The scene opens up on the night of Saturday, February 24, at a Meltdown house show from the Arco Arena in Sacramento, California. We are just under twenty four hours away from the pay per view kicking off live across the world. The excitement can be seen here tonight in this crowd of over ten thousand strong. The show has not yet begun, but is just about to as Lilian Garcia enters the ring for the first time of the night, a microphone in hand. The crowd gives her a huge pop, knowing that she is about to announce the start of tonight’s matches. She smiles and waves to the fans, many of whom are whistling to the attractive announcer.

Hot Announcer || Lilian Garcia - Ladies and gentlemen, on behalf of World Incorporated Wrestling, I would like to thank you for coming out to tonight’s show! We have a huge night planned ahead of you, so let’s get the show started with our first contest of the evening! Introducing first, hailing from Manhasset, New York…

Before Lilian can even finish her introduction of Chris Jericho (who is obviously the one from Manhasset, New York), a sharp guitar riff sounds throughout the entire arena. The entire crowd immediately jumps to their feet after hearing the unforgettable beginning of this theme song. The signature raspy voice of Motörhead front man Lemmy Kilmister speaks these words, “Behold the King… the King of Kings!” The fans erupt into cheers, knowing that this is the entrance music for one of the most popular superstars of the WiW, Triple H. ‘King of Kings’ blasts over the public address system as the lights in the arena dim. A smoke begins to fill the entrance stage as lights flicker as well. Out from underneath the stage, a large throne rises up. The throne consists of skulls and an exaggeratedly large sledgehammer. Seated in the throne is Triple H himself, dressed in what looks to be something an actual medieval king would wear. He remains seated even after the throne stops moving and rests on top of the stage. Hunter just stares forward as if in some kind of trance.

After a few more seconds, Triple H stands on his feet and throws off the cape that was resting around his shoulders. The crowd cheer as Hunter looks as aggressive as ever. He yells to the fans, tensing his muscles in the process.

The King of Kings makes his way down the ramp way, looking only forward at the ring before him. Several fans reach out their hands, trying to touch Hunter, but he simply ignores them. The Game hasn’t looked this serious or focused since his Hell in a Cell match against The Rock over a month ago. You can tell just by the look in his eyes that he is ready for his match with King Booker this Sunday night.

As he reaches the ring, he turns to his right and walks to the opposite side of the ring to the steel stairs. He slowly ascends up the steps and then walks along the ring apron in his usual form. A Wrestlemania logo hangs high in the arena rafters, promoting this year’s Wrestlemania Four pay per view which will take place in two months. Hunter points to the Wrestlemania banner, symbolizing that he will be there no matter what happens to him within the next several weeks. The arena cheers even more, the fans highly anticipating the year’s greatest show of the year.

The Cerebral Assassin climbs through the ring ropes and walks across the squared circle to the opposite turnbuckle. He climbs up and points to himself, mouthing some words which cannot be heard through the music and cheering. Hunter then points to the crown on his head, signifying himself as the only true king. He then throws his arms into the air, forming his famous pose. Another huge crowd pop as thousands of flashes reflect off of Triple H from the cameras taking pictures.

The music starts to fade out as The King of Kings jumps down from the turnbuckle. He paces back and forth across the ring, looking at the motionless Lilian Garcia. She slowly raises her arm into the air, handing the microphone over to Triple H. Lilian then takes her exit from the ring as the fans’ cheering dies down. Hunter removes his crown and necklace and throws them to the outside of the ring. He then raises the microphone to his mouth, about to speak.

The King of Kings || Triple H - Let me guess… you were expecting the opening bout, huh? Well, that’s not going to happen! You see, I do what I want… when I want to do it. And there’s not a damn thing anybody in the back will do about it, because like it or not, I am what sells. I am the very best that this business has to offer. Without me, the WiW would be just like WCW, ECW, WWE, and TNA… it would be dead! Forget the John Cena’s, the Charlie Haas’s, the Rock’s, the Ken Kennedy’s, the CM Punk’s… they are all nothing in comparison to The Game! I am what puts the people in the seats… I am the reason arenas are selling out all across America each and every night… and I am the man everybody wants to see. Do you know why people throughout the world tune in to see Triple H? It’s simple. It’s because I am the King… THE KING OF KINGS!

Triple H looks down at the mat, rubbing his facial hair. He appears to be thinking about something, perhaps recalling a recent event.

The King of Kings || Triple H - Everybody knows that… hell, it’s common knowledge by now. And so far, everybody has sat back quietly and accepted the fact that I am King… until this past Monday night on Meltdown. After my match, a man by the name of King Booker made his way to the ring, proclaiming that he was the only true king of WiW. My first thought was to check the calendar and see if the date was April 1st, but somebody was obviously playing some kind of joke on me. But it wasn’t April Fools’ Day. This Booker guy was serious… he actually believes he is superior to me. Me. The man who single handedly destroyed CM Punk back in December to capture the World Heavyweight Championship. Me. The man who has been unstoppable the entire time that the WiW has been in existence. Me. The man who was screwed just one month ago against The Rock for the World Heavyweight title. I SHOULD BE MAIN EVENTING FATAL FUSION AGAINST KENNEDY! Instead, I am forced to involve myself in a pointless debate with some thug named Booker who decided to call himself a king one day. Hell, everybody saw me defeat The Undertaker two weeks ago on Meltdown… The Undertaker, the man who has a guaranteed shot at the World Heavyweight Title at Wrestlemania. I deserve to be in the spotlight, there’s no denying that. However, I am stuck in the opening match of Fatal Fusion facing off against a joke while Ken Kennedy defeats The Rock for my World Heavyweight Championship. That’s right, Kennedy will win tomorrow night. As pathetic as he is, Rock is no World Champion. He carries around that leather strap, sure, but that doesn’t mean he is a champion. To be a champion, you have to be the best. The Rock is not the best… I am. Because of a fluke, I have no other choice but to sit and watch him defend what belongs to me.

The Cerebral Assassin starts to grow furious after just thinking about The Brahma Bull being the current World Heavyweight Champion after defeating him at New Year’s Evil.

The King of Kings || Triple H - But that’s fine… because in the end, I will reclaim what was stolen from me, mark my words. Tomorrow night, I don’t find myself defending the World Heavyweight Championship like I should be… I find myself defending my honor. I find myself defending my right to refer to myself as the King of Kings. Booker, you really don’t know what I am all about, do you? You wouldn’t have made this challenge if you did. This isn’t some kind of joke, Book, I hurt people. I make them regret the day they decided to become a wrestler. I end careers before they have even had a chance to begin. I am not in the mood to play some kind of patty cake with you, Booker. You made a claim on Meltdown… a claim that you are the king. Well, I can’t speak for the people here tonight, but I have never heard of a king who hasn’t accomplished one damn thing. Booker, you’ve never even held a title here in WiW. You haven’t even main evented a damn show! What gives you the right to challenge me?! I’ve done everything there is to do in the WiW… everything except humiliate my opponent by making them kiss my feet. Come tomorrow night, I will have done everything.

Hunter looks a little confused for a second as he pauses. He scratches his head, thinking to himself.

The King of Kings || Triple H - So let me get this straight… I’m still a little confused. Booker hasn’t accomplished anything apart from being the biggest joke on the roster. And yet, he has a chance to become the true King of the WiW? Booker, you really have nothing to lose. If you win, you are the King. If you lose, you go back to your pathetic life as a thug on the street. From rags to riches, that is what is on the line for you, Book. I, on the other hand, have nothing to gain in this match. I am already the King of Kings, having proven it time and time again. You see, Booker, while you woke up one day and decided to call yourself a king… I was born a king. This match was made because we have a common interest. But they don’t get it. We don’t have a common interest. As a matter of fact, we are the exact opposite, you and I. You are nothing… a nobody… a joke. I am everything you are not, for I am King… ordained by God! The Divine Right of Kings. Does that mean anything to you, Booker? Let me give you a lesson you probably didn’t get in the School of Hard Knocks. The Divine Right of Kings means that God himself chose me to represent the human race as its one and only leader… its one and only master… it’s one and only king. I have God-given talent and to resist that is resisting God himself. I know to a guy like you, Booker, who has broken the law countless times… that probably doesn’t mean a whole lot. But it will come Sunday night. You will see what it is like to go against the hand of God. And that hand will beat the holy hell out of you… followed up by the exclamation mark… a Pedigree.

For the first time in the night, a smile spreads across Hunter’s face. He laughs a bit before revealing just what it is that he finds so humorous.

The King of Kings || Triple H - You have really taken this whole King thing pretty far, haven’t you, Booker? I mean first you made this ridiculous proclamation that you were a king, and now you’ve got your wife calling herself Queen Sharmell?! Heh, heh, heh… this is just too much. If she even thinks about sticking her hideous face in where it doesn’t belong, Stephanie will make sure that her face becomes even uglier… with a footprint across it. Book, I have been paying attention to you ever since Monday night and it seems to me that you yourself don’t even believe your useless rambling. I mean you have changed your theme music to some kind of royal crap, then you got yourself a fake crown and a cheap cape, and even a throne to sit on. You address the people as if they are below you, as if they are actual peasants that should be bowing down in your presence. It seems to me, Book, that you are not only trying to convince the people, but you are trying to convince yourself that you are a king. Well, King Booker, you’ve got the chance to prove once and for all without a shadow of a doubt that you are indeed the King of WiW. As small of a chance as it is, you’ve still got one. I know I haven’t exactly been on top of my game in the ring as of late, but I won’t need to be to kick Booker’s ass tomorrow night at Fatal Fusion.

The King of Kings pauses. He looks over the silent crowd before saying his final words.

The King of Kings || Triple H - The King of Kings…

Another pause.

The King of Kings || Triple H - … there is only one…

Pause once again.

The King of Kings || Triple H - … and you’re looking at him!

Without another word, Triple H drops the microphone to the ring mat below him. ‘King of Kings’ queues up again as the fans cheer for The Game. He stares at the crowd before going back up to his turnbuckle and resuming his famous pose. It is at this point in time in which the scene fades to black…