Domino Harley [vs] Saint

People say that I am some what mental

(sorry, but I didn't have much time to work this week, but I didn't want to just no-show)

Lightning flashing in the sky; a light drizzle beginning to pitter-patter against the pavement of the city. Several passed by the alley upon which the camera was focused, huddling beneath shelter to avoid the rain. But as for the newcomer to Insurgency Wrestling, he stood in the alleyway as the rain fell upon his black-blotted mask, staring coldly into the camera, though obviously none could see his eyes. Soon he began to speak through the thick material.

Saint:
IWF for so long has required a cleansing. It has been stained by greed and corruption for far too long. I have heard the cries for a savior, but in this darkened hour, a savior will not come. You will not be cleansed from your sins. You will not be redeemed for your blasphemy. For so long I have watched in the shadows as men and women alike have exalted themselves at the expense of their peers, and it sickens me. So now, I have come to right the balance of the Insurgency.

He rested his back against the brick wall of the building behind him, caring not that his mask was dampened by the moisture falling upon it. Instead, he began to laugh to himself as he arched his head backwards, shaking it slowly.

Saint:
I bet that you are looking at this match yourself, Domino Harley, as your chance to esteem yourself as a true contender for whatever pitiful purpose you have ordained for yourself. You look at me as a being that will just fold to the pressure of the limelight, and you desire nothing more than to use me as your steppingstone. As your first step even. You see the fame and the glory afforded to a man like Griffin Hawkins, and you aspire to such a purpose, but inevitably, you will fall by the sword yourself. You are all guilty of the same sins - pride and lust. Your pride makes you believe you are worth the venom which you spew from your cancerous lips. Your lust for that which belongs to others will defeat you when the dust is settled and all is said and done.

You likely wonder who it is that I am. What my purpose is for the Insurgency. You might say to yourself that one could never achieve success in a cutthroat business such as this without breaking a few necks and stabbing a few people in the back. And perhaps you would not, no matter how unfortunate, be mistaken. And perhaps my purpose will all be for naught and I will have to bend my methods in order to fit my goals. No matter the road traveled though, the finale will be the same. IWF will cry for its savior, and its savior will look down at it as it crawls on its hands and its knees, and he will spit in its face for its sacrilege.

The man behind the mask cleared his throat, turning his back to the camera. But he slowly glanced over his shoulder, and though one could not tell through the black-blotted mask covering his face, a slight smile formed on his face as he looked over his shoulder once more at the camera.

Saint:
Who am I? I have been called many things in my life. Many things that I could never repeat in front of your television audience, nor would dare to even try. But as for you?

You may call me Saint.

With a loud clasp of thunder and a bright flash of lightening, the figure disappeared from the sight of the camera, as if into thin air. The storm continued to rage, but Saint was nowhere to be found.