Herb struts out of the entrance all smiles. Sure, he's a little less mobile and a lot more tender than the last time he did this, but he's still more than happy. At least on the outside.

Once in the ring, he gives himself a few moments to soak up the 'Har-bin-ger! Har-bin-ger!' chants.

'It sounds to me like you people appreciate what I did at Resurrection.'

Pop.

'I took the icon of Evo, I tossed his musclebound ass around the ring for fifty minutes, and made him admit that I'm the better man by forcing him to tap out. I can see why you all would enjoy that. It wasn't just a win for me, it was a win for every single Mercury fan.'

Pop.

'So tell me... how come the forty minutes I wrestled Akujin didn't make you happy? How come the half hours I wrestled Pariah didn't make you happy? I mean, I worked my fingers to the bone in each of those cases, and afterwards you couldn't boo me loud enough. Guess what? If I'd had the strength in my body, I would have stood up and given Alex Lawson a Punk Out 5.0 just like I did Jin, in order to prove the same point I did at Suicide. I'm the same f**king man that I was when you booed me. How come it's different now, huh?'

Silence. Nobody was expecting this. Herb's tone goes from happy to angry to sarcastic.

'Oh, I think I know what it is. You're hopping on the ol' Harby bandwagon because you know I'm gonna be the Mercury champion again before the year's out. You know that I'm the best, so you'll cheer the winner and go home happy after every show. That's not bad thinking... only, I'm not taking YOU back so easily!

'Where were those cheers when I had Apex's mask stolen, thus taking the knees out of my momentum? Where were they when Rook and I fought to a forty minute draw, only to have his name chanted more emphatically the next night? Where were they when I kept the Mercury title out of the hands of that s**tbag Magnum Wolf? Huh? Where was the applause then, you capricious jackasses? I'll tell you where it was.

'You were cheering the 'cool' guys. Hector, Used, Rook, Pariah, Slate. The ones who acted all dark and mysterious, or were sickeningly adorable, or mindlessly violent, or a combination of the three. While I was busy TRYING to carry sad sacks like Johnny Righteous to something watchable, you were all transfixed on the guys with the spotlight on them. And then, once I was on top, you dropped me cold at the first sign that I wasn't some squeaky clean defender of the innocent! Excuse me if I don't shake hands and kiss babies because you've decided to change your minds for the millionth time!'

The silence is filled with three familiar syllables.

'Bin-ger sucks! Bin-ger sucks!'

Herb chuckles and shakes his head.

'Typical. If anybody dares to call the fans out on their often sheepish preferences, they boo him. But I'm a forgiving guy; if at some point you all apologize for how you've treated me, I'll consider being a bit kinder to those of you who shell out the money to watch me kill people. Just don't be shocked if I wait a while to make sure you won't change your mind the next day.'

Herb tosses the mic down casually and leaves to the exact opposite reaction he entered with.

Truth be told, he couldn't be more pleased with himself.