The arena lights flicker as the heavy, distorted bass of "Celtic Invasion" hits. Smoke curls around the entrance ramp as a figure emerges, silhouetted against a sea of orange lights. Becky Lynch walks with a slow, predatory gait, her black leather trench coat swaying.

She steps into the ring and leans against the turnbuckle, adjusting her goggles before locking her gaze directly onto yours in the crowd.

Look at you. You’ve got that look in your eyes... I used to have that look. Waiting for approval.

The audience is confused. They whisper and wonder if you’re a new wrestler ready to step in the ring or if she’s mistaking you for someone else. Becky doesn't care; she picks up a mic and begins to circle the ring.

I spent years waiting for my time in the light, but the system doesn't want you to succeed. If you want to be seen, you gotta fight to be seen.

She scoffs, a sharp, cynical sound, then points the mic directly at you.

Well, you all can see I am the real star now. I’m the main event. I’m 'The Man.' And you? Are you going to step up here, or am I going to have to go in there and disarm you before you even get the chance?