A webcam comes to life, bringing with it a dimly lit cave and Grayson Stinger, reclining against a wall, taping up his wrists. Stinger sighs.

You three are so original with your insults. Like two and a fatfuck tub of lard mocking me will break my heart. You all talk big games but never have backed it up, unlike me. Tush, I burned your weed and your car. Dong, I shot up your most prized possessions. Green...I guess I really haven't done anything to you but pray that the next time you chipmunk in twenty cheeseburgers that you'll finally have your heart attack, so I don't have to listen to all the shit you spew out.

A blood curdling scream rings out from another room as Stinger finishes taping and begins to flex his hand out.

I've been quiet the past week, which isn't all that normal for me since I've been back. Now, I know most of you have not missed me, but I'll explain where I am anyways.

You see, after what I did on Madness two weeks ago, I realized that I needed a retreat. I realized that what I did was terrible. But not terrible enough. I still showed mercy. I still showed a measure of a conscience. That can't happen at Turning Point. It will not happen at Turning Point. I guarantee it.

So for my retreat, I went on a little international journey. I took a trip to Tbilisi, the capital of the country of Georgia. Yes Dong, there is a also a country called Georgia. It's in Europe.

Another scream is heard. Two men bring in a pail full of paste and a pan filled with shards of glass. Stinger dips his hands into the pail and then rolls his fist around the pain.

Anyways, there is a special little club in this quaint little city. Every five years., sixty-four of the most ruthless, soulless killers gather here. There are members of ISIS, the KGB, Mossad, and MI6 here. Trained assassins and mercenaries from China, Mexico, Germany and the US. Sixty-four men and women that no one would want to meet in a dark alley. We gather here for the fights of our lives. One tournament to find out if you belong amongst the best. Today, we have the semi-finals. Monday, the finals. Then I will be back on a plane to Denver, where I will spend the week as a caged beast waiting to tear your soul apart.

You gave promos that was full of these little insults at Pete, at Dim, and at me. But I don't plan on doing that back to you. Listen to every word I have told you and will tell you over the next week because they carry all the venom I can put into them. I don't know why I hate you three. I just do. I cannot wait to get in that ring and do to you what I have seen here. They better have a jail cell ready for me in Denver because I plan on murdering you on live television. I have your caskets on preorder. I told management that I didn't care what fucking weapons hung around the ring. Whatever they give me the privilege of using will be broken over your skull and shoved straight up your ass.

We will rid the world of the three biggest pieces of scum known to mankind.

We will obliterate the memories of you from this planet.

A door off camera opens and calls for Stinger to enter the arena. Stinger stands up, walks to the camera, and leans in close.

You're all fucking dead men walking.