::Backstage, Kaylyn Vaude, fresh off her impressive-yet-losing effort against Aurora Matthews at Declaration of War, is leaving the catering area with a bottle of vitamin water in hand. The former champion radiates an anti-social aura, her dark eyes focused forward as she storms quietly down the empty hallway. Upon reaching her locker room door, she tries the knob only to find the passage locked. The censors are sharp enough to blot out her under-the-breath curse as she calls for one of the techs to come over and “unlock her damn door’.:: 

Kaylyn: “Now would be good!” 

Tech: “Yes, ma’am!” 

::Her sharp directive cuts through the air as the camera turns to see the slightly-overweight tech huffing and puffing his way down the hall. He skids to a stop as Kaylyn lets out another curse, a shriek of one, that’s cut off halfway. A smack and a scattered set of clattering and clangs is heard not a moment later and, when the camera returns its attention to the scene the former champion is laying in a pile of disrupted chairs and a tipped-over folding table. She’s practically unconscious from whatever, or whoever, hit her...and the camera in a brief sweep finds nothing.:: 

RJ: “Anyone get the license of that truck?” 

MS: “Hell with that. Anyone get the license of that convoy? Who’d Kaylyn piss off this time, Robbie?” 

RJ: “You’ve got me, but whoever it was must be part-ninja because no one saw anything apparently...certainly not us.”