::Bright Light drags the viewers through the portal into T.V. land to the region of the Empire. Unseen fingers tickle the ivory to a ghastly melody that only gets faster and more intense with the passing time. The footage cuts through empty halls of pale tan far from the bright lights of New york city. Paint peels from the walls. Ceiling tiles crack and crumble, one falling to the floor in a cloud of dust to add to the near unseeable floor thanks to years of debris. The cameraman stumbles over the wreckage, walking into a cross-section in the establishment. Here he stops, looking into the open hallways that lead out of the room, and the wall in between.::

???: AAAAAAAA-HA-HA-HA-HA!

::The light bends, the footage flashing between two planes of existence: The real world of bleak tan walls and broken tiles, and a world void of color, grain through it reminiscent of old horror movies where the writing was literally on the walls. What it said? simply the number 30 over and over again on any open space possible. The piano presentation is quickly replaced by "115" by Elena Siegman, the footage passing between the two worlds to the beat of the pounding drums, finally settling on the chaotic black and white. With the change of dimensions, so comes a new form to greet us.::

::Ripped jean shorts of a dark color feel over his knees, exposing parts of his legs here and there, though the black wrestling boots he wore seemed surprisingly new. The crumbled image of a bloody "Halloween" mask sat on the front of the shirt he wore just under a tortured black vest. His hair was equally pitch, flying off in random directions, some coming down over his face, some sticking out in straight points. This man layed his hands flat on the floor next to him.::

???: Eeeeeee........Wwwwwww....Aaaaaaaa......

::He spoke with a trembling voice. His head waved slightly from said to side, still looking to the littered ground.::

???: Eeee....Wwww....Aaaa....

::His voice grew louder but remained shakey and almost paranoid in sound.::

???: EEE! WWW! AAA! EWA! EWA!

::His head thrusted forward with great force to each word, staggering off the final "A". With that he began to raise his head but not without battle from his own body. His skull shook with every passing second allowing his hair to do the same, but slowly he made eye contact. Those eyes. Those wicked eyes. They had seen things others would deem impossible, witnessed things mortals would not believe. Blackened by mascara that might as well have been put on with a paint roller. His bottom lip jutted out on the left, his nose crunching on the right in a scowl. He ponders how the cameraman's soul would taste before breaking the scowl in a slowly growing inhaling laugh, his lips barely parting until the very end. He cackles out into the darkness, then snaps his head down to the right and back striaght up at the camera, eyes widened, face straight.::

???: I've had these three letters carved into my head for weeks now. E.....W....A. "They're a bunch of fuckheads playing wrestler, Devin......", "They just stack the deck against guys like us, Devin....", "THEY CAN'T SEE......talent, Devin....but I can......" Eeeeeee...Wwwwww....Aaaaaaa....

::The man called "Devin" reaches up with both of his hands violently shaking, running one through his wildly unkept hair, the other stroking his black goatee. He begins to mumble to himself over and over again, words growing louder until his screams of "THRITY!" shake the room. He slaps on the walls behind him, leaping up and one to his knees, pounding the 30 covered walls with his fists before turning back to the camera like a deer in headlights.::

Devin: THRITY! THREE ZERO! THIRTY!......It's when it all b-begins, and where it aaaaaall ends, but don't, don't think for a miNUTE.....that I'm waiting until then to make my name. That I'm going to sit back at let Fankie, FRANKIE!, FRANKIE!, book me in some bullshit tag-team match!

::Devin looks up to the camera with his head lowered and scowl returning. Out of the corner of the camera inside the darkened hallway to his right the eye catches movement. It takes the form of a large male figure walking quickly by, but the speed which he moves and the darkness around him keeps him concealed.::

Devin: No I'm taking my life into my own hands. I'm taking initiative! I'm sending out an open challenge to the EWA locker room......but only a special breed can respond! I want the ugliest, the creepiest, the nastiest! I want the freaks! I want the monsters, AH-HA-HA-HA!

::Through the doorway to his left a second large figure walks dead center, turns to the camera, then walks don the hall into utter darkness.::

Devin: SO IF YOU THINK YOU'RE THE ABORTION OF NATURE I'M LOOKING FOR ::within a letter Devin's tone lowers, now growling through clenched teeth::then show your teeth and come try to bite my ears off!

::He grabs his ears and pulls down, yelling out as one last shadowy figure steps into frame, not leaving but rather looking on to see what happens. Devin looked back to the figure, slowly nodding his head and turning back to the camera with a blood thristy snarl.::

Devin: Try it! Be the first to get eaten alive! I'll be coming for you all eventually, but first you'll come to me! So welcome to my parlor, little flies! Welcome to the nightmare that is Devin Hearst! I'll be waaaaaaaaaaaaitiiiiiiiing! WAAAAAIIIITTTTIIIINNNNNGGG!!!! HAHAHA!! AAAAAAHAHAHA! AH-HA-HA-HA-HAAAAA!!

::Devin continues to laugh for a long period of time as the shadowed figure behind him is joined by the others that appeared before it. Just then, Devin's head shakes again as he goes completely stoic, bringing his hand up and snapping his fingers. At the end of the snap, the world returns to normal, the colos returning, the "30's" all over the walls washed away, and Devin, along with the shadows, gone into thin air. The footage rolls on in silence for a few more seconds before cutting to static, then shutting off as would an old Television.::