Dan Stein: “The SHOOT Project Iron Fist Champion. That's who I am. That's who I will be known as until the day that I lose this belt, upon which I'll be known as Dan Stein, The FORMER SHOOT Project Iron Fist Champion. Winning this belt... the accomplishment of beating Adrian Corazon, CURRENT SHOOT Project World Heavyweight Champion, can never be taken away from me. The belt, sure. I could lose it. I could be stripped of it. I could retire and vacate it. But I will forever be known as a SHOOT Project Iron Fist Champion.”

Stein was talking to no one in particular, in fact, the camera wasn't even rolling yet. Stein was just talking to hear himself think.

Dan Stein: “The name Dan Stein is synonymous for 'rising star' right now; it's the name on everyone's mouths, it's the face that women choose to lust over. Dan Stein is becoming a big name, with big accomplishments. And all I can do right now is run away from it because it makes me scared. Scared to know what the fuck is happening; scared to find out what it's like to actually be... at peace. It's all I've know for the last year, I don't know how to be anything different than... scared.”

Stein shook his head as he stood up off the bed.

Dan Stein: “But I have to face it, I have to grow up. I have to become the man that my mom and pops wanted me to be. Nut up, fight like a fucking champ, like the champ I am, and come out the victor.”

Stein grabbed his hooded sweatshirt off of the bed and turned to walk out of the hotel room before stopping dead in his tracks and spinning his head to the side. In the corner of his eye was the Iron Fist Title. Stein turned and walked toward it until his reflection could be seen in the gold. He looked down at it, ran his fingers over it, and smirked.

Dan Stein: “Damn, you look good around my waist.”

* * *

Stein wore that black UnderArmour sweatshirt with the hood back, his blonde hair slicked with gel, gold rimmed Oakley aviators over his baby blue eyes. He walked down the sidewalk of Phoenix, Arizona with his hands in his jean pockets, thumbs in his belt loops. Dan walked quickly, confidently, towards a local Irish pub.

The place was packed, and the music was loud. People were drinking their favorites, from domestic beers to imported whiskeys, eating Reubens and all sorts of pizzas. It was exactly what Stein heard it was. Now that Stein Sky High was over and he had entire weeks off, Stein had done his researching on the local area.

Inside, Stein hurried himself to a booth. The place was dimly lit, which was even more inviting to Stein; He could look out at the people, but they couldn't look at him and realize who he was. Just the way he wanted it to be. Stein sat for a moment, glancing over his shoulders, before his waitress came over. A young, slender redhead with emerald green eyes.

Woman: “Wearin' sunglasses in the bar, huh? That hangover still going strong?”

Stein looked at her dumbfounded for a second before realizing what she was talking about. Stein fumbled for his glasses and slammed them down on the table.

Dan Stein: “No, no... just... Have I seen you before? In Las Vegas?”

Woman: “Maybe.”

She giggles.

Woman: “I go there from time to time. What do you want to drink, stud?”

Stein looked at her, his baby blue eyes locking on her green. Stein sighed quickly, then sat straight up.

Dan Stein: “I'll just take a water, with a lemon. And your number.”

She giggled again.

Woman: “Oh, I'm not that easy, Dan.”

Dan Stein: “HA! So you know who I am!”

The woman now started to fumble with her words.

Woman: “I... we... SHOOT Project...”

Dan Stein: “Yeah, yeah, yeah. You went to the SHOOT Project show when you were in Vegas, I get that. But the fact remains, you, a woman who rarely ever watches wrestling, I'm sure, picked me out of the rest to remember. So, how about that number?”

The woman looked at him, and shook her head, smirking.

Woman: “One water with lemon, coming right up.”

Stein let out that defeated sigh as she turned and walked away.

* * *

Stein's boot tapped on the ground as he walked into the camera's view from the side. Stein's Iron Fist Championship was on his shoulder, over the UnderArmour sweatshirt he was wearing. The gold rimmed sunglasses were still on – Stein was wearing the exact same thing he was in the bar.

The Lights: “I sat back this week, Azraith, and I waited for you to make the first impression. I waited for you to try and scare me with your intimidating catch phrase, I waited to see just what excuse you could come with for losing to me. I sat back to give you that respect, Azraith. But as the week went on, still no sign of Azraith DeMitri. And as I woke up today, still... nothing. I tried to give you the respect you deserved, Azraith. When are you going to return the favor?”

Stein moved the title to his other shoulder.

The Lights: “I'm not trying to make this a big 'respect me, rawr!' thing, Azraith. I don't need to beg and plead for you to respect me, you just... should. I am holding the title you're fighting for, the same title that you failed to obtain, the same title that I beat the man that put you out of OPW for the last time to retain. You're fighting for this title, again. Why?”

Stein nodded, running his hand through his hair.

The Lights: “It's because if you beat me, you get put back on that pedestal, right? You get the respect that you're refusing to give me, if you beat me. How do I know you're not giving me the respect I deserve? Every word you said to me two weeks ago on Revolution oozed with disrespect. The same thing with every word you said to me during the week before our match. You can't respect the fact that Dan Stein is finally accomplishing something. You can't respect the fact that the same dumb kid you remember as puking all over your shoes is finally accomplishing everything everyone thought he would do. He beat Adrian Corazon, arguably the greatest Iron Fist champion of all time, he beat Jonny Johnson, a name known world wide as one of the greatest in this business, ever. You don't RESPECT the fact that Dan Stein could, quite possibly, be at the top of his game right now.”

Stein paused.

The Lights: “Dan Stein, finally accomplishing something? Finally living up to the hype? Perfect opportunity for Azraith DeMitri to try and come back to make a name for himself in the place that totally disowned him. But you forgot one thing, Azraith. No matter how many weeks you have to shake off the ring rust, you will NEVER beat me.

“Not because I'm so much better than you, not because I'm a better wrestler than you, or a better fighter, none of that. But because you lack the ability to give me the respect that I deserve for holding this title. It doesn't matter if you like me, if you think I'm a punk kid, or if you don't realize why everyone is so high on me right now, I am holding a title that you simply can not beat me for, that you simply do not realize how hard I will fight to keep.”

Stein switched the title back to his other shoulder.

The Lights: “You're a former OPW Champion. A former SHOOT Project Iron Fist and DOJO Champion, you're a Hall of Famer in many companies in our circle. You've been The Sandman, Tyr, and now, you're The Ghost. You don't know how literal that name is, Azraith.

“The fact of the matter, Azraith, is that you will never be the same man you were before you hung Akira. You will never be the same man you were before you stuffed that cigar into Del Carver's eye. And the fear that you lived on after those instances, Azraith, wont get you this title. I will walk out to the ring in the middle of the US Airways Center not just as Dan 'The Lights' Stein, but as SHOOT Project's reigning Iron Fist champion. I respect you, Azraith. But I fear no man.”