The audio of the ring announcers, and the music cut out suddenly. The fan's jeers and cheers filled the silence as confusion reigned throughout the arena. Before pandemonium could ensue the titantron blinked to life, and a grainy video feed began to play. The camera focused on a dingy white wall, the texture of the cement blocks visible even in the low quality video. The camera jerked and spun around revealing bars over a darkened window, a pair of cots bolted to the wall, and a thickly barred steel door before it settled on the face of the camera's operator.

Mismatched blue and yellow eyes bore into the camera, a jagged scar sliced through his right eye and down his cheek. The scar twisted with his sadistic sneer. The camera jerked again, feedback from the phones mic thudded through the speakers. Blackjack's orange jumpsuit was briefly visible on camera before he steadied his grip.

"I was happy to have left this industry behind. I had my laughs, reigned over you with a bloody fist; and you worshiped me for it. Those of you who weren't pissing yourselves in the lockers before our matches." He chuckled and ran a hand over the unkempt beard he'd grown. "When I left, it was without looking back. Largely because I was thrown into a hole in the bottom of a supermax federal prison. Turns out, attempting to kill a man to take his championship on live T.V. can land you in a bit of trouble."

He turned the camera around, this time to give a proper tour of his cell. He showed off his cramped quarters before returning the camera to his face. "So to those of you who wondered why I just vanished, leaving a championship and a trail of blood in my wake. It's because of the quiet machinations of our gestapo justice system."

He paused for a moment and chuckled perfunctorily, "But I didn't have this phone smuggled in a guards c**t just to update you pustule laiden extras. I set this up because I heard some of the COs talking about Backlash," he spoke the shows name with emphasized disgust, "according to them, an old friend of mine pulled a miracle and rose from the dead."

This time he did laugh, he almost sounded excited. "The Number Three back from Hell apparently. Of course he returned with all the grandeur and mystique he was known for. He had by all accounts an outstanding match, definitely proving he wasn't brought back just to job to a rook and fill a spot on the card."

He stared into the camera. His words, saturated with sarcasm, hung awkwardly in the arena. "Except, that's exactly what you did.

Rosario and Dean welcomed Three back and humiliated him. I mean, having watched the match, Dean took Three to school. Hell! He even managed to make Three tap out, something no one in this industry has ever come close to accomplishing. Dean should be lauded, probably deified.

I can just imagine the looks on your vapid faces. You're wondering why this warrants a federal felony just to, what congratulate them? Hardly.

You see, I know for a fact, that Three is dead. He's not retired living his life in a circus somewhere. He died all those years ago. His final match with the paladin ended in a hilarious tragedy when he burned to death. Despite the rumors that circulated, those of you who watched it, watched a man die. Good on him for doing so with dignity.

So how can a dead man actually return from the grave? The truth is, he can't. The Three they paraded out for you was fake. Anyone with the fortune to actually face him, will remember that Three bled black." The camera jerked around again, focusing on a monitor displaying a scene from the match. Three lay on the ground after being kicked in the face; red blood oozing from his nose.

The monitor flipped to another image of Three standing next to Dean. Three was noticeably shorter than Dean. "Despite both men being approximately the same size. This imposter is clearly much smaller than Dean. I know a decade is a long time, but people don't shrink."

The camera swung back to Blackjack's face. He shook his head slowly and said, "Disrespect is one thing. But to actively dismantle a legends legacy, that's damn near criminal.

I don't know whose idea it was, yet. But whoever you are. You'd better get ready." The video froze, distorted, and then cut off; leaving the arena with an aura of silence before the roar of murmurs started to fill the room.