He and Christian were sitting in their locker room at a table, and Edge was relaxing, his long legs stretched out, feet propped up on it.  His tag team partner was going through a box of trademark goofy sunglasses, trying to figure out which ones to wear to the ring for their upcoming match.

"Big bad blue-do daddies?" Christian asked with a laugh as he put on the blue shades.  "Or how about ruby red?"  He replaced them with bright red ones.

They both looked up as someone entered the room without bothering to knock.  Pete Gas strode straight over to the table.

"Hey, guys..."  The Mean Street Posse member peered with interest at the collection of Christian's sunglasses.  "Oh, cool."  Pete reached out to grab a pair, but the Canadian waved him away.

"Hands off, barfazoid!"

"Jeez...sorry!"

"What do you want, anyway?" Edge asked as he looked up at the guy with annoyance.  How rude it was of Pete to just walk on in here without so much as a knock.  A minute or so earlier, he might have heard something he shouldn't have...

"Oh...Commissioner Foley wants to see you guys in his office - ASAP," the man said.

"What about?" the tall blond asked.

"I don't know - that's the only message I was asked to pass onto you two."  With that, the Mean Street Posse member turned and walked out of the room.

"Great," Christian muttered.  "I haven't even decided on which shades to wear yet."  He glanced at Edge.  "Why don't you take care of this?" he suggested before glancing back into the hand-held mirror in his right hand.

"Oh, all right," the taller man said resignedly.  He stood up and left the room.

As Edge headed down the hallway in the direction of Mick Foley's office, he had no clue that this was all a setup.

*

Moments later, the tall blond man returned to the locker room, a little annoyed and perplexed at the same time.

"Dude, Foley wasn't even there..."  He suddenly stopped dead in his tracks for a beat as his eyes took in the scene, his mind initially refusing to register what he saw.  Christian was lying in the middle of the table, which had been broken, holding his shoulder.

Edge rushed into the room as he abruptly came back to his senses.

"What the hell happened?!" he asked, his eyes wide with shock.

Christian winced, his eyes tightly shut as he continued to grip his shoulder.  "The Dudleys...My shoulder - we're gonna have to postpone the match."

Edge raked a hand through his hair as he quickly considered the situation.  "No...no, we don't," he said.  "Look, it's the Conquistadors, right?  I'll take care of them myself."  His mind made up, the tall Canadian bent over to snatch up his black trenchcoat.  "Don't worry...I'll take care of everything, pal."  Then, rather than helping the other man, he strode quickly from the locker room.