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It was a a cool, spring evening out in the country-side of East Pennsylvania. The sun had set hours ago, but the skies were bright with from the full moon. The clouds were beginning to slowly reach through the air, bringing a thick wave of humidity with them. It was a typical spring night in the North. It was a typical spring night, at the home of Matt Shanahan.

On an acre of land secluded from neighbors was the home of the iconic wrestler and former Bad Blood Wrestling owner, Matt Shanahan. The nearest neighbor was a solid quarter-mile away, though it didn't seem to matter much in the open country-side. While it wasn't the lovely Philadelphia that Matt had grown up in, this was where he spent the majority of his time since his life had become one of isolation.

Within the home, Matt slowly paced through the second story of the house, passing by each closed door without much of a glance towards them. He was in his typical attire of black jeans and a muscle shirt; it was much more than wrestling attire, it was his every-day wear. His paces were lethargic, as if he was going to do something he didn't want to do.

The empty house echoed with each step that he took down the stairs, descending into the living room. The furniture was minimal in the room; just a couch, two arm-chairs, a table between them, a flat-screen on the wall, and a fireplace in the corner. Just enough to seat company and enjoy a show. Maybe they could move the chairs towards the fireplace and just enjoy the heat. If he ever had company, that is.

His steps carried him over to the fireplace, his dull eyes glancing over the mantle; there, he had many pictures up of people who had, at one point, meant something to him. Christina Parks, Saint Joey, DJ "The Perfectionist", Phoenixfire, and a slew of others. Some bigger than others. The one that stood larger than most was a picture of Matt with the most recent loss in his life: The King family. A picture of him with King and his kids, and what looked to be a female in the background. Probably that wife of King's. A quiet snort left Matt's nostrils as he looked over the picture; funny, how things change. Funny how everything just... fell part in the last four years. With a roll of his eyes, Matt turned away from the fireplace and walked out of the room.

He walked through the entrance room after leaving the living room, his path carrying him into the kitchen. Without a sound, he paced through the simple kitchen and went to a cabinet near the kitchen island. He opened it and pulled a bottle out from the top shelf, a half-full bottle of Jack Daniels and a small glass. After setting the glass down, Matt poured some of the liquid into the glass and put the bottle aside, quickly taking a sip of it. With a sigh, he sat down on the stool at island. His thumb traced the rim of the glass while he sat in quiet contemplation. He had a heavy decision to make... and he had delayed it for as long as he could. But now, he had to speak. Normally he'd be happy to do so from his home, but he didn't have a choice in this matter; he was banned from BBW events. Exiled from the company he built.

"No time like the present..." Matt muttered before quickly finishing off the glass of Jack Daniels. With a grunt, he put the glass down and pulled his laptop over and started it up...

[Five minutes later...]

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[Begin Scene]

The video feed opened to show Matt Shanahan sitting in front of the camera, that of which was his webcam. A cocky smirk was on his lips, something Matt was rarely without. "Ladies and gentlemen, Punks and Punkettes! Good evening! I know what you're thinking, why am I speaking to you from a video instead of just invading the show like I did at Winter Warfare. Well, as I understand it, King's taken the time to up security even more; plus, it's harder to invade an arena compared to a public park. Plus, I'm banned. So, here we are. But let's get to business, shall we? After Winter Warfare, at Monday Massacre Numero... Nineteen-o, Kelly King challenged me. He CHALLENGED me. He decided that this War of ours is going to jump straight to the end, and that he's ready to hand my company right back over to me. Well, here's your response...

No."

Matt took a moment to pause and pour himself another glass of Jack Daniels' while he let that word sink in. 'No'. That single word was apparently all Matt had to say on the matter. He too a sip from the glass after pouring it, before putting it down again and looking at the camera.

"No. I will not face you at Spring in The Ring. Why? Because you seem to forget who we are, King. You forget where you and I stand. You forget that I call the shots. This War is on MY terms. I make the calls. I'm the one that beats you into the ground, I'm the one that ruins your life, and I'm the one that lays down the challenge. And to be honest, I'm not ready to fight you. I'm not ready to reach our second finale. Last time you and I met, I left you broken. Not just physically, but mentally as well. I invaded every aspect of your life, and broke it over my knee. Do you honestly think I'll just let this tug-of-war reach it's end while you have any shred of sanity left? No... I don't think so. So, I'll tell you what. You can sit tight in your nice, Sam's Club brand suit and pretend that you've got all the aces up your sleeve. You know what's going down, you have the upperhand, right? Right... But when you least expect it, you're going to look around you and see the truth.

The truth is... you've never had the upperhand, and you never will. No matter what you do... you will never -beat- me. You can take BBW from me. You can try to make me feel like an exile from my own company. Do everything in your power to tear me down, King, I beg of you. Because no matter what you do... I will always be standing above you. I will always be better than you. You'll hear from me soon, old friend. Until then... keep my desk warm."

[End Feed]

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After ending the feed, a quiet sigh left Matt's lips. Maybe if he got some fresh air, he'd feel better? He didn't even truly know what bothered him. Something was off tonight, like clouds were hanging over his head. He was used to depression, but not this feeling of... doom? He had felt it since Winter Warfare, and it wasn't getting any better. He felt like he should go out for the night, but he didn't care to leave his stool. Instead, he just kept taking swigs of his Jack Daniels'.

Matt sat in quiet contemplation at his kitchen island, simply taking a swig of his glass of liquor and refilling it whenever it seemed a bit too low. The helicopter flew on by over his house, something that wasn't uncommon out in the countryside. It was a sound easily dismiss-able, albeit alarming that it sounded so much closer than usual. As loud as it was, it didn't drink his cycle of pour, drink, sigh, repeat. It was a nightly ritual, whenever he wasn't on the road or working. With BBW being taken from him, he literally had nothing left to keep him occupied. Just his house, and his liquor. At the going rate, he'd rather be crushed under a titantron. Maybe he should've said yes, just to get back in control sooner...

Creak.

That sound, as common as it was, caught his attention. The house wasn't old, and there was no one else in it. Why would there be a creak? Matt's dark eyes lifted up from his glass and stared up towards the ceiling, the direction the creak came from. Nothing in his house would make the wooden panels creak. Not the air-conditioning unit, not the heat, not even the possibility of mice in the walls.

It'd take some heavy footsteps to make the floor creak.

"... Hmm." Matt grunted, taking a page from a legend's book. He casually pushed himself off of the stool, making sure to scrape the legs of the stool against the hardwood floor as he did. If someone was here, he had to be casual. He didn't want to raise alarm, after all. He lifted the glass of liquor off of the island and took another swig. Shanahan began to walk out of the kitchen afterwards, his glass in hand; after all, he was never one to leave a drink behind. His own heavy steps carried him out of the kitchen and through the dividing hallway, all the way into the living room. He peeked into the room before he entered; no sign of anyone. Strange.

Perhaps he was just paranoid. It wasn't completely out of the question, but Matt felt... sure. He felt sure that someone else was in his home. Something felt off, and it wasn't just the lack of ice for his Jack Daniels'. He walked over to the couch and picked the remote up, flicking on the TV afterwards. The news was on, which was good. It'd be a loud enough distraction.

"... As you can see on our weather system here, Diana, a storm will be rolling through tonight somewhere around 9PM. We're expecting a little wind, but nothing too alarming. This should just be another, run-of-the-mill thunderstorm for..." The sound of the weatherman's voice droned on, but Matt was already leaving the room as soon as it began. After all... he forgot the bottle of Jack when he left the kitchen.

Matt had made his way back to the kitchen, where his eyes immediately landed on the half-full bottle of Jack Daniels'. He picked the bottle up off the table and moved back to the opening of the kitchen, which had a clear view of the living room's exit. From there, he waited. He knew not what he waited for; perhaps he was just being paranoid, it was all the stress getting to him. But if someone dared to walk around the corner, he'd be ready to throw that bottle of Tennessee liquor at them with full force.

The bottle flew across the passageway between the two rooms, and hit the small assailant right in the face. He had been right; that's a first.

A dismissive snort left him as he slowly began to step towards them, his back eyes locked onto the fallen intruder. "You wanna ******** with me? Because I think you picked the wrong house, little guy," Matt murmured before tossing the leftover glass of Jack down at them as he began to enter the living room, not caring where it him them. He was only concerned on dealing some justice to this random intruder.

Never did he think that it might be more than one person.

A loud gasp of air left Matt's lungs as an equally small attacker came hurtling into him. Luckily enough, the figure was incredibly small in comparison to the former BBW owner.

Incredibly smaller, and easier to lift.

As Matt began to travel backwards due to the force of impact, his spine on a collision course with the frame of the opening, he attempted to grab hold of the attacker and use the momentum to his advantage. He lifted and attempted to swing the figure about in a 180, hoping to slam him into the doorframe instead!

Matt dropped Railery to the ground after slamming him into the frame of the walkway. Normally, he'd stand over his work and admire the damage he'd done; however, there was a stomping sound behind him. A third assailant?

As he turned around to look at who was coming his way, barely caught a glimpse of the figure in weird black, armor-like clothing flying through the air. His feet flew out from under him as the large figure's fist smashed into his jaw, sending Shanahan down right onto his back in a heap.

In a rare moment, Shanahan had no way to defend himself. Serenno easily mounted the once-great competitor and began to rain the blows down onto his lovely facial features. After the initial blow, Matt's conscious levels were far from high, resulting in him barely managing to cover up in attempt to avoid the blows.

Matt weakly tried to shift his arms towards his ribs, hoping to prevent any major damage to his internal organs from those stomps. Whoever this man was, he was doing a number on the multi-time world champion. He was lifted up off the ground by the hair, but the fight hadn't left Shanahan just yet. As disoriented as he was, he still attempted to sling some rights into the gut of his assailant!