(WWA headquarters. It is a central nerve of activity. Inside, employees scutter around with purpose like army ants destroying it's prey. The large building hovers over the rest of the city like a tombstone, it's long shadow covering several city blocks.)

"It's just another stop."

(At least that is what he told himself. The carrier rushed into the building carrying only a simple white envelope he had picked up at the Post Office. This was his last drop. In and out.)

"Excuse me..."

(The amry ant-like workers continued to stir around him without even slowing. No matter. He glided up to the front desk and slammed his hand on the desk.)

"EXCUSE ME!"

(The receptionist spun around in her chair, lowering her glasses and shooting him a glance over them as if she were about to scold a child.)

"I have a certified letter for Wallace Coleman."

(The receptionist spun back around and picked up the phone. Faintly, he could hear her page Coleman. What a magnificant building. He had been in several of the surrounding buildings, but few were as extravagant as this one. He nodded in approval. Suddenly he felt a icy stare on the back of his neck. Quickly, he spun around to meet eyes with someone...)

"Are you Coleman?"

(The man gave him a nod. That was good enough for him. He extended out his arm, offering the letter to it's presumed owner.)

"I just need a signature and I'm out of here."

(Coleman huffed as he scribbled his name onto a clipboard. Apparently he had been interupted from whatever it is that he does to accept the letter.)

"Thanks, pal. Enjoy"

(And just like that, his day was over. He scurried out of the building like a rat on a sinking ship, whistling all the way.)

"That's odd."

(That was Coleman's first thought. He never got much mail, let alone CERTIFIED mail. It must be important. At least thats what he fooled himself into thinking. It wasn't more than a half a second before he tore into the package like a child diving into a box of cereal for a decoder ring.)

"hmmm...what have we got here?"

(Coleman unfolded the parchment paper. The print was fine calligraphy. Exquisitively well written. Remarkable penmanship. Had he won something? Had a long-lost relative died and left him a fortune? This was a very 'official' looking letter. He began to read aloud...)


"Mr. Coleman...Our apologies for not addressing you in person, however, there are certain appearances that we'd rather not make. After all, you are nothing more than a messenger, and should be very happy that we have chosen you to relay our message as is.

There is such ceremonial procedure that some lesser developed countries and their countrymen use to please the Gods with the hopes of garnering His favor for richer harvests and better weather.

It is called a sacrifice.

The procedure takes a live human being and slaughters him or her in front of the whole village while songs of celebration and dances of elation litter the landscape like the sacrifices blood on the alter.

This is supposed to be pleasing to whichever diety they choose to worship.

How appropriate.

Because if you think about it, that is exactly what your village, the WWA, has done to you.

KaOs, they have wrapped you up and left you on the alter...OUR alter...the wrestling ring with hopes of appeasing our insatiable bloodlust before it even begins.

And all the while, there will be songs and dances of celebration as the thousands of sadistic fans watch in awe as you...BOTH of you...are ripped and torn apart.

You are a...sacrificial lamb, so-to-speak.

How does that make you feel? How does it make the mighty Komodo Dragon feel that not only do we fully intend to "Piss off the Dragon", we fully intend to mutilate him beyond and comprehesable recognition.

And what about you Pyro? Seeing as how you enjoy playing with the fire so much, what a twist of fate that it will be the very flame that you play with that will consume and incenrate you like a bug caught underneath a magnifying glass.

But these are the paths that have been laid before you. We understand that. So don't be so bold as to take any of this personally. Because aside from the fact that you are simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, you aren't really given even the smallest second thought.

And why would you?

The opportunity in the WWA that you have completely squandered is the very reason WWA has chosen you to be the very first offering given to us. Perhaps if you had done more than explore your backside with your thumb, then you'd be worth a bit more than just another burnt offering.

So, while we appreciate the THOUGHT that went into this offering, it will not be enough.

We want more.

We want Jorge Samuelson and Shaman.
We want Belial Kahn and Tommy Starr.
We want Mister Black and Mister White.
We want Tracer Bullet and Denrol.

And we want it all right now.

KaOs is just the first stepping stone. We will sweep through the WWA like a plague that destroys anything in its path.

Regards,

Proteus, Legion, Kharon
The Kindred"

(Coleman wasn't sure how to feel. He nodded for a second, trying to take it all in, which was followed by a deep sigh. He spun to the receptionist, and handed the letter to her)

"Call Production and tell them to pick this up. I want it ready complete with graphics and teleprompt by the time Insider airs."

(As quickly as he appeared, Coleman disappeared back into the sea of Army Ants)

FADE