It’s a typical Wednesday night at the End Zone Bar & Grill, on the South Dale Mabry Highway in Tampa, Florida.   Here, a young man named Duke Rotundo is drowning his sorrows at the bottom of bottle as Merle Haggard plays on the jukebox.   Just hours ago, Duke and his brother, Bo, had been competing at the FCW Arena just down the road in a #1 Contenders’ Match for the Florida Championship Wrestling Tag Team Championships, losing to the team of Joe Hennig and Brett DiBiase, collectively known as the Fortunate Sons, and as the Merle Haggard song came to an end, it was quickly replaced by the trademark guitar picking of John Fogerty, and a song that hit a little too close to home for Duke in that moment.

“F*cking hell!” Duke shouted, as Fogerty’s voice called out the words ‘I’m no fortunate son’.   “Who played this song?”

“Come on, Duke, it’s not that big a deal,” the bartender said, trying to calm him down.   Unfortunately, the situation was only going to get worse.

“I did,” a man called out from the other end of the bar.   “What’s it to you, fatty?”

Duke, already in a bad mood, and a good 8 beers in, set down his bottle, stood up, and slowly made his way over to the mouthy redneck as the bartender made her way out from behind the bar, and put herself between Duke and the man taunting him.

“Come on, now, Duke, you don’t wanna do this.   Might just go and jeopardize that WWE contract of yours, now, huh?” she said, trying to reason with the drunken young man.

“WWE?!” the man shouted.   “Ain’t no way tubby there’s in the WWE.   Not unless they started themselves a Pizza-Eating title or something!”

“You wanna piece of me?” Duke threatened.

“What, you gonna sit on me or something?” the man said, standing up.

“Yeah, ‘bout the time I’m done knocking your teeth down your throat!” Duke said, taking another step towards his drunken provoker.

“Really?” the man said, taking a step towards Duke.

Just then, a voice called out to them, “I’m sorry to disturb y’all’s little stand-off here, but perhaps one of y’all might know where I can find Duke Rotundo?”

Duke turns back towards the source of the voice, and sees a young, thin, blonde woman in a short sundress, wearing large sunglasses.   Smiling, Duke replies, “Well, I’m Duke Rotundo.”

“Oh, well golly shucks,” the woman said.   “I almost didn’t recognize you, all clothed and such.”

“I’m sorry,” Duke said, “but have we met?”

“Not so much, really,” the woman replied.   “I just saw you at the ‘rasslin’ show earlier, and…”

“Hey,” Duke said, walking towards the young woman, “maybe we should finish this, you know… somewhere else.”

“Ah, I’m good,” the woman replied.   “Y’all wanna go hit the inconsiderate bastard, I don’t mind.   Prolly deserves it, going around calling you fat and whatnot!”

“Yeah, well,” Duke smiled as he led the little lady back to his seat at the bar, “I think he’s learned his lesson…” Duke then looks back at the redneck, who is now fuming.   “…loser.”

As they sit down, the lady removes her glasses to reveal that she is, in fact, Daizee Haze, who, for some reason, is putting on a phony southern-style accent.   She smiles at Duke as he sits down, and the bartender comes by to get them some drinks.

“You want anything?” Duke asked Daizee.

“Aw, I’ll have what he’s having,” she says to the bartender.  

“She’s on my…” Duke began to say as Daizee pulls a credit card out of her over-sized purse.

“Don’t even think about it, Mister.   I pay my own way,” she said.   “In fact, get us a couple shots a Crown, while you’re at it, too.   On me.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Duke said.

“Oh, no.   You just had a fight of a lifetime.   You think I’m gonna milk you outta what little these crook promoters pay y’all jus ‘cause y’all associated with WWE?   I ain’t like that,” Daizee said, still laying on the phony accent something fierce.

“You got a name there, little lady?” Duke asked.

“Daizee,” she replied.   “Like the flower.”

“Well, you’re certainly pretty enough,” Duke smiled.

“Aw, you stop that, now!   I came to you.   Don’t you need to go sweet-talking me to get nowhere, now!” Daizee replied.

“So,” Duke said as the bartender came back with their drinks, “you come to the shows often?”

“Not really,” Daizee said.   “My first time to FCW, really.   Used to go to shows all the time when I was a youngin’.   Figure, I’m new in town, so I heard there was a fight tonight, and there you were.”

“Well, usually, I’m not getting my ass handed to me,” Duke replied.   “Seems you picked a bad night.”

“Aw, don’t be too hard on yourself.   Everyone loses sometime, right?” Daizee said.

“I guess, but…” Duke said.

“But nothing!   You went out there, gave it your all… what more can you ask for, you know?” Daizee said.

“Yeah, but…” Duke paused.

“But what?” Daizee asked, noticing Duke’s hesitation.

“WWE,” Duke said.   “See, I’m under a developmental contract, and I was supposed to get called up six weeks ago, to be a part of this show, maybe you’ve heard of it, NXT?”

“You mean the show where they gots them there rookies trying to get on the main roster?” Daizee asked.

“Yeah, that’s the one,” Duke answered.   “Well, six weeks ago, me and a bunch of the FCW guys were supposed to get called up and try out on NXT to earn a spot in WWE, you know?   But, then, last minute, we find out, WWE decided to bring in a bunch of no-name girls from the Indies, instead, and let them compete on NXT for a guaranteed contract!”

“Really?” Daizee said.   “Well, that don’t seem too fair, now does it?”

“Hell no!” Duke agrees.   “I’ve been busting my ass down here for over a year now, just to get noticed, and just as I’m about to get my shot to show WWE what I got, they get a bunch of girls no one’s ever heard of to take our spot, instead!   And you know the worst part of it?”

“What’s that?” Daizee asked.

“F*cking bitches, man,” Duke said.   “They end up tanking the ratings so bad on NXT that the SyFy network just out and out cancels the show!   So now, it’s not even like I can wait for next season, because there is no next season!   I’m just stuck here in Tampa, waiting around for someone either to get hurt or fired, and, even then, now I gotta worry about guys like Joe Hennig and Brett DiBiase trying to take my spot!   Hell, for all I know, they think Percy Watson is the next Santino Marella, and he’ll get called up before I do.   I mean, really, what the f*cking hell, man…”

“Well, that certainly does suck to hear it,” Daizee lied.  

“Sorry,” Duke said.   “I really shouldn’t be telling you any of this.”

“Oh, it’s all right,” Daizee said.   “I don’t mind.   It’s kinda nice, seeing you opening up and all.   Figured I’d have to get a few more drinks in ya before I could get you to talk.”

Raising his shot glass, Duke says, “Hey, I was plenty drunk before you showed up, Daisy.   But I certainly do appreciate the help.”

“Bottoms up!” Daizee said, raising her shot as well, before the two took them down.   “So, this NXT.   What was you gonna do on it?”

“Honestly, I have no idea,” Duke answered.   “I know they had the last season guys carry around kegs and talk about flowers and stuff.”

“Flowers?” Daizee asked, surprised.   “What’s flowers got to do with ‘rasslin’?”

“Sh*t if I know,” Duke slurred, starting to show the effects of his drinking binge.   “All I know is, they wanted me to change my name when I got there.”

“What?” Daizee asked.

“Yeah,” Duke continued.   “Me, son of f*cking Mike Rotundo, man, the I.R.S. himself, grandkid of Blackjack Mulligan, third generation wrestler, and WWE, they wanna call me ‘Husky Harris’.”

“Husky Harris?!” Daizee laughed, nearly breaking character.

“Yeah, I know,” Duke laughed.   “That’s got to be the stupidest f*cking name, ever, and yet, WWE, man, they’re like, ‘oh, it’ll be great.   Because, like, you’re husky, and kids can relate to that!’”

As Duke continues his rant, Daizee flags down the bartender and orders another round of shots.

“Hey, Daisy, you don’t gotta go buying me another shot,” Duke said, drunkenly.   “I should be buying drinks for you!”

“Oh no, we already went over this,” Daizee said, sweetly.   “Now, I’m buying, and that’s how it’s going down, otherwise, I may just have to find myself some other guy to talk to!”

“Oh, I don’t want you to go, Daisy.   I kinda like you, you’re…”

“…Buying you another shot.   2 more Crowns!” Daizee ordered.

“Hey, I don’t mean to pry or nothing, but he’s pretty tanked already.   You sure you wanna…?” the bartender asked Daizee.

“Oh, I’ll get him home, don’t you worry,” Daizee replied.

“Okay,” the bartender shrugged.   “Better than him hitting on me all night, I guess…”

“So, Daisy,” Duke began, “What brings you to Tampa?”

“Oh, me?   I’m…” Daizee replied, trying to figure out an answer.   “…recruiting, you could say.”

“Recrutin’?” Duke asked.   “Like, for the Army or something?”

“Yeah,” Daizee lied, having stumbled on to a decent cover story.   “The Army…”

“’Cause, like, I couldn’t help but notice your arms,” Duke slurred.   “You’re, like, seriously ripped.”

“Yeah, well, in my line o’ work, ya gotta keep in shape,” Daizee bragged.

“Yeah,” Duke said, drunkenly looking over Daizee head to toe.   “I bet you do.”

“You like what you see there?” Daizee asked.

“Oh, you know I do,” Duke smiled.

“Oh, behave now!” Daizee replied.   “Be plenty o’ time for that soon enough.”   As she said that, the bartender dropped off the new pair of shots and went off to serve other customers.   Daizee, now seeing an opportunity, makes it so her phone ‘accidentally’ falls out of her purse.   As it hits the floor, she remarks, “Oh my!”

Duke, even at this state of drunkenness, acts the gentleman, and goes down to get her phone.   Meanwhile, Daizee sneaks a couple roofies into Duke’s drink.

“Here you go,” Duke said, handing Daizee her cell phone.   “I can go ahead and give you my number, if you want it, since you got your phone out now, and all.”

“Oh, we’ll do that,” Daizee said, setting her phone down, and picking up the two shots.   “But first…”

“Oh, yeah,” Duke said, taking his shot.   “You’re getting me drunk.   Almost forgot about that.”

“To us,” Daizee smiled. “And the beginning of a new friendship.”

“Yeah,” Duke said.   “Friendship…”   The two drink their shots, and Duke then says, “hey, was yours okay, because mine tasted kinda funny…”   Duke then passes out, right on the bar.   As his head hits the bar, a loud ‘thud’ can be heard throughout the bar, getting the bartender’s attention.

“Is he…?” she asks Daizee.

“He’s fine,” Daizee replies.   “Imma call his friends, they’ll come pick him up.”

“All right,” she says, leaving Daizee and the passed-out Duke be.

Daizee then picks up her phone, dropping the phony accent, and mutters, “Thank God.”   She dials her phone, places it to her ear, and waits for a reply.

Just outside, a ringtone goes off.   Jennifer Hudson’s “Spotlight”…

“Hello?”

“He’s out,” Daizee says.   “Took long enough, too.   I can’t believe he didn’t recognize me.”

“He don’t actually watch NXT,” David Otunga says as he signals to Heath Slater, just outside of the bar.   “Hell, none of the FCW guys do.   Didn’t even watch it when we was on it!”

“Besides,” Michael Tarver added, listening in, keeping watch just behind Otunga, “he was probably so drunk by the time we got here, I could have worn a dress and slipped him a roofie.”

“Man, don’t be putting no messed up images in my head, man!” Otunga said, smacking Tarver.   “Now I’m gonna have a picture of you in drag in my head for the next three days!”

As this is going on, Heath Slater, Wade Barrett, Skip Sheffield, and the Canadian Ninjas, Portia Perez and Nicole Matthews, all walk in to the End Zone.

“You two see her?” Heath asks the Ninjas.

“I think that’s her,” Nicole says.   “Next to the passed out fat guy?”

“That’d be Duke, all right,” Skip said.  

As the members of the Nexus approach the bar, the bartender recognizes the former FCW talent and says, “Hey guys!   Back in town so soon?   I figured you’d all be on the road with WWE, now you got your contracts and all.”

“Oh, hello,” Wade said.   “Actually, we’re just here for Duke.”

“That’s good,” she said.   “Seems to have hit the bottle pretty hard tonight.”

“Well, that’s Duke for ya,” Skip said, lifting Duke up off the barstool.

“So, wait, you guys used to hang out here?” Nicole asked Heath.

“Sometimes, after FCW shows,” Heath answered.   “Hey, Wade, figure, since we’re here, maybe we grab a drink, you know… for old times’ sake?”

The bartender then notices the Canadian Ninjas and asks, “Hey, you two have ID’s?”

“Oh, great!” Portia shouts.   “You know, just ‘cause I look young, doesn’t mean I’m…”

“Whoa, hold it there, Portia,” Heath said.   “They just gotta ask that so they don’t get in trouble with cops.   This ain’t Canada, you know.   You gotta be 21 to drink here!”

“Heath, we really don’t have time for this,” Wade said.

“Oh, come on,” Heath said, pulling out his wallet.   “At least let the girls have a drink.   Heck, might as well taste an American beer, now y’all in the Land of the Free…”

“You know, we do get American beers in Canada,” Portia commented as Heath and Nicole sat down at the bar, “…ya f*cking douche…”

“Hey, I still need to see some ID’s there, especially from the short one,” the bartender said, pointing at Portia.

“You got your ID on you, hon, don’t you?” Heath said to Nicole.

“I should,” Nicole said, digging through her purse.

“All right,” Wade shouted.   “We really don’t have time for this.   I’m sorry to bother you, ma’am, but we really do have to go, NOW.”

“Ah, come on, Wade, just one drink?” Heath asked.

“NOW, Heath!” Wade said as he, Skip, and Daizee all headed towards the exit.

“We should probably go, hon,” Heath said.   “Sorry.”

“It’s all right,” Nicole said, kissing Heath on the cheek.   “Maybe some other time, when it’s just us.”

“Yeah,” Heath smiled as he and Nicole walked towards the exit, arm in arm.

“Jesus Christ,” Portia muttered, disgusted, as she watched her best friend, being all mushy with her new boyfriend.   “Get a f*cking room, why don’t ya?”

Outside, the Nexus gathers outside of a white panel van as Skip Sheffield tosses an unconscious Duke Rotundo into the back.

“Well, that was easy,” Darren Young said.   “A lot easier than the last one, at least.”

“Yeah, sure.   Next time, you can be the one having to hit on the fat f*ck,” Daizee said.  

“So, what’s next on the itinerary, boss?” David Otunga asked Haze.

“That’s what I’m about to find out,” Daizee said, dialing her cell phone.

“Who’s she calling?” Nicole Matthews asked Heath Slater.

“The Raw General Manager, I reckon,” Heath answered.  

“Hey,” Portia Perez called out to Wade Barrett.   “You’re the so-called ‘leader’ around here.   When the heck we gonna meet this General Manager, anyway?”

“As soon as we’re done rounding up everyone,” Wade answered.

“How many more people we gotta grab, anyway?   I mean, hell, ever since me and Nicole joined this Nexus, all we’ve done is go after people!” Portia complained.

“Look, I know a lot of this doesn’t make sense right now,” Wade said, frustrated, “but you have to trust in the plan.   The General Manager knows what she’s doing.”

“Please!” Portia scoffed.   “If she was so smart, how come she can’t run her own damn com…”

Justin Gabriel, quickly covering Portia’s mouth, says to her, “Anonymous means we don’t talk about her in public, Portia.   You never know who may be listening.”

Portia struggles out of Justin’s grip and replies, “Oh, come on!   No one’s here!   And anyone who is probably thinks wrestling is fake, anyway!”

“Doesn’t matter,” Justin replies, grabbing Portia by the shoulders.   “GM’s rules.   Nobody talks.   Got it?”

“Yeah, I get it,” Portia says, shaking Gabriel off of her.

“Shhh!” Daizee says to the Nexus.   “I got her on the line.”

“So, you’ve gotten a hold of the Rotundo boy?”

“Yeah,” Daizee replied.   “Took a bit.   Service was slow, people were looking…”

“Well, that’s bound to happen in a bar, Daizee.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter now, ‘cause the fat f*ck’s out cold in the back of the van,” Daizee replied.   “Who’s next?”

“Oh, this one’s probably going to be a difficult one.   You already know him, and, given our history, he’s not likely to be very cooperative, at all.”

“So, standard procedure, then,” Daizee replied.

“Unfortunately, yes.   I don’t believe he will be reasoned with.”

“Hey!” Portia called out.   “How many more of these f*cks we gotta go grab, anyway?”

“Dammit, Portia!” Daizee shouts at the Canadian Ninja.

“Daizee, stop.   Portia has every right to know what’s going on.   Tell her our army will be gathered soon enough.   Now, as I was saying, your next target, you know very well.   I believe you’re familiar with Low-Ki…”

“Low-Ki?” Daizee asked, as the Nexus buzzed at the news.

“I believe he will be very helpful against the likes of Evan Bourne and John Morrison.   After all, we can’t just expect Justin Gabriel to fight the high-flyers all by himself, now, can we?”

“I guess you’re right,” Daizee replied.

“Now, I happen to know that he’s currently in Brooklyn as we speak, visiting with an old friend of his.   We need to be extremely careful that his friend not find out about our plans, do you understand me?”

“Hey, for the most part, everyone’s been keeping the Code of Silence,” Daizee said.

“I’m going to need you to do more than that, Daizee.   The last thing we need is to deal with Homicide right now.   Next thing you know, he’ll make a call down to Konnan in Mexico, and we’ll have Perros Del Mal up our collective backsides, or worse!”

“Don’t worry.   I’ll relay the message to the troops,” Daizee replied.

“Don’t screw this up, Daizee.   We’ve had enough setbacks as it is.   I don’t need any more complications.”

“Don’t worry,” Daizee assured.   “We’ll get Low-Ki, and, if we have to, we’ll take out Homicide, just like we did the McMahons!”

“Good.   Soon, we’ll have all the resources we need to seize control of Monday Nights, and when we do, Daizee, I assure you, everything you’ve ever known in this industry will change, forever…”