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“Jump Around” by House of Pain began to play on the speakers set up in the arena parking lot, as Tom Ostrowski made his way to the stage from the Gorilla Position. The man was battered and bruised from the Backstage War, and had apparently failed to earn a spot in the tournament. He, instead, fell victim to the recently revealed Andrew Styles and was relegated to wheezing against a cold wall. Tom shivered in the cold wind, barely recovered from the damage done to his chest. He had the perfect luck of being the first match of the night, just after the war.



Tom let out a raspy sigh, and made his way down in the ramp. His attire was not his ring gear, instead coming out in his winter wear. “Entering now, weighing in at 250 lbs, from Warsaw, Poland, Tom… Ostrowski!” He raised his fist in the air, nodding in approval to the fans that cheered for him. The Polish man was new to BBW, an addition that hopefully will see no harsh consequences after tonight's bruising.

He approached the ring, glaring for a moment at the ropes before slowly making his way up the steel stairs. Tom stopped on the ring apron, sliding his boots on the mat out of respect of those that came before in, and stepped between the top two ropes. His ribs gave some protest to his bending over. Tom made his way over to the far corner of the ring, beginning to stretch with the ropes to work out any kinks in his body.



Tom turned to face the stage, anticipating the arrival of Double D. His opponent had met him earlier in the night, and offered some punishment to the Polish man, but that was not to say he didn't offer some blows of his own. Still, he was worse off than the stunt man, and was glad that he would have a chance at redemption.

Tom’s face wrinkled in disgust as they announced that Double D “was not in proper condition to compete.” Bullshit. Last he saw, he and Andrew Styles were grappling with each other in the arena. Tom was the one left worse for wear; he went and got compression bandages just in case his ribs were bruised, and in case Double D decided to break them altogether. Tom ducked under the top rope, asking for a microphone. Ringside personnel quickly planted one in his palm.

Tom Ostrowski wriggled his fingers around the microphone in his hand as he eyed the fans gathered around him, and turned to face the stage, and behind that the arena. The man that had sought him out and beat him decided he was above facing Tom for a second time that night. The Pole took a few heavy breaths as a few attendees heckled him to get on with whatever he was doing.

”Firstly, I would like to thank Mr. Shanahan for allowing me into his business, and allowing me to participate for one of two spots left empty in the Sanguine Invitational.” He paused to clear his throat. ”Secondly, I’d like to thank Andrew Styles, the mystery man who formed a de facto team with me to face Double D, and took away what could have been my first win, in order to advance his own interests.” The betrayal was a bitter pill to swallow; then again, who wouldn’t hesitate when they saw someone about to get a pin fall they could easily claim?

”Last, and perhaps least, I’d like to thank Double D, who gave me the honor of having the rest of the night off.” Tom was booked to face Double D in the opening match. He wondered if he was more pissed or more thankful that he couldn’t get his hands on him again. ”Don’t think you can fool me, D. It’s hard to believe that even after you bruised my ribs, you are somehow doing so much more horribly than I am. The last I saw you, you were entangled with Styles, and I'll be damned if you weren't putting up an equal if not greater fight than he. You say you’re a daredevil, but you dare not step in the ring with a man you’ve already broken. If you think you can slither away from competition like this, you should second guess your career choice.” A few attendees let out oooh’s as Tom dissed the no-shower.

”So let me propose something to you. Next week, if you decide to want to show up, I’ll be waiting for you. If you decide you want to try and step in the ring with me, I'll be waiting for you. I'll even put a target on me so you know where to hit," he mocked Double D as he marked an imaginary X across his chest. "But knowing you, you might be all tuckered out from the drive to the arena, so I'm not counting on it." Having said what he wanted to, he left the ring, handing the microphone back to one of the ringside workers. Tom trudged back up the ramp, almost expecting Double D to come out and make some sort of appearance, but it didn't happen. He disappeared behind the curtains, allowing the next match on the card to go on.