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Pride, confidence, extraordinary talent.

They're the signature of a superstar performer.

Add arrogance, conceit, self-agulation to the equation, and you've defined the very essence of Sean Michaels.

Nobody, but nobody tells me what to do.

For two months, the self-reclamed master antagonist has launched a

calculated and brutal war of destruction on the phenom of the World Wrestling

Federation. I made you taste your blood once. You are gonna taste it again! And like

hyenas rapid from the scent of a fresh kill,

his pack of allies have been quick to join the slaughter.

We came, we saw, and we kicked the dead man's ass.

But tonight, within the unforgiving confines of a specially constructed steel cell, the cocksure tormentor will become the tormented.

Tonight, Sean Michaels will stare into the eyes of a merciless reaper,

hell bet on revenge.

There'll be no Helmsley, no China, no insurance policy to save his soul. Tonight there's no way in, no way out, no one to stop the car.

Oh, what time do you call this, mother? It's Tuesday and you and I have a lot of explaining today.

Welcome to the retro reactions to bad blood.

And we're going to press play at the same time.

Who be we?

I've been me and the rambunctious Jackie Orlando over there.

Oh, yeah.

...