A fateful meeting in a bleak and dismal looking twenty four hour cafe in a horrible part of Georgia. The kind most people wouldn't be caught dead in and especially not at this late of an hour. But it didn't deter the two men seated in a booth against a grimy and stained window. The place was so run down the the lights above even flickered occasionally and seemed to threaten to burn out entirely. One of the men was easily identified as Dean Ambrose. Dressed entirely in black with his disordered and uncombed hair everywhere and slouching lazily against the cushion behind him. The other man sitting across from him had his hands folded on the table. A hood kept his face completely shrouded and his thick winter clothing even hide what kind of frame he was sporting. We'll just refer to him as "Hood."
Hood: Explain to me again. What is it exactly you're fighting for?
Dean Ambrose: Wrestling took something very important to me. EBWF particularly. Something I can't replace. They treat these "superstars" like god's and celebrities. But they're all devils and monsters. I want justice. It doesn't matter how many bodies or bones I break. I can only make the pain go away a little. But it helps me cope.
Ambrose revealed with a briefest flash of a smile. His voice was always seemed not threatening despite his vicious nature. Until he got to a shouting pitch, anyway.
Dean Ambrose: I'll ask because I was always curious. What did you fight for?
The heavily wrapped man didn't answer for a moment or two but eventually shrugged almost in a comical fashion.
Hood: I was supposed to have a reason?
Dean Ambrose: ..You're serious?
Hood: Why would I need a reason? I just got bored easy.
Dean Ambrose: Let me grasp this. You did all those things..with a smile..and influenced so many people to think that it was "cool" or "edgy"..
Ambrose leaned a little closer while one of his hands formed into a fist.
Dean Ambrose: ..And you didn't have a reason?
Hood: Nah. I don't know if anyone has ever told you this or not but..
The hooded man slowly leaned forward as well and spoke in a whisper.
Hood: I'm crazy.
Dean Ambrose: Would have never guessed.
With burning sarcasm fresh from his tongue, Ambrose leaned back and rubbed the side of his head.
Dean Ambrose: Astounding. Just astounding. You're a butcher. You have more blood on your hands than anyone on that roster. I should be after you.
The man Dean was speaking to gave what could almost be described as a giddy laugh.
Hood: Oh, but I'm not even on the roster anymore. You've got bigger fish to fry, kid. And you pick rotten date locations.
Dean Ambrose: I sought you out because you were able to do in a Royal Rumble. Going in at number one and lasting all the way to the end. I win and this and I go to Mania in the main event. I win the title and I bring on a new age.
Hood: A new age of what persay?
Dean Ambrose: Justice. Honor.
Hood: Is that what you call it?
Dean Ambrose: Yeah. That's what I call it, I'm not just piling up bodies because it gets me off.
Hood: Then you're doing it wrong. Oh. Hey. Who is the champ, by the way?
Dean Ambrose: Punk.
The mysterious man with an apparently violent history started to rub his palms together.
Hood: Interesting.
Ambrose slid a list across the table and the hooded man picked it up and began to give it a glance over.
Hood: The hell is this?
Dean Ambrose: List of Rumble participants.
Hood: What the FUCK is a Tensai?
Dean Ambrose: Albert. Fifty pounds heavier. Thinks he's from Japan or something. It's as dumb as it sounds.
Another long pause from the hooded man who rubbed a palm against the side of his head.
Hood: That's who they're hiring these days, huh? Your eggs are gonna get cold if you don't touch them, by the by.
The mercenary flung his plate across the room where it shattered loudly. Some of the other denizens jumped from their seats from a startle.
Hood: Guess you want to get down to business. Fine. He's a fat guy. He'll get tired. Punch him in his dick. In fact..
A marker was produced. The surface of the paper was written across as the stench from the tip filled the air. It was slid over to Ambrose. "PUNCH IN THE DICK" was written next to twenty nine names with an arrow pointed to them. The hooded man folded his hands together.
Dean Ambrose: You think this is funny. Wasting my time. Like it's a GOD DAMN GAME!
Hood: Oh-ho-ho. Some bass in your voice. Made me all trembly. Alright. Let me help you out here. I recognize some of these names. Your Christian and Rhino's and Boddy Roodes, Bully Rays, Batista's Daniel Bryan's James Storm's..
He looked over the paper again.
Hood: Reksy is still around? Neat. Anyway, your Hawkins', and Barrett's don't have a chance. Who is Brodus Clay?
Dean Ambrose: Some fat tub of shit. But he dances. Appeals to kids. There isn't any limit to the depths this company will sink to. Innocent children getting lured in by Barney the Dinosaur with a cool haircut and hip hop dancing. I can take out this whole field of death peddlers and frauds in one night.
Hood: You just blew my mind with your explanation of this Clay guy. I kind of want to hang out with him.
Ambrose was beginning to become visibly annoyed by the lack of focus. He snatched the paper and pointed to one name that he felt would jar a response.
Dean Ambrose: Hey. Look at this one. Bring back any memories.
Hood: ...Oh. Randy Orton. No one has stabbed him to death in his sleep yet.
The mention of the master of the RKO certainly seemed to change the pitch in his voice to a more angry tone.
Dean Ambrose: And Edge. Together. One big steaming pile of debauchery and depravity. They make it look like it's cool to be a rockstar. I wonder how many fans have ruined their lives trying to act like them? The Chris Farley's, Brad Nowells, Brittany Murphy's..Edge and Orton need to die like rockstars and maybe the lifestyle they promoted won't seem to glamorous.
Hood: Huh. Well. He's a tip. Don't kill Orton's wife's pet dog. Kinda upsets him.
Ambrose scowled and didn't look the least bit impressed.
Dean Ambrose: They're both soft now. Maybe when you were around they were threats. I don't see the big deal. Orton's domesticated. Edge even cut his pussy, girly hair and looks like he cleaned up his act. Pretending to anyway. I see through it. Same scum bags with a friendlier image to sell some new t-shirts.
Hood: Don't. Underestimate them. Edge is the one who tossed me. And Orton..well..just punch him really hard for me, will ya?
Dean Ambrose: What he did to you? He couldn't do that to me on his best day.
The confident young man was giving a crooked grin to his hooded conversation partner. He merely stared icily in return.
Hood: You keep thinking that. Who else is--Oh, FUCK, MIZ is still around?
A disgusted groan erupted from the mystery man.
Hood: Hate that little bastard. Hit him too. Really hard. Open hand smack him like a bitch.
Dean Ambrose: I've already kicked his ass a few times. Just took the tag titles from him actually. The biggest puppet that this machine uses to mesmerize it's fan base. A talking head to spout whatever insipid drivel they thing will pop a rating. He seems to think that the only reason I've been able to beat his ass so many times is because he took me lightly. He's delusional. But you probably know that already.
Hood: Hate the god damn Miz.
It was unapparent if the stranger even heard anything Ambrose had just said as he had been shaking his head in disgust the entire time while recalling Mike Mizanin.
Hood: Who is your partner again?
Dean Ambrose: Seth Rollins:
Hood: Oh yeah. Fear boy. He's obsession with that stuff seems a little off to me. And I should know.
Dean Ambrose: Do I need to bring up who you hung out with?
Hood: Mm. Good point.
Dean Ambrose: We'll together if we have the chance during the Rumble. We see things the same way. It just took a little..convincing to get him on my side.
Hood: I like his hair. And who the hell decided to pair up with The Miz anyway?
Dean Ambrose: AJ Styles.
Hood: AJ Styles?!
A long string of laughter came from the hooded man. Enough so that even the eccentric Ambrose rose an eyebrow at him.
Hood: He's a LAUGH riot! Just a barrel of fun. Oh, so many good times I had with him. Great guy.
Dean Ambrose: Right. Whatever. There's more.
Hood: I mean..I dunno. Alberto Del Rio? The rich Mexican guy? Kidnap his announcer, tie him up to a tree and set him on fire. Trent Barreta? The one with the sixteen year old girlfriend? Kidnap her, tie her to a tree and set her on fire. Ted DiBiase? Kidnap his Dad, tie him up to a tree and set him on fire? Kane? ..Well..can't really set him on fire now, can we?
Dean Ambrose: I don't do that. I don't make them suffer. I take them out quickly. Efficiently. Rollins and I don't give them a chance to fight back. Brutal. Because we have to be. If we used your methods we wouldn't be any better than them.
Hood: Now where is the fun in that?
Dean Ambrose: It isn't fun. We're saving souls. We follow a righteous path.
Hood: You really believe that, huh?
A tense stare down from after both men described their preferred methods of violence. The man with the hidden identity lifted the paper back up.
Hood: Look at that. Johnny Cena is still at it. Heard he went a little loco while I've been away.
Dean Ambrose: Maybe the worst of them all. A fallen hero. Some one at one point who I might have actually spared. The vast majority seemed to have forgiven him. But I won't. I'll always remember what he did. I'll always remember the hearts he broke and the souls he destroyed because he caved into pressure. He needs to be taken out of his misery.
Hood: Amen to that! Some advice. He looks soft but, lemme me tell ya, the boy scout isn't. And if he does have it in him to do those awful, mean, nasty things..well..that even scares me a little. Or excites. I'm not really sure. Dumb as a rock but annoyingly strong. Speaking of Rock's, THAT guy is back again?
Dean Ambrose: This company's tool to reach a wider audience. They're movie star. As much as they like to pretend that he's some kind of traitor..they love it. He just lures in more sheep to the slaughter at a startling rate. Raises his stupid eyebrow and drops stupid elbow and brain dead masses eat it all up.
Hood: Jesus Christ, kid, I thought I was into conspiracy theories! You're a little loopy yourself, aren't you? I don't know how much I helped you. Our methods are too different. But we both wanted the same result. To burn that place to the ground. You have a reason. Eh..I really didn't. Kindred spirits, though.
After slapping a few dollars onto the table the stranger slid out of the booth.
Hood: Hey. I'm rooting for you. Hurt people. I might even consider watching.
Dean Ambrose: I'm going to come after you eventually.
Ambrose said completely stone faced. The man pulled down his hood and revealed his long hair and grinning face.
Brian Kendrick: Kids these days.
A chime from Kendrick leaving the cafe and pushing the door aside was heard while the camera faded on the image of Ambrose sinking everything that had just gone down.
