…WE PUT ONE OF THEIRS IN THE MORGUE
We start with a bathroom door. Don’t worry, we’re not going in. Someone’s coming out.
With an accompanying flush, the door swings open a few seconds later and Foster Nackedy emerges from the bathroom, a scowl on his face.
Foster Nackedy: Every time they tell me not to eat arena puffy tacos, and I never listen.
Foster takes a few steps away, holding his stomach, before turning back towards the door.
Foster Nackedy: Yeah, nope, got to go back…
As Nackedy pushes open the bathroom door, a collision from behind sends him sprawling across the bathroom tiles into the wall. He pushes himself back and turns, wincing as he stares up into the face of the Risen Star.
Foster Nackedy: Oh, hey Nova!
Foster braces one arm against the wall under a hand-dryer and holds the other out in a halting gesture.
Foster Nackedy: I’m actually glad you’re here. I know things have gone a little off the rails. But we’re reasonable people. I bet if you and I tried to talk this all through, we’d be able to…
Nova swings a boot forward into Foster’s midsection, taking the air out of his lungs. Nova reaches down and grabs Foster by the scruff of his jacket, leaning in.
Nova: You wanna go after my people? You wanna turn this into some kind of tit-for-tat, cat-and-mouse bullshit because the Bayou Butcher can’t wait till we step in the ring?
Foster Nackedy: I-
Nova rips Nackedy off the floor, smashing the top of his head into the hand-dryer, which makes it roar to life with a loud Ruuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh sound as hot air brushes rivulets of blood away from Nackedy’s scalp. From there, Nova swings Foster around in a 360-degree spin off the floor, slamming his body into the faux-marble sink installation before releasing his grip as Nackedy crumples in a heap.
Foster manages a weak cough, shuddering as Nova steps away from him. The Risen Star offers him a contemptuous frown and a shake of his head before walking away. He places a gloved hand on the door to push it open when he hears a peculiar sound.
A hoarse chuckle.
Nova turns back to see Foster rolling over to brace himself against the wall, blood still dripping down his face. He coughs again before uttering another low chuckle.
Foster Nackedy: You must…be so…pissed off, Nova.
Nova doesn’t respond, his hand still pressed against the bathroom door.
Foster Nackedy: Your life has been…nothing but consequences. There are no…(coughs)…consequences for Paxton.
Nackedy winces, clutching at his side before continuing.
Foster Nackedy: He paralyzes Jon Rhine…no one really cares. Paxton Ray and Jared Sykes get Feud of the Year. That’s how much it matters.
Foster spits out blood onto the tiles and grits his teeth, taking in a long breath.
Foster Nackedy: He throws Who’s-A-What’s-It through a glass window…no one really cares. He’s a champion. He’s on promo posters and billboards. And you…
Nackedy tries unsuccessfully to suppress another laugh that ends in a pained cough.
Foster Nackedy: …they found you with drugs. Fucking drugs…and you spent years in prison. Your late thirties, spent in a cage…and this guy can’t manage to get himself kicked out of a for-profit corporation for putting a man in a chair for the rest of his life.
Foster shakes his head, his eyelids closing under his bloody mask but the whites of his teeth shining bright in a grin.
Foster Nackedy: That’s what I love about him. The world called for his head, and he simply refused to acknowledge that was a possibility…
He lifts an arm away from his side and points a shaky finger at Nova.
Foster Nackedy: …but you did.
Foster cough-laughs again, his grin fading. Nova takes a deep breath, his hand still pressed against the door…before it slides down, hitting the latch-lock seals them both inside. Nova turns back to Nackedy, his blue eyes lit up like bonfires in the ocean.
The Starchild’s hands ball into fists and he advances on the Bayou Butcher’s manager, bathing him in shadow as Nackedy’s eyes grow wide and the scene cuts to ringside for our main event.