This wasn't supposed to be happening tonight. The card has been announced, a segment or two aware to the keen eyed fan -- but the unthinkable was an appearance by this next man. There was a cold, heavy feeling in the arena as the first strum played, and as James Hetfield's voice bursted from the speakers the reality began to set in...Hiro Shin-Mozas, somehow, was in the building tonight.

On a long and lonesome highway, east of Omaha
You can listen to the engine moanin' out his one note song
You can think about the woman or the girl you knew the night before
But your thoughts will soon be wanderin' the way they always do
When you're ridin' sixteen hours and there's nothin' much to do
And you don't feel much like ridin', you just wish the trip was through


Metallica's cover of "Turn the Page" began the same way it always did, getting a similar to reaction to what it had been getting the last half year. There were some fans that would always be marks, they'd always pop for Hiro -- it was as if he was returning every week from another retirement. At this point, though...to a growing majority that got louder with each passing show, they wished the music would stop. Hiro Shin-Mozas was slowly but surely becoming a man of his word: if he could not wrestle, he'd have no point to continue being alive. At the rate he was working, with the injuries he was constantly sustaining, he would die in the ring long before he'd head off into that good night. The bustling of the crowd would come to a fever pitch as FINALLY, here he was. The Ethnic Enigma would appear from the back -- disheveled, wilting, and perhaps a bit disenfranchised when it came to his right to peace. There wasn't any flash to this entrance: he was in a wrinkled button up, slacks that went unpressed, and was wearing no socks under his sneakers. He didn't play to a crowd that remained upsettingly silent after a quick pop when his music hit, the weight of it all perhaps too much.

Here I am
On the road again
There I am
On the stage
Here I go
Playin' star again
There I go
Turn the page


In his mind, Hiro was as much a wreck as his physical appearance screamed. His body wasn't the only thing in pain, his abdomen and face carried bruises that travelled so deep that they penetrated his psyche. His disdain for what life had become was worn on his face like the Hiro of old. His movements, however labored, were still of the hero he wished to be -- and as he approached the steel steps he still stopped to pat a young fan on the head. The Ethnic Enigma would climb up at his own pace, slowly reaching the ring apron where he would turn to look out into the crowd. The fans cheer again as emotional Hiro gave them his full attention, but not due to a desire to simply people watch the fans...no, it was because he felt the natural need to protect himself. There could have been anyone in that crowd, waiting for a moment to jump that barricade and beat him. There could have been a weapon in this arena with it's sights focused squarely on the head of the Ethnic Enigma, wanting to bring all of this to an unceremonious end. Hiro entered the ring when it finally felt safe and took a microphone from a stagehand with a noticibly shaky hand. He continued to look around at the arena before him with his eyes constantly darting about looking at the entrances and exits. The music would die down, and Hiro would bring the microphone to his mouth.

"I know, you weren't expecting to see me here tonight. Neither was anyone in the crew back there, so don't think this is sanction by WWF:G in anyway. I don't need them, for as much as Cartwright has gotten on my nerves, catching strays from you guys. The same goes for Bad Boy -- he and I went out there and I put him in an unenviable position of having to go one on one with less than half a man. Actually, I've been doing that a lot lately. I've been forcing everyone to fight me from Cartwright, to Salem Croft, to the Fusions, back to Bad Boy. I have had no right being in this ring, at all, since the night I stepped back into this world against Brantley Summers back at Wrestlemania last year. I was ready to fight that night, I was excited and prepared, and from the moment the shenanigans started I was playing catch up. Then I got it in my head that I had to reach a point of forgiveness with those who had wronged me when I was the World Heavyweight Champion, and from there it spiraled down. This whole run, for the sake of everyone and my own health, has been bad choice after bad choice. So, it's rather clear to me that if I'm gonna continue to be the man that I've been that I have to take accountability and acknowledge that this whole thing has been MY fault."


Hiro began to nervously rub the back of his neck, stopping himself from continuing so he could again survey the crowd. If there was one thing that could be claimed about this current Ethnic Enigma, it was that despite the difficulties he'd had in the ring and everything that he was admitting to...there was no struggle in holding the attention of the crowd. However, staring out at the crowd was not just an odd tick tonight: Hiro was looking for them. The Twenty-One Sons. Just the thought of the group crossing his mind made his body shake a little bit, and it was in a surprising turn that he walked to the ropes and off microphone called out to a stagehand. He was handed a steel chair moments later, and would open it up at center ring, sitting down. The fans weren't sure how to take it.

"So, here we are. My body aches, my heart races, I get in this ring now and it's a struggle to stand. All my life, I've wanted to be a professional wrestler. I wanted to get into this business so I could entertain, so I could rise to the challenge of keeping up. It gave me a reason to live, and when it was ripped from me, it was like I was delivered a death sentence. My neck was on the verge of snapping and the way I am right now...sitting in this chair, that's where I was headed permanently if I didn't stop when I did and get the surgery I needed. Let me tell you all something, though -- that wasn't the first time wrestling genuinely tried to kill me. No, the first time it tried to take my life was on June 3rd, 2014. It was nearly ten years ago that I found myself in the ring at Bad Blood Wrestling, as the World Champion a few defenses in. I stood there in the ring, Matt Shanahan up there on that stage and next to me the reason I had won that title. I stood in the ring...with Blackjack."


An incredibly unnatural hush came over the crowd, as what had been bubbling up for months upon months was finally bursting: Hiro Shin-Mozas was going to discuss Blackjack. The Ethnic Enigma's blood ran cold, his face losing it's color as he leaned forward on to his knees and drooped his head. The side of his body would ache, his hand moving towards the area behind his ribcage. His face twisted in discomfort and his breathing would labor once again, as if he was having a panic attack. However, perhaps in only a way he was capable, Hiro found the will to go on. He reached into his pocket and would produce a blade, the name "BADER" etched into it as he flicked it open and examined it.

"...and on that night, Blackjack would take a knife that I had been terrorizing others with, which had originally belonged to him and drive it right into my back. He snapped it off in my ribs and left me there to die as BBW was nearly shut down and he was awarded the world title because of it. I hold no animosity towards Shanahan or Kelly King over it, but it was by far the scariest thing I've ever dealt with. That moment, standing next to a creature of absolute hate and evil, it showed me that what I was pretending to be wasn't even scratching the surface of what one could become. I spent years trying to be a hateful loser, and in one flail jab by a piece of steel Blackjack proved that I was a bad actor and most certainly was destined to be a force of good, whether I liked it or not. I used to think, you know...Freakshow was my big bad boogeyman that I needed to do something about. A demon I for sure needed to exorcise, and of course I did just that. Now he is no longer with us, but still I feel the never-ending heat of flames stoked by my fear and anger...and make no mistake, everyone. I am afraid. I have felt fear ever since Blackjack made it apparent that no prison would hold him again. This isn't a bushel of my contemporaries coming for my title, wanting to snuff me out of the business or take money out my pocket -- nothing innocuous in the grand scheme of things. This is a creature that wants my life to come to an end, that wants to stand over MY body, like the bodies of countless victims he has stood over before. Names that I don't know, but god I wish I did, so that I could say them here and give them the respect they deserve."


Hiro would get choked up throughout his words, the weight of their meaning holding a weighing down heavy on his chest. The Ethnic Enigma rubbed hand through his unkempt hair and leaned back in the chair with a sigh picked up by the microphone. His face was getting it's color back, but it was rather faint. He shook his head and rubbed his eyes, the darkness in the back of his eyelids as black as the aura around the memory of Blackjack. It was time for this to end.

"Blackjack. We haven't seen one another since the night you stabbed me. A night I know you remember even better than I do, because you'd been planning for it. You told me that night that I hadn't even begun to bleed, and now I get what you meant. I know these knives, this one I'm holding right here, they've all been the calling card. They have ALL been a warning from you that you're coming to finish what you started. I'm sorry...you're coming to succeed where you failed. Everywhere you've been going across the country, starting your riots, they've all been places important to me. Places I would rest my head while I was retired and tried to find new meaning in life before roaming my way right back to the WWF:G. You've always known where to find me. What you did to Dean Johnson, Rosario, all these murders you've committed -- you did it all to send a message to me. Well that message has been received. I'm horrified, you've succeeded in causing that...I don't want to die. I would have never come back if death was ever in the cards, but now -- you've gone and changed the game. I was trying to play poker and gamble on getting my spotlight back...but here I am now, playing Blackjack hoping I don't get the bust card. Well, BJ...I may not hold all the cards, but I know one thing: there's plenty more games than just poker or blackjack that you can play if you've got a full deck. You wanna play spades, thinking you can bury me in the cold ground? Fine. Canasta? I'll beat you in one turn."


Hiro would stand, his legs still struggling to keep him up as his voice grows shaky. He lowers his microphone holding hand and reaches into his pocket to produce a brand new deck of cards that he flops out onto the ground. The cards remain in place, wrapped up by plastic. Hiro turns his body slightly to look up into the sky, staring directly at the hanging Wrestlemania sign in the rafters. The fans, looking along with him, begin to rumble at a pace not seen during the promo thus far. Hiro's heart begins to beat a bit harder.

"I'm sorry to say that twenty one sons aint enough to play fifty two pick-up fun, so that's off the table. You know, Blackjack...Cartwright gave me an ultimatum. I need to win a match by Wrestlemania, or my career is over. If there is one thing I know about you...it's that you're a showman. Malcolm Alexander needs an audience, that's why no prison will ever hold him. Your chance to get at me in front of the world, the window for that -- it's about to slam shut by the end of the night at Wrestlemania. I've got one fight left, one opportunity to make up for EVERYTHING. I've taken on everyone no matter the handicap, and I'm prepared to do that against your deck of jokers. Plus..."


Hiro angrily flings the blade at the ground and stabs through the deck of cards perfectly, leaving the blade cocked over in the ring. He reaches for his long-sleeved shirt, pulling it off slowly to show a disgustingly miscolored body that garners a loud reaction of shock. His abdomen is covered in greenish bruising, his arm is no longer covered, revealing burnt skin and a long scar that leaves him deformed along his right bicep down to the forearm. The camera lingers on his body for a long while, it displayed on the titantron in an act of defiance. Finally, Hiro raises the microphone to his mouth once more.

"I'm not bleeding, so you're not done."