After the conclusion of Hiro Shin-Mozas vs Nuke Fusion in the opener at No Mercy, a mangled and defeated Hiro Shin-Mozas is being tended to in the trainers room -- he refused to be taken from the arena by an ambulance to the hospital. Hiro had on a neck-brace, and was having a gash in his head sewed up. He looked both relieved and upset -- there was definitely disappointment regarding his loss, that was a given. He once again dropped a match and was without a win in six months of competing again...it was not a good time. The Ethnic Enigma had all the attention of the medical staff as the show was going on, but perhaps what he needed was a shrink. Hiro couldn't get his mind off of the knife he had delivered to his locker room earlier in the night, a presumed gift from Blackjack. He looked down at his hand through slightly doubled vision, bloodied still and a bit bruised from throwing chops. The cold handle of the knife burned in his palm, despite not being there -- still an incessant reminder that Blackjack while not address him directly was still clearly thinking of Hiro and the moment they shared a decade ago.

Hiro's wound was patched up before long, and his arm placed into a sling to help support his aching shoulder. He looked like he was being held together by tape to an extent, the flesh of man held together not by his skin and bone. Hiro let out an aggressive cough as his breathing began to labor, his heart pounding a little more than it was used to. The trainer stepped away for a moment, leaving Hiro alone in the room. He looked up at the lights above him, perhaps seeking an answer to his qualms, as while he earned relief from his internal Fusion conflict there was still more squirming about. The light seemed to dim more and more as Hiro stared, perhaps an optical illusion of the now reemerging doubts and regrets deep within the heart of the Cuban. Though...the light would certainly go out after not long, and it wasn't just a trick of the mind. Hiro's breath grew rapid and shallow and his body stiffened, remaining perfectly still as he was over taken by fear of the sudden darkness. His eyes darted around but saw nothing, searching desperately for an impending figure...but nothing.

The lights would flash on again, but this time the room caked in red. Hiro would shake in place, pushing his a** further back on the table and looking around wildly for anyone, finally finding a being in the room...as matter of fact, it was several. He looked down to see at least a dozen snakes slithering about the ground, the hissing piercing his eardrum in a way that reminded him of a gas leak waiting to explode. Hiro's chest thumped over and over and felt as though he would pass out -- made only worse by the appearance of a man in the corner, dressed in scrubs like a nurse with black ooze escaping through a clenched smile. The Ethnic Enigma began to scream, closing his eyes and trying oh so hard to ignore the hell forming around him...until finally the only sound he COULD hear was his own screaming. He opened his eyes, and the room was empty. His body was red, as if still soaking in the red lights, but that shade was long gone from the lightbulb above. Hiro got off the table and hobbled to the door, leaving the trainers room and making his way to the parking lot where his car was waiting. He was going to get out of here. He was going to get home. He would be at Cyber Sunday, and this wouldn't happen again. He knew it wouldn't. It was in his head. It was stress, it was Blackjack, it was a head injury. It just wasn't real, nothing, never.