Live from the Barclays Center

The camera pans to the announce team.

	Hello and welcome to Turmoil.
	Why does our logo have trash on it? This is not cool!

	Who knows...
	Anyway... We're only a few weeks away from the biggest event of the year and I can't wait.

Sophia is seen inconspicuously walking in the hallway. She stops at a mess of dirt spread on the hallway floor.

Sophia: What the…

She looks and reading the numbers 5717 and she picks her head up she is blindsided by a hooded figure. Sophia is disoriented on the ground and looks up unable to identify the assailant as the site of a boot hits her face knocking her out cold.

The figure drags Sophia over the dirt erasing the numbers on the ground.

???: We are going to have some fun…

The scene fades as a motionless Sophia is dragged into the distance by the hooded figure.

The camera pans to the announce team.

	This doesn't look good.
	Who was that? Sophia better be ok or we are going to have some problems over here.

B-17: Shh, shh, shh. Don’t struggle. It won’t help.

B-17 was hunched over a table hiding what lay on it from view of a camera positioned at ground level and slanted up. The room was cast in an eerie glow given off by black lights

B-17 looked over at one of the lights and pointed: They help me to clean up my mess. You wouldn't want to be a mess would you?

Plastic rustles and a muffled shout seems to sound from the black bowels of the room. The chilled temperature leaves a vapor trailing off from the steady exhales of B-17.

B-17: Hey, now calm down. You hyperventilate and you’re gonna pass out. The fun is in the anticipation.

B-17 turns away from the table and strides towards the camera, he obstructs the view as clinks of metal and scraping stone ominously cause more restlessness from...whatever is on the table.

The camera is treated to the heel of B-17’s boot and is knocked over and left staring at spotless stainless steel ceiling with only the head of B-17 visible.

B-17: Now, it just wasn’t going to work out. You can’t join us and then proceed to lose your very first match under our banner. It just makes us look weak. And you made Austin look bad--look stop trying to scream, it’s ok I understand--you’re sorry, but honestly it’s not you, it’s me. I just, you just disappointed me that night. And then you didn’t even show up to your match with Wrex.

SHUUUSH

SHUUUSH

B-17: Ok, seriously. Stop. The knife needs to be sharpened. It’s better this way, cuts through things far more easily, see, watch.

B-17 raises his hand and gently runs the blade across the palm of his other hand. Blood slowly drips with a soft trickle.

B-17: So clean--what don’t believe me? Watch.

B-17 stoops down with the knife.

MMPPPPHHHHHHHHHHHH

B-17: I told you! Might just keep this part, you know. Devil tattoo and all.

B-17 chortles, then burst out laughing. He doubles over with the bloody knife in his hand.

Finally he stands back up and wipes the tears from his eyes with the back of his bloody hand, leaving a streak across his face of crimson.

B-17: Devil. God, that was so funny. You called yourself the Devil! That’s just too funny. Well, guess you missed out on the finer points of what it takes to be the Devil! Imagine, how odd the world would be if we could all just be what we said we were! Oh if only...Still you believed it didn’t you? You honestly thought you were the devil, spiky hair, black tattoos, a little cape and some contacts...so spooky! I bet if you could do it all again, you would try something different, maybe.

Lost it thought he absent mindedly stares into the darkness of his own morality.

The thud of the knife and a squelching sound prompts an eruption of shouts: I suggest you don’t move your hand again.

B-17: Actually I guess it doesn’t matter. Save a spot for--nevermind. I’m sure we won’t be going to the same place.

The knife raises into the camera's view...just as it is about to come down the doorbell rings.

B-17 remains motionless.

The bell chimes again.

B-17: Excuse me.

THUD. THUD. THUD. THUD. THUD.

CREAK.

B-17: I’m busy!

Austin Lee: Um. #Whatthehell? Is that Ketchup?

B-17: What this, yeah, see. Taste great.

Lee: You know we have a match right?

B-17: Riiigghhhhtttt. Yeah, of course. Give me a few minutes?

Lee: No we got to---do I hear something?

B-17: Nope! Let’s go!

THUD. THUD. THUD. THUD. THUD.

Lee: Huh, I thought I heard someone down here…

B-17: Let’s go, Lee. We have more vital matters to deal with.

Lee: Hey, have you seen Devin?

B-17: Nope...

The camera pans to the announce team.

	What in the???
	I told you Bingo is a bit cuckoo.

	Up next Cactus Gauge takes on Sid Harrison.
	Let's see how this one goes.

Cactus Gauge

vs

Sid Harrison

The camera pans to the announce team.

	He will be feeling that for a couple of days.
	God rest his soul.

At this point the entrance music of Loki had changed so much in reflection of his mood the crowd had no idea who the hell was coming out when "Beautiful Day" by U2 came across the speakers. Still they cheered when they found it was Loki. The music may suck but Loki's hi-jinks had been enjoyable to watch over the past few months. When he finally made it to the ring he took a bow, tried to catch a mic thrown for him, missed said mic, got whacked in the face, tripped over his own feet trying to pick it up and tried speaking into the wrong end of the mic.

Loki: Yes! Yes! Yes! I beat Twinkie God!

The crowd roared in approval of having seen Loki outsmart Jacob Trance at Road 2 Glory.

Crowd: Twinkie God! Twinkie God!

Loki hopped about in obvious excitement.

Loki: And now I’ve got his contract!

Loki begins to run in a circle shouting: I’ve got his contract!

Loki: He’s my slave!

A nearby ring attendant begins to motion frantically for Loki. Loki scrambles over as fast as his feet can take him and leans over. The ring attendant, unable to reach anything else, grabs Loki by the hair. Loki yelps in pain while the gravity of his lack of racial sensitivity and neglect of elementary history is explained to him.

Loki: What do you mean I can’t say that on...what's national TV?

The attendant eyes damn near pop out of his head and he begins to gesture and talk with more urgency.

Loki: OH! Well….he can be my chauffeur, or my butler! HE COULD WEAR MY MAID OUTFIT!

The crowd is obviously uncomfortable at this point, in a desperate attempt to bring the crowd back, section 202 begins a Loki chant. Eventually the rest of the crowd follows suit.

Crowd: Loki! Loki! Loki!

Loki: Twinkie God! I have some demands to make of you.

Loki reaches into the front of his pants and begins to rummage about, eventually he pulls out a roll of parchment. He unfurls it and it rolls all the way to the mat.

Loki: Demand number one! I demand a hug! A good hug! If you refuse I will term- termite-terminus-what is that word...terminate! I will eat your contract!

Loki drags his finger down the list: Sorry, I was playing Tic-Tac-Toe...um here we go, demand number two! I demand you stop eating Twinkies! Demand number three, I demand you give free face painting to anyone that asks.

The crowd laughs, until they realize that Loki is serious.

Children are likely to die.

The camera pans to the announce team.

	If I was Jacob Trance, I would just find the nearest cliff and jump off it.
	I am sure it's not that bad Randy.

We pan into a dark room, a mysterious figure, shrouded by shadows sits in a throne. The figure’s most striking feature are its glowing red eyes.

Another figure enters the room, this one wearing a hooded cloak. It approaches the throne and kneels, it begins to speak in a deep masculine voice.

????: My Lord, the one they call T.Blade has returned.

We see the figure shift in the shadows, whether he shifts out of frustration, anger, or fear is obscured by the darkness.

RED EYES: We cannot have him interfering in our plans. Kassidy is vital to our goals here, we cannot allow him to uncover or prevent the plot.

????: Your will is my command. What would you have me do.

RED EYES: Since our attempts to subvert investigation failed to throw him off of our tracks we must take more direct action.

????: As you wish.

The camera pans to the announce team.

	What's that all about?
	Something stinks.

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