(The scene, in black and white, is of Tracer Bullet poring over some documents at a large oak desk. The voice over tells the story.)

VO: So many possibilities... so many past superstars that people would love to see make a return to the ranks of the WWA. So many EWA stars who would love to break out of the fold and make a name for themselves in the big time.

(Tracer sighs as he shifts the papers around on his desk.)

VO: On the plus side, I was able to eliminate at least one possibility. I was finally able to get ahold of Jen Segier. She swore up and down that Nik wasn't MY opponent, and when I asked if he'd be fighting Polaris, all she could reply with was "Who?"

(Tracer begins to stack a few papers, attempting to organize his thought processes a bit.)

VO: Warr has always been kind of a sneaky little bastard, but you'd think someone of my intelligence would be able to figure out his ploy. After all, I'm a private eye.

(Dramatic sting music plays and is cut off.)

VO: Ah, they found the sound file, I see. Anyway, I'll let myself talk for... erm... myself... now...

(The Bullet on screen begins addressing the camera.)

TB: Oh, I just know I'm going to screw up recording the voice-over later... but I can't really fault myself, I've got a lot on my mind. Not the least of which is trying to prepare for an opponent whose identity remains a mystery, even to me. Isn't it just so ironic that the private eye is being given a mystery man to fight? Matt Warr probably thinks he's pretty damn cute pulling a stunt like this. But I'm not going to let it get to me. If I can't figure it out soon, I'll just have to let the chips fall where they may, and focus more of my attention on the match I have tomorrow night against Nick Adams.

(Tracer scratches his chin thoughtfully.)

TB: Now, you don't think... nah, they wouldn't make him go through two matches in one night, especially when he's got a match for top contendership later on in the same show. Who knows, maybe through some bizarre twist of logic, I'm going to end up being my own mystery opponent Monday night. It wouldn't make a damn bit of sense, but it might make for some pretty good entertainment. Who wouldn't find it funny to see someone kick their own ass?

(Tracer begins clearing the papers off his desk and filing them away in the drawers.)

TB: I will say this... no matter who I have to fight Monday night, I'm going to walk away with a victory. I've faced seemingly insurmountable odds in the past and walked away the winner. This is going to be no different. If it's Randy Cross...

Tyler: God forbid he ever show up here again.

TB: ... Mantis, Outlaw, anyone on the current WWA or EWA rosters, or even Jack himself, risen from the dead... I'm not going to take well to getting any more losses on my record. You don't get to become a franchise player by staring up at the lights on a weekly basis.

Tyler: You don't? Are you sure that's not what all three of you have done?

TB: Do you ever shut up?

Tyler: Usually when the cameras stop rolling.

TB: I just had to get the one cameraman who multitasks.

(Tracer shakes his head sadly and motions for Tyler to fade to black with a simple flick of the wrist. Tyler, for once, actually heeds the call and fades to black.)