Rowland sat on the edge of his bed, shirtless, with his elbows on his knees and his hands fingers intertwined. Michael lay on his side, eyes staring at the wall – he knows his brother is looking at him, but Michael still plays possum. The two brothers know exactly what the other is thinking, one of those ‘twin’ connection deals. Michael just wants to do what’s right, he wants to prove to himself (and his father) that they’re not just worthless douschers. Rowland, obviously more eager to get his feelings out in the air, reaches over and turns the light on, causing Michael to roll over.

“Yeh know what I’m goin’ ta say, Mikey.”

Michael lays on his back, his eyes on the sky.

“Mikey, yeh want me to pin me ears back, aye? Yeh want me to be the mean, cruel man yeh’ve always been? Yeh want me to be more like yeh, aye?”

Michael glances at his brother, squinting because of the light in his face.

“Fine, I’ll do all that fer yeh. But only if yeh do somethin’ fer me.”

Rowland stands up, shaking his head as he walks to the foot of their beds.

“Yer first few matches, what happened? Yeh won, aye? Yeh laid inta people, and yeh did what I told yeh ta do. Ya did what I thought was the right strategy in the match, and yeh let me do the homework. Then, yeh started ta get cocky. Yeh stopped listenin’ ta me. Yeh lost ta Jun Kenshin cause ya thought yeh knew all about him. Then, yeh lose the Revolution title match, and yeh lose the Iron Fist match, all because yeh wouldn’t listen ta me. Granted, I did jump into yer matches, but still – I wouldn’t have if I didn’t think yeh’d already lost the match. Don’t get angry, Mikey…”

Michael sits up in his bed, scooting back against the headboard.

“Let me be that guy, Mikey. Listen to me. Yeh know damn well I’m the brains, and yer the brawn, that’s the way it always has been, that’s the way yeh wanted it. Yeh want ta be a great tag team? Yeh want to have a better life? Lets work at it, lets use yer strengths, me strengths, put em together, and nobody can stop us – nobody.”

Michael looks at his brother, then looks to the clock, then back to his brother.

“Which one of us is going to win the Rumble?”

Michael looks at his brother, kind of smirking now. Rowland looks at him, nodding.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

* * * * * * * * *

Michael and Rowland stand in front of the camera, both wearing the "Bleed Green" t-shirts we saw them debut a few weeks ago. The two of them are in jeans, loosely hanging off of their legs, and both are sporting stubble on their faces. They look almost exactly the same, minus that one little dot on Michael's cheek that seperates him from his brother. Michael turns to his brother, shaking his head.

"Did yeh see what the Flying Avengers had ta say about us, Rolly?"

Rowland looks at his brother, before turning back to the camera, knowing full well what they said.

"What did they say, oh brother o' mine."

Michael smirks, nodding his head as he crosses his arms over his chest.

"They said we're going ta pay fer what we did ta them. They said we're goin' ta be brought ta justice inside the ring - maybe even at the Redemption Rumble!"

Rowland looks to his brother, feigning shock.

"Oh, Michael. What are we going to do!"

"I'll tell yeh what we're gonna do, Rolly. I'll even tell these nice people at home what we're goin' ta do."

Michael nods, his grin fading from his face almost as quick as it crossed over it.

"We're going to keep doing what it is we started last Revolution, Rowland. We're going to keep MAKING people notice us. We're going to keep RUNNING people through. We're going to get what it is we want, and we're going to beat the snot out o' the wankers that need ta take a piss and stay out o' our family, and our family's business. Kid Lightning complains about tables? Pfft. We. keep. using. tables. Jared and CJ want to ignore us? They want to IGNORE being DECIMATED by us? Fine. WE. KEEP. BEATING THEM SENSELESS.

"The boys from Long Island Hardcore want violence? They want extreme?"

"Let me guess... We give them extreme?"

Michael nods, looking at his brother.

"We give them what they want. We let them know that they can THINK they know what the hell it is we've been through, they can underestimate the pain the war we grew up in. They want to think ONE thing about us, when we KNOW the truth? Fine - we will make them understand it. We will explain it to them. One. Match. At a time."

"Oh, I get it, Mikey. SHOOT Project was built on violence. Guys like Corazon, Don King and Roland Caldwell are thriving here, while guys like Benjamin Biggs sit back and have to STEAL titles to hold them. You want us, the Collins Twins, to start acting like fecking MEN and turn some heads, not expect heads to turn fer us?"

"That's right, Rolly, that's exactly right. No more playing around - oh. There will be jokes, there will be pranks, we will piss people off. We will get under people's skin... and then we crush them."

"Flying Avengers? Long Island Hardcore? Feck, put Instant Heat in front o' us, and yeh'll get the same damn thing."

"The Devils from Dublin, Michael and Rowland Collins. FROM DUBLIN. That is our home now, that is where we our brother is laid up."

"This Redemption Rumble will be the first for us, the wrestling Rumble for us ever. But we've been in plenty a barfight to understand how they work."

"Yeh got the novelties coming into the ring; the guys like Ed Raymond and Rufio the Seven Foot Clown. They do their thing, they get the cheap pop, and maybe a lower-to-mid tier guys comes by and puts them over - guys like Lionheart and Kenji Yamada."

"But those guys, the Strifes and Yamadas, making their first appearances in SHOOT Project get overshadowed. Maybe it's because they're not clicking right - they're just not in time in a SHOOT Project ring, and they get tossed over by guys trying to make names for themselves - guys like Declan O'Leary and Tom Quinn."

"Of course, what yeh have next, well... yeh've got the guys that actually have a shot in this Rumble, the guys that actually care about what's at stake - not just the fame. The guys like Trevor Worrens and Osbourne Kilminster, and they do whatever it is they have to to cause havoc. They knock heads with the Long Island Hardcores, the Collins Twins of the federation, and sometimes - just sometimes - they get the ol' heave-ho."

"Of course, it's about this time that the surprises come out o' the woodwork. Maybe it's an X-Calibur, or a Loco Martinez, maybe it's Real Deal himself coming down and locking horns with the guys in the ring. Hell, maybe Dave Marz comes out of nowhere and shocks the lot o' us. Maybe - just maybe - someone sits around and doesn't do SHITE until the last few minutes and it shocks the hell out a everyone. Like we say in Ireland - even a Leprechaun loses his gold."

"Even the banshee screams silently."

"Even the Collinses win a rumble once in a blue moon."

Michael looks at his brother, cocking his eye.

"Well, that I made up, but still, it's true."

"And this very well could be a blue moon."

Michael nods, looking at the camera.

"While Long Island Hardcore might not care about this rumble - God knows we do."

"Ten grand on one mask wearin' twit? Are yeh feckin' kiddin' me!? Like the lass said herself, there's a lot of stuff $10,000 can do fer a family in need. Fer a family tryin' ta provide a better life fer a kid in need."

"Fer a couple of alcoholic Irishmen, ten grand is a pot o' gold without a rainbow, aye?"

Michael looks over his brother, his brother does the same.

"We may not be the biggest twats in the ring."

"And we may not be the only tag team in the ring."

"But the Pope be damned if we're not going to be the last tag team in the ring."

"Hey, yeh shouldn't say that."

"Meh, feck it. May God strike me down if I'm wrong."

Michael pauses, looking around the area. Rowland crosses arms, looking at his brother.

"See? Even the invisible guy in the sky is behind us."

"We will be in that ring, and we will cause havoc, and unlike Long Island Hardcore, we are in it to win it - tag team gold be damned."

"Chivalric? Osbourne Kilminster? Eli Storm?"

"Wait, Eli Storm is back?"

"Wait, let me rephrase that. The Artist Formerly Known as Eli Storm is back. Yeh know how he is - always claiming he's the best, yadda yadda, and fizzing out when he gets the chance, he shouldn't be a factor in this rumble."

Michael looks at the floor, dejected.

"Don't worry, Mikey. One good lickin' and he'll be gone again. Something about Kaz Sato, I don't know, it's confusing."

"Good. Nothin' like a washed up ol' bloke tryin' ta steal other's well deserved time."

Michael and Rowland look at each other for a couple seconds, smirk, and look at the camera.

"The long and short of it, lads and lasses..."

"We're comin' into this rumble fresh... we're coming in determined, hungry, and lookin' ta knock heads."

"We'll work together - we'll divide and conquer, if it comes down ta' it, we'll even use Ed Raymond as projectile."

They look at each other, their happy-go-lucky demeanor slowly fading.

"But do not expect this to be fun and games. CJ Nelson's been through wars. We've been through wars - we lived in a warzone for the first 20 plus years o' our lives - we will take this seriously."

"And one of us will come out on top."

Michael looks at his brother, extending his hand.

"May the best Irishman win."

Rowland takes the hand, smirking.

"Oh, I will."

Michael and Rowland turn back to the camera, both with their arms crossed over their chests, smirking. The camera fades to black.