"This show isn't good for us," Hall muttered, kicking back on the couch and staring out the skybox at the Dudley Boyz, who were warming up the crowd for their upcoming match against –for the first time since Ezekiel had shown up- the New Age Outlaws. "I mean, all these leather seats can't be good for our posture, and as for the picture quality on this set..." He trailed off, taking a swig from his beer – no, that argument wouldn't be revived just yet.

"Oh, and here I was thinking that you were going to mention a certain two big, bad meanies," Nash replied, sighing and opting not to point out that Hall was in fact looking out a window, not staring at a television. "But then, I guess we don't have to worry about that. After all, Shawn did give us his word, and we can always trust Hunter's arch-enemy." Sarcasm was back, and Big Daddy Cool wasn't about to let it go unnoticed.

"Shut your mouth, Nash," Hall grumbled as the crowd was regretfully informed that due to a technical error, the following match would be delayed for a few extra minutes. "I was just trying to relax, and ignore the fact that we're sitting here, alone, when there are two rabid maniacs with sledgehammers roaming backstage – and with a grudge, if not against us specifically, then against our little band here."

Apparently a ring-post had been dinted by a particularly vicious –if misguided- Gore, and they'd only just noticed this now – well, either that or D-Von had put on a few extra pounds while he'd been out with injury. "Well, you could've kept your mouth shut about that a little longer," Nash told him, putting down the empty beer bottle and watching one ring-post require four roadies to carry. "Because now I suddenly remember just why I haven't wrestled for a month."

"Oh, you mean the quad? Let's face it, if it comes down to you wrestling consistently, you can kiss your career goodbye." The smaller Outsider laughed and fished in his pockets for a piece of paper – he actually kept his word, or at least his word concerning beer. "And here – before you even start on me about the beer, read this." He dropped the open note into Nash's lap with a smirk as he watched a new ring-post be installed – a lot harder than it sounded, thanks to the always-fun-to-deal-with ring-ropes.

"Damn, man! That's harsh." Nash whined as he pushed himself up from the leather, heading towards the icebox before fishing in it for two more bottles. "Your turn next, and you're not weaselling out of it for love or--" Nash stopped in the middle of his sentence as he looked up at the open door, wondering if he should yell or simply run back through the window and escape through the crowd. He was saved the decision by being slammed into the back of the couch.

"What th—ah, SHIT!" Hall turned around before yelling, having about two more seconds left of freedom before he was slammed in the face with a fist holding a sledgehammer's head. The Undertaker, looking thoroughly cramped alongside his arch-enemy (well, at least until a few weeks ago), let go of the sledgehammer and flexed his bare fingers as he looked down on the groaning Hall. Abel, meanwhile, had opted not to go soft on Nash and had most probably broken the man's cheekbone with the bare metal.

"Those ruled by the New World Order," the Dead Man intoned as he swung the sledgehammer into Hall's back after having kicked the couch through the window, "Do not deserve to rest in peace." The Outsider screamed as the Undertaker worked on an impressive golf swing along his spine. It was going to take a lot longer than two weeks for the Outsiders to heal up after this, if the Brothers and Shawn had their way – which, of course, they would.

"But we want to give you the opportunity anyway," Abel added, a slightly sadistic grin on his face as he practiced croquet on the back of Nash's neck before stopping and holding the hammer by the end of the handle, placing the head underfoot. "Because, if you hadn't noticed already - we're feeling very kind tonight." He laughed and raised his foot, pulling the hammer up with it before stamping on the side of Nash's head. Nash's reply was a groan, stifled by gasps of air.

As the two Brothers left their bloodied victims lying on the floor, one had to reflect on the unintended truth of Hall's comment – specifically, 'ah, SHIT!'.