There's a twisted irony about the world we live in today.  Our world is corrupt yet equal - fair yet painfully biased.  You can be anybody you want, but you're only allowed to do certain things.  You are entitled to your own opinion, yet there is always someone that'll tell you that you're wrong.

There are critics at every step...in every turn.

The most ironic part about these critics is the fact that they aren't nearly as capable, or talented, as they portray themselves to be.  Under the surface, they're just as average and unimportant as the next guy.

When I came to the World Wrestling Alliance, I did it under the pretense that I'd stay under the wrap.  I had every intention to just come in here and earn a paycheck and no intention of garnering a spotlight - of ANY sort.

Yet my plan was foiled.

It didn't work.

Within hours of me competing in my first match, I was approached and threatened by a veteran WWA superstar who hides his face behind a mask.  I had done nothing to prompt his sudden aggression towards me - nothing except harbor my underlying abilities.

You see, Intrepid saw beyond what the rest of the WWA roster had seen.  Intrepid looked past the surface and recognized that I had the spirit of a killer.  He sensed all of my inner anguish and my desire to rip a man's teeth from his gums - a craving in which I'd killed.

Intrepid thought he'd be able to draw those demons from within me and use them to his advantage.  He wanted possession of a beast...a hitman...a monster.  And perhaps it was a feasible task - one that COULD'VE been completed, had Intrepid been a better man.

In the wrestling industry, there are two types of people who wear masks.  The first are those who are paying homage to their heritage - the luchadores and high fliers in the Mexican and Japanese promotions.  Then there's those who wear a mask because they're insecure about who they really are.

Have you ever tried talking to somebody that you felt was 'better' than you.  And through the whole conversation, you struggled to maintain eye contact because you were nervous or uptight.  We all have - it's human nature.

But the difference is, we've struggled through it.  We've grown from it and we've become stronger individuals because of it.

But guys like Intrepid - they haven't.

People like Intrepid wear a mask because it conceals their facial expressions.  It covers their eyes so that they don't have to struggle through the uncomfortable feeling of staring someone in the face.  It helps to erase their nagging sensation of insecurity.

It helps them coward away from the rest of the world.

And that's why when I tell you that a better man could've brought back out the demons in Chris Bagwell, I do not mean Intrepid.  Intrepid is not that person.  Intrepid is merely a coward searching for a means of acceptance.

Intrepid has surrounded himself with a slew of other weak, directionless, and insecure individuals and given them a faulty purpose.  To his credit, he's at least given his 'Communion' something to believe in.  And, had his motivation been positive, he'd have done a great thing.

But his motivation is not.  

Albert Einstein once said that "only one who devotes himself to a cause with his whole strength and soul can be a true master."  For Intrepid, his devotion is no more than a self-serving ideal that he should be the second coming of Jesus Christ.

He wants to be the type of 'master' that people bow to in fear.  He wants an army of men who live to serve him.  Yet what he doesn't understand is that the greatest leaders in the world earned their place in history by giving TOO the people...

...not taking FROM them.

Intrepid is a critic - one of the very same I mentioned to you just a minute ago.  He thrives on the criticism he gives to others.  He's consistently telling his Communion, RJ Stone included, that he's better than them and that they're not good enough.  Yet realistically, Intrepid knows no better than them.

I've seen the darker side of this industry.  I've lived through the drugs and the alcohol...the injuries and the backstabbings.  Hell, I've been the antagonist of the majority of those backstabbings.  I know how the industry works and so I know what he's trying to do.

Intrepid is simply looking to better himself without doing any of the leg work.  Problem is, he made the mistake of shining the spotlight down on me.  I tried to ignore it at first, but he was persistent. It's like poking a sleeping lion.  You poke and you poke and you poke and he doesn't move.  But eventually, if you keep poking, the bastard is going to wake up and rip your fucking head off.  I'm that lion, Intrepid.  I don't need to be wearing a World Championship Title around my waist for me to prove to you that I'm the king of this jungle.

And if you were half the leader you claim to be, you'd know that you already made one critical mistake.  No great (and I use that term loosely) dictator ever rose to power by leaving his moves to fate.  Every step was calculated near flawlessly.  Think Hitler, Stalin, or even Hussein.  And where did they all end up?

You let the Heat--the fans decide how you'll face me and they told you they wanted blood.

Your clock is ticking Intrepid.

You're not the man you believe yourself to be.

You're not capable of what you portray yourself to do.

You're underestimating my might...my will...and my legacy.

I WILL put an end to your Communion.

I WILL put an end to your 'new' God.

In case you forgot, Intrepid, my name is Chris fucking Bagwell.  But by night's close at Rage in the Cage, you can call me GENOCIDE - for I will have killed an entire religion!

Let it be known and let it be sworn.  YOU WILL BE TORN!