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*Raider smirks* There you go again, thinking you can beat anyone, just you got 2 favorites together on 1 team. Tell you what, next week, me and you, in a 1st Blood Match, No DQ question

*he laughs and just walks out*

*Before Shawn can answer, the arena goes dark.*

Woman's voice: You think you know me.

*Pyroes go off to an explosive beat as a thick, white mist spreads across the top of the ramp.*

Song: On this day I see clearly everything has come to life
A bitter place and a broken dream
And we'll leave it all, leave it all behind

*Edge bursts through the mist, hands shaking spasmically at his sides as he jumps from foot to foot, eating up the booing from the crowd like candy, running to each side of the ramp to egg them on. He finally calms down, and moves down the ramp, hands still shaking a little. He slides into the ring, gets to his feet, and stares at Triple H for a second before taking his sunglasses off, and looking out into the audience.*

Edge: Well? Let's hear it for D Generation X!

*He begins an applause, and the audience stops booing himl ong enough to carry it out.*

Edge: Yeah, congratulations to the team of Triple H and Shawn Michaels, who took down a team of three unseasoned, disrespectful little runts at the ppv. It was a great match, and a great way to polish your careers with a nice thick coat of formaldehyde.

*Half of the audeince, keeps cheering, while the other half starts booing him again.*

Edge: You know, I wouldn't say our audience is the brightest one in the world, but you hear the people booing me? They're the ones who know what formaldehyde is. For the rest of you who have no idea what i'm talking about...

*He shoots a glance at John Cena*

Edge: That includes you, genius.

*He turns to Shawn Michaels.*

Edge: For those who don't know what I'm talking about, formaldehyde's an embalming fluid, used to preserve a dead body. Or in Shawn's case, a dead career. *Pause* Shawn, I gotta ask, how many times did Triple H have to kick your a**, beat you, and MAIM you before you decided to become friends with him again? Do you feel safer now? Huh? Do you feel safer, knowing that one of the only people who can tear you limb from limb is your friend again? p***y.

*He turns to Shorti and John, and starts to say something, but he reconsiders it.*

Edge: You know what? Too easy. Anyway, Trips, I can't even think of an insult to explain why you keep surrounding yourself with losers. Is it so you can have dogs to sit under the table, and wait for their master to drop a scrap of food? They're your cheerleaders. You know it, I know it, and Shawn's already come to terms with it. But if they're so important, then let Shawn have that first blood match with the scrawny little green that just ran out of here.

*He steps in closer to Triple H, until their noses are about two inches from each other.*

Edge: There's two things you can do right now, Hunter. You could have your Spirit Squad gang up on me, four on one, get a cheap little baby-face pop from the audience. Or you could be a man, and accept my challenge. One on one, no gimmicks, no stipulations. The Rated R Superstar vs. The Game. Not next week, but tonight.

*He lowers the microphone, and holds it out for Triple H to take.*

*Edge snatches the microphone back from Triple H.*

Edge: You know what, Acid Trips? I'm gonna go out on a limb here, and say that you weren't listening to a word I just said. I never "Ditched" anybody. I'm still standing here. The word you're looking for is "Dissed." You've been knocked in the head a couple times in your career, I understand that, but try to focus. Cena's supposed to be the dumb one, not you.
And I never dissed DX. I dissed Shawn Michaels, and made a reference or two to Cena's IQ. Which could, of course, be compared to that of mayonaise. I'm challenging you, and only you, because I'm having some trouble believing that you need all of these boot lickers. You're the Game. At one point, you were the best. At one point, people like me looked up to you. Now, for every bell and whistle that you've given yourself, that's one more degree of respect that you can never get back.

*Edge advances a couple more inches towards his face, a sneer visible on his hardened canadian mug.*

Edge: I'm not interested in any ******** tag team match. Especially not when my partner's supposed to be some week old rookie, much like that Sparks guy that I just chased out of the company. And I'm not interested in any first blood match. ((Because they're a b***h to end.)) I don't care how good you are at busting people open, I want to see how good you are as a wrestler. I want to see if Triple H's glory's still there, underneath all of the cronies and sledge hammers. I want you to prove to me that you haven't been reduced to some cheap parlor trick.

*He takes a second to cool himself down, and backs a few feet away from Triple H, at a respectable distance.*

Edge: So here's my proposal. One night, three matches. You vs. me, normal. Raider vs. Michaels, first blood. And in honor of your little shirts you showed off earlier, Cena vs. Christian. And Shorti can... Do whaever the hell it is Shorti does. If it has to wait two weeks, then that's fine too.

"Wait wait wait Hunter his proposal it intrigues me. This greenhorn son of a gun thinks he can stand toe to toe with us. All right but I have a better idea you want to prove you're the man you wan to prove you can play this game as good as the veterans. All right then let me choose the rules, a normal match for you and Hunter, I think you're forgetting who this man is you want him one on one fine I know him he'll take you on anywhere any place. But a normal match, you can spice it up now can't you. Now as for Raider if he wants to enter this ring and thinks he has the huevos to try and bust me open fine. But Mr. undefeated Hardcore Wrestler sure as hell isn't getting a first blood match me and him are going at it hardcore. Now get out of our ring, before we take you out." Shawn who had remained quiet through all the interruptions had enough.

*Edge smirks.*

Edge: Fine. Just let me clarify one thing. Out of 1,2,3,4,5 people in this ring, I've been in NWWE more than twice as long as any of you, and I'm the ONLY one here who's ever held an NWWE title. THE NWWE HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP. And I'm going to get it back, just in time to retire with it when this whole shoddily run federation crashes into the ground. So Shawn, if you think you have the balls to talk to me that way in MY ring, then put some gold around that anorexic little waist of yours, and then I'll talk to you like you're an adult.
But back on the subject, I take it that my proposal's been accepted. All I have to do is name a time and a place, and make some kind of interesting match. Well, fine. Why don't we have, right here and right now, with all of your little girlscouts banned from ringside, a nice little no DQ, falls count anywhere, hardcore match?

*The sneer fades from Edge's face, as he actually begins to chuckle.*

Edge: Okay. We're going to glide right past the whole "I must have the balls to challenge you because that's why I'm out here in the first place" thing, and go straight to my favorite part of your little speech. You want our match to be a number one contender's match? No. We're not going to have a number one contender's match. And do you know why? Because I'm already signed up for a number one contender's match. Maybe you've heard of it? It's called the Royal Rumble. And the Rated R Superstar was one of the first men to sign up for it. But contender's match? I like that. Although since beating you and becoming the next contender would screw up my plans to appear in the Rumble, let's just ask about a different title. Intercontinental sound okay?