The scene opened in the training room, where Kyle O’Reilly was preparing for his match against Randy Orton. A steady thumping sound echoed through the air as O’Reilly hit a heavy punching bag repeatedly, causing it to swing back and forth. The bag stopped suddenly with a loud smack — O’Reilly had driven his knee into it. He turned to face the camera, sweat glistening on his forehead, his Unleashed hoodie unzipped but hanging loosely from his shoulders. His breathing was steady, controlled, dangerous. O’Reilly glared down the camera as he began to speak.
Kyle O’Reilly: “Shocking”. “Unexpected”. “Upset of the round”. That’s how they’ve described my victory in the first round of the King of the Ring tournament. That’s how they’ve talked about what I did to Damian Priest.
O’Reilly sneered.
Kyle O’Reilly: If you’re surprised by what happened in Toronto, you haven’t been paying attention. You’ve been looking at the surface — at the names, the reputations, the title histories. But this business isn’t won on paper. It’s decided in the ring. And when I walked into the ring in Toronto, when I entered the King of the Ring tournament, I beat a former World Champion. Not with luck. Not with a fluke. With precision. With violence. With purpose.
O’Reilly stepped closer to the camera, his voice colder now.
Kyle O’Reilly: You can call it a shock if it makes you feel better. Call it an upset. Just know that every time you underestimate me… it’s your mistake, not mine. I’m not here to play the underdog. I’m not here for the Cinderella story. I’m here to win this whole damn thing.
O’Reilly pulled his hoodie off now, tossing it aside, revealing taped fists.
Kyle O’Reilly: And tonight? I’m staring down another so-called legend. Another former World Champion. Randy Orton.
He let the name hang in the air, then slowly shook his head.
Kyle O’Reilly: Let me guess—people think I’m supposed to be honoured. Humbled. Starstruck. Because I get to share the ring with “The Viper.” They’ll tell you Randy Orton’s a future Hall of Famer. One of the greats. That he’s dangerous. That he can strike at any time.
O’Reilly’s tone shifted to mockery—low and bitter.
Kyle O’Reilly: You know what I see when I look at Randy Orton? I see a man living off reputation. I see a guy who’s been coasting on the same three moves and a smug expression since 2004. And I see someone who has absolutely no idea what he’s walking into tonight. I’m not intimidated by legacy. I’m not afraid of some highlight reel from a decade ago. Because the truth is, Randy… you’re not the apex predator anymore. You’re the prey. You’re standing in the way of The Unleashed, and that never ends well.
O’Reilly rolled his neck, letting out a low breath. His focus sharpened to a razor’s edge.
Kyle O’Reilly: First, I took down Damian Priest. Now, in the quarter-finals, it’s Randy Orton. And after that? Whoever’s left. Edge, Jericho, Punk… it doesn’t matter. Because I’m not just fighting to represent The Unleashed. I’m not just fighting for a crown. I’m fighting to make damn sure that when people talk about who the most dangerous man in EBWF is… my name is the only one they say.
O’Reilly stared down the lens, eyes full of icy resolve.
Kyle O’Reilly: And Randy? When you’re lying on your back tonight, wondering what the hell just hit you… you’ll realise this wasn’t some miracle. It was a warning you didn’t listen to.
O’Reilly walked off frame, the heavy punching bag still swaying slightly. The camera lingered for a moment, then cut to black.
