Who would be victorious if UFC 200 was a Royal Rumble-style event?

30 fighters, one hour, one winner takes it all.

Ding ding! After a solid six minutes of slugging it out Takanori Gomi, Jim Miller, Thiago Santos, Gegard Mousasi, Diego Sanchez and Joe Lauzon can't seem take anyone out of the game. It's time for our first special guest fighter to enter the fray. Oh no! The Imperial March blares from the PA. It's the bossman himself, Dana White. El Presidente menacingly snaps one of Stitch Durant's old gloves on his wrist before climbing over the ropes and announcing that nobody was ever his friend. Mousasi tries to greet his employer, but White misheard "Oh hey boss," in the Dutchman's broken English as a slur against Reebok and he's instantly cut from the promotion. White lies back in a stylish Italian leather wingback which has immaculately appeared in the corner, takes out his phone and begins berating fans on Twitter. The other fighters decide to leave him be and continue on with the contest. Sage Northcutt enters the mix and he's followed closely by some other music or something which no one is paying attention to. The super grateful, super enthusiastic, super Sage goes over to Uncle Dana to thank him for the wonderful opportunity, but he's torn limb from limb by the other jealous lightweights who've teamed up for this one moment. Sanchez is now wearing Northcutt's skull as a hat as he plods forward with his hands down trying to attack Thiago Santos who catches him with a vicious haymaker that sends him flying. The judge from Albuquerque still has the Nightmare winning on the scorecards. TJ Dillashaw and Raphael Assuncao are now in the match and they quickly dispatch of the tiring Miller and Lauzon. White spots Kelvin Gastelum and Johny Hendricks preparing to come in at the side of the stage and, remembering that they both missed weight, he calls them goofs, sends them packing and tells them to come back in three months for a heavyweight contest. The Canadian national anthem starts up and the crowd rise to their feet. It's not GSP, but Ariel Helwani making his way to the ring. It looks like he's got the president in his sights. Without looking up from his phone, White clicks his fingers and two heavies escort him off the premises before he can take more than a couple of steps. Cat Zingano comes storming in... she's gone, armbar. Julianna Pena is followed by the first pair of heavyweights for the night, Travis Browne and Cain Velasquez, and everyone's worst fears about having this winner-takes-all, no weight class tournament become realised as the two biggest guys in the ring instantly dominate. It's become apparent at this point that Dillashaw has shat himself as Velasquez drives him out of the ring like some sort of Mexican reincarnation of St Patrick. Santos and Gomi are frantically trying to run away from Browne who's cruelly reciting the giant's poem from Jack and the Beanstalk. Jose Aldo sprints into the heart of the action... he's gone, knockout. The unmistakable haunting voice of Sinead O'Connor belts out the first line of the Foggy Dew and the Las Vegas crowd erupts with excitement. The ground opens up and the Celtic songstress emerges atop a platform slowly rising from the opening. McGregor enters behind the wheel of a Rolls Royce, cruising cautiously towards the ring. The crowd are going wild. They can't believe it. Suddenly, a Buick comes screeching into the arena, sideswiping McGregor's vehicle and taking out Sinead O'Connor in the process. The arena lights come crashing down from the ceiling. It's difficult to see, but there couldn't possibly be any survivors. Oh wait! There appears to be one. A shadowy figure emerges from the wreckage but darts out the fire exit before we can get a proper glimpse of him. Dana White has disqualified himself from the contest by leaping out of the ring holding some plaster to see if he can make some Notorious death masks fresh off the corpse. They'll be on sale in the lobby afterwards. The crowd don't have time to mourn, the chaos inside the ring continues. Nick Diaz's entry theme booms around the T-Mobile Arena... no sign of him. He's late again. In the meantime, Frankie Edgar, Amanda Nunes and Miesha Tate all enter the fight. Browne immediately begins arguing with Tate over who's partner would win in a fight. Lesnar comes barreling into the ring with the force of a Tsunami, his momentum sends Tate, Pena and Browne sailing into the crowd. Vince McMahon has arrived, he locks eyes with Brock Lesnar who flings Edgar and Nunes into orbit before giving the WWE owner that trademark terrifying thousand-yard stare. McMahon clears his throat before uttering, "Round two" and the pair roll up their sleeves and walk towards the centre of the ring ready to engage in the sequel to their infamous arm-wrestling match. Boom! Before they can clasp hands, Mark Hunt comes out of nowhere and unloads a holy H-Bomb from hell that decapitates both men with one fell swoop. Their severed heads roll into the crowd and land at the feet of spectator John Kavanagh. Hunt triumphantly points toward the sky and an unnatural beam of light for that hour of the night shines down on him from above. "Jesus sure loves knockouts," Kavanagh retorts, staring at Lesnar's lifeless dome which has now come to rest on the ground. The same shadowy figure we've seen before has returned to the scene of the car crash. He rummages around the dashboard for a while and finds what he's looking for. He opens up his wallet, slips something inside and takes off running again. Meanwhile Daniel Cormier is dominating inside the ring, dusting Gomi and Santos with ease. Fans are beginning to grow restless wondering where the hell Jon Jones is, but they're still finding the fight enjoyable, because Cormier seems like a genuinely nice guy. And then there were three - Velasquez, Hunt and Cormier. The final guest fighter, CM Punk sombrely staggers towards the ring as if he is taking his last steps towards the gallows. He, real name Phil Brooks, climbs over the ropes and into the ring. And then there were three. The weary trio meet in the centre of the ring. This is kill or be killed stuff, they're just winging punches, much to delight of the baying crowd. Hunt cracks Velasquez with an uppercut, then a left hook, but there's so much lactic acid building in his arms that the strikes aren't connecting with that patented H-Bomb force we've become so accustomed to seeing from the Super Samoan. Cormier comes to the aid of his buddy with a short right hand that stuns the Kiwi. Velasquez regains his composure and applies the requisite coup de grace with a vicious flying knee. It's training partner vs. training partner now. We're finally seeing the fight Cormier dropped down to light heavyweight to avoid. Both men just stare at each other, realising that this must end now, there can only be one winner. Exhausted, DC plods forward. His right hand is cocked and he's ready to unload a world of pain on the former heavyweight champion. Just as he's winding up that final blow, he becomes distracted as the shadowy figure, now in handcuffs taunts him as he's being escorted out of the building, "Hey pussy, you still there?" BOOM! Cormier comes to flat on his back outside the ring. It was a clean headkick KO. He gazes up at the incredibly fatigued Velasquez who gives him a nod of respect. DC picks himself up, dusts himself off and leaves. Velasquez collects just enough energy to climb atop the ropes to celebrate. He's breathing so heavily, but he manages to raise his hands high above his head to celebrate the amazing feat. HE'S DOWN! The new champion has slipped off the ropes and fallen to the floor in a heap. He's not getting back up. Wait... who's that behind him? That wasn't a fall, Velasquez was pushed off the ropes... by Enrique Marin? Has he really been here the whole time? It may not have been a fairytale ending, but we have an unlikely new champion in the form of the relatively unknown Spaniard. What an insane way to cap off international fight week. Nick Diaz finally arrives just in time to see the belt being wrapped around Enrique Marin's waist. He grumbles something vaguely comprehensible about "wolf tickets" before exiting the arena and playing nunchucks with his army-sized entourage in the parking lot.