Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters mentioned in this story.

Seth Rollins perched unsteadily on the top turnbuckle. His opponent, Roman Reigns, was sprawled on the mat, awaiting the inevitable high-risk maneuver. The fans were yelling at said opponent to get up while the referee yelled the exact opposite at the soon-to-be attacker. This may sound like a typical night in the WWE, but things are a bit different backstage.

Mark Henry was standing guard at the only public entrance to the inaptly named "arena" (which, in reality, was a furtive place in downtown Miami). Sure, he wrestled from time to time, but was more often stuck with door duty. He wasn't alone this time, as he usually was, but was accompanied by Dean Ambrose. The reason was that rumors had arisen that the police had been notified of their whereabouts and were on the prowl.

Ever since the so-called "Montreal Screwjob" created a series of disputes between American and Canadian wrestling fans, the sport had been outlawed in both countries. As such, companies like the WWE and TNA were viewed with disdain by all but the most loyal fans. Years passed and crowds, though small, still made it to shows.

Of course, it was never easy. Some of the greatest talents of all time were incarcerated for their involvement with the initial rise of the profession. Even some people on the current roster were on the run from previous charges. Triple H, for example, still hadn't faced the full sentence he had received from several counts of property defilement (for which his fellow conspirator, Shawn Michaels, was still serving).

It was eighteen years after the incident that started this whole mess. On the day once referred to as Summerslam, Seth Rollins was, as previously stated, defending his title against Roman Reigns. This title had been degraded to nothing more than just that: a title. The physical belt had been abandoned long ago due to budget cuts.

Seth leaped from his perch on the turnbuckle and landed precisely as he had planned. Roman grumbled slightly under the sudden weight, but remained still. Just as the defending champion was going for the pin, things instantly began going wrong.

Dean saw them first. The men in uniform were walking directly towards the door, guns already in hand in case there was resistance. The Lunatic Fringe pointed them out to his temporary accomplice. "Warn the others," Mark whispered. "I'll see if I can hold them off for a while." Dean nodded and took off.

Almost the entire roster was in a side room, waiting to see if they would be having a match that night. They instantly jumped up when the door opened, hoping it was somebody that would inform them of the next bout. Needless to say, they were a bit disappointed when it was only Dean.

"Code Red," Dean said frantically. "We need to get out of here before the cops get to us."

The Lunatic Fringe's panic spread around the room like wildfire. The Superstars quickly prepared themselves for the desperate flight and bolted out the back door. Unsurprisingly, this was not the first time this had happened. A dark alley spread before them, promising cover for the fleeing renegades.

The situation within the arena was not so fortunate. Mark had tried to keep the officers outside, but they had threatened him with their guns. Fans scattered before the authorities, trying to remain free men. Some of them weren't so lucky. Among the unlucky were the two combatants, along with Mark and Ryback, who had been acting as referee for the night (Again, budget cuts).

As one might expect, the wrestlers were charged with worse crimes than the fans were. Jail time was nearly instantaneous. No trials or evidence were needed because of the hundreds of eyewitnesses willing to testify in order to keep their freedom.

In the meantime, those who had successfully escaped hurried out of the city limits by way of the darkened side streets. Because of their status as outlaws, they weren't welcome in any hotel so close to those who could lock them away for life. They were confined to one of two options: sleep outside under the stars or find a motel so far outside the city that the police wouldn't think to search there. The former proved to be the most likely for the night, as they had managed a longer-than-usual show and as such had no time to search for a motel.

Triple H counted the Superstars and alerted them that they had lost four that night. "You all know that this will happen from time to time," he said, sounding rather callous to those who had lost friends. "You will just have to move on and get some sleep. We move in the morning." With that, he rejoined the group of wrestlers and said no more.

Several of the Superstars were able to shrug off the incident and get to sleep rather quickly. Dean was not one of those people. He sat sullenly at the edge of the group and stared at the city lights. He was soon joined by Bo Dallas, who, coincidentally, had been assigned to the first watch of the night. "Is there something bothering you, Dean?" he asked, all the while keeping his focus on the outskirts of Miami.

"One of the four they took tonight was Roman," Dean answered, even though he wasn't entirely sure why he had said anything. "I can't just sit here and take that."

"I know how you feel," Bo sighed. "They took my dad a couple years back. I don't know if you've noticed, but Bray still isn't taking it well."

"No wonder he's such a nutcase," Dean snorted. "No offence."

"None taken," Bo replied. He tilted his head slightly and mused for a few minutes. "What would life be like without this mess?" he wondered aloud.

"We'd probably be hiding from the fans instead of the cops," Dean noted with a humorless laugh.

"Come on, don't be ridiculous," Bo said, smiling faintly. "What did we do to have to run from the fans?"

"Yeah," Dean muttered, suddenly deep in thought, "What did we do?"

A few minutes later, Dean suddenly proclaimed, "What did we do to deserve this?"

"It's kind of the risk we took choosing this profession," Bo noted. "Didn't you read your contract?"

"Well, yeah," Dean stated, "But, why should we pay for what happened almost twenty years ago?"

"Hmm… Never really thought of that," Bo responded.

"I'll put it by Trips tomorrow," Dean declared.

I listened to "No Apologies" by Bon Jovi and then made this happen on my computer. Yep.