(( The scene faded in to a dim, dusty, trash infested room. A fairly large room, with the walls painted a solid color of dull white throughout. A large stack of ripped mattresses were stacked up in the middle of the room. Broken dressers and kitchen tables were piled on top, and beside one another, off to the left of the mattresses.

        Throughout the rest of the room, various objects from their own broken past laid on the floor; scattered throughout the room as if an enormous gush of wind had organized the entire setup. Fliers from shows, years in the history book, were thrown on the floor. Foot prints were painted over the bright colors of their origin. And next to them, various other books and magazines and any other item that would be common in a standard home, were scattered across the floor of this disorganized room.

        Throughout the room, one consistent thing was evident . . . the low lying sound of static. Not overpowering to the ear, but heard if someone listened. And it persisted . . .

        The view shifted from the large view of the room, to the stacked pile of ripped mattresses sitting in the middle of the room. From there, the sound of static became more evident. The sound was coming from behind the mattresses. The static persisted . . .

        The view faded . . . .

        The view faded back into a scene of Zero, sitting in a backwards chair. His forehead rested against the stack of ripped mattresses. And, behind him, an old TV sat on a stand. The fuzz of the static lit up the dimly lit area. The sound of the static was evident, much more profound than it was from the front of the room.

        ststssstststssss . . . the static continued . . . ))

Zero:

        " Funny . . . how a man can believe what he says. It is as if the truth of what actually exists is no longer present in his words. For, a man can say whatever he pleases, and will hope that everyone is just as he is, and will believe it as well.

        " But, are some men blind? Do they have selective memories that only tell them of the past when only they are concerned in it? It is as if they choose to block out the bad and ugly, and only focus on the good . . . the good that will make them look better. It is in these hopes that they wish to gain a status of actually knowing what they are talking about.

        " A man like Iceman . . . is he a man who only believes what he says, or is he a man who has a selective memory? Does he 'stretch' the truth slightly, in order so that he will be justified in everything that he says? Or does he merely have a selective memory that plays back events to him in a way that it only shows him what he wants to see.

        " Or, are these two kinds of men the same in one?

        " When he talks, does he believe what even he says? Does he realize that he states remarks, and asks questions, that have no revelance to what actually happens? In fact, his questions . . . but more importantly, his accusations . . . never have a concrete base to justify his means. His remarks are filled with endless loopholes that even the simpliest of human could see. But can Iceman?

        " He made a remark, an accusation, about my being afraid of him. He stated that I vacated the HEW Hardcore Title months ago because I was . . . afraid. Afraid of the competition that was before me. Afraid of being defeated for my title, the greatest title in wrestling, the HEW Hardcore Title.

        " And yet, his accusation had no concrete behind it. For, if his selective memory would of allowed, he would of remembered the whole reason why I had to vacate the title in the first place. It was not out of fear, for I had no doubt in my abilities. No, it was for reasons out of my control . . . as the video that I left J-Smooth months ago, clearly stated. . . "

        (( Zero raised his head back, and turned around in his chair. He stared into the static of the Television that sat before him on the night stand. The sound of the static was becoming more persistent. Zero looked into the TV, and slowly adjusted himself in his seat.

        He leaned forward in the chair, and adjusted the settings on the TV. The static slowly died away . . . the irritating sound faded into the quiet shuffle as Zero moved his feet on the floor. ))

Zero:

        " Never let it be said I was a liar. For, I not only have my word, but I have proof that it was not out of fear of loosing the title, but for a whole different reason together, for why I was forced to vacate the HEW Hardcore Title.

        " What is about to play is the tape . . . by now the infamous tape . . . from back in April of this year. It was something I had to record myself, in a limited amount of time, because I had no time. I said all I could, but, the answer to your question, Iceman, was clearly stated . . . 5 months before you ever asked the question . . . "

        (( Zero twisted another setting on the television. Slowly, on the old television's screen, a blank screen came into focus. The TV was a black and white television, and suffered from a small glitch at the bottom of the screen, but sure enough, it was working. It was playing the tape Zero had left for J-Smooth. The tape had been propped against the HEW Hardcore Title in an abondoned locker room.

        The recording began . . . . ))

A locker room. Blank and drab, as all locker rooms are. The lights were low, and the sound of a cd playing in the background could be heard.         Zero, minus the lip ring, and with a worried and panicked look on his face, was seen staring blankly above the recording lenses. He seemed to be speachless, but at the same time, holding so much to say in.         He turned his face down, obviously looking down at something. The camera caught a glimpse of tarnished gold. It was the HEW Hardcore Title. The emotion in Zero's face was evident. He was having to do something he obviously didn't want to do. What was this message about?         Slowly, Zero took his attention off of the belt, and brought his face back around, looking indirectly into the camera. He opened his mouth to speak . . . and remained silent. He closed his eyes for a moment. Then, upon reopening them, slowly . . . began speaking, softly, into the camera. Zero:         " J-Smooth. You know me. You know what this title means to me. And you know, that unless some uncontrollable circumstance came along, it would take someone having to kill me before I would lose this title.         " By you knowing this, you understand the seriousness of what is about to happen. Let me explain . . .         " Three years ago, three bodies were found in an alley in Berkeley, Califoria, dead from gun shot wounds. The murderer was never found. It was searched by the California State Police, but still, no evidence ever came up. Eventually, the case was dropped, and labeled as a File 13. It has been this was for years now . . . until now.         " People have stayed clear of the alley from which the bodies were found in. It is the alley on Gilman Street, which borders the Gilman Apartments. It is a long, dead end alley, which has been used more for the dumpsters at the opening than anything else. But still, it was my home, the place from which I would always be found, trying to be at peace with myself. That very alley was where I grew up, and to this day, the only place where I feel at home.         " And still, I consider it my home. Maybe not a picture of how normal people imagine a home, with a white picket fence and flowers lining the concrete driveway that leads into the three car garage. No, but to each it's own.         I still go into the alley when I am at my worst. I find my peace there. And up until now, I have always been at peace there. Until now.         The other day, 'The Daily Gazette' done a feature on the triple murder that took place three years ago. And by doing so, pedestrians starting pieces together unknown peices, and came to the conslusion that it was I who committed the crime. They assumed this simply because of my constant inhabitance of the alley.         The police have been probing the alley here lately, trying to find clues that would link me to the crime . . . a crime in which I didn't commit. They feel that they finally have a lead. But actually, all they have is a man who prefers to keep at peace with himself in an alley.         I never assumed that anything would become of this. I never did, until yesterday, I saw the wanted paper. Outside of the courthouse, there was a statement that stated that there was a warrant out for my arrest . . . for Lint Douglas's arrest. I was shocked, outraged, and still . . . the fact that I had no proof of an aliby hit me. I could, and can, go to prison for a crime that I have never committed.         I can't stay around. I can't let them take me. I'm innocent, but there is no proof. I feel that maybe I am being framed. I hate to have to do what I am about to do.         The Berkeley Police Department has issued a warrant out for my arrest, linking me to a triple murder from three years ago. I am innocent, but no known in the courts would believe me. I know they wouldn't. And, I am unable to continue competing in the HEW at the present moment, simply for the fact that I can not have my where-abouts known to the police.         Therefore, I am having to vacate the HEW Hardcore title, and give it back to the front office. But, I will return for this belt, the belt that I have pieced back together by my own hands. It is, was, and will again, be mine.         Tell Karen what has happened. I have not been able to reach other, and it hurts me to have to do this to her. Please take care of her while I am away. For, I will be back. They can't keep me away forever.         Here beside this tape lies the belt. Put it up in a tournament. Put it up in a battle royal. Do as you see fit. But just remember . . . J-Smooth, I will be back to get what is mine. "         Zero lowered his head, obviously staring down at the title. His eyes looked dark and depressed. His facial expression was solumn. His outlook was apparant.         Zero got up from his seat. From the view of his waist up, you could see the overstuffed backpack full of items that he was carrying on his journey in an evasion of the police.         Then, suddenly, the recording stopped.

        (( And suddenly, the TV screen went back to static. Zero sat there in front of the TV, staring blankly into the screen. It was as if watching the video had brought back dark memories; untold stories of what had taken place while he was dodging the police, traveling from town to town across Central United States.

        Then, slowly, he snapped out of it. He reached over, and flipped a switch. Suddenly, the screen went off. No more static. No more irritating sounds. Just absolute quietness.

        Zero sat there in the quietness. His mind was still thinking of the video he had just watched. His head lowered . . . thinking to himself. He leaned forward in the chair, while keeping his head down. And slowly, he broke the silence by slowly speaking . . . ))

Zero:

        " For so long . . . I have dreaded the day I would have to witness a viewing of that tape. There are too many memories associated with it. Too many demons that are released with it. But . . . . I had no choice but to show it now. Iceman, you gave me no choice. You forced me. You made your wild accusations. You tried to slander me, and make me out to be afraid. This tape was my proof of otherwise.

        " Don't think you're actions will go unnoticed. I'm keeping a tabulation of you.

        " I asked a question earlier. Iceman . . . is he a man who only believes what he says, or is he a man who has a selective memory? Does he 'stretch' the truth slightly, in order so that he will be justified in everything that he says? Or does he merely have a selective memory that plays back events to him in a way that it only shows him what he wants to see?

        In sitting here and watching my proof of your false accusations, I am led to believe one thing. He is neither of those, but more, a HABITUAL LIAR. He goes off on wild escapades, making wild statements and bold stories that are complete farces. He does not stretch the truth. He does not have a bad memory. He makes things up to help further his own gain at the sake of others.

        By his accusations, by his blatant lies, he has only made himself clear that he is worse than he ever was the first time he was here. He can attack me at the last PPV, International Invasion. He can attack me at Terror. But it is when he begins to lie about facts that everyone knows, is when he crosses the line. That is when he has stepped past the border into acts that you do not want to get involved in. And that is why he was laid out at the hands of a steel chair this past Friday at Mayhem, by me. And that is why he will go down, ONCE AGAIN, to the Level Zero, this upcoming Terror. "

        (( While keeping his head, Zero slowly rose out of the chair he was sitting in. He walked past the ripped mattresses, over the dirty fliers, and up to the door leading out of the room. He raised his head slowly, looking back to the ripped matresses, to where, just past them, laid the infamous tape.

        Zero slowly blinked his eyes, and turned his head back to the door. Grabbing the door handle, he twisted it, and walked out of the room.

        The sound of television static could be heard as the scene slowly faded to black. ))

midi: "Infected" by Bad Religion