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"Gimme fuel, gimme fire, gimme that which I desire!"

As the opening verse to Metallica's "Fuel" blared across the speakers, the name "Salem Croft" would flash across the Titantron to a rousing response from the audience. The curtain to the backstage flew open as Salem literally ran onto the stage, microphone in hand and the tail of a black duster flapping behind him. The young rookie's arrival was warmly received, prompting the young man to move from one side of the stage to the other, addressing the crowd on both sides of the platform with inaudible shouts and beats of his chest. The adrenaline in his veins brought up his excitement level, thumping pulse keeping pace with the frantic guitar riffs and pedal stomps that played across the PA system.

"Turn on, I see red!" James Hetfield shouted, Salem pacing back to the mouth of the entrance ramp to stare down at Boxer with a confident grin. Salem may not have been in LWL for very long, but he'd found confidence and success in other promotions, so facing someone as talented as Boxer Anarchy - LWL's premiere titleholder - was more exciting than intimidating. He was eager to showcase his talents, but it appeared he had more than just fighting on his mind as Salem drew the microphone to his lips, crowd quieting some to hear the man speak.

"Boxer...I keep hearing talk that you're the guy to beat around here..." Salem said smoothly, his voice bearing a cool tenor that added a calm to his eager intensity. "...And that may be true. Until I enter the building. So, time to see which of us really has what it takes!"

Tossing the mic to the ground, Salem started down to the ring just as the chorus breakdown began playing, the passage a clear reflection of the fires that presently burned behind Salem's dark eyes as his gaze never left Boxer's on his way to the ring. Once at the apron, Salem would jump from the floor to the ring's edge in one motion, grasping the top rope with both hands to leap it like a gymnastic horse and stand before Boxer, walking straight up to the man, nearly chest-to-chest with LWL's longest-reigning champion without batting an eye. Thrusting both hands down, the four corners exploded with fire as the song came to a conclusion, Salem folding his duster and handing it to the official as the referee called for the bell to start the match.

Salrm shot back a cocky smirk as Boxer chested up, pressing their furrowed brows together to feel each other's jaw muscles clench. Standing his ground, Salem spoke not a word to The Anarchist...instead, raising his hands to either side of his head, staring Boxer down as he imitated double-barrel suicide through his own temples with 'hand'-guns before drawing the backs of his hands under his chin...flipping Boxer off Mafia-style.

Salem was too concerned with standing his ground to think about holding his own...ribs, that is, as Boxer's well-timed knee shot up like an arrow and rattled the lower section of Salem's ribcage. Stumbling back a step, Salem winced in pain as he cradled his abdomen from the blow. Formalities were over; the battle for dominance had begun, and Salem was the first to feel the sting of its sword.

Salem's gut was still wrenched in a knot from the force of Boxer's earlier knee, gasping from the surprise attack while still clutching his ribs. Though hunching over had helped Salem withstand the pain, it only served to aid the Anarchist's assault as another knee caught Salem across the cheek, sending his head snapping to the side as he fell down onto the mat, propped up by an elbow while he groaned at Boxer's feet.