And Justice For All
Interlude II
3rd February 2012 - Friday - 8:10pm.
Cold, furious cerulean orbs narrowed as they took in the disbelief and shock plastered on the faces all around the arena.
His theme song had faded long ago; the hushed whispers and soft murmurs that drifted through the crowd like smoke were obvious to his sharp ears.
He slowly scanned the arena until his gaze fell upon three distinct individuals, in turn.
Vince McMahon was at ringside, in a posh suit, looking every bit the regal businessman that he was in the past. The old man was on his feet, a mixture of emotions on his weathered face. Two stood out the most, though: shock, and confusion.
John Cena was on his knees outside the ring, holding a hand to his forehead where he had been badly cut during his desperate, final brawl with Chris Jericho. His mouth was agape, and his eyes were wide. He tried to rise to his feet, but simply fell to his knees.
And now...
His gaze moved to the lone man standing in the center of the ring.
There he stands.
Chris Jericho.
The pretender to the throne.
"I see him."
Can you see it, boy? Can you see what is written on his face? In his eyes?
He focused on Jericho's scowling visage. Visually peeling back the tough-looking exterior, it was easy to see what he was trying his best to hide.
It was primal. Familiar. Oh, so familiar. And oh, so delicious.
Do you see it?
"I do."
What do you see?
He licked his lips.
"Fear."
