Those musky smells that accompanied mold and mildew in the very cracks and corners of an old, flooded basement stunk up the air. The area was quiet, not even the sound of a water heater could be heard as the camera rolled through the area. However, as the camera rounded one of the walls in the large, barren basement, the sound of a television could be heard, lights turned on. The camera panned forward, looking towards the door, the new mahogany door.

The camera went through the doorway as the door opened, into a large, carpeted and painted room, complete with couch, bed, and entertainment center. The smells were gone, the television turned to Cartoon Network. On the walls were pictures of Cyrus and groups of children, Cyrus playing football with neighborhood kids, Cyrus and fundraisers, Cyrus doing this, Cyrus doing that, Cyrus doing things to help his community, Cyrus doing things to help the local YMCA, pictures of Cyrus doing nice things.

The camera panned around the room. Then stopped. On the couch, tucked under a comforter, with a pillow under her head… lay the woman that worked at the bar. She lay there, asleep (hopefully), with blood dribbling out of her head, as though her hair had been pulled out (remember back to the lock of hair Cyrus had in his last promotion). The woman lay, almost peacefully, her snores drowned out by the sounds of the television.

The wooden stairs of the basement creaked thunderously, as though a giant of a man was walking down them. The camera panned back into the dark, damp area of the basement, just in time to catch Cyrus walking past it and into the room, hardly acknowledging the camera. Cyrus carried a tray in his hands, he ushered the cameraman back into the room, shut the door, and padlocked the door, slipping the key into his pocket. He walked around the couch, sitting on the bed, which was directly in front of the bed. He sat the tray on the small table in front of the couch and stared at the woman.

That feeling that you get when you’re being stared at, the one that everyone gets when they’re being stared at, quickly wakes up the woman. She’s startled, both by Cyrus and the cameraman. Suddenly, she sits up, and puts her head in her hands. Cyrus sighs, patting her on the back. She quickly brushes him off.

“DON’T… touch me.”

She snaps at him. Cyrus sits back on the couch. He sighs again.

“Listen…”

The woman looks at him, tears streaming down her face. Her black make-up rolls down over her cheeks.

“Don’t fucking tell me to listen, asshole. What the fuck are you doing to me down here? Why do you have me here?”

Cyrus looked at her, standing.

“I brought you breakfast. WHAT THE FUCK MORE DO YOU WANT?!”

The woman looked down at her hands, again burying her head in them. In between sobbing, she speaks.

“I want… human… contact. I want… my family… I want… my boyfriend. The vital part of my life. A life that you don't have, nor will you ever have.”

Cyrus looked at her, walking around the couch.

“You want your family? The people that neglect you during Christmas, the same people that missed your soccer games to watch your big brother play football? The same people that skipped out on your prom to catch the baseball game? I know you, Shannon. I know your past, I know your present.”

The woman looked at him. She sat up, wiping her face.

“You know me? You know me?! You don’t know me, you don’t know shit about me!”

Cyrus sat down on the couch, next to her. He quickly ripped the blanket off of her, and poked her thigh through her jeans.

“These are the same pants that have been on since you’ve been staying here. These have never come off. I have never seen your thighs, and I guarantee that there is a large scar from a car wreck right here. I also know that you’ve broken your femur, two ribs, and your collar bone in the same car accident.”

She looked at him.

“You…”

“I also know that you lost hearing in one ear after your boyfriend beat you, stabbed you five times and left you to die. You lost your first tooth when you were five, your bought your first brazier when you were ten and half, and your mother died when you were six. Need I go on? I know a lot of shit about you, more than most of your family probably knows. Like the fact you’re a bisexual woman, who tends to come home with women more often than men because they don’t treat you right.”

She looked at him, and went to slap him. Cyrus caught her hand before she hit him.

“Uh… uh.”

He laughed, and threw her hand back on the couch.

“You’re not proving me any different, Mr. Cyrus O’Haire.”

He smirked at her.

“You’ll see… soon, you’ll see REAL soon.”

Cyrus smirked, standing up and walking to the television, turning it off. He turned around, folding his hands together.

“Shannon… I know you. I know everything about you. I know your first crush, and I know the name of your Invisible friend. I know every…

last…

detail…”

As he finished his sentence, he stepped closer… and closer… to Shannon, breathing heavily in her face. She, being strong and determined, held her face still. Cyrus made a kissy face, and stood up, smirking.

“So, sit back, and watch the God damned television.”

Cyrus laughed as he sat down next to Shannon, looking over at the camera.

“Well… now that…”

Cyrus looks over at Shannon, then back at the camera.

“She is settled down… lets get back to business, shall we?”

Shannon runs her hands through her hair, looking at the camera, then back to the television. Cyrus grins as he looked at the camera.

“Well, looky, looky. Guess who got put in King’s Six-Man Over the Top Battle Royal.”

Cyrus scratched at his stubbly beard.

“Yeah, you know who. ME.”

He smirked.

“So, Milligan, we meet again.”

Cyrus shook his head.

“You know, I could be like Cory Hatred or something and start out with the line, ‘You caught me on an off week.’ Yeah, I could start with that. Hell, I could say that I wasn’t performing up to par because I was distracted in the back. I could even say that you’re amazing speed dazzled me. But, there’s one thing about that.”

Cyrus looked at Shannon, who kept her eyes glued to the television.

“I don’t make excuses for my actions. There’s no point. I don’t need to explain myself to people; I don’t need to impress people. I do what I do because I enjoy doing it. Because I want it… or because I know it’s right. I lost to you, I didn’t want it. I didn’t enjoy it… but you know what? It was right. At that moment, you deserved the win. You out worked out me. You out wrestled me, Mike. You took my words, and shoved them back down my throat. That’s what you did. You treated me like a scolded toddler, put me over your knee and beat me like a redheaded step child.”

Cyrus looked to the television, now on ABC. Cyrus shook his head.

“Corporate whores…”

He looked at the camera.

“And I applaud you at that, Milligan. Hell, what else am I going to do, right? Sit here, bitch and moan about it? Fuck, it’s in the past, that’s all that matters. It’s behind us, where it should be. Last week is over, this is a new week… and a new outcome.”

Cyrus sighed.

“This week, it’s you… Kostoff, Josh Generation, the O-M-G returning Keith Cleveland…”

Cyrus clears his throat.

“WITH NEW AND IMPROVED MOVES, LIKE THE KIND THAT CAN HURT PEOPLE SO BAD THEY CRY.”

He smirked, looking at the camera.

“And my personal favorite wrestler here in TIW.. James… The Devilish Irishman… Brogan, Junioooorrrr.”

He grinned again.

“In the main event… one hell of a main event, right? One that’s getting all this crazy hype from the fans. ‘A Battle Royal?! No way! Never seen one of these before?!’ Meh…”

Cyrus looks at Shannon, who continues to watch one of the soap operas.

“How the fuck do you watch this? It’s the same shit… over and over. I guarantee you, everyone of these cast members will die, at least once… in the same season.”

She looks at Cyrus, then away, mumbling under her breath.

“So… where was I? Ahh, yes… So, let me look at it like this. Josh Prohibition –err- Generation, James ‘I Wish I Weren’t as tall as a Leprechaun’ Brogan, Kostoff, who… really just kinda pisses me off, Keith ‘The Returning Never Was, Not is and Never Will Be’, Cleveland, straight out of… you’ll never guess… Cleveland. Clever name play, right, Keith? Nice. Like a retard… and who else… ah, Mikey. Mike ‘What the Hell, I Kick Ass Cause my Daddy Paid My Way through College’ Milligan, who I doubt has even worked a day in his life…”

Cyrus slaps Shannon on the shoulder.

“Are you hearing this, are you hearing about my opposition?”

Cyrus sighs as she doesn’t respond.

“Now, let me reiterate, I don’t make excuses for my actions, good or bad. Ever. So… Mike, James… Cory Hatred… you’ve all got wins over me. Hooray for you. Have a beer on me, another for you, James. Shit, have two.”

Cyrus laughs.

“The point is, ladies and germs, you’ve beaten me. Fair and square. In that ring. Now, lets be men, lets be real wrestlers for a moment here and think about things for a second. Let me run down the heights and weights here for a second… James Brogan, you’re a stunning six feet even, weighing in at a chart topping two hundred and seventy… wait… two hundred and seven pounds. Then we’ve got Keith Cleveland, who looks stunningly like a fucking tool, coming in at six foot three, 225. That’s kinda tall, actually, but not the tallest. The tallest? Kostoff, Mister Steroids McGee. The same guy that … how’d he put it… I’m a piece of shit, and thinks he’ll be mopping the floors with me.”

Cyrus leans in closer to the camera, smirking.

“Son, the only mopping that you’ll be doing with me, is when we’re both in prison cleaning the guards room, and you’re holding onto my pocket. Lets just get that straight.”

Cyrus sits back, chuckling.

“Ah, that leaves us with Josh Generation and… myself. Now, Josh… you’re different. You’re a fucking champion, bro. I guess that gives you the one up on us, right? Makes you something to brag about.”

Cyrus snaps forward.

“Wrong. Dead fucking wrong. You being a six foot nothing high flyer, with a title around your waist, only makes you a moving fucking target for a Battle Royal. Everyone and their mothers will be looking you out, trying to make a name of themselves by being the one to eliminate a champion. But I guess that’s what comes with the territory of being such a terrific and outstanding wrestler, doesn’t it Prohibition –err-… you know your name.”

Cyrus looks at the camera, winking.

“My self… six foot seven… two hundred and eighty pounds of sheer—“

“Psychotic…”

Cyrus turns around to look at her, then looks to the camera.

“What she said. Two hundred and eight pounds of psychotic, veteran, powerful man. The same man that made his name in the weight room, stealing every… single… school record. What school?”

Cyrus smirked.

“W-S-U. Washington State, home of the Cougars. That’s right, you walk your happy asses in that weight room, and you’ll see my name posted… everywhere.”

Cyrus sat back.

“Now, what does that have to do with anything? Why do I boast my strength… being my strength?”

Cyrus stood up, grinning.

“It’s a lot easier to throw a six foot cruiserweight over the top than it is a six foot seven beast, that’s determined as all fuck to win a Battle Royal, is it not? Look at you guys. I weigh more than most of you can bench. I squat more than all of you put together, for fucks sake.”

Cyrus looks at Shannon.

“And now, Aftershock number… what the hell ever it is, marks my return, Keith Cleveland. MY return to fame. To glory. It makes the beginning of MY title run, Josh Generation. It marks the beginning of someone… something… that you have never seen in TIW before… and pray that you’ll never have to deal with. I've been in with you assclowns long enough, it's time for Cyrus O'Haire to make a name for himself here in TIW. If that means running through James Brogan, running through The FOUNDATION... if that means having the entire fucking federation on my broad, strong back... so fucking be it. But when you see me at Aftershock, you will not see the same Cyrus O'Haire as you ever... did before. Something's broken... the Vyrus is air born...”

Cyrus looks at Shannon, slipping his hand under her chin. He blows a kiss at her, and looks back to the camera as his hand remains on her face.

“And when this Vyrus spreads, when it gets you... just remember.

There is no fucking cure.”

Cyrus leans down, licking the side of Shannon’s face, slowly. The camera fades as Cyrus begins to cackle.