One. More. Match.

A good hour into edition number sixty-two of Monday night Fusion, we're taken to the office of the head-honcho himself, general manager, Johnny Sampson. He sits behind his desk, currently occupied with a call, and as the camera pans out we see that he's not alone, two behemoths standing on either side of him. They dawn bluish jumpsuits, both men covering their faces with a mask, neither of them moving an inch as if frozen in time. Big Johnny hears a trio of knocks at his door, prompting him to quickly end his conversation and beckoning for whomever it is to come inside. It's none other than The OG Dirty Heel himself, Xander Slate, and he does not look at all to be in a pleasant mood. Slate approaches Sampson's table and is slightly taken aback by the two mountainous men that stand before him, as if he didn't see them upon entering the room.

Slate
Hm, new toys?

Johnny lets out an aired chuckle, standing up from his seat and nodding his head.

Sampson
Well, I figured that after what Ziegler did to me, I ought to start protecting myself more efficiently. Xander, meet Bludgeon and Trauma of Desolation! My new personal bodyguards and soon enough, active competitors on the Monday night Fusion roster! Now, enough about them, what is it that you need, hm?

Xander looks the two intimidating men up and down, trying his best not to act impressed, but his massive gulp gives away his discomfort.

Slate
Remind me to stay on your good side then . . . Ugh, yeah, it's about Pierre. Mr. Sampson, as a season one veteran, I feel as though my needs should come before a vast majority of this roster. I feel unsafe in the same town as Pierre let alone the same arena! And I see that he's still faced no repercussions for his savage assault on me two weeks ago, he's still not agreed to pay for my torn attire or apologized for the fact that he nearly broke my index nail . . .

Johnny elongates a deep sigh before plopping back into his throne once again.

Sampson
Xander, you're a big boy, okay? I shouldn't have to move Pierre to the other side of the classroom because he called you stupid. Figure it out.

Slate clears his throat, working up the nerve to say what comes next.

Slate
Oh, I have. I figured that you'd say that, so I've gone ahead and put in a transfer request to Thursday night Genesis, where I'll be away from him and treated as I should be!

Big Johnny pauses for a moment, peering up at Slate while tapping the pen in his right hand on his hardwood desktop.

Sampson
Ah, did you now? Funny, because Pierre did the exact same thing! Last week he came in here and he pretty much said everything that you just blabbered on about verbatim. Hmm, that won't work now will it? I've got an idea though, how about one, more, match! You versus Pierre Thompson at CyberSlam in a loser leaves Fusion match!

Xander dawns a sinister grin, seemingly in love with the thought.

Slate
So I can embarrass him just one last time and then kick him to the curb like the trash that he is? I'm in.

Slate claps his hands together, just beginning to turn to exit the office when Johnny halts his steps.

Sampson
Good! But I feel as though the fans have grown tired of this constant back and forth between you and Mr. Thompson. And with it being CyberSlam and all . . . I'm thinking that we spice it up a tad! How does; Three Stages of Hell sound to you!? Each stage chosen by the CMV universe!

Xander's jaw nearly hits the floor as his eyes just about pop out of his head.

Slate
Whoa, ugh, ha ha, hey, I don't think that-

Bludgeon and Trauma suddenly step forward as Slate was getting just a bit to close to Johnny.

Sampson
It's settled then! Have a good night Xander, and good luck this Sunday!

Slate slowly backs his way out of the room as Desolation close in on him, once he's out the door Trauma slams it shut before returning to his post at Sampson's side.