Owen Hart blinked. "That was an eventful entrance. Faster than it usually is, though. I'll have to speak with one of the technicians about that."
OWEN HART?
"Yeah," Owen said. "Who are you?"
YOU KNOW WHO I AM.
"No," Owen said, "I don't. Unless…" He brightened up. "Was I supposed to fight you?"
WHAT?
"Are you the person," Owen explained patiently, "who I had a match with? Because for some reason, I just can't remember. It's gone clear out of my head." He looked around. "Why's everyone rushing around like that?"
IT'S THE USUAL REACTION OF PEOPLE IN THESE SITUATIONS. YOU REALLY DON'T KNOW WHO I AM?
Owen thought. "Okay. Well…For some reason, you remind me of the Undertaker."
NO, THAT COMES A LITTLE WHILE AFTER, I'M AFRAID.
"Oh." Owen shrugged. "Vampiro?"
I'M NOT A VAMPIRE.
Owen nodded. "Ah. It must be the eyes. Great makeup, by the way."
THANK YOU. BUT IT'S NOT MAKEUP.
"Oh. I like the mask, then," Owen said. "It is a mask, isn't it?"
NO, OWEN HART, THIS IS NOT A MASK. AND I AM NOT A WRESTLER. NOT USUALLY.
"Then what the hell are you?" yelled Owen.
LOOK, OWEN. THINK ABOUT IT. I'M VERY TALL. I'M MADE OUT OF BONES. I'M WEARING A BLACK ROBE. I HAVE A SCYTHE. WHAT DOES THAT TELL YOU?
"It tells me you have a really stupid gimmick," Owen said.
NO…LISTEN TO ME. YOU HAVE JUST DIED. YOUR HARNESS WASN'T ATTACHED CORRECTLY, AND YOU FELL TO YOUR DEATH IN FRONT OF ABOUT A THOUSAND PEOPLE, WITH MILLIONS MORE WATCHING ON TELEVISION.
Owen blinked. "What? I'm dead?"
YES, AND I AM DEATH. GOT IT?
Owen sighed. "Fine. I guess it was bound to happen, sooner or later."
YES.
"Could you just do one thing before I have to go?" Owen asked.
WHAT?
"Go scare Eric Bischoff, okay? That bastard owes me three million dollars. Maybe could you do the merchant in Baghdad thing?" Owen wondered.
MERCHANT IN BAGHDAD…OH YES, THAT ONE. BUT HE'S NOT GOING TO DIE FOR AT LEAST TWENTY MORE YEARS.
"So what," Owen said. "If I have to die, at least I can get the satisfaction of knowing that I've freaked out my boss. Okay?"
I'LL SEND SOMEONE ELSE TO DO THAT.
"Like who?" Owen asked.
Meanwhile…
Eric Bischoff was watching the match on TV. "Shit. Well, there's one less paycheck I have to write." He took a swig of beer.
Something skittered across his desk.
Eric looked down. "What the fuck…?"
SQUEAK.
It was grinning.