"There ain't no grave... that can hold my body down... there ain't no grave... can hold my body down..."

It has been a couple of months since that song has been heard within the world of wrestling. The original Master of the song, Undertaker, would come down with it playing every few PPVs. Now, the song was playing to the beat of his son, Michael Taker, who has been absent for a few months due to a broken wrist. Upon the giant screen, there would be flashes of dead bodies, dripping with blood and missing bodies parts. In the middle of the ring, there would be even more dead bodies, each one fresh and screaming in pain.

"Sometimes... I wonder why I bother with these people... none helped me while my wrist was broken... I had to tend to it myself... had to heal it myself... no doctors, no family... hahaha, I had to take care of myself by myself." A voice would echo around, a smirk appearing on the tron. The lights turn off before flashing like mad, a figure slowly forming within the ring. Soon, Michael would be standing on top of the bodies, causing each person to cry in pain at the added weight.

"You see... I know I've been gone... but I'm here now... I'm here to observe, I'm here to watch... I have about two more weeks before I can return to wrestling... wrist isn't ready yet... but I am warning everyone... that Michael Taker will return... and he doesn't care who gets in his way... he shall... DRAG YOU TO HELL!"

The lights fade out and he vanishes within thin air, the bodies bursting into fire and forming the words "Two Weeks Till Hell Breaks Loose".

"What kind of pussy takes months off due to a wrist? You're an embarrassment to the name Callaway, which is a shame since Ally Callaway, you know, your whore half sister, already embarrassed it a lot."

What a feeble minded, petulant child this is; this Michael.