We click play on the video and as we do, a small loading icon appears in the middle of the blank screen, turning slowly as the video buffers for a moment before fading and the video begins to play. And now that it's playing, the first thing we see is none other than Supreme Championship Wrestling star and member of the Helms Dynasty himself, Jason Helms, standing in what appears to be a home-office of some description. Though decorated similarly, it’s definitely not the office inside his Mulholland Drive home in California, the layout is different and the desk while similar, is a slightly darker wood, which would suggest that it may just be the office inside of his home in Aurora, just outside of New Orleans. He stands in the middle of the shot wearing dark blue jeans and a black t-shirt, on the front of which is a cartoon version of Dante McCaffery seemingly on fire, his arms flailing in pain. Above the delightful image is the phrase “Dante’s Inferno”. Looking down, Jason chuckles a little to himself before he looks back up to the camera and opens his arms in a welcoming gesture to the fans who may be watching the video. As he does so, a date stamp appears in the bottom left hand corner of the screen which reads [09.24.2018]. Lowering his arms again, Jason slips his hands into the side pockets of his jeans before opening his mouth to address the camera. “Sup ass-clowns?” he asks with a grin, his usual way of addressing his fans at the start of his promos. It really is a term of endearment, honest. “And... well, fuck a doodle doo, it’s fatal fortunes time already. Holy shit, it doesn’t seem like two minutes ago that I lost at Rise to Greatness and with it we started the run to next year’s big Wahooni... but maybe Dante McCaffery and the Shitwork injuring my shoulder and leaving me unable to compete at Apocalypse has something to do with that, because main meds and bed rest kind of make all day’s melt into one! Well played Bree, getting someone else to do your fucking dirty work for you all over again... at least you hired someone a little closer to home this time though, and not just someone who hides in the bushes taking photos. Probably regretting that whole thing now though, huh, given you’ve been haunted by your own lurking photographers as of late. And you Dante... I expected better, bro! Aren’t you supposed to be a leader? Aren’t you supposed to be the man, the guy who keeps The Network together, the guy who dumped Quinne out of PUNK HAZARD, took control and rebuilt the unit in your own image?! When the fuck did you stoop so fucking low that you became a gun for hire and dragged your entire group down with you?!” he asks, shaking his head and sighing in disappointment. “Seriously, I mean aside from the fact that I’m gonna shove my fist through your stomach and break your god damn spine – Copyright Arnold Braunschweiger, The Jogging Guy, nineteen ninety seven – I just... I just don’t fucking get it bro! I mean, seriously, when did you sell out so badly that you’re willing to do someone else’s dirty work for cheap pay day from a cunt as pathetic as Ms. Classy Pants who can’t be bothered to deal with her own problems, huh?! And further to my fucking disbelief that you’ve stooped so fucking low... well, my next question is how you can do such a poor fucking job of it?! Okay, so I missed Apocalypse... there was three of you, bro! Three of you jumped me that night in Pittsburgh, three of you attacked me and sure, you bust up my shoulder enough to keep me from challenging Bree for the U.S title at the pay per view, which is where the booking was going, we all know that... but you used a door to do it, and let’s face it, when it’s three on one and it’s not even a month before the guy you attacked is back, that’s just poor fucking form bro, it’s a shit job all round!”

“And make no mistake guys, I am back,” he says, raising his arm to rotate his shoulder somewhat more theatrically than anyone normally would, just to demonstrate the point. “No surgery, no long term damage, just bruising and some wear and tear... and I’m not saying this because I need to polish my own ego a little, because I don’t care how bruised the old ego gets, I’m simply stating a fact. Bree couldn’t keep me down at Rise to Greatness even if she beat me, and the whole of the Network couldn’t keep me down either, despite having a numbers advantage and a handy door to use as a weapon! So I’m sorry to those who were hoping that I’d be gone for much longer, notably Bree Lancaster, members of my own family and probably Past Present Future as a whole, but I’m fucking back baby, and right now I’m just praying that I get booked in something that gives me the chance to get my hands on any of the rat bastards that have crossed me over the past few months, because I’m itching to go out there and prove a point!” he says, more animatedly than usual for him. It’s clear he’s excitable about being back after his injury and given what he missed at Apocalypse, that makes sense. “It could – and perhaps should – have been me walking into this show as the SCW United States champion, not knowing who I was going to defend against... I mean, I know there’s no guarantees that you’ll ever beat anyone in this business, despite what Bree and her arrogance would probably tell you to the contrary, but I was meant to be facing her at Apocalypse before the Pussy Squad earned a quick buck back in Pittsburgh... she beat me last time, but there was no guarantee that the result would be the same again in the rematch and it could have been me going into Fatal Fortunes to defend the U.S title in an unknown match against an unknown opponent until right before the bell. I can’t imagine how that must feel; in this business, you basically get at least a few days to prepare for a particular opponent at a minimum, so walking out there to defend after just learning who you’ll face? Can’t imagine how big a mind fuck that is...” he continues, looking thoughtful for a moment before he turns his gaze back to the camera. “Which makes me wonder who’ll react well and who’ll flip the fuck out when their name gets drawn... I mean, there’s basically two kind of people when it comes to champions in this business, right? There’s the fighting champion who’ll face absolutely anybody regardless of how much they deserve the opportunity... and then there’s the asshole champion who believes everyone is below them and will bitch and moan regardless of who it is they’re facing...”

“In fact, I’ll be shocked if that’s not Bree going into this show, but perhaps that’s just my bias showing due to truly believing that she really is the biggest, whiniest, most annoying bitch on this roster,” Jason says, smirking to himself as he cocks his head to one side slightly, truly amused at the face he expects Bree to pull when she hears he’s said that. “I don’t know if she’s even filmed anything for Fatal Fortunes yet, I don’t care in all honesty... but if she has or hasn’t, I think I can already imagine what she’ll say anyway; ‘oh, no one’s taking this from me babes, oh Jake Starr couldn’t stack up, Jason Helms is a loser, he didn’t deserve to be champion. Oh, I love Dom but I love Blake, but I want to be world champion, but oh my god babes, no one can compares to me and babes, seriously babes, I should be in Past Present Future because I’m going into Fatal Fortunes as U.S champ and I’ll be leaving as U.S champ to, here just let me pucker up and kiss Sienna right on her angelic chocolate starfish babes...’, ugh,” he says, before miming the act of punching someone he has in a side headlock. Lowering his arms again, he slips his hands back into the pockets of his jeans as he continues. “Now that’s a classy attitude, I think you can all agree... but I guess I can’t just spend my entire time in front of this camera finding new ways to mock Bree, can I? I mean, I’d love to do that, but I can imagine that would get a little tedious after like, the fifteenth or sixteenth joke, maybe seventeen at a push... maybe? But I actually don’t want to do that either, because believe it or not, despite being the kind of guy who doesn’t make a habit of getting overly excited in these things, I’m actually pretty stoked to be here right now. Seriously, maybe it’s just because I’m glad to finally be declared fit to compete again, and maybe it’s the fact that literally nobody other than those involved in the super-secret draw of secrecy know what’s to come, but man, this is edge of the seat stuff, am I right?!” he asks, grinning a surprisingly large genuine grin into the lens of the camera, proving that he is a man of his word in regards to how excited he is about what may be to come over the next two weeks. “And it’s not as if I’m expecting anything life changing for me, given I’ll be shocked if I don’t get like, I dunno, a bra and panties match against Derek Adonis or something when my name is pulled out of the draw... but that’s the beauty of this show, ain’t it?! It’s not just a case of hoping you get something big, it’s about all those random as hell matches that otherwise just wouldn’t make it onto SCW television! Can you imagine how fucking crazy these shows could be if the board really put their heads together to find some of the most obscure match gimmicks they could possibly come up with?! Christ, the chaos of this event alone makes it worth it, and even if I was still at home sat on my ass recovering from the shoulder injury that kept me out of Apocalypse, I would definitely be watching these two shows, because even if I wasn’t involved I’d be excited about what matches were going to happen!”

Jason grins for a moment, before turning away from the camera to compose himself a little. He may be excited about Fatal Fortunes but that doesn’t mean he has to lose his mind. After a moment, he turns back to the camera to continue his promo, this time a little less fanboy and a little more professional wrestler. “And I know it’s probably clichéd or generic to mention the fact that you could catch the biggest break imaginable when your name does come up, but I’d be insane to not at least mention it in passing, you know?” he says, shrugging his shoulders slightly. “I mean, anything can happen at this event... you could open the card with a regular vanilla match against someone that means nothing, or you could face the world champion for the world title, that’s the beauty of it. And as tough as it may be for the champions heading into Fatal Fortunes, it’s no easier for anybody back in that locker room, because until your name is drawn you just don’t know! The SCW twitter account said the draw was already made, and I’m shocked there’s been no leaks yet, because those wrestling gossip sites will do anything in order to get their hands on details in advance and as we know from previous bullshittery, like the stuff with my nephew getting called to attend a show despite the board giving him time off to be with his newly born daughter, SCW head office isn’t exactly the most secure place on the face of the planet. I mean, it’s no Fort Knox, you know? Am I shocked that someone hasn’t leaked details of what’s to come? I really am... head office has to have plenty of staffers who’d appreciate a quick buck enough to risk losing their job to get a photo of those two cards, but here we are, a couple days removed from the first night of Fatal Fortunes and nothing, nadda, zip!” he continues, pausing as he gives a small chuckle before continuing the video. “But hey, they do say that anticipation is half of the fun, right?! There’s going to be around fifty wrestlers backstage waiting to find out their fate, and for some it’s going to be like walking out to the gallows at dawn, while for others, it’s gonna feel like they’re about to walk out and headline Woodstock! Well you know what bro? You feel that way. You be the Jimmy Hendrix of SCW, you walk out there and shred that Fender strat and light the son of a bitch on fire... that’s not to anyone in particular, but to all the fucking roster here, whether I think you’re a gigantic ass clown or not, because nights like this Wednesday and the follow up next week? These are the moments that we fucking do this for! You can claim you’re in it for the money, the titles, the spirit of competition or any other reason, but if you can’t allow yourself to be excited about events such as this then you’re in the wrong fucking business! I may be a Jackass in a fucking myriad of ways, but I am so excited about what’s to come over these next two shows, and if we’re not excited then what the fuck do we expect those fans at home to be excited about, huh?!”

“See, I’ve allowed myself to get so bent out of shape by various things over the past few months that I think I forgot just how lucky I am to even be here,” Jason says, slowly nodding his head sadly for a moment before placing a smile back on his face. “Not in this company, not even in the business, but just on this planet. I really shouldn’t be, not when you consider the accident that could have cost me everything... but, much to the chagrin of fuck knows how many people, I am here, and despite how many years I missed because of the accident that robbed me of my memories for a good while as well as time I could have been involved in this business and really building upon the reputation I started to grow during my short time in TNT Wrestling... I need to remember that I have a lot to be thankful for and, hopefully, a long time ahead of me to continue this journey! Unlike my older brother, I don’t have the good reasons to hang up my boots early in order to enjoy plenty of time with a fully-functioning body. I’m in the best shape I’ve been in for years right now and despite my injury recently, I’m ready to face whoever the fuck that random draw booked me against, whether it’s the biggest match of the entire event or the least meaningful one that such a random draw could create. And that’s the key, because I don’t want to get hung up on whether I’ve got something ‘worthwhile’ or whether I’ve got something that’s ‘insulting’, I just want to enjoy the fact that I have anything! I’m lucky, and I need to remind myself that every morning, because I refuse to become anything like the bitter twisted fucks on this roster who forget just how good they do have it when even the slightest thing doesn’t go their way, cough-BreeReganAJ-cough...” he says before pretending to cough for real, patting at his chest a little with a fist. “Sorry... frog in my throat,” Jason says, smirking broadly at his obvious lie. “But I mean what I just said; I couldn’t care less whether I’m facing Sienna Swann for the world title or Billy Breakdown for a rusty spoon, these last few months have opened my fucking eyes to everything I’ve been doing wrong, and while you can still guarantee that I’m going all out to ensure Dante McCaffery, Savali and Jack Parker figure out why they made a huge god damn mistake by taking that easy cash grab, and while I’ll continue to troll Bree Whinecaster at every god damn turn... I’m not taking myself so seriously anymore, I’m not treating everything as if it’s the end of the fucking world. This isn’t an REM song – which is a catchy fucking song, don’t get me wrong – it’s a business that, despite having it’s short comings in certain aspects, I happen to love being a part of and if the changes I’ve undergone over the last nine or so months have taught me anything, it’s that I have to enjoy the small things as much as the big ones! So here’s to Fatal Fortunes and whatever the hell it brings to each and every mother fucker on the roster of this beautiful fucking company... if I had a beard right now, I’d raise it in a toast, but as is, I’d have to pause the video and head downstairs to grab one before starting filming again and that--” he starts to say before snapping his fingers and a sudden jump cut now shows him standing with a beer in his hand, which he turns and stares at in astonishment for a moment before turning to the camera to grin. “Well holy fuck, that worked... then here’s to you, you whining annoying wonderfully talented yet equally infuriating, know it all asshole jerks that make up this roster. Life’s short, fucking enjoy it, don’t waste it worrying about what may or may not happen over the next two shows, just fucking have fun! Cheers,” he says, before bringing the beer bottle up and chugging it down in one, belching loudly as he finishes drinking. “Alternatively, ignore every fucking word I say and make out that this is the most super serious thing to ever happy to you in the last six seconds, what the fuck do I care... but to you guys at home? Enjoy. Because I can guarantee you one thing. It’s gonna be fucking epic!” he says, bringing his empty hand up and pointing it at the camera like a gun, which he ‘fires’ as he shouts “BANG!” directly into the camera with a wink. He lowers his hand and raises his empty beer bottle in a final toast as the video dims and eventually, the replay button appears in the middle of the screen.