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The arena was screaming and snapping their pictures again; this match seemed to giving the fans many memories thus far. The death of Shanahan, and the suicide of King.

A weak cough managed to crack through the noise, though no one would notice it. The God of Punks' lungs barely took in oxygen as he began to show stronger signs of life. He was alive after all. If only he opened his eyes.

The One True King plummeted off the balcony and crashed right on top of Shanahan, causing any air that he had in his lungs to suddenly shoot out of his body. His entire form lurched and shook after impact, before falling limp once again. With a fat, has-been on top of him.

The God of Punks was once again unresponsive, laying lifeless underneath the pile that was once known as Kelly King 2.0. The fans were going ballistic, and the referee was screaming for EMTs, trainers, literally anyone that could come help. The crowd roared with 'Holy s**t!' chants and applauded with "Kel-ly King!" cries, but none were chanting for Shanahan at this moment.

While Kelly King showed clear signs of life, Matt remained dead to the world. An occasional weak breath was the only signal that he might make it. The EMTs wasted no time to carefully lift the massive man onto the stretcher and begin strapping him in, one of them already putting a breathing mask to Shanahan's face in an attempt to get him breathing properly again. The blood on his forehead had managed to cover half of his face by now.

After finally strapping Matt into the stretcher, they pushed it up to it's waist-level position and began to wheel him off towards the back. Unlike King, they seemed to be less focused on precautions and more focused on getting the man to the ambulance as fast as possible. While the EMTs rolled his stretcher towards the left side of the stage, referees and trainers were pushing fans back and out of the way of the medical staff.

The God of Punks' eyes slowly cracked open to stare up at the lights and strange faces, barely distinguishable through his squinted gaze.

It wasn't until the EMTs had almost disappeared from the arena with Shanahan that the man finally opened his eyes fully. The last thing he remembered was falling, and now he was attached to a stretcher; this was not good. He tried to lean up, but was quickly pushed back down by one of the staff members.

Even in his weakened state, Matt refused to let this go. He gave one of the EMTs a sloppy push and began to tear at the straps binding him to the gurney. Unlike King, they weren't 'advising' him to stay down, they were telling him to. Each time a medic tried to suppress Shanahan, they were promptly pushed away by the slowly enraging monster.

By the time King was pushing himself to his feet, Matt was literally ripping the straps off of his legs, fueled only by his will end what Kelly King began. EMTs were learning fast not to step in his way and remained at a safe distance as he finally got off of the gurney. He fell onto his knees for a brief moment before pushing himself up and continuing his path back out towards the main arena.

Despite their disdain for Matt as of late, the fans on the left side of the arena let out a cheer as he came out from the backstage area. They weren't happy to see him, but they were happy that this match wasn't over just yet. His feet carried him over to the stage, where he began to climb up with loud groans of pain; if Kelly King wasn't near him, then he knew they must've taken him somewhere else...

The gloved hands pulled Shanahan up above the edge of the stage, and it was a sight of terror. Half of his face was covered in blood, his rage was still burning in his eyes, and look of pure determination masked the pain that racked his body every second. One leg at a time, he pulled his entire body up onto the steel stage... His eyes locked with King's as he did.