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Metallica's "Turn the Page" opened up tonight's King of the Canvas show which was most certainly a SHOCK to most fans. It got it's usual relatively deafening pop, but that didn't come without a measure of confusion for the fans. Hiro Shin-Mozas was not booked tonight, and we were in for a triple main event seeing a new King of the Canvas crowned, the newest WWF:G Tag Team Champions decided, as well Drako Damone putting his world title on the line. Why was Hiro the one coming to the ring to the start the show tonight?

The answer would come soon, but perhaps not soon enough -- the song went past it's usual point when Hiro would come out from the back, causing a few to wonder if the song playing was merely a mistake or some sort of mean spirited trick. A few more melodic moments would pass as the chorus was entered a second time, and with that Hiro would finally appear for all to see -- looking a bit disheveled, and quite pale. He was clearly incredibly stressed, a bit worried from the look in his eyes. He walked down to the ring a little quickly, as if he wanted to get on the microphone and address his emotional state quickly just so he could get on out of there right afterward. Hiro hopped his way up the steps and stepped through the ropes, grabbing a microphone from the corner of the ring as fans began to quiet down so he could air out whatever was going on. The music faded away, and Hiro quickly brought the microphone to his lips.


The fans booed the mention of Drako Damone, Hiro giving them a second to let that reaction out. Between the way he got the victory over the Ethnic Enigma and just the general disdain for the idea that the Syndicate would have all the gold by night's end was enough reason for the fans to let out their frustrations.


Hiro took a moment to breathe in deeply, cutting into his own promo. The fans cheering would pick back up as they clapped away for the Ethnic Enigma, showing appreciation -- but it wasn't doing Hiro any favors. He didn't stop to take in the cheers or give the fans a moment, it was quite a different reason. He was fighting back a panic attack, his heart beating faster and faster as he attempted to keep his speaking cadence proper. The reason he'd been late for his own entrance was that he was on the phone with his lawyer, who called to let him know a horrible dark reality that he'd been dreading: Blackjack was indeed someone he needed to fear right now, as he was no longer where he was supposed to be. Hiro wasn't given much detail from his lawyer, apparently he was spotted at a wrestling show which scared Hiro half to death. The fact of the matter however was that unbeknownst to Hiro, he had arrived at Judgment Day and attacked Rosario. Being disconnected from the events of the show prior to the main event but after Blackjack's video promo, he just didn't know it had happened. Hiro ran his fingers through his short beard out of habit, and then snapped back into form.


Hiro's heartbeat began to calm, his palms a little less sweaty. He started to sweat, his face getting hot -- but not from fear. It wasn't from the paranoia. A few minutes of standing there with the microphone in his hands speaking to a couple of thousand of his closest friends was enough to remind him that, if even for a few minutes in his ever changing mind, he was home. This was his safe space no matter what, the masses of life being the walls that were built around the floor that was this ring and the ceiling that was the lights. It was easy to feel this way though, without true fear staring him down. However, for all the bravado that Hiro had displayed, it was merely a band-aid...one that would be ripped off in the coming seconds. As music hit, and he swung his head to the right to look up at the ramp, his body again quickly tensing up as he couldn't recognize it. The cold feeling in his legs as his heart dropped down rapidly, his stomach turning and twisting, how quick it was for the switch to be flipped. Hiro choked back a whimper, realizing that he may have summoned the devil unintentionally -- reserving himself a spot in the eighth circle of hell in the process.

Hiro backed up to the ropes as the lights dimmed, looking around at the quieted crowd and feeling his heart in his ear. It didn't make a lot of sense, but for some reason the pounding seemed to localize entirely in his head, as if his brain was pulsating instead. His legs went weak, so he grabbed the top rope and leaned into them, watching the cards display on screen as a familiar, yet not so recognizable voice spoke. The cards which would pop up were not telling a friendly, happy story...it was one of death by brutal means, swords all around, and the same card Hiro had found in his locker room stared him down. It truly was something left for him to find, not some discarded deck piece that had been forgotten about so many years prior. The disembodied voice would speak of the devil, proving that he did indeed exist, and never really left.


Hiro's breathing increased rapidly as he spoke to himself, trying his best to keep the words of fear under his breath. His legs shook but he kept steadily upward -- the slam of the hand on screen created such a loud sound in the arena that cause Hiro's façade to shatter -- he dropped to a knee keeping a hand on the top rope, shooting his head from side to side as he made sure to keep an eye on everything transpiring around him, the lights slowly returning to their normal state and giving everyone in the building and at home a shot of their hero, cowering as he clutched his side. The Ethnic Enigma would realize just what he was displaying for everyone and power back up to his feet, ashamed at what the crowd just witnessed out of him. He would stagger his way across the ring, to the adjacent ropes leading to the ramp. Putting a leg through, Hiro stopped for a moment...and then pulled back into the ring, a look of slight determination washing over him, whether it was feigned or not. He lifted the microphone he'd been clutching for dear life back to his face.


The crowd cheered as Hiro dropped the microphone and started back towards the ropes, though this segment wasn't done just yet as once again he would be interrupted.

Hiro was taken aback as Rosario, a former tag team partner and a long time associate, appeared from behind the curtain as the follow up to the strange titantron display from moments prior. There was no way that it was connected to Rosario, Hiro was sure of that much, and as the grounded Airplane shot his s**t off...the Ethnic Enigma was too transfixed one the damage done to his body. His leg was taped up and immobilizing him a little, not enough to make him any less quiet though. What the hell happened to him? It was then that the picture was made clear, someone did this to Rosario last show -- and Hiro had no idea. He hadn't paid any attention to what happened prior to his match with Drako, making it a point to not do so after Blackjack's video hijacked the airwaves. The lump in Hiro's throat began to inflame, causing him to gulp over and over again for air as Rosario spoke of murder, being beaten, and buried alive.

It was clear to Hiro what had happened, and as Rosario began to question why his old pal didn't reach out as he was in the hospital, all the Ethnic Enigma could do was shake his head, non-verbally pleading with First Class' leader to not continue. Those pleas would have been ignored even if screamed however, as Rosario revealed to Hiro what the world already knew -- Blackjack was back, he did in fact show up on the same show Hiro had been at the week prior, and somehow it all went under Hiro's radar. The fans booed Rosario's dramatic display of his own fear, less so because they had heat with him, but all the more because what he spoke was the truth. Hiro's face went white and damn near lifeless as he stumbled backwards across the ring, dropping to his a** with a thud as the sound of the ring caught him off guard, causing him to scramble under the bottom rope and back to his feet with the help of the barricade. There were several fans patting him on the back and trying to reassure him that things were fine, but as a cold sweat developed under his shirt he jerked away from the crowd, not wanting to be touched. His vision started to blur as sun spots from the heavy lighting in the building started to remove things from his line of sight -- the ring, his feet when he'd look down, his own hands that trembled, and Rosario off in the distance on the stage.

Through labored breath and shaky legs, Hiro began to run. He didn't let out a peep, never screamed -- nothing. It was silence as he darted around the ring to the ramp, running straight past Rosario without a passing glance. He arrived backstage quickly, blowing past gorilla and kept running until he ended up outside the dressing room reserved for him. He stopped at the door and tried to catch his breath, his eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets -- he stared at the faint shadow of a door handle and put his hand on it, gripping it tightly...but he couldn't turn it. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get into the dressing room via the simple action of turning a door handle. His mind wouldn't let him, as it raced a never-ending marathon between anxiety and logic. There could be a bomb in this room. There could be a message. There could be Blackjack himself. There could also be nothing.

Hiro would eventually calm down at least enough to open the door and fling it open quickly, darting his eyes all over the place, looking for ANYTHING...and thankfully for him, finding nothing in the immediate. He stepped into the room and quickly slammed the door shut, moving a chair over to block it from being easily opened. The Ethnic Enigma's stomach began to turn, bile rushing up his throat and burning it as he let out a few gasps, trying to control himself...but he could not. Hiro reached over quickly and pulled a garbage can to him, vomiting into it as the wrenching of his abdomen caused his scar to hurt. The stress and pain his body had been through between his match with Drako and the revelation tonight had taken it's toll...and while he wasn't booked tonight, Hiro no longer felt safe leaving yet. If Blackjack were here, he could be anywhere. He could be in the parking lot, waiting for Hiro to leave, or preparing another victim for later tonight perhaps not thinking of Hiro at all. Regardless of that reality, as Hiro finished driving the rubbermaid bus, he slumped down into a folding chair and gripped at his side, continuing to breathe heavily as he tried to plan his escape tonight in the safest way possible.