"This is the Jester, opening the doors to my House of Fun for all you children to run in and play to your sweet little hearts' content!" Raven's voice came from the speakers before he appeared in the flesh, sauntering out through the entranceway with a microphone in his hand as he talked to the crowd. He was one of the few wrestlers who wore individual costumes for normal entrances – a black leather biker jacket and a flannel shirt wrapped around his waist was all he needed, but it was still a costume. "But before you do, I'd like y--- no, I'm telling you to welcome the Jester's fool, Jesse James!"
"Are to the Oh to the Ai to the Dee, Dee to the Oh to the only double-Gee! Roooooad Dogg!" His companion walked through the entranceway as well, grinning and strolling down to the ring alongside the Raven. "So, boys and girls, we got ourselves a new friend, don't we?" he asked rhetorically, walking up the steel steps slowly and looking around at the crowd for their reaction. The reaction was - who cared if they were heels, they were damn entertaining.
"Why yes we do, Jesse!" Raven replied, entering the ring behind his partner and dropping his belt to the canvas. "And what an interesting friend he is – why, it was in this very ring that he helped another friend of ours out." He grinned, waving an arm around the ring to make his point before turning to face Road Dogg, who had dropped his belt to the canvas as well and was busy admiring it for the crowd's benefit.
"Oh, yes it was." Jesse James looked up, grinning and picking up his belt again, holding it up above his head as a not-so-subtle reminder to the crowd that he was a damn sight better than anybody watching from a stadium seat. "So, ladies and gentlemen, and all you little children too," he added, nodding to a boy in the front row, "We'd like to introduce to you the newest member of our little association – Ezekiel!"
As his music played, Ezekiel stepped out in the entranceway to a blazing display of pyrotechnics – the lights were forever abandoned now, cast into the trashcan of debut gimmicks. Beside him, not to be outdone by any mere rookie, was The Game, dressed to kill in a casual suit. The Outsiders followed them – they may have been bitter as a result of being rejected for the new kid, but they were too smart to show the crowd that, let alone Triple H. The monster of nWo, Batista, brought up the rear with a customary scowl on his face.
All five men paused on the platform, fanning out for the hundreds of flashbulbs that went off in a split-second. Nobody wanted to miss this perfect photo opportunity – even though it was only five members of the New World Order, there was no way that there'd ever be a time with all seven like this, much less all seven not in wrestling attire. Soon the moment was over and they were making their way down to the ring, back into the two-two-one formation to fit onto the ramp.
Back in the ring, the New Age Outlaws were showing no sign of injury –two weeks is a long time in sports entertainment, even if it involves sledgehammers- and they were both resting on the ring ropes, watching the nWo enter. Soon all seven were gathered in the ring together, having gotten through with their posing, taunting and the general keep-earning that you got used to when you worked in 'the business'.
"As I'm sure you've all heard," The Game started after picking up a microphone from an assistant, "The New World Order has a new member. You've all seen him in action, and you can't deny that he could beat any of your pitiful asses from here to Australia and back again, without even breaking a sweat. You're privileged enough to get to see him again tonight, against the same man – but I promise you, this will be an even better performance than last week." He stopped for a few seconds, considering his next words as the other six men nodded and did the general underling thing. "You can't miss him – he's the one with the words 'next big thing' written all over his face. I give to you... Ezekiel!"
Hunter dropped back to allow Ezekiel more attention as he took the mic, grinning out at the crowd and letting their cheers –and, admittedly, boos- wash over him before speaking. "Thank you, Hunter. May I just point out what a great bunch of friends you have here," he began, nodding his head towards the nWo before continuing. "But what I'd really like to thank you for is the opportunity to show just how good I am. I'm no Triple H, no Batista – I might be an X-Pac, though," Ezekiel admitted, a slight smirk on his face as he shrugged. "But I'm still here. And you know why? Because I beat Chris Benoit, that's why. Because I took the Undertaker and Abel -the two most brutal forces in this business- out, that's why. Two things none of you could ever do and two things most of the children back in the locker-room couldn't do either. And that's enough to tell you that Chris Benoit, and anyone who stands in my way, has a very painful future."
"Amen, man, Amen," Shawn Michael's voice broke in through the air, even though the man himself was nowhere to be seen. "Now, I know you'll all be wondering just where I am – let me tell you, you have nothing to fear. Yet." The temperature in the ring had gone down a few degrees, with all seven men looking around the arena to see if they could spot Michaels – they couldn't, of course, but some inexplicable force made them keep going. "I just wanted Ezekiel and Batista – yes, you two," he added, a laugh in his voice as the two men struck two rather angry – and somewhat ridiculous – poses, "to know that you won't be having any trouble from me or two rather pissed-off brothers in your match tonight. Word of honour." Of course, for a man like Michaels it was hard to sound sincere at the best of times, and as for then... The word was 'bullshit artist'. "Take care."
The crowd cheered as Hunter –who had found another mic– and Ezekiel searched for words to reply to Shawn, although one could imagine that their expressions said it all. Ezekiel beat The Game. "Shawn, it's so good to have your word that you won't get your boys beaten again," he told the invisible man, "And I give you my word that I won't go hunting for you. That's best left to the professional, I think." He grinned at The Game, although inwardly he was marvelling at how long the men not speaking were able to appear amiable and agreeable – or, in Batista's case, mean and looking like he had the US title crammed up his candy ass.
"Thank you, Ezekiel, but I'm not the type to go out of my way for a man like Shawn – if he wants me, he can come and get me." As lame as that may have sounded coming from anyone else's lips, or as stupid as it may have looked on paper or a screen, somehow it sounded dominating and goddamn scary coming from Hunter Hearst Helmsley. As The Game's music kicked into life, the group of eight men gave one last look at the audience and climbed out of the ring, trailing out up the ramp.
Somewhere backstage, a Diva got bored and killed a kitten.
