Jerry Lynn could feel the vein in his forehead pulsing dangerously close to the skin's surface and he forced himself to take a calming breath, counting backward from ten, before he spoke.

"What do you mean you lost him?"

Dutt and Lethal exchanged a nervous glance. They had searched for Sabin for the better part of an hour before gathering what courage they could muster to go back inside and tell Lynn that, against his specific orders, they had let him out of their sight.

Needless to say, he was not taking the news well.

"I was only gone for, like, five minutes," Lethal insisted. "You saw him – he couldn't even walk by himself! But when I got back there was no sign of him! Maybe if this guy hadn't taken forever…"

"So now it's my fault?" Dutt blanched. "I couldn't get the car to start! I walked all the way back to tell you and you're both gone! What the hell did you leave him for anyway?"

Lethal looked uncomfortable and began to mumble. "I just thought…only for a second…and Traci and Val…" Dutt's jaw dropped but Lethal immediately jumped to the defensive. "They were having car trouble too! It took me all of two seconds to fix – and when else am I gone get the chance to chat them up? They barely ever look in my direction, never mind talk to me!"

"And you didn't find that suspicious?" Lynn interjected. "Even after I warned you that something was wrong?" Both young men looked questioningly at him but he shook his head, opting not to elaborate, and tossed Dutt his keys. "Get my car. Maybe we're not too late yet."

Too late for what, he wasn't entirely certain. But, as Dutt and Lethal ran ahead of him, Jerry Lynn silently promised himself that, if anything had happened to Sabin, Traci and Val would be the first to be interrogated.

"Hey, did you hear about Sabin?"

"Yeah, dude just disappeared into thin air or something, and nobody's heard from him in over two weeks? Weird shit."

"No kidding."

"Lynn have you guys searching, too?"

"Tried to – threw out some bullshit that it could have been any of us—"

"—And will be if Nash gets his way? Yeah, he tried that one on me, too."

"Would it have killed you to look? I mean, it's not exactly like Sabin to go missing."

"He can stay missing, for all I care."

"Even if something's happened to him?"

"Oh please, he's run off with his tail between his legs, more like. The guy got what he had coming, the way he was provoking Nash."

"I wonder if you'll think the same thing when he targets you next."

The collection of X-Division competitors looked up at Lynn, who had appeared in the locker room doorway.

"Any luck, Jerry?" AJ Styles asked.

"Still no word," Lynn shook his head, his icy glare locked on Matt Bentley, who had made the offending comment. "Thank you to those who made an effort to help."

"Don't even try the guilt trip," Bentley rolled his eyes as his partner, Frankie Kazarian, nodded his agreement. "Everyone here knows that, if it was me missing, Sabin wouldn't lift a finger to help. The guy has been a pain in my ass for years."

"Your petty reaction really doesn't surprise me, Matt," Christopher Daniels retorted. "You never could handle the pressure of a true rival – somebody who would take you to the limit and help you both to emerge stronger." To accentuate his point, he motioned to Styles, who had been his arch-nemesis for some time, and whom he had faced in numerous epic battles. Recently they had united their strengths and had captured the NWA Tag Team Titles.

"I am surprised at you, however, Petey," Daniels turned to the young Canadian star, as he had been on Bentley's side of the earlier argument.

"Why?" Williams scoffed.

"You and Sabin broke in together and have faced each other – what, about a million times? Give or take?" Styles followed his partner's train of thought. "And every single time y'all brought out the absolute best in one another. Why the hell would y'all want to lose that? Unless, of course, you're still sore over the World X Cup finals."

Williams leapt to his feet and crossed the locker room to stand toe-to-toe with Styles. "Wanna say that again, Backstreet Boy?" he snarled.

"With pleasure," Styles drawled in his Georgian accent. "Fact is: without Team Canada to 'watch your back'—" and here he used his fingers to make quotations, "—y'all can't match up to Sabin. And it's tearing you up."

A long tense moment followed. Williams' eyes burned with unquestioning hatred for Styles, both because of his arrogance and the fact that he could not think of a comeback. Styles' eyes, in turn, reinforced his victory with mocking sentiments. It took Jerry Lynn three attempts before they heard him telling them to back off.

"If I know Sabin as well as you all say I do, then I oughtta know that you're all worried over nothing," Williams snarled, still fuming as he sat down again. "The little Prima Donna is gonna walk through that door any second."

As if on cue, the door slowly swung open to allow Sabin to enter. Someone emitted a grunt of surprise; for a man with so severe a concussion that he had barely been able to form coherent thoughts, let alone words, the last time anybody had seen him, Sabin looked no worse for wear. Aside from dark circles under his eyes, he looked completely normal, freshly groomed, and walking under his own power.

"Nice of you to show up," Williams said before anyone else could speak. Still hot under the collar over Styles' remark, he leapt to his feet and stomped across the room until he was nose-to-nose with Sabin. "Now, if you're finished playing your little games with Nash, you and I have unfinished business to take care of. I want you, one-on-one, at No Surrender."

"Spend the next pay-per-view with my favourite dance partner?" Sabin smirked mischievously. His voice gave no indication whatsoever of any recent head injury: not one slurred word or stuttered syllable. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

Williams took a moment to sneer over his shoulder at Styles before he turned back to Sabin, spit in his eye and then pushed his way out of the locker room.

Sabin nonchalantly wiped the offending fluid away and chuckled softly. "It's always good to see him in such a good mood."

"Speaking of which," Lynn began carefully, "you seem to be doing much better than the last time I saw you. Mind explaining what happened to you last Sunday and where you've been for the past two weeks?"

"Whoa, chill out, Jer-Bear," Sabin held up his hands submissively. "What's with the third-degree?"

"Chris, you dropped off the face of the Earth after Hard Justice," Styles spoke on Lynn's behalf. "We were worried about you – worried something might have happened to you."

"Well, clearly," Sabin returned condescendingly, "I'm fine."

"What's gotten into you?" Lynn demanded.

"I don't like people up in my face, old man, that's what."

Daniels had had enough. "Show some gratitude, you little punk. Jerry pretty much nursed you back to life after Nash rattled that tiny brain of yours, and this is how you repay him?"

"I don't remember you being a peach to be around after Joe turned your brains to mush back in November," Sabin shot back, referring to Genesis 2005.

"Well, I sure as hell didn't behave like a spoiled little shit."

Styles kept his mouth shut.

"You know, as much fun as this has been – and don't get me wrong, I enjoy being bitched out by a bunch of washed-up, old has-beens as much as the next guy," Sabin rolled his eyes, "but I have far better things to be doing with my time. So, if you'll excuse me…"

As he turned to go, Lynn roughly grabbed his arm and forced him back around. He had fully intended to lay into Sabin with a verbal beat-down, but one look at Sabin's eyes caused the words to evaporate before they could even form on his tongue.

The kid had a very real anger inside what used to be his signature pair of innocent baby blues. The colour had intensified; a steely blue now accented the piercing glare that he'd fixed on his former mentor. They flashed with an enraged darkness full of cruelty, malice and spite. If the eyes were the window to the soul, then Sabin's was locked in fiery damnation, wishing its fate upon all others.

Taken aback by what he saw, Lynn released his protégé's arm and backed away, his face a mix of disbelief, shock and weary suspicion. Who was this young man standing before him?

"What the hell was all that about?" Daniels raised an eyebrow after Sabin, who left after one last, long, cutting stare at Lynn.

"It's just like I told you," Bentley, who had been silent for some time, said after Lynn offered no response. "Same old pain in the ass. Same old Sabin."

"I'm not so sure," Lynn muttered quietly.

News and gossip of Sabin's attitude spread like wildfire amongst the roster; to no great surprise, the truth became exaggerated and spawned half-truths that were even more exaggerated. Williams spitting in Sabin's eye became Sabin spitting in Lynn's eye. Daniels and Sabin exchanging insults became Daniels and Sabin exchanging punches. Lynn grabbing Sabin's arm became Lynn grabbing Sabin's shirt to slam him against the wall. And Sabin's burning Death Glare became uttered death threats.

While the incident continued to be blown out of proportion, people developed their own opinions over what it all meant. Several, like Styles, sought to give Sabin the benefit of the doubt but were nevertheless shocked at his behavior. Many, like Daniels, were outright enraged by the lack of respect he had shown. More than a few, like Williams and Bentley, were vocally irritated by his arrogance and insisted that he was now showing the true colours that they'd always known he'd had.

Only Lynn was convinced that something was seriously wrong.

Sabin continued to refuse to give any explanation of his whereabouts during his two-week absence. The mere mention of the topic would test his now-substantially shorter temper; he had nearly attacked Dutt and Lethal when they had asked upon bumping into him backstage the night of his surprise return.

In the days leading up to the pay-per-view, Sabin became even more secretive. Phone calls were cut short when anyone approached. He regularly ducked away from crowds to sneak off by himself; the one time Lethal and Dutt had been able to follow, he had been engaged in a hushed and hurried conversation with somebody standing in the shadows. And it was not uncommon for him to glaze over as if deep in thought or intently listening to a voice that nobody else could hear.

By the time No Surrender was gearing up to begin, Sabin versus Williams was the talk of the town. Everyone from ring crew to wrestlers, security guards to the fans themselves had noticed the peculiar change in Sabin. It was apparent in his mannerisms, the way he spoke, his ring attire and the level of his intensity in matches. There was an undeniable sneer on his face and in his voice. He had swapped his usual black trunks for a pair of acid-washed long jean cutoffs. And while he had always given his all in the ring, he now fought with a clear and present viciousness.

All of it was driving Williams up the wall, and he spent a good deal of his time before the show loudly proclaiming to anybody who would listen that he intended to 'beat the snot-nosed smirk off of Sabin's ugly, obnoxious face.'

Alex Shelley was finding it all most disconcerting.

Not that he minded Sabin and Williams being the centre of attention; so long as people were focused on them, he was free to operate under the radar for a little while longer. He still needed time to ensure that there was no possible way for anybody to foil his meticulously-constructed master plan, so anything that diverted suspicion from him was definitely welcome.

And it certainly wasn't Sabin's change in attitude that worried Shelley. In fact, he found himself admiring his old foe for it. He would have expected anybody to be just as angry after being as humiliated as Sabin had been, but the hateful new demeanor, the disillusion with the prehistoric code of respect, was so decidedly un-Sabin – so deliciously un-Mr-Goody-Two-Shoes-Boy-Wonder-Captain-of-Team-USA-2006 – that Shelley almost wanted to congratulate him on finally seeing the light.

Almost.

What was bothering Shelley was the serious lack of thirst for vengeance Sabin had on display. He had counted on a dynamic return and an adamant demand for a rematch with Nash, but Sabin had yet to cast so much as a dirty look at Shelley, Devine or the big man. To return as quietly as he had, inadvertently cause a stir by clashing with allies, and then proceed to accept a challenge from Petey Williams, who'd had no connection to his injury – quite frankly: none of it made any sense. None of it fit the expectations. None of it followed the logical steps one took when returning from being deliberately taken out of the game.

All of it made Shelley very nervous.

But he had come too far, planned much too carefully, for anyone to be allowed to ruin things now. If Sabin insisted on being an anomaly, then he would simply have to be monitored – at all times – until his true intentions were clear.

That was the point of keeping Devine around, after all.