Post by Press1269 on Feb 20, 2020 15:46:43 GMT
The announce team has disappeared for a brief intermission, and when the cameras shift over to the ring, there is a custom desk with the PAW Logo on the front, along with a comfortable looking chair positioned on one side of the squared circle. On the other side is a plush sofa, a few decorative potted plants, and a sign made up of hundreds of light bulbs that read 'The Box Office'. The lights dim in the arena as Joe Walsh's 'Turn to Stone' comes across the speakers, and the sign in the ring flashes to life, along with a montage on the screen above the ramp way of tickets being tacked off of a roll. The fans jeer and boo in disgust as they already know what to expect from the cocksure owner of the sign and song. The lights focus on the entrance to the ramp as Cross Recoba comes through the curtain, wearing a neatly pressed Armani suit, with a brown leather brief case in one hand, and a cane in the other. He brushes his shag haircut off his eyes and looks at the crowd, instinctively clutching the crucifix necklace that hangs from his neck. He walks to the ring with purpose, albeit slower because of the use of his cane, only looking away from the ring to answer hecklers in the crowd. He makes his way up the steps and onto the apron, and smiles at his disapproving audience before stepping through the ropes. He steps over to the desk and sets his briefcase down, grabbing up one of the three microphones sitting upon the surface. The lights remain dim everywhere else in the arena, except for directly over the ring where Cross Recoba prepares to address the PAW Universe.
CROSS RECOBA: What a night it was at Heat Stroke, huh?
The crowd cheers, not for Recoba, but the mention of the star studded event. Recoba smirks, nodding his head in agreement.
CROSS RECOBA: Yes, yes. We saw all sorts of incredible action, just like we saw a whole big, steaming, pile of horse shit.
The cheers turn to boo's as Recoba's face draws up in disgust.
CROSS RECOBA: We saw that gargantuan bastard, Press, defend the PAW Heavyweight Championship against CJ O'Donnell, and in the travesty of the night, put him down with that infernal powerbomb of his. Well I tell you right now, you cretinous heathens, I agree with O'Donnell! He deserves his rematch against the so-called-champion, but we already know that probably isn't going to happen. No, management isn't going to allow that. Not when that big oaf draws you idiots into the building, and you keep buying up his merchandise. What the hell is wrong with you? He's little more than a neanderthal, but you people have latched onto him like he's the second coming. It makes me fucking sick!
The fans boo even harder now, and Cross begins pacing the ring, shaking his head.
CROSS RECOBA: But I digress, let's move on to a more positive note. There's still hope for those of us that want to see the ginormous bastard get his comeuppance, and that hope lies in the form of the New #1 Contender to the PAW Heavyweight Championship, CALVIN HARRIS!
"Your Betrayal" by Bullet For My Valentine bursts through the speakers of the arena, and the capacity crowd automatically turn to a chorus of boo's. After a few moments, The Martyr of Wrestling, Calvin Harris, stepped through the curtain, and out on the stage. The smug expression on his face returned the crowds reaction to him, showing them that he didn't care, and that there was nothing they could do to take this moment away from him. He smirks, just before throwing his hands out at his sides, and soaking in the vehement backlash from his mere presence. After a few seconds, his hands drop, and he make an arrogant gait to the ring, chuckling at fans he deemed pathetic. When he finally reached ringside, he hopped up onto the apron, slipped between the ropes, and stalked to the nearest corner. He jumped up to the second turnbuckle, throwing his hands out at his sides again, but this time talking shit to the crowd as they continued to boo him. Their disdain seemed to only entice him, and he dropped from the turnbuckle, turning back to face Cross Recoba who clapped for him before handing him a mic.
CROSS RECOBA: Mr. Harris, welcome to The Box Office. The floor is yours.
Cross bows his head with a wicked grin, as he takes a step back to sit on the edge of his desk, eager to hear what the #1 Contender has to say. For a moment or two there was nothing but the sound of the booing crowd. Calvin standing there in the middle of the ring just glaring at the fans sending hate in his direction. Licking his lips that started to curve into a bit of a smirk. That’s when Calvin brought the microphone up to his lips to begin speaking.
CALVIN HARRIS: Is this ever going to get old for you guys?
Pausing for that moment while walking towards the ropes and leaning against them some. His eyes peering on the fans in the front row.
CALVIN HARRIS: I have been with this company since February and here it is June. That’s five long months that I have been part of Pure Amusement Wrestling. In those five long months it is the same thing with you people. Week in and week out. You boo me like I am simply the worst human being to have ever been born. Week in and week out, you’re rooting against me. Hoping that I fail. Hoping that I lose. Telling me that I don’t have what it takes to go the distance. It never fails, you people always expect me to fall right on my face but then when I don’t. You’re pissed off about it. Well who’s fault is it that you set yourselves up to be disappointed by rooting against the single greatest wrestler on this roster?! Huh?!
That hateful glare of his was still very much featured in his eyes with the crowd starting to get a little louder with their boos. Something that at this point was expected. That’s exactly what brought all of this out in the first place. Calvin pushed himself off those ropes and started to make his way back to the center of the ring near the table.
CALVIN HARRIS: Who’s fault is it that you thought I could never beat Johnny Raike? It’s your fault! Who’s fault is it that you thought that I could never become the Titan of the Midway Champion? Again, that’s your fault. Who’s fault is it that none of you, literally none of you thought or even believed for a single second that I was the man that was going to leave Heat Stroke the number one contender? That I was going to be the man that made it out of those three stages of hell with a victory?!
Pausing once again for that very brief moment. Fans booed the rhetorical question at hand for they knew exactly where this was going. Calvin’s smirk continued to cross his lips listening to those boos.
CALVIN HARRIS: That’s right, it’s your fault and it’ll be your fault when I face the Heavyweight Champion: Press in a few weeks, because once again you’ll boo me. Once again you’ll doubt me. Once again, you’ll say that I don’t have what it takes and then I’ll prove you wrong when I go on to become the new PAW Heavyweight Champion!
From that statement alone the fans were so loud from their boos, it almost sounded like at any given moment that a riot was going to take place. Not a single fan in attendance liked the idea of Calvin going on to become the PAW Heavyweight Champion. Not that it was a surprise to the Martyr by any means. On that note he turned his attention over to Cross for the first time, assuming that the man had a few questions to ask. Cross looks up from where he had been nodding along with everything that Harris had been saying.
CROSS RECOBA: I couldn't agree more, Mr. Harris. As I'm sure you know, I put out a bounty on that big oaf the minute that he became champion, fifty thousand dollars of my own money, but so far, no one has managed to do the job. Stevie Harris tried, and failed. CJ O'Donnel tried, and failed. But you, Mr. Harris, you are the one I feel this money belongs to. You are the one that is going to finally put an end to his reign of tyranny! These people, they lack vision, Mr. Harris. The only reason they hate people like you and I, is because they wish they could stand where we are. They are all too aware of their low station, and that....That, Mr. Harris, is where that fool Press belongs. How can a man like that be champion, when he stands in the presence of great-....
Recoba is cut off abruptly by the sudden sound of the opening chords to "Stranglehold" by Ted Nugent. After a few moments, Press stalks out from behind the curtain, absent his tag team partner who he was busy with earlier in the night. He makes a B-line towards the ring, a scowl on his face, and John Champa's blood still on his hands. When he reaches ringside he hoists himself up onto the ring apron, and throws one boot over the top rope, followed by the other. He comes to stand right in front of Calvin Harris, paying Cross no mind, except to snatch the mic right out of his hand. The #1 Contender and the Champion commence in a stare down, before Press finally lifts the microphone up to his face.
PRESS: Bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch...
He pauses, takes in a deep breath, as the fans cheer and laugh at the display. He exhales deeply before continuing.
PRESS: Bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch, MOAN!
He holds a finger up to show that he's changed the direction of his thought process, and the fans howl with laughter as he allows a slight smile to form at the corner of his mouth.
PRESS: Bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch. Is that all you're going to do out here, Calvin, or are you planning to eventually get to the fucking point?
The eruption is thunderous as Press takes a step back, dropping the mic to his side. The crowd was hot for Press and his words, but as one would have expected Calvin was not. He stood there holding his ground just glaring at Press. Course he had to look up in order to do so considering the giant man had not only some size but some height to him compared to the Martyr. He was not one to back down bringing the microphone up to his lips to speak and hold his ground.
CALVIN HARRIS: I know you’re big. I know you’re dumb. I know there isn’t much going on up there in that small brain of yours, but that’s the best you’ve got? You are going to come out here and say the same thing that everyone else has been saying about me from the start? C’mon Press, I expected a little more creativity from you. I expected a little more originality out of you.
He let the mic fall from his lips for the brief moment. Anytime that the Martyr had something to say, the fans were going to boo him. This was very much like clockwork as they started to boo heavily. Right away though the Martyr brought the microphone back up in order to prevent the crowd from taking over.
CALVIN HARRIS: And along with being stupid, it seems like you’re hard of hearing as well Press. You want me to get to the point? There is no point to get to for I have already said what needed to be said. I’ve done made it clear that I’m taking that PAW Heavyweight Championship from you. And I know that it doesn’t mean anything to you. I know that is something that you can’t wrap your simple mind around. You think I am no better than Stevie Harris, which is the furthest thing from the truth. On day one when I talked into this company I was better than Stevie Harris. He was by far one of the most overrated person that’s ever been on this roster and that’s saying something considering CJ O’Donnell works here.
As soon as those words came out of his mouth there was a small interaction from the crowd that went “Oooh” when it came to the Martyr taking a jab at the former number one contender.
CALVIN HARRIS: Stevie never had what it took to beat you and since I just dropped the little prick, CJ never had what it took to beat you either. They are just like the wolf in the children’s book the three pigs. They huffed, they puffed, and they tried their hardest to blow your house down, Press. Yet they didn’t have it in them, but me? I’m different. I’m very different and I know for a fact that I’m going to be able to accomplish the goal of becoming the PAW Heavyweight Champion. You go ahead and keep doubting me. Go ahead and keep lumping me in with everyone else. In the end though, don’t cry about it when I leave you lying in this ring drowning in a pool of your own blood, just like I did Johnny Raike.
Sure enough Calvin’s lips had curled back up into that arrogant smirk that he was known for giving. His eyes still very much focused on Press for there was no way the man was going to back down. Too many people in the past had backed down from Press, but he damn sure wouldn’t be one. Press allowed a grin to flash over his face before lifting the mic, flashing Harris a wink before speaking.
PRESS: Here's the sad part about that little diatribe, Calvin. You drone on and on and on about how great you were, are, and will be, but it never sounds like you're saying that from a true place of confidence. More like a little boy who's trying to convince everyone else that he's old enough to sit at the big boy table. Hell, it sounds like you're trying to convince yourself. The thing is Calvin, you've already made it to the dance. You don't need to sell yourself anymore. We all saw what you could do at Heat Stroke, know what it's worth to you. We even know how far you're willing to go to get it. But you call me stupid when you yourself just said that this little fracas you're causing doesn't mean anything to me. Let me spell it out for you, Calvin. What I did here tonight to GZW might have looked real personal, but, son, that was just business. You're coming into my house, throwing those stones like it's made of glass, trying to take something away from me that means the world to me. No, boy, that's personal, and when I get personal....
Press points a swiping finger at Cross Recoba, and a dangerous glint comes into his eye as he takes a step forward, leaning down so that he's nose to nose with the challenger.
PRESS: People get fucking broke.
CALVIN HARRIS: Is that supposed to scare me Press? Am I meant to be afraid of starting a personal war with you? Is that the reason behind you puffing your chest up like you’re the ultimate bad ass?
The cameras cut a close up of Calvn’s face as he raised his eyebrow up into the air. Course it was a given that he wasn’t actually wanting a response out of the Heavyweight Champion. In fact he didn’t even give Press a chance to speak before he had raised that microphone back up to his lips.
CALVIN HARRIS: You don’t scare me Press. There’s nothing you could possibly ever say that would make me tuck my tail between my legs and run away. Much like there’s nothing that you could ever do that would make me do that. You’re all hype. But since you want to speak about people getting broke. Let me make this as perfectly clear as I can. The only person that’s going to get broken out of the two of us is...
Before he could finish making his statement out of nowhere the entire arena went dark. It was as if someone had shut the lights off completely leaving everyone in a blackout. There was a bit of confusion and buzz among the fans as they chatted among themselves with this blackout occurring for everyone. For a second or two the lights remained out before suddenly flashing themselves back on. In doing so the arena found itself falling silent just like that. The reason for the silence is what had taken place in the ring. Lying on the mat writhing in pain was the PAW Heavyweight Champion himself. Press was coughing and clutching his ribs from what appeared to be an apparent attack as Calvin stood directly over the champion in the ring. He was not alone, as Alexandra Kelly stood on the left of him and Jack Nomad was standing on the right of him. The three of them bore hateful glares in their eyes as Calvin brought the microphone up to his lips speaking with a cold tone of voice.
CALVIN HARRIS: YOU!
As Press tried to rise off the mat, the three vultures moved in to attack, laying the boots to the champion and driving him back down to the canvas. After a few more well placed shots to the ribs and skull, the three stepped back to survey the damage, while the crowd booed them for everything they were worth. Press lay there underneath them as Calvin Harris' smug expression returned, and he nodded. The camera panned the ring, the power trio standing triumphant in all their glory, before the scene faded backstage.
CROSS RECOBA: What a night it was at Heat Stroke, huh?
The crowd cheers, not for Recoba, but the mention of the star studded event. Recoba smirks, nodding his head in agreement.
CROSS RECOBA: Yes, yes. We saw all sorts of incredible action, just like we saw a whole big, steaming, pile of horse shit.
The cheers turn to boo's as Recoba's face draws up in disgust.
CROSS RECOBA: We saw that gargantuan bastard, Press, defend the PAW Heavyweight Championship against CJ O'Donnell, and in the travesty of the night, put him down with that infernal powerbomb of his. Well I tell you right now, you cretinous heathens, I agree with O'Donnell! He deserves his rematch against the so-called-champion, but we already know that probably isn't going to happen. No, management isn't going to allow that. Not when that big oaf draws you idiots into the building, and you keep buying up his merchandise. What the hell is wrong with you? He's little more than a neanderthal, but you people have latched onto him like he's the second coming. It makes me fucking sick!
The fans boo even harder now, and Cross begins pacing the ring, shaking his head.
CROSS RECOBA: But I digress, let's move on to a more positive note. There's still hope for those of us that want to see the ginormous bastard get his comeuppance, and that hope lies in the form of the New #1 Contender to the PAW Heavyweight Championship, CALVIN HARRIS!
"Your Betrayal" by Bullet For My Valentine bursts through the speakers of the arena, and the capacity crowd automatically turn to a chorus of boo's. After a few moments, The Martyr of Wrestling, Calvin Harris, stepped through the curtain, and out on the stage. The smug expression on his face returned the crowds reaction to him, showing them that he didn't care, and that there was nothing they could do to take this moment away from him. He smirks, just before throwing his hands out at his sides, and soaking in the vehement backlash from his mere presence. After a few seconds, his hands drop, and he make an arrogant gait to the ring, chuckling at fans he deemed pathetic. When he finally reached ringside, he hopped up onto the apron, slipped between the ropes, and stalked to the nearest corner. He jumped up to the second turnbuckle, throwing his hands out at his sides again, but this time talking shit to the crowd as they continued to boo him. Their disdain seemed to only entice him, and he dropped from the turnbuckle, turning back to face Cross Recoba who clapped for him before handing him a mic.
CROSS RECOBA: Mr. Harris, welcome to The Box Office. The floor is yours.
Cross bows his head with a wicked grin, as he takes a step back to sit on the edge of his desk, eager to hear what the #1 Contender has to say. For a moment or two there was nothing but the sound of the booing crowd. Calvin standing there in the middle of the ring just glaring at the fans sending hate in his direction. Licking his lips that started to curve into a bit of a smirk. That’s when Calvin brought the microphone up to his lips to begin speaking.
CALVIN HARRIS: Is this ever going to get old for you guys?
Pausing for that moment while walking towards the ropes and leaning against them some. His eyes peering on the fans in the front row.
CALVIN HARRIS: I have been with this company since February and here it is June. That’s five long months that I have been part of Pure Amusement Wrestling. In those five long months it is the same thing with you people. Week in and week out. You boo me like I am simply the worst human being to have ever been born. Week in and week out, you’re rooting against me. Hoping that I fail. Hoping that I lose. Telling me that I don’t have what it takes to go the distance. It never fails, you people always expect me to fall right on my face but then when I don’t. You’re pissed off about it. Well who’s fault is it that you set yourselves up to be disappointed by rooting against the single greatest wrestler on this roster?! Huh?!
That hateful glare of his was still very much featured in his eyes with the crowd starting to get a little louder with their boos. Something that at this point was expected. That’s exactly what brought all of this out in the first place. Calvin pushed himself off those ropes and started to make his way back to the center of the ring near the table.
CALVIN HARRIS: Who’s fault is it that you thought I could never beat Johnny Raike? It’s your fault! Who’s fault is it that you thought that I could never become the Titan of the Midway Champion? Again, that’s your fault. Who’s fault is it that none of you, literally none of you thought or even believed for a single second that I was the man that was going to leave Heat Stroke the number one contender? That I was going to be the man that made it out of those three stages of hell with a victory?!
Pausing once again for that very brief moment. Fans booed the rhetorical question at hand for they knew exactly where this was going. Calvin’s smirk continued to cross his lips listening to those boos.
CALVIN HARRIS: That’s right, it’s your fault and it’ll be your fault when I face the Heavyweight Champion: Press in a few weeks, because once again you’ll boo me. Once again you’ll doubt me. Once again, you’ll say that I don’t have what it takes and then I’ll prove you wrong when I go on to become the new PAW Heavyweight Champion!
From that statement alone the fans were so loud from their boos, it almost sounded like at any given moment that a riot was going to take place. Not a single fan in attendance liked the idea of Calvin going on to become the PAW Heavyweight Champion. Not that it was a surprise to the Martyr by any means. On that note he turned his attention over to Cross for the first time, assuming that the man had a few questions to ask. Cross looks up from where he had been nodding along with everything that Harris had been saying.
CROSS RECOBA: I couldn't agree more, Mr. Harris. As I'm sure you know, I put out a bounty on that big oaf the minute that he became champion, fifty thousand dollars of my own money, but so far, no one has managed to do the job. Stevie Harris tried, and failed. CJ O'Donnel tried, and failed. But you, Mr. Harris, you are the one I feel this money belongs to. You are the one that is going to finally put an end to his reign of tyranny! These people, they lack vision, Mr. Harris. The only reason they hate people like you and I, is because they wish they could stand where we are. They are all too aware of their low station, and that....That, Mr. Harris, is where that fool Press belongs. How can a man like that be champion, when he stands in the presence of great-....
Recoba is cut off abruptly by the sudden sound of the opening chords to "Stranglehold" by Ted Nugent. After a few moments, Press stalks out from behind the curtain, absent his tag team partner who he was busy with earlier in the night. He makes a B-line towards the ring, a scowl on his face, and John Champa's blood still on his hands. When he reaches ringside he hoists himself up onto the ring apron, and throws one boot over the top rope, followed by the other. He comes to stand right in front of Calvin Harris, paying Cross no mind, except to snatch the mic right out of his hand. The #1 Contender and the Champion commence in a stare down, before Press finally lifts the microphone up to his face.
PRESS: Bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch...
He pauses, takes in a deep breath, as the fans cheer and laugh at the display. He exhales deeply before continuing.
PRESS: Bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch, MOAN!
He holds a finger up to show that he's changed the direction of his thought process, and the fans howl with laughter as he allows a slight smile to form at the corner of his mouth.
PRESS: Bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch. Is that all you're going to do out here, Calvin, or are you planning to eventually get to the fucking point?
The eruption is thunderous as Press takes a step back, dropping the mic to his side. The crowd was hot for Press and his words, but as one would have expected Calvin was not. He stood there holding his ground just glaring at Press. Course he had to look up in order to do so considering the giant man had not only some size but some height to him compared to the Martyr. He was not one to back down bringing the microphone up to his lips to speak and hold his ground.
CALVIN HARRIS: I know you’re big. I know you’re dumb. I know there isn’t much going on up there in that small brain of yours, but that’s the best you’ve got? You are going to come out here and say the same thing that everyone else has been saying about me from the start? C’mon Press, I expected a little more creativity from you. I expected a little more originality out of you.
He let the mic fall from his lips for the brief moment. Anytime that the Martyr had something to say, the fans were going to boo him. This was very much like clockwork as they started to boo heavily. Right away though the Martyr brought the microphone back up in order to prevent the crowd from taking over.
CALVIN HARRIS: And along with being stupid, it seems like you’re hard of hearing as well Press. You want me to get to the point? There is no point to get to for I have already said what needed to be said. I’ve done made it clear that I’m taking that PAW Heavyweight Championship from you. And I know that it doesn’t mean anything to you. I know that is something that you can’t wrap your simple mind around. You think I am no better than Stevie Harris, which is the furthest thing from the truth. On day one when I talked into this company I was better than Stevie Harris. He was by far one of the most overrated person that’s ever been on this roster and that’s saying something considering CJ O’Donnell works here.
As soon as those words came out of his mouth there was a small interaction from the crowd that went “Oooh” when it came to the Martyr taking a jab at the former number one contender.
CALVIN HARRIS: Stevie never had what it took to beat you and since I just dropped the little prick, CJ never had what it took to beat you either. They are just like the wolf in the children’s book the three pigs. They huffed, they puffed, and they tried their hardest to blow your house down, Press. Yet they didn’t have it in them, but me? I’m different. I’m very different and I know for a fact that I’m going to be able to accomplish the goal of becoming the PAW Heavyweight Champion. You go ahead and keep doubting me. Go ahead and keep lumping me in with everyone else. In the end though, don’t cry about it when I leave you lying in this ring drowning in a pool of your own blood, just like I did Johnny Raike.
Sure enough Calvin’s lips had curled back up into that arrogant smirk that he was known for giving. His eyes still very much focused on Press for there was no way the man was going to back down. Too many people in the past had backed down from Press, but he damn sure wouldn’t be one. Press allowed a grin to flash over his face before lifting the mic, flashing Harris a wink before speaking.
PRESS: Here's the sad part about that little diatribe, Calvin. You drone on and on and on about how great you were, are, and will be, but it never sounds like you're saying that from a true place of confidence. More like a little boy who's trying to convince everyone else that he's old enough to sit at the big boy table. Hell, it sounds like you're trying to convince yourself. The thing is Calvin, you've already made it to the dance. You don't need to sell yourself anymore. We all saw what you could do at Heat Stroke, know what it's worth to you. We even know how far you're willing to go to get it. But you call me stupid when you yourself just said that this little fracas you're causing doesn't mean anything to me. Let me spell it out for you, Calvin. What I did here tonight to GZW might have looked real personal, but, son, that was just business. You're coming into my house, throwing those stones like it's made of glass, trying to take something away from me that means the world to me. No, boy, that's personal, and when I get personal....
Press points a swiping finger at Cross Recoba, and a dangerous glint comes into his eye as he takes a step forward, leaning down so that he's nose to nose with the challenger.
PRESS: People get fucking broke.
CALVIN HARRIS: Is that supposed to scare me Press? Am I meant to be afraid of starting a personal war with you? Is that the reason behind you puffing your chest up like you’re the ultimate bad ass?
The cameras cut a close up of Calvn’s face as he raised his eyebrow up into the air. Course it was a given that he wasn’t actually wanting a response out of the Heavyweight Champion. In fact he didn’t even give Press a chance to speak before he had raised that microphone back up to his lips.
CALVIN HARRIS: You don’t scare me Press. There’s nothing you could possibly ever say that would make me tuck my tail between my legs and run away. Much like there’s nothing that you could ever do that would make me do that. You’re all hype. But since you want to speak about people getting broke. Let me make this as perfectly clear as I can. The only person that’s going to get broken out of the two of us is...
Before he could finish making his statement out of nowhere the entire arena went dark. It was as if someone had shut the lights off completely leaving everyone in a blackout. There was a bit of confusion and buzz among the fans as they chatted among themselves with this blackout occurring for everyone. For a second or two the lights remained out before suddenly flashing themselves back on. In doing so the arena found itself falling silent just like that. The reason for the silence is what had taken place in the ring. Lying on the mat writhing in pain was the PAW Heavyweight Champion himself. Press was coughing and clutching his ribs from what appeared to be an apparent attack as Calvin stood directly over the champion in the ring. He was not alone, as Alexandra Kelly stood on the left of him and Jack Nomad was standing on the right of him. The three of them bore hateful glares in their eyes as Calvin brought the microphone up to his lips speaking with a cold tone of voice.
CALVIN HARRIS: YOU!
As Press tried to rise off the mat, the three vultures moved in to attack, laying the boots to the champion and driving him back down to the canvas. After a few more well placed shots to the ribs and skull, the three stepped back to survey the damage, while the crowd booed them for everything they were worth. Press lay there underneath them as Calvin Harris' smug expression returned, and he nodded. The camera panned the ring, the power trio standing triumphant in all their glory, before the scene faded backstage.