After the end of Anarchy, Scoops McGee wanders the corridors of the Nassau Coliseum alone, wiping off much of the blood and sweat all over his face from the hard-fought match out there. On a small TV against the wall, Scoops watches the end of his match again, scowling as he did so.

Shaking his head at the pinfall caused by a certain someone's sudden arrival and low blow, Scoops notices a camera following him out of the corner of his eye. He turns, finding his usual cameraman Noah filming him with a forlorn look on his face. Scoops scrunched his nose in recognition. "I ain't dead. You can drop the sorry-ass look on yer' face."

"Well... no..." Noah conceded, giving a small nod. "But... you lost your belt!"

Scoops rolled his eyes and scoffed as he got himself on two feet, as at the same time, Dominick was staring at Madison in disbelief on the TV screen. "Boah, I've lost many a damn title in my life. Sure, I would've liked to hold it for longer, but I ain't beatin' myself up over the fact that I lost it. Ain't nothing that lasts forever, and the young buck deserves a crack at holdin' some gold."

"But what I do hate about all this..." Scoops jabbed a finger towards the television screen, right at Madison Dyson's face as Anarchy faded to black. "...is the fact that I didn't lose the damn belt on my own merits. That dumb bitch Maddy Dyson, goddamn her, decided she thought it'd be best to stick her nose into my business and ruin a damn fine match to make sure her boy won."

Noah was silent, his lips pursed as he mulled over Scoops' logic. "Sure... okay. I get that. But then... what's next?"

"I'll tell ya what's next," Scoops asserted as he jabbed his finger now right towards the camera lens, his eyes staring down the barrel of it. "Maddy Dyson, I didn't have a particular bone to pick with you at that point, but that's about to change, girlie. I'm gonna pay ya back for that when I pick ya up, drop ya on yer' head - that's the Big Scoop that's comin'!"

Scoops nodded, his jaw tightening in frustration. "You and me, one-on-one, Ides of March. They wanna put us all on the small stage? Talkin' 'bout the olden days, centuries back? Yeah... yeah, we can do that alright. I challenge you... to the Feast of Fools. No disqualifications. We deck the whole stage with the big feast table, filled with weapons and food and drink and whatever the hell have ya. Hell, the fans can even bring whatever they want, too. But when I drive you through that table and pin you for the 1, the 2 and the 3... yer' gonna learn not to meddle in my business."

"And if you think you can just duck this challenge, then... well... yer' in for a rude awakening."

Scoops walks off, Noah following behind him as the feed fades to black.

Madison appears on screen, resplendent in one of her glistening robes. 

Ugh!

Scoops, you are gross, old, and farty and nobody wanted to see you with the XTreme Championship anyway. I mean, how dare you hold that title when there are so many fresh young competitors with rock hard pecs out there like Dom Strife? How dare your geriatric ass try to hold them down so you can try to capture the fleeting essence of your own long passed youth?

SAD!

The only thing bigger than your ego is your prostate Scoops!

And as for your challenge, I'm already booked to defend the tag team championships with Dolly at Ides of March. And Maddy does not get double booked! 

But, I'll still entertain it anyway. Except I will only agree to face you on the Warfare FOLLOWING the Ides of March. That's the best you and your saggy man nipples are gonna get out of me, you walking talking vericose vein. 

Now run along. It's almost time for you to pass out watching Wheel of Fortune in your barcalounger anyway.