily at the camera [purposely] and adjusted his shades to fully cover his eyes and protect them from that damn sun. It continued to make its way through everything and anything to shine right down on him. Or at least, that's how he saw it. Who knows, he might even bring the thing to court to sue for bullying if he had the time.

"This is, after all, the time to be spring cleaning, and I'm in the perfect mindset to go about other people's chores. Knock off a has-been here, kick a guy reliving past glory in the teeth there, and all of a sudden the WWA has got this new appeal. It's no secret that this isn't the place it once was. And if there were a way to become that place again, regain its past supremacy, surely you'd take it, wouldn't you? Surely you wouldn't be a bit sceptical, let out a couple of groans and go "oh, I dunno", and leave it at that? You're paid to make decisions, gentlemen, and this baby is smacking you right in the face, knocking on the side of your head to make sure that there's someone home number one, and number two, someone home who knows a good choice when he sees one."

Catching a point at the watch from one of the cameramen, Quietus frowned slightly, not sure if things had gone according to plan. Hell, he probably hadn't even annoyed Ian Tense any more than he had done already. Sighing, slightly in resignation, he turns around and walks back in the direction he had came.

"This isn't a cry for help. To be honest, I couldn't give a damn if you pick four pretty boys to slug it out to lose to the rock 'n roll star. To be even more honest, I couldn't give a damn if the WWA began crumbling into the ground thanks to that one idiotic decision. Because should that happen, I'll be the one standing on top of the rubble, pointing, laughing, and screaming at the top of my lungs "I told you so". So decide what you like -- I'll be the winner either way when all comes to a crumbling end."

He grabbed the shades and yanked them off his face, grinning more than ever now. With another jeering grin he winked at the camera and followed this up with the customary kiss. And then, just as quickly and without so much as another word of acknowledgement, Quietus walked off, whistling aloud so that anyone who was around would hear him.

He wanted to spread the word and be who God wanted him to be -- the biggest asshole in known civilisation. And he was doing a damn fine job.