TYLER BREEZE AND SUMMER RAE ARE IN PERIL. HAVING GIVEN JOHN CENA'S ARMBAND TO EL TORITO, BREEZE SEARCHES FOR A SAFE PLACE WHERE HE CAN AVOID THE NEFARIOUS ROMAN REIGNS AND HIS LACKEYS, DEAN AMBROSE AND THE USOS. SUMMER APPROACHES THEM TO BIDE HIM TIME.
"Roman Reigns! How's it going gorgeous?"
"You know what I want, babygirl."
"Charisma? I'm fresh out."
"The armband."
"What armb..."
"NOW!"
*sigh* "You're too late. The armband's gone and you'll never get it. Face it Roman, the only thing about you that'll ever be 'over' is your football career."
"Heh. That's clever. Too clever. You shoulda stuck to the script."
REIGNS LOOKS TO THE SKY AND, WITH ALL OF HIS RAGE, HOWLS A GUTTURAL, ANIMALISTIC HOWL. HE RETURNS HIS GAZE TO SUMMER, TAKES A STEP BACK, CROUCHES A BIT LIKE AN NFL LINEBACKER, AND THE UNLEASHES HIS BRUTAL SPEAR ON SUMMER. SHE LETS OUT A HIGH-PITCHED, GIRLISH SCREAM THAT CAN BE HEARD THROUGHOUT THE BUILDING.
"DEAN!"
"Sup?"
"Round up every jabroni back here and squash 'em like testicles. I mean tater tots. GRAPES!"
"Right. We'll, uh, we'll get right on that. No prob."
"I don't have a ball fixation."
"I know."
THE ROMAN EMPIRE BEGINS TO SEARCH FOR BREEZE. BEFORE THEY CAN BEGIN TERRORIZING THE LOW CARD TALENT, TYLER BREEZE SHOWS HIMSELF.
"Wait! There's no reason to hurt anybody. I had the armband but it's gone. You'll never find it."
"I'll be the one to decide that. Jimmy! Jey! Bring that fool over here!"
THE USOS SNATCH BREEZE BY THE ARMS AND BRING HIM BEFORE ROMAN REIGNS. REIGNS IS FUMING.
"Why don't you make like Dean's hairline and back off, uggo? I've got a match tonight and I need to get ready."
"Uggo? The Face is strong with me, chump. I'm on top because of these looks, balee dat."
"Is that why you wear color contacts?"
"AAAAAAOOOOOOOOOOGAH!"
ROMAN SUPERMAN PUNCHES BREEZE, RENDERING TYLER UNCONSCIOUS.
"Take him. And squash these jabroni's like I said."
THE USOS ACKNOWLEDGE ROMAN'S COMMAND WITH A SYNCHRONIZED NOD, BUT ONE SEEMS LESS SURE THAN THE OTHER. REGARDLESS, THEY DO AS THEY'RE TOLD. TYLER BREEZE, NOW IN THE CLUTCHES OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE, IS AS GOOD AS FUTURE ENDEAVORED.