The sound of an acoustic guitar can be heard as the scene opens in the living room of Nathan Paradine's house in Companion, Minnesota. The Australian Submission Machine is standing in front of the wall, guitar in hand, starting intently at the photo of his victory over Lindsay Troy he promised he'd put up. The picture was shot mid-kick to the groin, capturing Troy's look of horror and Paradine's satisfied smirk. Paradine strums a few chords absent mindedly on the guitar before finding a tune.
Paradine: "There is... a house... in New Orleans..."
He trails off before placing his hand over the neck of the guitar, silencing the strings. He turns to face the camera, and it's immediately apparent that he's still feeling the after effects of the Mystery Box match. His sunglasses do a poor job of masking a black eye, and there's a stiffness to his movements. Nonetheless, he manages to crack a grin, although it comes across as a sort of grimace.
Paradine: "As you can probably tell, I'm a little bit worse for wear at the moment. But the aches and pains are all worth it for one simple reason... I won. I beat Lindsay Troy, fair and square. Actually, I didn't just beat her; I made the bitch tap out! She was a fighter, I'll give her that, but when it comes down to the Mark of Judas the result is always the same. Tap or nap, there's no other choice."
He holds out his hand and claps quickly, simulating a tap out.
Paradine: "I'm not one to dwell on the past though, so we look forward to Evolution this week. It's a reunion for the Hostile Elite against... who, exactly? disOrder? Well, dis my prediction for this week; you two, flat on your back, staring at the ceiling and wondering how you could have left such a bad impression signing your contracts that you'd get put in the ring against Trent Steel and myself in your first match. Now look, I'm all for seizing opportunities when they're handed to you but I'm going to say it right now; just don't bother. Your entrance is probably going to be longer than this match, okay? There's no point."
Paradine flashes another grin and removes his sunglasses, his blackened eye bloodshot and swollen.
Paradine: "See you at Evolution, kids."
"The concession stands are now selling those cheap hotel room round soap disks that I have personally blessed for $100’s a bar….AND SINNERS….I suggest you buy one, and use it, because if you think your God wants you in his heaven smelling like a 3am New York City uber ride you got another thing coming."