FUCK AROUND, FIND OUT

We cut from… whatever Rezin was saying… to…

Boots? Laced.

Tights? Painted on to the thiccness.

‘Stache? You know it’s pristine.

And the Universal Title? Shiny and glorious as ever.

The man attached to said Universal Title, Hayes Hanlon, sits on a bench in his locker room. Legs bouncing, distracting himself on his phone. (He promises it isn’t OnlyFans.)

The arrival of a certain Battle Royal victor provides further distraction.

TAB: Hayes Hanlonnnn. What up my guy?

The Event Horzon’s dark eyes lift up to see Tyler Adrian Best, stepping in through the entry.

Hayes Hanlon: (leaning forward to reach out for a fist bump) You’re looking at it, my dude. Just hiding from the world and doing my best not to puke my guts up.

Tyler nods his head, hardly hiding a smirk as he gives Hanlon a half hearted fist bump. 

TAB: Cool cool cool cool cool. That’s what’s up, don’t wanna puke on those boots or whatever. Big crowd. Lot on the line. Lot of people watching. Just wanted to say good luck out there tonight, you know? 

The smirk falls off his face, his expression turning a little cold. 

TAB: …never know who you might see out there. 

The Comeback Kid bows his head a touch, and follows with a short laugh through his nose and a smirk of his own. He pushes himself to his feet, (give him a sec, everything still hurts from Culture Shock.) setting his posture, with a tilted grin behind the ‘stache.

Hayes Hanlon: You know, I’ve been getting used to that. People showing up on my stage. Uninvited.

He reaches over to the bench, taking grip of the Big Belt.

Hayes Hanlon: And hey, I get it. Kinda goes that way when you’re at the top.

The Event Horizon sets the strap over his shoulder, adjusting it into place.

Hayes Hanlon: But if that’s how this goes, Tyler, you’ve still got a tough decision to make. Because at Tropical Turmoil, you either get me…

Right on queue, a nearby TV monitor flashes a hype video for the evening’s main event, with Brandon Youngblood’s deadly glare burning holes through the screen.

Hayes Hanlon: …or HIM.

Clearly, Tyler has already tuned out, pulling out his cell phone and meandering toward the exit. Hayes looks on, releasing another amused snort, as Tyler takes his leave, then shrugs his shoulders.

Hayes Hanlon: Fuck around. Find out.

We then cut to the ring, where we see Vince Howard ready for the next match.