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As Three drew closer and began to laugh, Hiro could mince out the sound of Blackjack himself. His chest tighten and a lump in his throat made it a tad too difficult to breathe. Finally, Hiro had realized why he was locked into this game of life and death tonight. Why he was chosen to begin with, and why Three was before him. It was always going to be Hiro. Again, Hiro had always thought that Freakshow was his devil. He was nothing more than a henchman to said devil when compared to The Number Three. The heat boiled Hiro's insides, TNT was too close now. The years of overcoming everything, the will to go on, the single thing that led Hiro to the promised land would be his undoing, just as he'd always feared.

Tonight, he was as far away from being the God of Will as he had ever been before...and yet not a muscle within his body would allow him to quit. Though, the following moment, the fear and worry would have to wait -- suddenly Three had manufactured an irish whip that sent Hiro flying across the ring, and rebounding right back towards him!

Hiro was barely prepared as Three went low -- the Ethnic Enigma was assuming chopblock and leaped, figuring nobody mastered the art of the front chopblock quite like him. It was telegraphed beautifully, Hiro going over Three's body and quickly regrouping his footing as he continued to the other set of ropes, expecting the demon would be up quickly and he attempted to run right into him with a lariat to take Three down!

Even Hiro couldn't help but have the smallest modicum of awe at the fact that Three perfectly bent back and avoided the lariat. The Ethnic Enigma again hit the ropes and turned on a dime to rebound and try again...but as he did suddenly he found a hand-standing Three and it threw him completely off. Hiro tripped over his own foot and rolled to the side, quickly ending up on his backside at eye level with The Number Three. The color had again drained itself from Hiro as a warm freeze overcame him in the moment. He was not expecting to turn and see Three perfectly in that position, that was for sure. Hiro started to hyperventilate and started to pull himself back up with the ropes, unsure of what to do next.

There was that microphone again, it sure looked normal but it's origins were far from natural. It tumbled across the mat and again, Hiro was being offered an out by Three. The opportunity to quit this match. The Cuban continued to breathe heavily, looking around at a crowd that was screaming out for him to not give up...and a small contingent begging him to do so. He managed to swallow down that lump in his throat, and slowly but surely with a shakey hand he grabbed that microphone...and rolled along with it under the bottom rope and to ringside, standing on his own two feet again with eyes locked on to The Number Three. The Ethnic Enigma clapped down on the microphone, the boom of the microphone reverberating throughout the building. It was now or never; Hiro brought the microphone to his lips.


Hiro slams the microphone into the ground, and for the first time tonight, it seemed as though he'd slammed his way through a mental wall that had been crumbling after a decade of service. He attempted to rush at Three and leap into him, wanting to bring both men to the ground in a tie up that would eventually lead them under the bottom rope and to ringside.

Perhaps the overzealous nature of the attack was going to come back to bite Hiro more than anything -- as he just bought himself a longer wait for any answers. Three and Hiro collided with the mat at ringside, the demon laughing his head off as Hiro fought for control on top and tried to drill him twice in the side of the head with stiff elbow shows from his good arm, wanting to kill the laughter quick enough to get his own thoughts regathered. Hiro hadn't flung off the handle like this in a lifetime, it was a scary rush to go through again.

Hiro's shots felt so good to let out...they almost felt like the first real bits of offense he'd gotten in on anyone in months. It clearly wasn't doing much of anything however, as Three sat up perfectly fine and knocked Hiro off of him. The Ethnic Enigma may have been in a violent headspace, but that didn't stop him from slipping into shock that Three was able to get him off with no effort at all. The demon had decided that he was finally ready to get into this match proper, pushing off the lessons to later. He started to rip apart the table a bit before turning himself back to Hiro to ask a question that the Ethnic Enigma just didn't quite understand. Hiro had, by now, used the ring to help get to his feet -- and while completely unsure of the question being asked of him, he still sprung into action and began to stomp towards Three in an attempt to get back to the fighting and not play his guessing games.

Hiro's punishment would come quickly, as leaving the decision in the hands of Three would be his undoing. Hiro just missed getting his hands up as the monitor crushed him in the face, driving him down to the ground in a brutal heap. The fans booed and wailed, worried immediately for Hiro as he took such a massive hit. The Ethnic Engima put his hands to his face and slammed down his feet down on the ground repeatedly as clear the shot hurt more than he'd been prepared for. Hiro would almost instinctively go into a defensive mode however as he kicked out his legs rapidly attempting to make sure that Three wouldn't get a grasp on him again so easily.

The Ethnic Enigma pryed his hands away from his face, to the shock of everyone NOT revealing any blood as he did so. He was certainly in pain and the spot where the monitor connected glowed as red as Three's eyes, but for now the crimson mask avoided him. He did not receive the reprieve he wanted -- instead, Three swooped in with a swing and drove the point of the monitor into Hiro's stomach! The shot caused Hiro to shoot up into a sitting position and swing forward with his hand, attempting to claw deeply into Three's face and eyes as a swipe back for the hit. Through all that quick pain, the Ethnic Enigma was not going to allow Three to maintain any sort of control...he needed to fight back with everything at all times, or else his life was as good as gone.