The scene opened up in a dark room. It was occasionally lit by a flickering lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. From what could be seen, the room contained very little - a couch, a television, a small fridge and a table set in-between the three. Another flicker of the light revealed a figure slumped next to the couch, which had began stirring. The figure slumped to one side, and then jolted back upright, apparently coming to. He squinted at the flickering lightbulb, fumbled around in his pocket, took out a coin and threw it at the bulb, causing it to remain lit. He looked across the room and raised his eyebrows.
Dean Ambrose: Wow, we must have had a good time.
His focus had been drawn by another figure, stood leaning against the wall opposite. Seth Rollins shook his head. Dean looked puzzled and looked around.
Dean Ambrose: Oh… Shit.
Dean Ambrose’s apartment was noticeably different from usual. There were CM Punk posters covering the walls. The wooden floor was soaking wet, the source of which was made apparent by the glass from smashed bottles and an assortment of crunched up cans laid out all over the floor. On the couch were a few snapped cigarettes and a note. Dean staggered across and picked the note up.
Seth Rollins: Can you even read right now?
Dean squinted at the note.
Dean Ambrose: “Your road to recovery will begin at home”. Uh…?
He shrugged at Seth.
Seth Rollins: This is Punk’s self-righteous way of saying you’re a drunk. Dean. But who cares what the fuck he thinks, right?
Dean Ambrose: But how did we get here?
Seth pondered the room for a moment. He noticed that the small tv across from the couch was untouched. No posters were plastered upon it. He looked at Dean and nodded towards it. Dean squinted at the television. He walked over to it cautiously, as if it might explode, and then carefully turned it on. He noticed the DVD player beneath the TV was on. On screen was text reading ‘Press Play’. Dean obliged, and took a seat.
Dean Ambrose: Well we might as well relax and watch a movie, right?
Seth shook his head as the screen went black. Punk’s voice could be heard, saying “Enjoy”. On screen, CM Punk could be seen dragging a barely conscious Dean Ambrose through a door into a room - the one Seth and Dean were in at that moment. He threw Dean so that he went flying over the table, and then stopped to take in his surroundings. Punk shook his head and walked towards the fridge. The camera moved around for a while as the holder apparently struggled with something.
???: Get in there!
Seth Rollins was thrown onto the floor, landing draped over the same table Dean had just been thrown over. The camera focused on Punk removing objects from the fridge. He turned towards the camera with a bottle of Jameson’s whisky in his hand. He shook his head once again and pulled Ambrose to his feet. Placing him upright so that he was staggering on his feet, Punk smashed the half full bottle over Dean’s head. Ambrose slumped to the floor and landed propped against the couch, unconscious. Punk turned to the camera once more, stretched his arms out and looked up towards the light, which made him look somewhat messianic. The lightbulb began to flicker, and the film came to a close.
Dean rubbed his head, and noticed it had indeed been bleeding.
Dean Ambrose: Well that explains a lot.
Seth Rollins: It explains how much of a lunatic Punk really is.
Dean Ambrose: And they say I’m crazy…
Seth Rollins: No Dean, you are crazy… But in the right kind of way. Punk is mental. Something’s wrong with his head. That’s why he tries to get into everyone else’s head.
Dean Ambrose: So why the hell is he targeting us? I don’t mean to sound like we’re in a movie here, but he was supposed to be my friend.
Seth Rollins: Punk thinks he’s a god. He doesn’t need friends. But he’ll prey on the people he thinks are weak, and get them to believe what he thinks is right. He wants followers... People he can control. Not friends.
Dean slumped further into his couch. He had his face in his hands, and he then rubbed his face furiously and jumped to his feet.
Dean Ambrose: And he’s coming for me?! Well who gives a fuck! He’s got his bald-ass disciple, and I’ve got my best buddy back. He thinks he can do this to us?
Dean turned to the television, where the still image of Punk with his arms outstretched remained. He proceeded to stomp his foot through the screen. It fell backwards off of it’s stand, as Dean hopped on one leg, turned back to Seth and stamped his foot down, no-selling the pain.
Dean Ambrose: Hit me with a plan, Seth. Trashing shit is all I can come up with.
Seth took a step towards Dean but remained silent, clearly taking a moment to think things through. When his thoughts came together he began to nod slowly and looked to Dean.
Seth Rollins: Punk is someone with a lot of pride. From what, I don’t know. But that pride of his is gonna be his downfall. So here’s what we’re gonna do. We’re gonna make some calls, we’re gonna get him and that bald-ass disciple in the ring, and we’re gonna embarrass him in front of all his “people”. He’s delusional, but he’s not stupid. All we have to do is win and we’re in his head. And that’s where the fun begins, Dean. That’s where everything begins.
Dean Ambrose: You’re right, man. Fuck Punk and his ‘road to recovery’. I’m FINE.
He stormed over to his fridge and opened the door.
Dean Ambrose: OH.
He had forgotten that Punk had emptied it. He marched over to Rollins.
Dean Ambrose: Make the call! We’re gonna kill the both of them!
He pushed Seth in the chest then marched for the exit. Seth remained in the room for a few seconds, giving it another once over before following behind Dean, stopping once more to check over the room again before closing the door as the scene faded.