The hallways backstage were less than crowded, the only real activity being the crew members running about to keep the show running smoothly. The only one to seem out of place was the tall, thick figure that paced through in a leather trench coat covering his body and a fedora, completed by the baseball bat gripped in his right glove. Each crew member continued working and ignored him, having far more important things to attend to.
The massive figure stopped near the curtain to take a seat on a spare fold-out chair. With a heavy sigh, he rested his elbows against his knees, the black jeans underneath exposed as the coat fell to his sides. "Another night... Heh, never thought I'd be debuting again," the man muttered to himself, the deep voice barely echoing through the halls. He looked up to glance around the area that surrounded him, his weary eyes looking for any familiar faces, but there wasn't even a soul around. He sat in silence for what seemed to be hours, his eyes remaining on the ground at his feet. Wrestlers passed by as their matches started or ended, though he never looked up to see if he knew one of them...
The only sound that broke through was the occasional roar of the fans behind the curtain. Flashbacks filled with glory and valor flooded his mind, mixing in with the memories of lost achievements and agonizing moments throughout his history. Each memory hit him like a freight train, some even causing his muscles to twitch occasionally. This kept up until the sound of his intro guitar riff broke through his meditation. "Show time..." He muttered as he stood, gripping the bat in his right hand. With slow steps, he moved to the black curtain and stared it down, as if waiting for it to open for him. He moved to open the curtain, though he paused once the arm of the leather trench coat entered his view. With a sigh, he dropped the bat to his feet and quickly pulled the leather coat off, revealing the ripped-up black muscle shirt underneath. On the collar rested a pair of aviators, which he hastily pulled off of his collar and placed over his eyes instead. He picked up the bat and tossed the leather coat back to his chair, as he walked out to the waiting public...
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The opening riff to "Gone Sovereign" by Stone Sour echoed through the arena with an ear-shattering blast, waking up anyone that may have dozed off while waiting for the next event. The lights in the arena shut off as the titantron showed images of the past two weeks' ending promos.
No one's laughing now...
No one's laughing now...
I'm sullen and sated, and you can't put a price on me.
I won't share this disarray...
I won't pull these hands away...
I need to be chosen, and my God, don't pray for me!
As the drums began to thump in the background of the sound, the lights in the arena pulsed with a bright red light, matching the the footage of a falling star smashing into the ruined village in the video clips.
So scatter all my ashes when I'm dead...
And shatter every legend in my head...
If only the committed will survive...
Is anybody here still left alive?!
The speakers in the arena went silent, the screen shut off, and the lights ended their pulsing seizure. The silence clung to the air until the sound of a drum-roll broke through.
THIS IS MINE!
The lights flashed back as fireworks shot off of the stage, illuminating the man standing at the top of the ramp. He spun his baseball bat around in his right hand as the fans roared and stood to their feet, praising the newest face in CWA; Matt Shanahan had made his appearance. With a smirk pulling across his features, the veteran began his descent down the ramp, his eyes lingering on the square-circle below.
Come no further, you'll go too far!
I'm running around in circles, once again!
If you can't forgive, I won't take it very hard;
But I won't make it easy in the end!
So scatter all my ashes when I'm dead!
And shatter every legend in my head!
If only the contented would survive,
Is anybody here still left alive?!
THIS IS MINE!
THIS IS MIIIIINE!
YEAH!
Without wasting a moment, he jumped up the stairs at the corner of the ring and stepped over the top rope. Once he entered the ring, he stood motionless in the center for a moment, soaking up the adoration. After a few long-winded moments, Matt finally walked to the turnbuckle and grabbed a microphone off of the mat, the crew taking that as the signal to turn off his music. Once the sound finally died, he stepped back to the middle and looked out over the crowd, his smirk still tight across his lips. His grip on the baseball bat loosened, allowing it to drop to the ground beside him; his hand then reached up to adjust his fedora, the bill of it barely shading his face from the lights. The fans kept chanting for The Punk, even as he began to lift the microphone up to his lips...
[Suspense]
