Mainly use the unusual bat-like weapon, with the oil bombs for backup.

December 8, 2019 (Last modified Sun Mar 3 01:01 -0500)

You hoist your weapon into your hands. You can feel the heat from the spikes on your arms. If you listen closely enough, you can almost hear the protein burning…

With a sinister grin, you tell The Rock you’re ready to smash some faces. And smash some faces you do: your party quickly opens the large freezer door, runs out into the kitchens, and bashes whoever is unfortunate enough to stand in your immediate vicinity. Your exotic spiked bat flies effortlessly through any and all of Cena’s minions who dare face the mighty Gregory! You sprint forth to Cena’s throne room, and, having witnessed your murderous rampage, he surrenders immediately. You are hailed as a god among your friends, and as king of Wrestlemania! Dozens of piles of nickel-laden mail are set ablaze in celebration.

And then, you wake up.

You feel your face touching a cold, wet surface. You’re not quite sure what this is, and try to open your eyes to gauge your surroundings. The room is exceptionally dark, with only two faint torches quite far away from you providing light. They cast shadows on what appears to be metal fencing, a door, and… Two men?

So you’re the terrorist that’s been trying to mess up my operation? Very funny, grubby Greg! You should’ve realized that you can’t fight my great and unmatched wisdom!

You try to gain your bearings for a moment, but begin to pass out again. That wasn’t a voice you recognized. Was it Cena? No, it couldn’t be; you knew his voice well enough, having lived together for a while. You quietly slip into unconsciousness…

And wake up again. You open your eyes: the room is much more visible now; several more torch sconces have been lit. There is only one man in front of your cell. You can see him clearly. The reality of your situation has begun to set in.

Someone has found you, and locked you in a cell.

You know where you are, kid?” asks your kidnapper with a smirk. “You’re in hell.” The man sees the horrified expression on your face and begins to elaborate. “No, I mean, you’re in hell, but not real hell. Like, you’re in hell, but you’re in a cell, right? Hell in a cell. You’re in hell in a cell!” The man chuckles.

Hell in a cell? You don’t have much time to think. More sconces are set alight almost systematically around you. The entire area is now lit. You can finally see:

You’re in the middle of a wrestling ring, caged by a haphazard box of what appears to be chain-link fence. The stadium around you is empty. The only two people in the stadium are you and your personal semi-jovial prison guard. Your party is missing. You are alone - for now.

What do you do?

> Ask the guard who he is and whose side he's on.

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