Our scene fades in on a tattered black banner. The camera slowly pans back, bringing an old red 3WA logo adorned onto the rugged backdrop. As the camera pulls back a bit more there stands the vaguely familiar face of Shane Rothenstein. He looks much worse for wear than he did over a decade ago. Years ago he was going to be the next big thing in the world of professional wrestling. He was a second generation standout who was going to revolutionize the industry.
But things obviously played out differently for the young man. His fathers cut throat dealings and continued middle finger to the industry left Shane black listed from every major promotion. It wasn't because of anything he'd done - it was simply that he was the son of Stanley Victor Rothenstein.
Years gone by and now the tortured man who'd lived many a lifetime over the past decade. As our camera pulls back further we can see Shane standing in the midst of an old abandoned interview set that 3WA had used in the past. He stood in front of the backdrop, a very worn olive green hoodie snuck beneath the old 3WA World Championship strap that he had tossed over his shoulder. His once dark brown buzz cut was now teased up into a small faux hawk. His dark brown eyes shifted towards the camera. There was an emptiness hidden behind those eyes. A hand came up to rub the 5 o'clock shadow on his face.
"They said I would never step foot into another ring."
He slid the worn 3WA title off of his shoulder and let it hit the ground.
"They said this is the only strap I'd ever touch."
His eyes narrowed like that of a cobra, stalking it's prey.
"Were they ever wrong..."
A small smirk began to toy at the corners of his lips until it transformed into a sick and demented grin.
"The Ultratitle tournament is where I start my road to redemption. But it's also where I prove every insider, every pundit, every single promoter...hell...the entire world. This is where I prove them wrong. You see, just being involved in this tournament isn't enough for me."
His hand lifted up to rub his tired, sleepless eyes.
"For some the title is about prestige. For others it's about the money that comes along with it. For me, this is a culmination of ten plus years being told that I'd never work in this god damned industry again. You might have blackballed my old man from this business, but you sure as hell can't stop my destiny."
The grin pulled back from his features and his eyes glared into the camera, his voice lowering, almost into a whisper.
"It doesn't matter who's put in front of me. They are all just another rung on the ladder to my destiny. My immortality. Be it a Windham, a Flair, hell, a Melton, it doesn't matter. Each and every participant in this is like a domino. Line them up, one by one, turn them however you want, but the simple fact is that when the domino's begin to fall, all 127 of them, there will be one left standing."
He jerked his thumb roughly into his chest.
"And that's me. "The Southern ****ing Stud" Shane Rothenstein."
Our camera pans in on those determined eyes as we slowly fade to black.