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The ring is filled with chairs and tables that are ornate and the ring extravagantly decorated, much in contrast to the norm in BBW. Sitting in one of the chairs with a paper in front of him and a pen in his hand was one of the biggest stars on the circuit right now, Brantley Summers. Brantley Summers had been making appearances around in BBW, screwing men out of championships, making sure some don’t even make it out with their legs, but now he was ready to sign into BBW. The papers were already on the table in the center of the ring, and Summers was sitting in a chair. Summers’ head was shaven, not completely bald though, it looked pretty sick with his rugged face. Brantley was dressed for success in his sharp suit. His shades covered his blue and grey eyes, a gross smirk adorned his face. Across from him was general manager, Matt Shanahan, someone that while they had very little contact together, was an enemy of his partner in crime, Freakshow. The two were scheduled for a pretty epic event with each other but that was met with some turbulence and to be rescheduled at a later date through a later contract signing. Brantley twiddled the pen in his hands as he was hooked up with a microphone so that the audience could hear what he was saying .

“I come here to BBW for not money, not glory, and not women as I have already acquired plenty of that. No my dear man Shanahan.” Summers reached over to clasp the hands of Matt Shanahan, ”I’m here to do you a favor and grace your company with my presence. While also plugging in my company to all the tag teams wanting to break out in the world, Yataghan Wrestling Lions.” Brantley released the hands of Shanahan and leaned back into his lavish chair. He picked up the pen and traced out his name without actually writing anything, as if he were practicing exactly how he would sign it. Summers chuckled to himself as he did this. ”Shanahan, as a connoisseur of fine wrestling yourself, you of all people know the acquisition you have here in front of you and the fine print in this contract will tell everyone no less. I mean, look at what Mr. Colton Williams the third set up just for me to write my name on a piece of paper in front of a national audience. Look at your ratings right now as everyone tunes in to watch me sign my name on a piece of paper. I don’t even have to have gold around my waist and I am the biggest star here. Excuse my completely justified sense of accomplishment, but I don’t know how else you could handle all of this concentrated power and beauty.”

“Shanahan, there is no one I’d rather be doing this with. Except, well… Maybe everyone.”

Summers let out a boastful laugh as he prepared to sign the contract.

Matt's snarky comments were unbolievable and the crowd cheered them on. Summers' cheap grin turned to a confused look of anger as Shanahan kept piling on shot after shot. Summers tapped the pen next to the 'X' designating the location for him to shine. He placed the pen down. Summers slapped the table with his hands as he stood up in front of the noticeably larger man. Swinging his glasses off his face, Brantley pointed his finger towards the face of Shanahan.

"You think that's funny champ? Huh? You think I haven't been my own man, Shanahan? I'm a former multi-time world champion. F*&^(#*$& you."

Summers breathing was intensifying. A bead of sweat rolled down his face and dripped to the table onto the contract. Summers was known for having a short temper when he was being insulted.

"Everyone here having a giggle?!" The crowd erupted in cheers, much to Summers' dismay. "Know what? Shanahan? I'm the damn best this place has after I sign this. Nobody in that locker room can carry my gym bags let alone take a Lariat or Pedigree from me!"

Summers quickly signed the sheet of paper called the contract and slid it harshly in the face of Shanahan.

"Nobody."

Summers eyes jolted in rage. Brantley looked around as the crowd began to cheer in anticipation for whoever Matt Shanahan had in mind. Summers began loosening up his tie as he threw his very expensive shades to the ramp above and let out a roar. He was a tiger. Not the Tiger Hat kind of tiger, but El Tigre, Brantley Summers.

Summers looked at Shanahan and exclaimed, "WHO?! WHO HOLDS A CANDLE TO THE KING OF TWO THOUSAND FOURTEEN?!"

Summers' eyes went wild at the mention of a man who rose faster in a company than he did. Brantley began snorting, his slobber practically foaming out of his mouth.

"CREW-OFT?!"

Brantley reached behind him and flung his chair up the ramp, going the way of his shades as it was destroyed upon impact with the hard ground. He flung his tie to the ground and slung his sport coat to the mat around the turnbuckle. Summers was on a rampage in the ring right now. In one fell swoop, Brantley grabbed the edge of the table and flipped it onto the ropes, removing the one barrier between him and his future opponent. Summers stomped his way to the table and folded the top half of it.

The newly signed star pointed at Matt Shanahan before he winded up his arm and ran to the opposite side of the ring. Summers rebounded off the ropes and delivered on one of the most fierce lariats in human history upon the table. The sheer strength of the crooked arm sent the table flying over the ropes and down to the arena floor. Summers tore of his designer shirt and leaped to the second rope and winded his arm yet again.

Brantley leaped off the second the rope, cameras flashed around him to brighten the whole arena as a fist fell upon his jacket. A triumphant moment indeed. Summers rolled through the move and forged his way to Shanahan.

Getting chest to chest with the General Manager, Summers uttered few words, "You and Salem better... Watch. Your. Step."

IF YOU PUT YOUR DIRTY HANDS ON ME
I'MMA PUT YA BACK IN JAIL

The theme of Brantley Summers played as he looked up to Shanahan in the middle of the ring.