The masses do what they do best….teem….
Inebriated Fans: IWC! IWC!! IWC!!!
Apparently the pre-show promise for free backstage passes to the loudest fans….a promotion that will no doubt be totally ignored after the broadcast….is doing wonders to get the crowd thoroughly hyped up. Lungs are already being deflated, banners are already waving, and cell-phones are already recording every single moment of the hoopla.
“How long….how long has it been?â€
The Manhattan Center….The birthplace and center hub of IWC activity….was already in a frenzy before these words were even spoken.
“Since you chanted those initials?….Since you stood in this arena ready to feast your eyes on the revolution?….On the most spectacular spectacle ever witnessed?….â€
Excitement swelled larger than Lindsey Lohan’s breast post puberty. Every word acted as metaphorical blue pills, increasing the longevity of the fans’ response.
“Since your heartbeats raced like never before? Since your bodies quaked and twitched with adrenaline? All thanks to the sights and sounds you are about to view.’
The omnipotent voice filtering through the PA system continued to amp up an already overwrought crowd.
“And what you’re about to see is a return….a REBIRTH! A rebirth that will give each and every fan watching at home and sitting here tonight, something to at last live for. The rebirth of….
Instantly the tune in the building is altered the moment the curtains dangling from the lavishly decorated entry way split down the middle and the first IWC representative sashays through them.
“Me….Billy Mayne!
A tepid response smattered with many heckles emits from the audience. The thrill has been instantly swept from their sails at the sight of the smarmy former IWC commentator, standing in his lime green bowling shirt and slacks, twirling under the bright lights with an even brighter smile.
“No need to adjust your tampons ladies, that feeling between your legs is caused by me…the Mayne man himself….But don’t be hatin’ on your ladies boys….they can’t help themselves…I’ve got a voice smoother than Barry White….and you had better believe it’s time for wrestling’s greatest commentator to GET IT ON! Oooooh yeeeeeaaah.
As if words weren’t nearly vomit inducing enough, the suggestive swaying of Billy’s hips as he marched down the ramp further aggravated the gag reflexes of all those watching. The stutter step persisted as Mayne strutted up the steps and straight to the middle of the ring. The former broadcaster stood upon the IWC initials stenciled across the canvas where many great athletes plied their craft. However, Billy definitely is not in the same vain as these previously mentioned combatants, baring about as much muscle tone as Kiera Knightly. It didn’t stop him from acting like the star of the show, hogging the spotlight as only Billy could.
Billy: That’s right biotches, the return of the Independent Wrestling Cartel means one thing….Billy Mayne is BACK!!
Boos intensified as stomachs turned.
Mayne: Take a chill pill my Mayne-iacs…
Yes….he just went there, and no amount of alcohol could make the fans immune to the disgust..
Billy:….Cause THE VOICE that makes the ladies MOIST is gonna call things the way I see em. And unlike last time the Bill-inator ain’t holdin’ a damn thing back. Ya feel me playas? I do, in fact I feel myself a little too much….
He didn’t even pause to wonder if that came out right, in spite of the shrieks of many repulsed female spectators.
Billy: Rest easy peeps, the single greatest commentator in the history of this industry, in all of time and space, is gonna sit right there at ringside…(pointing to the currently empty commentator chair)…and ensure that this show is actually watchable. You want entertainment? I’ll make sure you get it. Cause even though the wrestlers may be bland, and the action stale, I’ll put that little extra sumtin sumtin on it…I’ll spice it up….I’ll lube it up with all kinds of coco butter….You can count on me….you can trust your Mayne-Man!!
The word ‘aloof’ was not accurate enough to describe Billy, totally clueless to the jeers that came rushing in like a tidal wave striking the shores of Japan. The cheesy grin remained plastered on his face like it were cut into his flesh by a surgeon’s knife, completely unwavering until…. “BREAK“….rushes through the PA system. It’s unclear what’s louder, the theme blaring through the speakers or the crowd’s reception to Jackson Adams.
Billy: O—M—G!!
It couldn’t be possible for Billy’s jaw to get any closer to the canvas or his eyes to grow any wider. All effort went into restraining his girly pre-teen screams at the sight of the returning Adams. The Spectacular One was met with a ‘spectacular’ response truly befitting of his legacy. The smart fans rejoiced at the sight of the former Cartel and Submission Champion, while the causal viewers jumped on the bandwagon cause they desperately want to fit in, in spite of their John Cena t-shirts and Hulk Hogan boas. It didn’t matter who cheered, or how loud they did so, Jackson’s focus was on one thing…evident by his energetic gait towards the ring and lack of acknowledgement to the outstretched hands desperate for a high five.
Mayne: Wow….prepare yourselves people, cause the universe is about to cave in upon itself due to the sheer awesomeness your gonna see…
Perhaps the happiest fan in attendance is Billy….who was never one to shy away from being an unabashed Jackson Adams mark. Downright giddy, that’s what Mayne became the closer Jackson got to the ring, almost quivering as Adams marched up the steps and slid through the ropes. Though he may not have been prepared for the crowd reaction, or Billy’s hijacking of the show, he did come with a microphone in his back pocket, and was more than ready to put it to good use.
Jackson: Billy?
It took a moment for it to register that he was really back in the center of an IWC ring, and that he was really face to face with the greatest ass-kisser in the industry. That moment was very short lived.
Adams: Who let you into the building tonight?
For the first time a sentence with Billy’s name in it received a pop. The grin widened on his face, oblivious to WHY the crowd was cheering…or more precisely…chuckling.
Adams: Bro, I know you’ve spent a ton of time sitting on your ass, but I think you might spend even more time on your knees. Who’s balls did you have to lick to get access to this ring?
More chuckles…more cheers….a blend of both accurately…and all at the expense of the color commentator….who’s COLOR at that moment was a bright shade of red. The grin was gone, and the dough eyed glare was replaced with penetrating eyes.
Jackson: Billy, the initials may not have changed, they may still say I–W–C…(pointing to the letters on the canvas beneath them)….but this ain’t about to be the same ole’ shit. No-no, nuh-uh. The slates been wiped clean….it’s a brand new day Bro. Change is on the horizon. The action…well it’s gonna be turned up a notch…we’re about to kick things up to a whole nother level. And these ‘peeps,’ aren’t gonna have to worry about being entertained, least not of all by you, cause we’re gonna give em a show….no….no….THE SHOW!
Excitement was growing larger than Kristie Alley’s waist.
Jackson: The mother-luvin show they haven’t got in ages. Free of politics. Free of egos. Free of the watered down garbage that’s been forced down their friggin throats! Some of the faces might be the same….
The same finger that motioned to the ring briefly changed direction to Jackson’s smarmy grin.
Jackson:….but our motivations, their different. We’re here to make IWC all it can be. The federation that not only the fans deserve, but WE deserve.
Louder applause….more lungs deflated. Though the energy builds in the crowd, Billy’s crumbles. A look like Veruca Salt being told ‘no’ has overtaken him…not one bit satisfied that the spotlight has been taken off of him.
Jackson: But how about we stop talking about it and let’s get to it? Let’s show them the change that IWC promises. Let’s show them WRESTLING…only the type of action you’ll find right HERE!!
It’s unclear what part of Adams is getting more of a work-out, his mouth, or his finger, which is once again employed to point to the ring below. Predictably, the only person not on board with this wonderful sentiment is Billy…the perpetual spoiled sport.
Billy: Wrestling? Really?
Billy finally worked up the courage to speak up, and of course he had all the wrong timing, flapping his gums just one second before Adams could finish sliding through the ropes. The moment Billy’s cynical syllables struck his ears, Jackson ceased and desisted his departure from the ring, opting to step right back to the center of the squared circle.
Mayne: Who CARES about wrestling? Who gives a flatulent fart about change? The only thing that matters….the only thing the Mayne-iacs care about….is the fact that I’m BAAAACCK!
Glee transformed instantly into gags….especially as Billy gave himself a hug.
Billy: That puts asses in the seat…instantly! Very nice…slender…curvy asses.
A wink towards the crowd made several females in attendance thankful they brought along pepper-spray. With folded arms and a nodding head Jackson watched the sickening spiel continue.
Mayne: Don’t worry about the…’action.†Don’t worry about…. ‘change.’ That shit doesn’t matter. Billy’s gonna do something nobody has been able to do in this ring…keep the crowd happy…nah-nah-nah….totally aaarrrrrooouuusssed.
The smile returns….and it’s even more repulsive than ever before.
Jackson: Alrighty then….
Obviously he’s heard enough.
Adams: Maybe you’re right, Billy…
The crowd is shocked to hear Jackson make such a concession…though there’s no surprise evident on the smiling mug of Billy Mayne.
Jackson: Maybe you CAN entertain these fans….Maybe you can give them all something they really want to see….
Somehow the smug smile gets even wider. It only fades…or more accurately….is knocked off….the moment that Jackson delivers a swift boot to the glory hounds gut and plants him face first into the ring with his Angel’s Wings into the Twist of Fate. For the first time in his life, Billy actually does get a pop from the audience, though its not elicited the way he could have ever imagined. Promptly Jackson is back on his feet and fixing the collar of his button up shirt, even going as far as to straighten his hair before flinging the sweat gathered on his palms upon the decimated frame of Billy. The only reaction from Mayne are a series of uncontrolled twitches and an involuntary compulsion to TRY and get up. The story of his life writes another page, his bad timing once again coming back to haunt him. Jackson was half way out of the ring before pausing a second time the moment he noticed Billy mindlessly fighting his way towards his feet. One look
towards the crowd tells them exactly what’s on Jackson’s mind.
Back towards Billy he strides, actually reaching down and hooking his arm in order to lead him up to his feet. Bad intentions are in store for Billy…but salvation comes in truly unlikely form….Porno Lad’s theme blares through the building.
A DEFEANING reaction rocks the Manhattan Center as the PA system roars with the almost inaudible sounds of Porno Lad’s rendition of his theme song. To the stage the Original Prankster sashays, standing under the bright lights and soaking in a response that actually causes his spine to shiver. Even Adams has taken notice of the arrival of the former IWC World Champion, spreading his time between eyeing Porno Lad closely, and propping up a near unconscious Mayne.
Confidence absolutely oozes from IWC’s Original Prankster as he reaches the very ring where he won his first World Heavyweight Title, and participated in some of his greatest feuds. One of which involving the very man who now acts as a makeshift crutch to the near comatose commentator, making the moment all the more tense once Porno Lad leaps the top rope and stands mono a mono with Mr. Adams. Perhaps the action that was alluded to moments ago is about to pick up, ironically where IWC left off with two competitors of vastly differing worldviews seconds from locking up yet again. That seems to be the case given Ethan’s immediate rousing of Jackson, pulling him away from the unfortunate commentator and going nose to snarling nose with his former nemesis.
Foam actually begins to form at the lips of the fans as they sit on nails, bolts, shards of glass in anticipation of what’s going to happen next. An industrial strength solvent seems to have been dumped on their heads, everyone coming unglued the moment Porno Lad spins around and drills Billy directly in the lips with the Superkick. Something vastly different comes flying from Mayne’s mouth, instead of hurling insults, he hurls teeth as a direct result of the Epic Fail.
The devastating kick leaves Billy looking like a Robert Kirkman character, nothing more than a brainless corpse somehow remaining on unstable legs. Ultimately his body catches up with his brain, and they all go tumbling to the ring. He’s the only one off his feet, as everyone else in the building stands and cheers for what they just witnessed, thoroughly enjoying the systematic destruction of the IWC’s biggest pest.
Having suffered the Epic Fail in the past makes Jackson a bit sympathetic, stepping in to aide Billy back to his feet in the process of begging off Porno Lad. The request goes unnoticed by Ethan, who seems to be suffering a bout of remorse himself, taking the opposite arm of Mayne and aiding him back to an upright base. Drool seeps from the corner of Billy’s mouth, perhaps being the most interesting thing to come out of it in years as he teeters between feet, knees constantly buckling. Thankfully, Porno Lad and Adams not only keep him upright but even go as far as to brush off his obnoxiously green bowler shirt, embodying compassion….but not for Mayne. Their empathy is for the man who has jumped the railing, slid beneath the ropes and taken residency in the corner behind the ailing commentator.
No scale on the planet could properly detect the magnitude of the reception Christian Savior is receiving, especially as the former IWC World Champion crouches in anticipation. Up and down Christian moves, limbering up his legs and building greater excitement for what comes next. The only one not in on the pending disaster is Billy, who is too busy getting a playful pat on the cheek by Adams, before being coaxed to turn around. Porno Lad doesn’t join in, backing against a corner and covering his eyes, remembering just how much the next move hurts. Billy finds out the hard way, turning right into the Bloodline Spear, one that connects with such tremendous force that it not only lifts Mayne from his feet but sends him flipping completely over backwards.
Like a jelly-fish Billy lies totally limp, with the exception of the occasional quiver. The crowd quivers too, for entirely different reasons, shaking in their booties at the sight of Adams, Porno Lad and Christian Savior standing above the near corpse of Mayne, three IWC Icon’s united in their determination to make the new IWC a truly different and BETTER place.
Though the lung capacity of the crowd has already been tested they still have plenty of oxygen left, evident the moment that “The Game“…tears through the building at the same time Robin Brooks tears through the curtains. She doesn’t come by herself, but on this occasion she’s not dragging along whatever World Champion or perpetual goof she might be managing, instead it’s a dumpster she tugs. Eventually, in spite of a few pieces of trash seeping over the sides, she manages to get the hefty container to ringside, depositing it in a truly apropos position.
For the first time EVER, and definitely the LAST time EVER, Savior, Porno Lad and Adams have the exact same thought. Glances are exchanged between the trio before their eyes eventually settle and remain fixated upon the dumpster. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist, or even a Hooters waitress to figure out what’s about to happen next, especially with Robin playing the role of Devil’s Advocate at ringside. She implores the misbehavior of the three men in the ring, enticing them to shrug before taking hold of Billy’s tattered attire. There is clearly nothing left of Mayne but an empty husk that is eventually dragged to his feet, which do nothing to support his weight. Of course that doesn’t matter, because he’s elevated straight from the very sneakers he was almost speared out of and above the heads of the three returning combatants inside of the ring.
To the unanimous support of all those crammed into the Manhattan Center, with Robin Brooks perhaps being the most vocal of them all, Billy is thrown over the top rope and sent crashing spine first directly into a giant pile of filth. Palms are swiped by all in the ring, the three feeling a sense of accomplishment after effectively taking out the trash.
The symbolism couldn’t be anymore blatant, and neither is the symbolic act now taken by Adams, as he snatches a banner from a fan in the front row then promptly slips back into the ring. Once again in an act totally uncharacteristic of the three in the ring, they work together in hoisting the banner up high, proudly displaying the initials “I-W-C.â€
SIX YEARS AGO
The transition from the action to the ring to the video package highlighting IWC’s illustrious history is seamless. Instantly the viewers are taken back to the quote un quote ‘glory years’ via a shot of Desolation moving in slow motion as he stands on a turnbuckle, dramatically raising his arms aloft. Plus the image is all black and white and grainy, just in case it wasn’t melodramatic enough.
TH WORLD CHANGED
Chanting…chanting….chanting…it’s now all that can be heard in the background, as fans of years gone by applaud the action in the ring with a rousing rendition of the initials ‘I-W-C.’ The reception is well deserved…nay….EARNED thanks to the contributions of the in ring competitors currently spotlighted.
I
One of the most devastating and legendary moves in professional wrestling connects as the ‘Team Leader’ Johnny Kingdom dumps Christian Savior directly on top of his head thanks to the Exodus Finale. In spite of his exhaustion and bloodied physique, Johnny is still able to scale one of the walls of Steel Cage Elimination, where he celebrates by thrusting the World Title on high.
W
With one spear the course of wrestling was irrevocably altered, Christian delivering the move with the sheer force necessary to topple Orlando Cruze and become the NEW World Heavyweight Champion. The belt is draped over his arms as he stares down into his reflection upon the gold. Lord knows which is brighter, the gleam from the strap or the gleam from his smiling teeth. That grin is removed as the footage progresses into later that evening where one Rock Bottom brings the World Championship back to Orlando Cruze’s waist, losing and then regaining the title in the same night.
C
Squeals….screams….pleas….obscenities….every conceivable type of bodily emission, even some resulting from the slightly expired cheese conies consumed during the show….excreted from the crowd at the sight of Too Magnificent gorilla pressing Sallie. But that’s not why the fans have such an eclectic mix of reactions, the fact that Too Mag and Sallie are currently standing on top of a Hell in a Cell….no on the edge of the roof…are strong contributing factors. To make matters so inconceivable it would make Vizzini blush, Too Magnificent tosses Riggs’ girlfriend from the highest point of the cell onto an army of brawling combatants down below, providing a visual that will be hard pressed to be erased from the memories of the ardent IWC supporters.
TODAY….
A quick compilation of clips flashes so rapidly across the screen that it could inflict more seizures than a Pokemon cartoon. The footage pertains to the new crop of talent about to make a splash in the IWC, rather it be Kellen Jefferies striking a vogue, biceps flexed and eyebrow arched. There’s Hugo Magnusson and Bash Kincaid standing inches apart, with the space between them occupied by Adam Chase, hands perched on the shoulders of his clients. A more seductive pose is taken on by the hooded Taeler Chase, blowing kisses from open palms towards the screen. And Sebastian Knight rounds out the clip kneeling in the middle of the ring, head tilted back and arms outstretched to his sides.
THE WORLD CHANGES AGAIN…
The instrumental introduction to the classic AC/DC tune coincides with a shot of Axl Evermore throwing his fist through the air as he moves down the ramp before transitioning into Katelyn Buehler doing a risqué, putting it mildly, dance on the stage in a criminally short skirt. Before the lyrics hit your ears your eyes are bombarded by the sight of Jackson Adams cupping his hands around his mouth and egging on the crowd from the center of the ring.
Back in Black Yes I’m loose I keep looking at the sky cause it’s gettin me high
I hit the sack
I’ve been too long I’m glad to be back
From the noose
That’s kept me hanging about
Forget the herse cause I’ll never die
I got nine lives cats eyes
Using everyone of them and runnin’ wild
The lyrics intertwine with scenes highlighting Orlando Cruze being forcefully spun by his shoulder so that he comes eye to eye with Desolation. That’s before P Clarence Whitman III captivates the cameras striking a thought provoking pose, palm stroking chin and positively majestic sweater vest wrapped about his torso. Adams now crouches in the center of the ring with fist lowered to canvas and head lowered while Riggs and Max Craven stand on either side, an homage to the former Generation Now stable. The long flowing locks of Brandy-Danielle Garrett are positively mystifying, and she apparently knows it, obvious by the arrogance oozing from her eyes and the sultry pouting of her lips. Another blonde, with an equal amount of confidence but lips of the non-pouty variety is the next fixation, the Original Prankster himself, Porno Lad utilizing a lobster in a manner so offensive it would have PETA up in arms.
Cause I’m back
Yes I’m back well I’m back
Yes I’m back
Just before the music progresses into a harder melody anticipation builds in visual form with shots of classic crowd reactions, rather it be the cliché dropped jaw, ladies covering their mouths like they were re-watching the Red Wedding scene from Game of Thrones, and children hopping around oh so excitedly from mass quantities of soda and candy.
Well I’m Back Back
Well I’m Back in Black
Yes I’m Back in Black
A classic montage of images receive the spotlight, such as the ghastly scene of Isaac Saine demolishing Axl Evermore’s cranium via a series of unprotected MMA elbows driven into the temple. The non PG imagery doesn’t end there considering the next shot would give Tobe Hooper a raging…ya’know….considering the sheer amount of blood that drips from Jon Rich’s face before diving from a ladder unto a prone Desolation stretched across a table.
Back in the back of a Cadillac
Number one with a bullet I’m a power pack
Yes I am
In a bang with the gang
They gotta catch me if they wanna hang
Cause I’m back on the track and I’m beatin the flack
Nobody’s gonna get me on another rap
So look at me now I’m just makin my play
Don’t try to push your luck just get out of my way
The high life, at one time, was enjoyed by all members of the Conspiracy, evident by their champagne sipping in the back of a limo. The glasses clutched in the hands of Christian Savior, Pat Evans and Dan Douglas run over as they tip them above their hands, commemorating their amalgamation of evil. Johnny Kingdom, AWOL and Hurse aren’t tipping glasses but they enjoy the unity that is the Empire by standing over a pile of bodies in the center of the ring, striking some trademark poses in the process. A mask rips away from the face of Porno Lad, revealing the insidious gleam in his eyes and the most diabolical of all diabolical smirks, revealing not only his identity but the formation of the Five Star Society. Nothing is ripped off in the next scene except for the traditional big evil stable storyline that’s been commonplace in wrestling for decades, represented this time via a wide-screen shot of the Alpha Generation post Paranoia celebrating with the
World Heavyweight Title.
Cause I’m back
Yes I’m back well I’m back
Yes I’m back
There are two glimmering objects captured next, the Cartel Championship, and the Ladder that the belt is wrapped around as Desolation officially forfeit’s the title to the inanimate object. The next inanimate object doesn’t get shown nearly the same amount of love as Porno Lad throws a Molotov cocktail into a Geo Metro, sending it into a blaze while a weeping Hurse watches his prized automobile burn, powerless to do anything about it as he kneels in the ring.
Well I’m Back Back
Well I’m Back in Black
Yes I’m Back in Black
The Chaos Theory is delivered on Christian, resulting in a shocking World Title win for Jason Zero, the belt shimmering high above his head. After a belt ascends, Axl descends thanks to Pat Evans dragging him from the top of a turnbuckle into the Spinal Tap, drawing a close to their bloody, disfiguring steel cage match. A steel chair results in equally as disfiguring results as Nathan Creed swings it directly into the skull of Evans, and then celebrates on the outside of the Weapon’s Lair with Orlando Cruze. A truly inconceivable image consumes the screen next, as Cruze stands mono a mono with Johnny Kingdom, not as opponents, but as co-holders of the Tag Team Titles.
Well I’m back yes I’m back
Well I’m back yes I’m back
Well back back
Well I’m back in black
Yes I’m back in black
Jake Starr’s rendition of the shooting star press is a thing of beauty, but what’s even more gorgeous is Porno Lad’s counter to it, delivering the Epic Fail to the inbound face of his opponent. Jackson plants his former stablemate, Johnny Kingdom face first against the stage with his version of the Angel’s Wings. The Dark Man has a truly twisted glint in his eyes as he plants Domino Rogue’s skull into the canvas with the Curb Stomp. An equally as twisted gleam inhabits his twisted face upon successfully mangling the beautiful features of Roxas Knox with the same move while Jon Rich watches on rendered incapable of assisting his girlfriend.
Oh yes lets go Well I’m back back Out of sight
Gigolo
Oh yeah, yeah, give it up
Yeah-eah-eah, give it up
Well I’m back back
Back Back
Back in black
Yes I’m back in black
The face-wash is delivered from AWOL with such devastating force that it almost fractures every bone in Savior’s face. That same look of sheer malice that exuded from Desolation’s face now consumes AWOL’s. A man who just went ten minutes brawling with the previously mentioned monster, actually comes out with something more to show for his efforts than a dislocated jaw, Simon Cagero shown loaded upon the shoulders of Too Magnificent as he celebrates with the World Heavyweight Championship. Axl Evermore cements his place on the IWC roster via a F5 delivered to Hurse immediately after handing him the Submission Title. And Riggs leaves an enduring moment etched in the memories of fans upon connecting with a senton bomb off the titantron through a table bound Simon Cagero on the stage below.
I
Too Magnificent being tossed into the interior of a flaming dumpster….
W
Porno Lad surrounded by falling confetti and pyros exploding from the corners as he celebrates with the World Title….
C
Christian Savior delivering the Spear of Destiny on Orlando Cruze….
IIIIIT’SSS BAAAAACCCCK!
Pyrotechnics…no better way to both distract zombies in a George Romero movie and hype the fans of a wrestling show. They start the very first episode of Riot! With a predictable bang. Sparks fly from the stage, the turnbuckles and the scaffolding above the ring, as well as from the overly enthused crowd in attendance for this landmark event.
Robin Brooks: You hear that? Do you hear that reaction? IWC is at long last home.
Cameras capture the masses who can only be described as certifiable. Eventually focus shifts from the lunacy in the stands to the lunacy that is IWC’s commentating duo….strike that…TRIO…planted just to the side of the entrance stage.
Brooks: The Manhattan Center is on fire right now, cause these fans are just so pumped for IWC’s return, as am I, Robin Brooks. And I have GOT to say that I am soooo hyped for this historic event.
The face of IWC’s Black Widow is positively glowing…never looking as thrilled…not even when she captured the Submission or X-Class Titles…
Robin: And joining me as we make history here tonight is….
Hurse: Is there really a fire?
Not even the baffling idiocy she’s forced to deal with….though Brooks is quite used to handling stupidity…could remove the smile from Robin’s face. Susie…IWC’s former World Champion…Hurse…doesn’t grin however, eyes nervously dashing about her surroundings.
Hurse: We could call Smokey the Bear….unless your menstruating….cause bears might be attracted to your menstruation.
Brooks: It’s only fitting that my boy toy would be back, though I doubt he even knows where he is at the moment, to help ‘call’ the action here in IWC…but he’s not the only one joining me here tonight, because new to our round table is….
Johnny Dollar: Sweetheart, don’t even bother with an introduction….my reputation proceeds me no matter where I turn up.
Robin: Johnny Dollar joins the fold on the first night of IWC action in over two years…
Dollar: And yet you introduce me anyways, nice to see that you can follow simple instructions, Babe.
Brooks: After a long ‘sabbatical’ IWC is indeed back, and we’re about to deliver on all the hype.
Hurse: The only thing you should be hyped about is being the meat in this sandwichness of pure awesomenicity.
Adams: Alright…alright…enough grab assing…enough talk…let’s give these people what you came here to see.
Apparently the beat down of Billy Mayne served as nothing more than an appetizer, cause Jackson Adams is about to treat the fans to the main course, and maybe even some second helpings. The former Generation Now leader has remained in the middle of the IWC ring through all the commentator introductions and video hype packages, not wanting to give up this moment, and anxiously anticipating the opportunity to WRESTLE once again on IWC soil.
Jackson: AXL EVERMORE!
Those in attendance go absolutely nuts over the mere mention of the homegrown hero’s name, goosebumps already forming on their skin.
Jackson: Let’s do this!
The mic hit’s the canvas then the floor. As the mic is kicked aside, Evermore’s theme music kicks in, and the adrenaline junkies feel like they just got a kick to their backsides, launching from their seats. A booming voice sounds over the PA, with one of those swooshing sound effects that build to a crescendo.
“…All that’s left is to tell you’s that I’m finally HERE!”
The word “HERE” echoes as the feed fades to the Tron video, and as the music swells to “Bigtime” by The Soundtrack Of Our Lives, a name is spelled out on the black video background in bold red Sofachrome font letters: Axl Evermore. In between some of the letters, a split-second of Evermore-in-action impact clips are shown, interspersed with clips of him holding up his various IWC championship belts, the NHB Title, the Submission Title, the Global Tag-Team Crown, and each of his Cartel Title wins too. It fades to a front view of the stage, with Evermore–wearing a US flag bandana, shades and his Fully Loaded team jacket–looking down on one knee, arms outstretched like he just landed from a jump. He stands up and he does the RVD thumbs-pointing-at-himself-3-times pose, shouting “A…X…L!” as the crowd chants along, then thrusts open the snaps of his jacket.
He heads to the ring with focus and an energetic gait as the crowd cheers, then he jumps and dives through between the middle and bottom ropes, tumbling forth into a hop, into a standing position at the center of the ring. He jogs to a corner, climbs it and thrusts his arms up and points to himself again, shouting “A…X…L!” as the crowd chants along. He hops down from the corner, takes his jacket and shades off, putting the shades in a jacket pocket, and draping the jacket over a corner post, then takes his bandanna off and throws it into the audience. Axl then stands at the ready, alternating between hopping place and standing in a crouch.
Dollar: Looks to me like we have our first match ladies…two studs in the form of Jackson Adams and Axl Evermore about to lock up. These two come with a lot of street cred given their time in the previous IWC, but all that matters for not right now…new day….the slate is wiped clean.
Robin: You’re right, Johnny.
Johnny: Yeah, tell me something I didn’t already know.
Brooks: Evermore and Adams are two long term staples of the former IWC, but on this new landscape they’ll once again have to prove themselves to the masses and to the lockeroom. And what an honor it must be for the two of them to compete in the very first match under this new regime.
The bell chimes and Adams and Evermore are already throwing knuckles at one another, though not in a violent flare of emotion, instead they tentatively use their fists as a sign of respect. The two step in and tap knuckles to a loud reception from the crowd. Returning referee Stuart Wright waits for the two to finish before stepping back and calling for the bell, honoring this homage to tradition.
It doesn’t take long for both men to can all the respect brouhaha and get their focus BACK into the mind of a hunter sizing up their prey. They circle one another albeit briefly before launching into full scale attack mode, locking up in a basic collar elbow tie. Even the most simplistic of moves keeps the crowd glued to the action, having waited a very long time to witness the spectacle that is IWC in ring competition. The lock up is only broken, by Wright himself, after Adams shoves Axl back into one of the corners. He counts to four before Jackson breaks the hold and backs to the center of the ring, respecting the official’s authority.
Tentatively Evermore steps out of the corner and the two reinitiate the collar elbow tie, continuing to position themselves for the all important opening advantage, which Adams seems to take by virtue of an arm ringer transitioned into a side headlock.
Robin: And just like that the action gets off to a start with the feeling out process between Adams and Evermore, the two jockeying for positioning.
Hurse: I love jockies…their so short and adorable. Do you think they come from the same place as the Umpa Lumpas?
Brooks: One of life’s many philosophical quandaries.
Axl backs into the ropes, dragging Adams along for the ride then tries to use the momentum the cables give him to launch his opponent across the ring, freeing his trapped head in the process. However, Jackson holds on like a noose, strangling the life out of his opposition and dropping to a knee in the process, gaining further leverage on the basic yet effective hold.
It isn’t until Axl reaches his feet that the headlock is broken of Jackson’s own accord, transitioning into a hammerlock. He steps behind Axl and truly twists the arm at an awkward angle, but for just a few short moments, cause the quick wit of Evermore proves to be his most effective tool thus far. He backs Jackson across the ring and wedges his spine against the turnbuckle, forcing Wright to step in and commence with a five count that eventually forces Adams to break the hold.
The kinks are worked out of Axl’s arm as he backs to the center of the ring, waiting for yet another tie up. Anticipation is given no time to build, Jackson stepping out of the corner with fingers twiddling out to his sides, perhaps calling for the classic Greco Roman Knuckle lock. Both men interlock hands and a test of strength commences only briefly before Evermore uses his flexibility to kick one of Jackson’s wrists, breaking his own hand free from Jackson’s grip. He then turns, catches Jackson by the neck and snap mares him to the canvas before applying a headlock.
Robin: These two continuing to try and find that all important opening advantage.
Hurse: Give one of them a holy hand grenade…that’ll make ’em like invincible.
Dollar: Who could possibly argue with that?
Determination and conviction remain two of Jackson’s hallmark characteristics….otherwise known as stubborness. Already he’s back on his feet and reaching back, locking an arm around Axl’s neck before snapmaring him over his shoulder to break the headlock. Of course you know what they say about the ‘best laid plans.’ In spite of being flipped over his opponent’s shoulder, Axl maintains the sleeper, dragging Jackson along for the ride. The two roll completely through right back into the same position they were in moments ago, Adams on his butt, windpipe being crushed by a kneeling Evermore.
Adams continues to display the true grit of a veteran, fighting his way upward. It doesn’t take long for both men to reach their feet once again and for Adams to attempt another snap mare only for Axl to pull his head back out of position. Therefore Jackson is forced to come up with another counter, forcing his way into the ropes where he grabs the top cable. Wright is definitely earning his paycheck, commencing with yet another five count that is adhered to at three.
Johnny: Cute little battle of one gunmanship thus far, both guys doing that whole, ‘I can do anything you can do better.’ But they better start pulling out the punches, cause I don’t see dollar signs in their future as of yet.
Brooks: Like Johnny has eluded to, we’re witnessing some intriguing transition wrestling thus far from these two, with neither man wanting to slip and make that big mistake.
Hurse Like when I tried making eggs in the toaster?
Robin: EXACTLY like that…in the sense that it’s NOTHING like that.
The hold is broken in the ring but there is no break in the action. Already Adams is approaching Adams with an extension of his palm, perhaps looking to apply that knuckle lock yet again. The second Evermore reaches out of the palm, Jackson changes strategy, taking his opponent’s wrist and yanking him forward into a short arm clothesline. Unfortunately his plan didn’t pay off, Evermore avoiding it via the duck and now laying in wait behind his opponent. Adams turns just as his opposition employs his quick feet once more, going for the thrust kick. Much like Jackson though, Axl ends up with nothing to show for his troubles, Adams dropping into a baseball slide.
The former champion slips just beneath his opponent’s foot, then grabs the crux of Evermore’s knee, pulling the leg that was still propping him up right out from under his frame. Axl tumbles to his back and Jackson falls across his chest into the lateral press.
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A display of both strength and cunning is displayed as Evermore bridges his back from the canvas, forcing a break in the pinfall. Adams leaps into action, jumping to his feet then dropping an elbow that completely misses its target. Axl not only sits up but in one fluid motion, turns so that he wraps his legs around Jackson’s shoulder and pulls him over into a crucifix pin.
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Just as fluidly, Adams kips up off the canvas, freeing his shoulders then falls to his feet where he dashes towards his seated opponent. Evermore uses Jackson’s momentum against him, catching Axl coming in with a small package that is shockingly countered before Wright could even get into position. The momentum of the roll up was too much for Axl to hold on, allowing Adams to roll completely through back to his feet, where he catches Axl by the creases of his knees before flipping forward into the jacknife cover.
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Another counter continues to steal the breath away from the fans as they watch Evermore sit up, forcing Adams onto his back, and more importantly, stacked up on top of his shoulders.
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A kick out prevents disaster from Adams, falling to his knees shortly after freeing his shoulders from the canvas. Axl does one better, ending up on his feet and catching Adams by his armpits, leading him to his feet then twisting him around into position for the backslide. His adversary is having none of this, wedging his feet to the ring and refusing to go down.
He then spins Evermore around via their interlocked elbows into a short arm clothesline that connects right to the throat. Axl is down and Jackson is off and running. A charge into the cables gives Adams all the momentum required for a big time move….but not for the Spectacular One….as he ends up charging directly into a thrust kick from a recently kipped up Evermore. The shot connects right to the jaw and puts Adams on his back.
Hurse: Things startin to heat up here playas.
Dollar: Please don’t Teddy Long us.
Hurse: Did I randomly change this into a tag team match? Nopers. So I’m nothing like Long, though I’m sure there’s a stubby lil African American man in me just aching to get out.
The kick echoes throughout the arena and reverberates throughout Jackson’s head, which is rolling along with his body into the turnbuckle. The corner proves to be the only thing that can keep him upright, long enough at least for Evermore to come charging in. A leaping forearm lands directly against Jackson’s jaw, further cleaning his clock. With as much speed as Evermore can muster, he yanks Jackson by the wrist out of the corner into a short arm clothesline that puts him down on the canvas.
Robin: Axl takes the advantage in this one on one match, can he maintain it though?
The veteran Evermore immediately takes Jackson by the creases of his knees and twists around so that his back is facing the corner. He turns himself into a human catapult and Jackson into his projectile, launching him face first into the turnbuckle. Once again Jackson’s skull bounces around in his head as he ricochets from the corner and comes staggering backwards into the waiting arms of Evermore.
Axl catches him with a school boy but doesn’t go for the pin, instead he stands up, wraps Jackson’s legs around one another and turns him to his chest with a Texas Cloverleaf.
Groans of anguish emit from Adams, but screams of joy emanate from the crowd, anxious to see their homegrown hero pick up a win in the very first IWC match of the new regime. It looks like they may not have to wait long to see that victory transpire as Adams lifts a palm and prepares to strike canvas.
Deception remains another of Adams’ many skills, balling his fingers into a fist then wedging them against the canvas to elevate his body. He crawls towards the ropes and unlocks his fingers to wrap them around the bottom rope. Another five count forces Axl to break the hold but does not derail his momentum. He spins around, snatches the creases of Adams’ knees and drops back, catapulting him once again, this time throat first into the bottom rope.
Hurse: Axl a master of utilizing the ring as a weapon…and body grease apparently.
Dollar: He does look pretty darn sticky.
A gagging Adams ends up on the apron, desperately clutching at the ropes and once again turning the ring into a crutch. He works his way to his feet as Evermore reaches over the ropes, takes him under the jaw and pulls back before launching forearms through the cables directly into his lower back. The strikes to the kidneys begins to break Jackson down but Axl won’t release the jaw to allow him to collapse. At last the hold is broken so that Evermore can rush at the perpendicular ropes, spring from the middle one and transition in mid-flight to deliver a dropkick square to Jackson’s upper back, launching him from apron to floor.
The fans applaud the multi-versatile Evermore, who is about to give the fans just another example of his many dimensions. He’s off and running across the ring, preparing to give the crowd their first dose of some high flying action. Evermore, more use to that technical ground and pound style, looks to give the fans what they want, some flippy dippy dives. Contrastingly, his opponent is only concerned with victory, evident as he jumps to the apron to cut Evermore off with a forearm. What he didn’t count on was Axl dropping into a baseball slide, going right through Jackson’s legs and ending up on the mats beneath him.
Immediately Evermore grabs at an ankle, ready to rip Jackson’s feet out from under him only to receive a swift kick to the chin. He turns away from Adams, who jumps over the top rope and back into the ring before bolting across the squared circle. He ricochets from the far ropes to give him more momentum, which carries him right into a forearm shiver, Axl lunging to the apron and cutting him off with the strike.
Jackson staggers away, twisting across the ring and clutching at his jaw before trying desperately to get back on the advantage. He rushes straight at Axl who leaps through the ropes and slides around Jackson’s hip, catching him by the trunks and yanking him down into the school boy. Once again Evermore does not go for the pin, standing up and catching the creases of Jackson’s knees as he goes for the cloverleaf.
It takes all his leg strength but Adams shoves Evermore off with his feet wedged to chest. As a result Axl goes staggering back first into the ropes, spilling through them to the apron then the floor where he ends up on his feet.
He just steadies himself in time to be hit with a suicide diving forearm smash right to the mush.
Robin: And we have our first dive of the night from Adams, going uncharacteristically high risk to pull that move off.
Hurse: Guess it just shows how important this match is to my former Patawan Learner, who bleeds IWC. I give that dive a 6.
Dollar: Really? I’d give it more of a 5, maybe 5.5 tops.
All the teeth in Axl’s mouth have been rattled by the strike which sends him twirling into the barrier. Now he’s the one utilizing the ring and the areas around it as a brace, leaning against the barricade, and leaving himself totally exposed to the knife edge chop right across his sternum. He wants to go down but Adams holds him up long enough to hit another chop and another and another across the chest, each one resulting in a ‘wooo’ from the audience. If Adams had the time to strut he might just do so but now is not the time for elbow drops on jackets, or knee drops to microphones, focusing entirely on Evermore and winning this match.
By the back of his head Evermore is led to the ring and rolled back inside where Jackson looks to press an advantage. Upon re-entering the ring Adams immediately drops beside Evermore, lifts his arm and applies a traditional arm lock. He adds in a modified chin-lock as well, wrenching back on the jaw of the downed Evermore.
Axl struggles, swinging his free arm into a fist directly to the bicep of Adams, but it isn’t enough to break the hold.
Dollar: Adams slowing things down, which makes sense considering he has a ‘slow’ look about him.
Hurse: Don’t get us sued so early.
The writhing Evermore continues to twist and shimmy across his posterior, finally working his way to his knees. Adams continues to apply pressure on the shoulder and the neck,, trying to slow him down but can’t stop the upward momentum of his opponent. But what he can stop is Axl’s attempt to take him back first into the ropes, forcing a break of the submission.
Instead Adams puts a foot to the back of Axl’s knee and shoves down, forcing Evermore to a kneeling base. Jackson then breaks the arm lock and applies a sleeper hold, arms depriving all the air from Axl’s head, and squeezing with enough force to pop it like a pimple.
Fists clinch, Axl refusing to open his hands in the fear that he might just tap out. It becomes difficult to resist that urge when Jackson applies more pressure, putting all his muscle into the hold.
Johnny: He’s gonna pass out, or he’ll tap out, one of the two.
Hurse: I know how stubborn Adams is, he’ll either get the submission, or his determination will be to his detriment.
The crowd continues to be highly vocal, instrumental in infusing Evermore with just the motivation required to fight his way back towards his feet. Jackson’s grip remains unshakeable, as does his conviction to pick up the first win in the NEW IWC. Both men are fully upright before Evermore interlocks hands and drives the back of them into Jackson’s gut. He then does it once more, trying his best to break the grip.
The hold is broken, but of Jackson’s own volition. He releases Axl only to wedge a shoulder to his back, hoist him into the air and deliver a violent back drop suplex.
Instantly Adams is back on his feet and diving into a fist drop to the forehead of his opponent. Axl convules and grabs at his features, the oxygen deprivation taking a severe toll upon him. He still fights his way upward only to have Adams straddle his lower back and apply yet another sleeper hold, again exerting a lot of pressure.
Hurse: Told you he was stubborn.
Brooks: Definitely not telling me anything I didn’t know. He kept that one rumor about me going for ages. Which is no longer worth repeating.
Hurse: The one about the penis?
Brooks: Grr, yes, that one.
Support remains steadfastly behind Evermore, fans slapping barricades and stomping feet in an attempt to energize their homegrown hero. It seems to be working, Axl getting just the boost necessary to reach his feet yet still find himself trapped in the sleeper. Again Adams breaks the hold, and heaves Evermore up for yet another back drop. Fool me once….Evermore flips over backwards and lands right behind Adams, having this move countered. What he didn’t anticipate though, was a back elbow to the cheek.
Axl staggers backwards into the corner as Adams gets a big running start and nails him with a violent lariat to the throat. He runs to the center of the ring and nails a second lariat to the prone Evermore, slamming him against the turnbuckle.
To Jackson’s dismay, Evermore remains upright, prompting Adams to get more momentum behind his next move, rushing all the way into the other corner. The moment he turns around, back wedged to corner, Evermore comes crashing into him with a big splash.
Dollar: Adams didn’t see that one coming.
Hurse: Big splash in the corner putting Evermore back in the game.
Axl takes Jackson’s wrist and pulls him out of the corner into a short arm clothesline that misses, Jackson ducking the bicep and swinging behind his opponent’s back. Evermore is then shoved into the corner, turning around just as Adams leaps into a big splash. What’s good for the gander, is not good for the goose, cause Evermore leaps into the air and nails the inbound jaw of Jackson with a sickening knee strike.
Robin: What a COUNTER!
Hurse: Hope we have a good dental plan here in the new IWC. Really need to get myself some braces.
The brain rattling strike has Jackson shambling around ALMOST toppling but remaining upright just long enough for Evermore to leap to the second rope and come flying off into a diving forearm smash that totally misses its mark. Adams still had the wherewithal to drop down out of the way, causing Axl to fly right over his head and roll across the canvas back to his feet.
Somehow Jackson still has SOME mental capacity, charging in and taking out the rising Axl with a running knee strike to the temple, sweet revenge….but no…wait, Axl side steps the inbound knee, switches behind Adams and catches him around the waist. A big German suplex connects but Axl doesn’t rest, swinging the hips and bringing Adams along for the ride. Both men reach their feet and a second German connects with just as much force.
Another swing of the hips and both men are back on their feet as Axl drops back into the third German suplex, driving Adams with force to the ring. Jackson twitches on the canvas and Evermore crawls into the lateral press.
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A shoulder launches from the ring and staves off defeat.
Hurse: Evermore getting all suplexy on Adams, but it still was not enough to give him the win.
Brooks: This is about history….making history for both men.
Dollar: Yeah, but neither man wants to BE history…they got to win this match to stay relevant.
Axl proves to be just as stubborn as Adams, keeping with the suplexes that have brought him such success. Adams is dragged to his feet and his leg is hooked, Evermore beginning to set up for the exploder suplex. A knee to the ribs not only breaks up the move but puts Axl in position for a swinging neck breaker. Jackson steps in, takes his opponent around the neck and swings through only to have Evermore twist out of the hold, take Jackson by the wrist and then pull him into position for the Exploder.
Just as Axl lifts him, Adams shifts his body weight, dragging his opponent down into a small package out of nowhere.
1
Axl kicks out and drops to his elbows just as Adams leaps to his feet, rushes in and nails a sickening knee strike directly to his temple. Jackson finally connects with the knee but isn’t happy until he’s got the kill. He looks to take immediate advantage, stepping in, snatching a handful of Axl’s hair, pulling him to his feet then hoisting him up into a sick brain buster DDT that connects. Axl is totally incapacitated and Jackson slides in to the pinfall.
Hurse: Adams about to make that history you were talking about, Robin.
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Yet again Hurse was shown to be full of it, Axl kicking out to a deafening roar of approval. Jackson bites his lower lip in frustration, the wear and tear beginning to show on his body. Nevertheless he pulls Axl to his feet and drives a vicious forearm into the side of his head, still working on the cranium, softening it up for the TRUE kill move, his rendition of the package piledriver.
Axl is dragged into position, Adams starting to hook the creases of Evermore’s knees. He’s just about to hoist him up before Evermore scrambles between Jackson’s legs, surprisingly leaping to his feet right behind him and wrapping arms around his waist. He drops back into a German only to have Jackson reach back with his leg, wrapping it around Evermore’s and blocking the move.
A standing switch now puts him in position for a German….wait….no….it put him in position for the Fully Loaded. Axl catches Jackson around the neck and sets for the stunner only to be shoved off to the despair of Evermore fans everywhere.
Axl staggers into the ropes then turns just as Jackson comes barreling in, having enough time to react. He catches the inbound knees of Adams and back drops him over the ropes only for Jackson to have a counter to the counter, catching the top cable and floating over, landing feet first on the apron.
Evermore spins around and eats a hard right to the teeth, providing Adams with enough space to fly over the ropes into the diving shoulder block that is countered with the Fully Loaded! The move gets a well deserved POP as Evermore catches Adams in mid flight with the stunner.
Brooks: Fully Loaded just connected in mid-air!
The fans are getting really pumped at this point as Evermore rolls away from his incapacitated opponent and makes his way up the nearest corner, reaching the top rope. He fights through his injuries long enough to take flight, connecting with the 10 Star Frog Splash that has the crowd foaming at their mouths. He then crawls into the cover, both legs hooked.
Hurse: Can Jackson’s stubborness save him here?
Dollar: I don’t think anything can after that.
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3!
The building comes unglued as Evermore picks up the very first win in the new IWC, cementing himself in the record books and putting away a very game opponent.
Brooks: And he does it. Axl Evermore picks up a HUGE win over Jackson Adams after some sensational combat.
Hurse: Talk about starting out by putting your best foot forward. And believe me, Axl DOES smell like a foot.
An ‘Axl’ chant starts up from all those in attendance as their hero reaches his feet, still holding his head after all the damage done to it. Shockingly Jackson is stirring as well, getting to his feet in spite of the frog splash and the stunner that almost ripped his head off. The chanting ends as the fans watch a tense stare down ensue between both athletes, wondering if the war is truly over even if the bell has sounded. Their given an answer the second Jackson reaches out and takes Axl’s hand, shaking it as a sign of respect.
Robin: A TERRIFIC way to open our show tonight. These two just proved that IWC is back, and it’s firing on all cylinders.
Dollar: They put it all out there, that’s for sure.
Brooks: They’ve already set the bar pretty high for what to expect out of the new IWC….and two guys who look to top what we’ve just witnessed, will be those competing in one of our main events tonight. They’re known as the Chase Wrestling Collective, and they will represent our burgeoning tag team division as they collide with Sinsation. Let’s hear all about the TCWC in this video pack….
Attention…attention please!
All eyes begin to shift throughout the building, searching out the source of the voice.
Hurse: Uhhh….who’s talking? Is that God?
Dollar: Impossible. I haven’t even said anything.
Brooks: We were supposed to be hearing from TCWC right now but….oh lord….everyone please look up.
Johnny: Only because you asked so nicely.
Silencer: Up here….Silencer + rafters = melodramatic, so give me your undivided attention please.
Cameras and the eyes of all those in attendance finally lock upon the former World Heavyweight Champion poised in the rafters high…high above the Manhattan Center, microphone in hand and eyes totally devoid of emotion.
Silencer: There, much better.
Excitement sweeps throughout the building, everyone highly enthused to see the painted apparition returning to his home away from home.
Silencer: Here we are at long last people. You, the fans, Silencer, the former World Champion, Orlando Cruze, the generic geriatric, Porno Lad…a boy unable to evolve into a man, Christian Savior…a man with the mental capacity of a boy….yes….IWC is back. Fuck the world!
He tries to muster some enthusiasm by raising his fist. The all but too brief display of emotion proves successful in riling up the crowd. They clap, stomp their feet, and slap the barricades…every stereotypical display of excitement imaginable has been wrung out of them by Mr. Don’t-Call-Me-Cagero.
Silencer: Excited are we? Good. I’m glad. Now what else is left to say? Should I comment on these taglines attached to IWC, such as ‘innovation,’ and ‘originality?’ I could make cliché derivatives like ‘the more things change, the more they stay the same,’ or even bust out the timeless, ‘what’s old is new again,’ but I’m not going to waste our time so pointlessly. How about I bust out a few derogatory phrases aimed at Christian and Porno Lad to further hype tonight’s main event? Maybe, just maybe you’ll hear me push the censors to their limits by dropping a few more four letter words. That’s what’s expected of me, right? Granted if I went down that path then I wouldn’t be living up the taglines I mentioned just a few moments ago.
He pauses for thought, stroking the stubble on his chin before snapping his fingers, having his own ‘ah-ha.’
Silencer: Oh yeah, I could stand here and live in the past, refusing to evolve like my opponents tonight by discussing some of my favorite IWC memories. This is supposed to be a show honoring tradition, taking a stroll down memory lane sort of speak. But get ready for shock, I’m about to be brutally honest. I don’t have very good memories of the IWC. I’ve been thrown through tables, Off of stages. Through sets. Been struck upside the head with so many foreign objects I can’t recount a substantial portion of my childhood. I’ve been beaten physically and mentally. So in considering all that, why did I opt to return to this very place? Am I just as stuck in the past as the roster? Am I the same glutton for punishment and suicidal sap I was back in the ‘glory’ years?
His head drops before eyebrows arch and his face raises from the shadows, grin becoming present.
Silencer: FUCKS to the NO.
Another rousing ovation.
Silencer: I’m back because I believe in making this federation a better place. In making this company really live up to the taglines that have been associated with it. I think…I KNOW…I can make the IWC innovative, original….and ENTERTAINING. You people demand better. You don’t want the same old song and dance…you want new…you want fresh….you want the BEST….And if I were to leave this company in the hands of guys like Christian…or Porno Lad….or Isaac Saine…that’s NOT what you’d be getting. So I HAVE to come back, I HAVE to return…otherwise the IWC would fall back into the old funk. My mission is to take things in an opposite direction, to give you people what you want….some God damned excitement. So keep fingers pressed to your veins, count your respirations, and try not to get TOO excited by the show that Silencer puts on here tonight….And it all starts when I take out the stale and replace it with the
creative. When I remove the snooze-factor in the forms of Porno Lad and Christian Savior. I take out the two most overrated and boring combatants in IWC history, to make room for new, fresh and original in the form of Silencer. That’s right…my new mission in life….in the IWC…is to destroy all things that put me to sleep, starting with my opponents tonight. And if they want to….they can TRY to SILENCE ME.
Silencer steps back into the shadows of the rafters after making his statement.
Dollar: Bold promises.
Robin: I’d expect nothing less out of Silencer.
Hurse: He, alongside Christian Savior and Porno Lad, compete in our main event. Good to see him again.
Brooks: Really?
Hurse: No.
Robin: We’ll be back moments from now with the debuts of two NEW IWC talents when P. Clarence Whitman III battles Claude Judas Rose.
Hurse: We’ve seen the spectacle that two of our IWC veterans were capable of putting on, now let’s see what this duo is capable of after the commercial break.
Judas: The IWC…what a shame.
The images are grainy, pixilated almost, yet again giving the footage a more intense 8mm style vibe, just without the overacting of Nicolas Cage. The pre-recorded video hypes the impending debut of one Claude Judas Rose, stroking his ridiculously awesome goatee and passing judgment on the very federation that’s returned him to the fold.
Rose: For three years…THREE LONG YEARS….I’ve been happily retired, living a quiet, meandering life. But then the IWC comes along and tempts me. It’s a shame…an absolute shame…because they clearly have no idea what they’ve gotten themselves into….
Whitman: Hello there, the name is Whitman III…that is P Clarence Whitman III for clarity sakes…
The toothy smile and equally as glorious facial hair of P Whitman Clarence III pops up on the screen, replacing the malice and cruelty that was exhibited by the emerging Judas. With drink in his hand Whitman fumbles his way through this vignette.
Whitman: How exciting…yes, SPLENDIDLY exciting it is to be here in the states, by way of New York. Reminds me of that wonderful American vocalist, Frank Sinatra, old blue eyes I believe you called him. New York…New York…
The song is belted out by a clear amateur who should never be permitted to sing once again.
Judas: Have they no idea what they’ve done? They’ve disturbed my slumber and awaken Claude Judas Rose, Wrestling’s 1 Artist. They’ve brought me back to an industry comprised of no more than filth and sickeness….all I see when I look at this roster is trash…it’s fucking disgusting….It’s aggravating to no ends, and the last thing you want, is to aggravate me.
Whitman: Look, goosebumps on my arms. I haven’t been this excited since my Father brought me my very own James Joyce novel. I step into the ring for the first time in a major wrestling promotion, in front of fans who will chant the name ‘P Clarence Whitman III,’ or perhaps an abbreviated version would be more apropos.
The video filters into Judas’ face once again.
Judas: Wrestling offends all my senses simultaneously, it defecates in the face of everything I stand for and represent….but perhaps, I can change some of that and have a proper outlet for my aggression.
Whitman: At long last I’ve discovered a meaning for my life…And it is wrestling…or as those in your Southern provenance’s would call it…’WRASSLIN.’
The video ends and returns to the ring.
Dollar: Ummm…interesting?
Brooks: We’re about to see the debut of two new stars here in the IWC, and after getting a closer look at them, I’m more intrigued than ever to see what they bring into the fold.
While no music plays, P. Clarence Whitman III simply walks through the curtain and onto the stage to the smatterings of indifference, which is to say that a few people boo, a few people cheer, and quite a few people do nothing at all because their attention has shifted to something more interesting, whether that is via a conversation with a person in a nearby seat, the use of a cell phone, or staring blankly at the ground.
Now, re: Whitman, he is bedecked in his formal wrestling attire and has in his hand a lovely lowball glass filled with scotch, which he sips while he strolls cavalierly to the ring. Although he is receiving little in the way of a reception, Whitman nonetheless cheerfully waves to the masses as he walks, using the hand which is not occupied with applying the glass to his mouth for said waving. Once he reaches the ring, Whitman strolls around to the announcer table, wishing to allow his opponent the freedom of the ring for entrance and self promotional purposes. He chats amiably with the uninterested announcers, but not before finishing off what remains of his drink and gratefully placing the glass on the table so that it isn’t inadvertently used to harm someone.
Hurse: The first of many debuting stars tonight, in the form of this very polite British bloake….that is a term the Brits use right? Bloake. Anyway, I ran into this guy before the show backstage, and even though it took him an hour an a half to introduce himself, I still think he’s got a good head on his shoulders.
Dollar: And you can certainly see a lot of it given the fact that he has about three hairs on said head.
Robin: Who would want to see a lot of it? Yeesh.
Dollar: Why is there no entrance music for this guy?
Hurse: Apparently he finds music to be insulting…at least that’s what he told me when I asked if he wanted to hear my Lady Gaga play list.
In yet even more uncharacteristic displays, Whitman goes as far as to shake Michelle Blacker’s hand, even planting a kiss on the back of the referee’s knuckles. He then breaks away and begins introducing himself to the camera-men at ringside, unsure what the proper customs of a combatant are. The introductions end when….
Pachelbel’s ‘Canon In D Major’ hits the PA System. A spotlight follows a large full length portrait of Claude Judas Rose as it’s lowered down from the arena rafters. The portrait hits the top of the stage with a thud. The portrait is then raised back up, but now Claude Judas Rose is stood behind it, doing the same arrogant pose as he is in the painting.
CJR slowly makes his way down the ramp; eyes shut, taking in Pachelbel’s masterpiece – which he can’t possibly hear over the jeers of the crowd.
He climbs up the metal steps and climbs over the second rope into the ring. He does a few spins with his arms raised, but then stops as he gets dizzy. He shouts obscenities at the crowd in French, pointing at different audience members as he does so.
Dollar That is one giant piece of ‘artwork’ on the ramp.
Robin: I’d take Fandango’s light bright over that any day of the week.
Hurse: This guy is an artist, people, an absolute artist. Just look at his hat, I’m envious.
Johnny: Well his painting obviously leaves a little to be desired, but is he capable of producing a masterpiece in the ring? Let’s see.
To the surprise of Rose, Whitman steps in hand extended in a respectful gesture.
Clarence: Greetings…Whitman….that is P Clarence Whitman III, pleased to make your acquaintance.
The arched eyebrow displays Judas’ unbridled confusion. He even gives Blacker a “seriously,†type of stare. Finally with a shrug he reaches out accepting the hand shake before ultimately yanking the smiling Whitman into a lariat that forcefully removes the smirk. Clarence crashes hard to the canvas and Rose confidently swaggers across the ring before bowing to the booing audience.
Dollar: Good work by Rose, luring Whitman into a nice short arm clothesline to get this match started.
Hurse: Whitman’s gonna have to learn some very valuable lessons about being so trusting. I pity people with such childlike naivity.
Robin: Can’t imagine why.
Quickness isn’t only displayed in Claude’s wit but his step, swooping in to take advantage of the clearly inexperienced Whitman. He’s led by his jaw to his feet then driven into the canvas with a scoop slam which is followed up by a knee drop right to the bridge of his nose. Whitman writhes across the ring, trying to create some distance between he and his opponent. A few forearm shots to the upper back and a couple forearm shivers to the side of the face slow Clarence’s escape but eventually he gets through the ropes and to the apron.
The ropes aid him to his feet where he’s taken by the locks of his hai…strike that….around the jaw and nailed with a clubbing blow to the sternum. Whitman is then spun around and placed in a front chancery, being brought back into the ring the hard-way, via a snap suplex right over the ropes kidneys first into the canvas.
Dollar: I guess we should expect a lack of wrestling knowledge from Whitman, given the fact that in his first promotional video he couldn’t even make a friggin sandwich.
Hurse: To be fair, it’s not as easy as it looks. Especially when you mistake Robin’s feminine hygiene products for Mayo.
Confidence swells in Rose despite the fact that he hasn’t been in a wrestling ring for a very long period of time. This fact does not bother him given the sheer dominance he’s displaying against his gullible opposition. Whitman is working his way to his feet even after the numerous moves he’s already suffered in this confrontation, getting to his knees just in time to deliver an open hand chop to the inbound stomach of Judas. Another open hand chop backs Judas up a few steps but does not take him down.
Confidence grows in Whitman now before a running knee strike drills him straight between the eyes, Judas taking him right back down.
Hurse: Oh dear…
Dollar: Yeah, that was a pretty devastating knee-strike.
Hurse: No. I feel kinda responsible for this. Whitman was familiarizing himself with the rules of wrestling before the match and I kinda jokingly informed him of the ‘no closed fist rule.’ I didn’t think he’d take it so seriously.
Thankfully Whitman gets off his back and starts to crawl before a pin can be made, once again making his way into the ropes. He ends up leaning chest first against the middle cable, putting himself in an even worse position, leaving completely susceptible to the highly illegal move from his opposition. Claude wedges a knee to the back of Whitman’s head, shoving him down throat first into the rope and choking the life out of him. Rose continues to strangle all the oxygen from Whitman’s brain, and cut off the carotid artery as well.
Though Michelle’s cheeks are flushed red at the sight of the violence she finally forces herself to get involved, prying Claude off of his opponent. Immediately Rose spins around, getting right into the lovely face of Blacker.
Rose: NEVER put your hands on me again, WHORE.
The threat only turns Michelle on instead of insults her. Claude can care less what her reaction is, or the reception he’s receiving from the fans, focusing on one thing, picking up the win in his return bout. In spite of his unwavering concentration he still walks right into a slap to the cheek from a now upright Whitman.
Another slap hit’s the opposite side of his opponent’s skull. Whitman stops with the slaps and now employs his forearms, driving them into both sides of Rose’s head and backing him up across the ring.
Brooks: Whitman is finally putting something together here.
Rose looks stunned by this sudden burst of offense from his opponent, but looks to cut it off via a blatant closed fist that is ducked by Whitman. Judas goes into a spin, turning to face the obnoxiously polite Clarence and getting a snap mare for his troubles, ending up slamming across his rear-end. After hitting a successful move a HUGE smile cuts Whitman’s head in half, surging with both pride and excitement as the crowd buzzes. Their adrenaline is infectious, consuming Whitman and prompting him to go right back on the offensive.
Rose is upright and walking right into ANOTHER snap mare, sending him crashing to the canvas. Whitman then leaps to his feet and puts his hands together, celebrating yet another successful move.
Dollar: Good for Whitman, but I don’t think a snap mare is going to win him a match.
Hurse: Meh, stranger things have happened. We have a disco dancing ninja wrestling tonight.
Dollar: Yes, plus you ARE a former World Heavyweight Champion.
Robin: Ouch.
Hurse: That was NOT funny.
Somebody who is laughing would be Whitman III, thoroughly enjoying himself now that he’s scoring some offense and has the crowd rallied him. He looks to be an adrenaline junky, feeding off the rabid reactions of the crowd, finally giving his life a meaning of purpose that the financial world just couldn’t. That very adrenaline causes him to be a little overzealous as he catches a recovered Rose around the neck, going for a third snap mare only to have his eyes raked from behind. Claude continues to dig his fingers into the eye sockets of Rose, in spite of Blacker’s insistance that he’ll be disqualified.
Judas doesn’t care, turning Whitman around by his hooked eye balls and then rocking him with a European Uppercut with jaw fracturing impact. The incredibly stiff blow has Whitman teetering and looking downright brain dead, totally exposed to a brain rattling dropkick that nails him in the mush. Whitman goes flipping backwards, rolling across the ring to his elbows and knees.
Rose then steps in and takes the neck of his opposition into his arms, spinning him around very methodically into a reverse neck breaker. The back of Whitman’s head slams oh so viciously into the canvas, popping him back up to his seat as he clutches at his rattled skull.
Dollar: Predictably Whitman’s offense was pretty sure lived.
Robin: In spite of Judas Rose being away from a wrestling ring for three years, his prior wrestling experience is still giving him a huge leg up against Whitman. This is his very first wrestling gig after all.
Hurse: Yeah, not like we ALL can be instantly as talented as myself when first stepping into a ring.
Brooks: Didn’t it take you like four years to win your first match?
The offence of Rose is clearly taking its toll on Whitman, who is unaccustomed to such brutality. Clearly his body can only be prepared so much for this type of violence, evident as he sluggishly crawls…once more…to the nearest set of ropes. This time Rose doesn’t let him get that far, dragging him by his jaw to his feet, then spinning him around into yet another European Uppercut.
The incredibly stiff shot sends Whitman sailing into the turnbuckle, crashing against it like a boat against the cliffs. His prone, gangly physique hangs on the corner for support as Rose shoos the referee aside then charges in to press his advantage. A boot launches at his jaw but Rose could see this coming a mile away, catching the inbound foot and shaking his head with a smug grin, knowing he has his opponent totally at his mercy.
He then shoves the foot down only to have Clarence leap into the air with his other leg, nailing an enzugari to the back of Rose’s skull. Judas is knocked forward into the turnbuckle, bouncing face first off of it and then stumbling back into a school boy. The fans jump to their feet, shocked by what they just witnessed and consumed by the thought that Whitman has just stolen a victory.
Dollar: Where did THAT come from?
Hurse: He might have it…Whitman might have scored a win…
Brooks: Didn’t look like he had this in him.
The masses count along with each of Blacker’s slaps of the canvas.
1
2
Rose kicks out just a fraction of a second before a three count could be made, thoroughly deflating the fans. Whitman drops to the canvas on all fours, looking flummoxed.
Hurse: Whitman ALMOST shocking the world with a victory here in his debut match.
A smile returns to Clarence’s face once he reaches his feet and spots Rose standing up with the use of the turnbuckle, realizing that he’s now got the advantage. He comes rushing right into a boot to the jaw, Rose getting his foot up just in time to stagger his opponent. Whitman somehow plants his feet to the ring, staying upright just long enough for Rose to twirl out of the corner into a discus European Uppercut. Not only is Whitman’s spit sent flying, but so is his entire body, twisting through the air and ultimately collapsing to the canvas where he’s promptly pinned.
Rose wedges his shoulders to the creases of Whitman’s knees, pressing down on them and forcing his shoulders to the ring.
1
2
To the dismay and astonishment of Judas, his opponent kicks out, narrowly escaping defeat.
Claude points at Blacker, blaming her for his inability to put Whitman away, insisting that her cleavage is both disgusting and distracting, hence why he can’t stop looking at it. Eyes are taken off of the revealing neckline of the referee and directed to the throat of his opponent. Whitman has just stumbled to his feet when a double handed thrust connects with his larynx, threatening to decapitate his head. Somehow he remains upright in spite of having absolutely no ability to breathe. He gasps for air while twirling around, eventually turning into a boot to the ribs. An aggravated Rose takes out his frustrations on his determined opponent, delivering rapid fire right hands to his face, holding him up by the back of his skull so he can remain in position for each one of these strikes.
After thoroughly discombobulating Whitman, Rose bends his head down into a front chancery and heaves him up into a front chancery before dropping him face first into the canvas with a reverse suplex. The brain scrambling collision leaves Whitman prone upon the canvas as Clarence wedges a foot to his chest and strikes an introspective pose, fingers cupping his jaw and palm cupping his elbow.
1
2
Whitman throws another shoulder from the canvas to outrageous reactions from the crowd and straight forward outrage from Rose.
Brooks: That cocky pin didn’t pan out too well for Rose. He only has himself to blame for getting too arrogant.
Dollar: And why shouldn’t he be arrogant? What exactly has Whitman done to impress him thus far?
Brooks: Heart and determination counts for a lot in my book. If only it came in a prettier package.
Whitman looks almost comatose, but his resolve remains unshaken. He starts towards his feet, operating on mere instinct alone before Rose swoops in, no longer angrily consorting with Blacker. He delivers a swift and sickening kick to Whitman’s face that is avoided. Clarence swings around the inbound foot, ends up behind his opponent and reaches up, hooking his hips and using them to drag Claude over into a sunset flip.
1
Rose is caught off guard by the sudden pin but just as suddenly kicks out, rolling backwards to his feet and then diving into the seated Whitman’s face with a big time dropkick that further scrambles his brain.
Hurse: So much for that.
Outright insult is exhibited by Rose, offended that Whitman was able to score even a single offensive move against him. Insult of his own is display via spitting directly upon his helpless opponent. He then grabs Whitman around the neck, heaving him up to his feet and refusing to play any more games. Therapy definitely doesn’t seem to have done anything in regards to curing Rose’s rage issues, evident as he slaps Whitman to the cheek repeatedly then scoops him up onto his shoulder.
He begins to run forward to deliver what should be a positively gruesome and career shortening…if not ending….move only to find his opponent to be absolutely weightless…and for good reason. Whitman slips down off of Rose’s shoulder, landing behind him. He then goes staggering backwards into the turnbuckle, falling against it just as Jean Claude furiously bolts into him. His spear to the ribs misses it’s mark completely,, Whitman stepping out of the way and causing Rose to fly through the turnbuckle head first into the exposed steel turnbuckle post.
Hurse: That’ll cost him a few brain cells.
Dollar: As will your commentary. But your right. That was a NASTY impact with the post, and it’s all because of Claude’s impulse control issues.
Rose is knocked loopy, eyes rolling to the back of his head as his body is rolled up into a crucifix pin from behind. The fans leap out of their seats at the sight of Whitman scoring a huge pinfall.
1
2
Just a fraction of a second before the third slap of the canvas Rose kicks out, dropping to his stomach. Instead of being put off by the kick-out and losing hope, Whitman immediately swings around the arm of his opponent, locking it between his knees and then interlocking his hands around his jaw, trying to get a crossface locked in.
Hurse: Are you kidding me? Whitman is actually going for a submission victory!
Robin: He almost had the pin on Rose, but a tap out would be even bigger.
Dollar: Not to mention totally improbable.
The fans in attendance cannot help but to be absorbed by the high drama, standing up and watching oh so closely as Whitman tries valiantly to get his hands interlocked under the jaw of Rose. In spite of the magnitude five impact of his head against turnbuckle post, Rose hangs in there, he endures, still fighting the crossface attempt. Finally he breaks the hands of his opponent away from his jaw and rolls backwards, ending up forcing Whitman onto the back of his shoulders with Rose stretched over his chest, hooking the leg.
1
2
<
A dejected crowd cries out nevertheless, convinced Rose has the pin only to change their tune a moment later when fates are reversed, Claude’s roll up countered into the crucifix style pin by Whitman.
1
2
3!
Hurse: He caught him….he frackin caught him!!
Robin: Unreal.
The hundreds crammed into the Manhattan Center rejoice upon witnessing the underdog story pan out in true Disney style fashion, with Whitman picking up a major victory, catching Judas completely out of nowhere. Although Whitman is hurting from the tips of his toes to the tips of his sparse hairs, he stands up and throws his arms high. He leaps several times before the pain in his ribs becomes too severe, celebrating a major win and then grabbing Michelle by the shoulder as she steps in to raise his hand in victory. Instead she’s dragged into a kiss on the lips, Whitman bending her over backwards to deliver the lip tango.
Dollar: Whitman celebrating…perhaps a little too much….the biggest moment of his life.
Hurse: I don’t know if anyone thought Whitman was capable of this. And now Michelle’s finding out what else he’s capable of.
Brooks: A borderline ASTONISHING turn of events here on Riot! With Whitman scoring not once but twice…with a win over Rose and a kiss on Blacker.
The tonsil hockey continues before Blacker finally pulls away and stares at the laughing Whitman. His excited laughter proceeds until a slap to the cheek from Michelle shuts his mouth and sends him twisting into a scoop up from Rose. Before Whitman realizes what’s going on he’s being dumped right on top of his skull with a throwing piledriver by Judas Claude. The crowd changes their tune from cheers to ‘holy shit’ chants.
Hurse: Ahhhh…what the hell was that!?!
Brooks: The Art Attack delivered by Rose. Whitman just learned the hard-way that just because the bell has chimed, it doesn’t necessarily mean that the fight is over.
Dollar: Especially after you embarrass your opponent with a roll up like that.
Whitman is completely incapacitated, barely even twitching on the canvas after being dumped directly on his head. The intense Rose backs away, sneering at his opposition and grinding his teeth from sheer fury. He then looks up into the face of Blacker…
Rose: Stupid slut.
To the mats Rose descends, vacating the ring with that same sneer twisting his face into a picture of disgust. He marches up the ramp, leaving behind a victorious yet unconscious Whitman.
Dollar: Whitman picked up the win but he doesn’t look anything like a victor right now.
Robin: Let’s go back and take a look at how this ended…
RECAP: Whitman is shown diving out of the way of a spear to the mid-section and causing Claude to connect head first with the exposed turnbuckle post. He is then dragged down into a backslide that is eventually kicked out of, leading to the dramatic tension that ensued as Clarence relentlessly tried to apply the crossface. Ultimately a counter by Rose is countered into the crucifix, carrying Whitman to victory. Brooks After a dazzling series of counters and submission attempts, Whitman finally picked up the win via crucifix, but right after the match, THIS happened! After a make-out session with Michelle, a slap to the cheek sends Whitman twisting into the devastating Art Attack.
Back live Whitman is shown trying to get back up with referee Blacker watching on with a truly hot and bothered expression. It wasn’t the kiss that got her so steamy though, it was the violent conclusion to the canvas and the insults of Rose that has her heart palpitating.
Dollar: An intense end to this match….
Robin: Agreed. But a great debut from both Whitman and Rose. Speaking of debuts, let’s switch things over to our new backstage correspondent, Gresyon Lovejoy, who’s standing by with yet another rising star.
A grin is affixed to the face…a NEW face to loyal IWC marks….of Greyson Lovejoy, the most recent acquisition to the company’s already stellar list of amateur broadcast journalists. A microphone is held up to said grin as Greyson prepares to conduct his first interview. His upturned lips do not part to produce syllables though, they remain trapped in a perpetual grin, much to the annoyance of the individual he’s there to interview. The camera draws back to bring Frankie Paradise into focus. With shades and leather jacket, Frankie is the epitome of cool…but he’s quickly losing his cool with the statue like Lovejoy.
Frankie: Not to steal a line from the Bad Guy…but HEY YO!
The impatient jabs of Paradise finally rouse Greyson.
Lovejoy: Oh, hi, how’s it going?
Shades are torn from Frankie’s face in order to show his indignant glare.
Paradise: Is that it? Seriously? That’s the best you’ve got? And isn’t the answer obvious? I’m FRANKIE PARADISE, I’m moments away from making my debut in the IWC, which means more zeroes on my check and endorsements fatter than the chicks that throw themselves at me on Facebook. Now ask me more questions so I can continue talking about myself.
Paradise goes back to waiting…and waiting…and waiting.
Paradise: Dude, seriously, get to it. Got text messages to answer.
A blinged out cellular phone is shook in the air as a visual aide.
Lovejoy: Oh? I’m sorry, are you expecting ME to interview you?
Frankie: Really? How much of my precious oxygen did I just waste? What suit wearing monkey is supposed to be interviewing me if not you?
Lovejoy: I’m sorry, but I’m just not qualified to conduct interviews. I know who is though. My good friend….MR. SPARKLES!
A pink puppet is raised into the air by Lovejoy, who sit’s the headliner on his own little stool. Now Frankie has become totally stone faced….and probably would need to be really stoned to understand what in the world is unfolding here.
Frankie: Okay, you just officially broke the Bizarro Meter.
Sparkles: Like the condom that broke leading to the conception of Lovejoy…HAHAHAHA.
The puppets’ mouth opens wide as his head kicks back and an uproarious laughter is unleashed. Predictably, he’s the only thing laughing. Lovejoy shakes a finger at his partner.
Lovejoy: Be nice, Sparkles, we’re trying to make a good impression.
Paradise: Then you’ve both already failed epically. Let’s not forget that I’M the main attraction here, not your cheap ventriloquist act. So start asking me just how badly I’m going to dominate that luch-a-whore tonight, and just how good I’m going to make the IWC look having THIS mug in the center of their ring.
Sparkles: You are a beautiful man. Do we go to the same place for chest waxing?
Paradise: I wouldn’t go to any place that does such a horrible job. Your chest is totally covered in peach fuzz.
Sparkles: Ya’ think that’s bad, wait till you see my pubes.
Sparkles looks down at his empty nether regions.
Sparkles: Oh yeah…totally forgot I wasn’t made anatomically correct. That, or they did TOO good a job on my last waxing. HAHAHAHA.
Frankie: Yeah, they do take a lot off….wait…why am I talking to a God damn muppet?
Paradise shakes his head while slipping his glasses back on.
Paradise: Figures. I’m already fighting a muppet in the ring, might as well as be interviewed by one too. So I guess it’s up to me to bring a ‘pulse’ to this company, to get heart beats racing. Which for me, is never a challenge…So prepare yourselves for a ticket to Paradise.
Wasting time is no longer an option for Frankie, constantly in demand, especially tonight when facing off against the Commander and Chief. With a confident gait he marches off, leaving Sparkles and Lovejoy behind in the midst of an argument.
Lovejoy: Why do you always have to make fun of me?
Sparkles: Don’t even….You totally built me without a penis for Christ sakes.
Lovejoy: Why do you always have to throw that in my face?
Sparkles: I have nothing to throw in your face, damnit.
Lovejoy: Why would….
Before the interaction between Lovejoy and Sparkles can continue the feed gets hijacked, static overtakes everything. In spite of the loud buzz, overlapping voices are audible in the background.
For we are many….
For we are many…
For we are many….
A truly ominous woman rocks in the corner of a brightly lit room, her face masked and hair balled into a knot. .
And He asked Him…
In yet another seizure inducing flash an image can be discerned amongst the static, featuring a man with duct taped attire, standing in the same spot just occupied by the masked femme. A mask also conceals his features, as well as a bowler hat that he tips towards the camera. All is reduced to static before any further hair whitening images can be witnessed.
What is thy name…?
The glove hands of Leland Gaunt come into view, interlocked before a lowered face. .
Gaunt: And he answered, saying ….
More static distorts the images of Gaunt, his features only visible in a series of brief glimpses, interspersed between shots of a massive figure towering in the same brightly lit room. A figure somehow even more imposing than the two previously featured figments. His garish posturing makes the images even more intimidating.
Gaunt: My name is Legion….
In a flash the monster seen seconds ago moves within inches of the camera…..
Legion… Legion… Legion…
The visual corruption is worse than ever when the camera finds itself zoomed in upon the veins that course through the eye of the menacing giant.
Gaunt:…For we Are Many…
For We Are Many
For We Are Many
For We Are Many
Static.
The show filters back in from commercial with a shot of P. Clarence Whitman III, feeling the ill-effects of that gnarly encounter with Claude Judas Rose. The bag of ice wedged to the back of his neck and the fact that he HAS to sit in a chair, one planted directly in the gorilla position, as he couldn’t make it all the way to the locker-room, shows the physical toll Claude’s attack has taken upon him.
Whitman: Oh God save the queen….
He groans the moment he tries to take the ice away from his neck and twist his head. In the process of said head twisting his eyes spot the approaching Taylor Chase, eyes locked on her cell-phone as she posts a Twitter update. Whitman capitalizes on the distraction, throwing the ice aside, leaping to his feet and sucking in what little bit of gut he has while pushing out what little bit of chest he has. A single tear can be seen in the corner of his eye due to the unbelievable pain he’s enduring. But it’s well worth it to make a good impression on the inconceivable beautiful lady passing by on her way to the ring. Even in wrestling gear, Taylor remains a fashion template.
Whitman: Greetings….
It hurts worse than passing a kidney stone just to wave to Taylor, who doesn’t even bother looking up from her I-Phone. Whitman, inexperienced to chatting it up with such goddesses, fumbles his way through small talk.
Whitman: Umm….I’m ummmm….uhhh….Isn’t New York just glorious?
Taylor continues texting and pacing in front of Whitman, who would give himself a pat on the back if it wouldn’t cause him to pass out from pain.
Whitman: Uhhh…yes…I um, rode on the subway this morning. Just a wonderful means of transportation, and you could barely smell the urine. It got me here quite expeditiously, in more than enough time to win my debut. Because that’s just what I did…yes…won my match.
All the bragging can’t break Taylor’s focus on the I-Phone.
Whitman: The match was quite riveting….Did you see it…Did you see me defeat that Rose gentleman?
Finally Taylor looks up, only because she finished sending a tweet.
Chase: Why are you speaking to me?
Whitman grins wide.
Whitman: Just wanted to properly introduce myself is all, especially to such a ravishing beaut….
Chase: Yeah….stop…don’t do that.
Whitman: What?
Chase: Talk.
Whitman: Oh.
Taylor: And do something about that shit on your upper lip too.
Clarence rubs his mustache…someone even his facial hair aches. There is only seconds to react to Taylor’s quick dash to the entry way, face buried in her tweets once again.
Whitman: Oh…uhhh…pleasure to make your acquin…
Before the sentence can even be finished, Taylor vanishes through the curtains.
Whitman: Hmmm, American women…such mysterious prey.
He says before getting woozy.
Robin Brooks basks in the glory of taking center stage, spotlight fixated upon her with her co-commentators in the camera’s peripheral view.
Brooks: Welcome back to THE show ladies and gentlemen, and what a show it has already been tonight. IWC has returned and done so in major fashion. Yet we’ve got so much more to come throughout the evening. Including the debuts of even more wrestling personalities, such as these guys, the Chase Wrestling Collective. We promised you an interview with the two earlier tonight, but now we deliv…
Christian: So this is it, huh?
Brooks: What’s going on NOW? Where is THIS voice coming from?
All eyes shift in multiple directions before finally focusing on the Cartel-Tron, the big screen lit up and filled with images.
Brooks: Oh great….looks like we’re about to hear from Christian Savior.
Without further delay the cameras switch over to the Royal Family, Christian and Rose Savior standing in one of the many Manhattan Center corridors. The raven shaded locks of Rose are nestled snuggly against Christian’s shoulder, the two looking very comfortable in this setting, in the thick of IWC chaos.
Christian: Here we are again…..
All Christian can do is grin and shake his head.
Savior: IWC….Back in business…The whole world’s buzzing…social media is in an uproar, the smart marks have emerged from their parents’ basements to see the sun for the first time in years. Yes…yes…fair to say that everyone’s just a tad bit excited by the rebirth of the IWC…Be honest with yourselves though. It’s not the IWC’s return that’s got your pulses surging, it’s MY return TO THE IWC that has your knees shaking and pace makers sparking. Because everyone, be it you fans out there urinating in your huggies from excitement, or the naïve upstarts amidst our new roster, hell, even the old timers clearly past their prime, are intrigued to see what the Royal Family is going to do next.
With each word Rose offers a nod and a silent ‘yes.’
Christian: It’s going to be good, it’s going to be juicy…it’s going to be downright decadent. Why you may ask? Because IWC doesn’t pigeonhold us, it doesn’t hold back the Royal Family. It’s track record proves as much. THIS is the place where I won my very first World Heavyweight Title. Where my brother Adam Riddick and I were given full cart blanche to make the lives of Orlando Cruze and Nathan Creed an absolute living hell….Admit it, you still get goosebumps thinking about my hands dripping with Orlando’s blood….This is the federation where so many priceless Christian Savior memories have been created…but don’t worry, Rose and I aren’t through making history yet. Oh no…oh no…no…no…We’re looking forward to picking up EXACTLY where we left off.
Rose gets a kiss on the cheek that has her swooning.
Christian: You fans have nothing to fear, Christian and Rose are back in the IWC, back in the house that I built. And although Orlando hasn’t expressed the gratitude I deserve for agreeing to come back and as thus giving you fans a reason to tune in, you guys and girls will undoubtedly make up for his thoughtlessness when you stand as one and chant my name. Savior…Savior…SAVIOR! The man who rose from the ashes, and brought the IWC back with him. I know people are giving Cruze all the credit for IWC’s relaunch….
A trembling fist is pressed between Savior’s eyes, stifling a migraine.
Christian:….How ridiculous….How full of…
Rose: Christian…calm yourself.
Savior: You’re right, you’re right…I just can’t help to get a little annoyed when everyone treats Orlando like the messiah, the man who SAVED the IWC. I’ve never heard such a LIE in my entire life. Everyone seems to forget that Cruze is responsible for IWC’s closure. HE was at the helm when things started to go downhill. He steered this luxury ship into a friggin glacier and almost took me…the most loyal IWC supporter…down into an icy abyss. Cruze expects everyone to overlook this fact, but I’m not blind like the masses, I’m not easily brainwashed like oh so many of you.
Rose: Be nice, Christian.
Christian: I’m trying, but it’s just so hard to hear people crediting Cruze, when it’s clear as day I’M the one who brought about IWC’s rebirth. Without my name in the marquee, in the main event, no one would care about IWC’s return….because it just wouldn’t be the same federation without Christian Savior…without the Rising Phoenix…without the World Champion. I MAKE this show…just like I MADE the original IWC. If it weren’t for my signing of a contract, there wouldn’t be all this interest, all this hype regarding the IWC. I give the NEW IWC instant credibility…instant appeal to the original, long term fans, and the new casual viewers Orlando is hoping to draw in. So once again the IWC is being built on my sweat, on my blood, on my sacrifices and hard-work. And yet, these jackals on Twitter praise the almighty Cruze…It’s a shame….A downright shame, and an insult I will not tolerate. The Rising Phoenix, in the very first
main event of IWC’s new era, shall prove why I, and I alone am deserving of praise…of gratitude regarding the resurrection of this company. Not Cruze…not any of the newcomers on the roster who aren’t even qualified to carry my bags into the building….not Porno Lad…not the mascara wearing Silencer…me…ME….Christian Savior…former World Champion….The man who brought the original IWC into prominence. And if you think my actions in the past were shocking….maybe even a little controversial….you haven’t seen anything yet. Because apparently, you people need to be reminded why I’M the one you should be worshipping and praising as IWC’s Messiah.
Rose’s knuckles are lifted to Christian’s lips and pecked before the two march out of focus, Mrs. Savior waving rather cryptically to the camera in the process.
“Boss’s Daughter” by Pop Evil blast throughout the arena as Taylor Chase comes out……
She stands on the entrance way and poses to the fans as they take pictures of her…..
Taylor slowly walks down to the ring as she smirks at the fans and teases them…..
She gets up on the apron and slowly straddles the ropes as she gets in the ring….
Taylor then walks to the corner and climbs to the second buckle to pose…the flashes go off….
She gets down and stands in the middle of the ring and poses as a lone spotlight shines on her….
Taylor takes off her glasses and gives an arrogant smile to the camera awaiting her opponent and blowing a kiss, finishing it with a wink….
Hurse: Wonder if Savior has ever heard of the word ‘ego’ before.
Dollar: People with such ego issues repulse me.
Brooks: Really?
Hurse: Some bold comments from Savior tonight headed into our HUGE main event.
Dollar: And speaking of egos, here comes the insatiably beautiful, Taylor Chase, a member of the infamous Chase family. Who I have run into several times in SCW.
Brooks: Yes, Taylor, the sister of Madison, Courtney and Ashley Chase, hopes to add to her family’s legacy here in the IWC, but she’ll be facing some stiff competition.
Hurse: I know something else that just got stiff.
Robin: Steven….I’m not afraid to pinch.
Hurse: Oh…ummm…I was talking about my shoulder…yeah…my shoulder.
Taylor stands in the ring but looks completely disinterested. Not even the lyrics to her opponent’s theme music can rouse her from her boredom.
A disco ball descends from the arena over the ring. To give the fans more of a feel for the old disco times of the 1970s. The lights dim and the only lighting provided is from the disco lights on the ring and the spinning disco ball. Then, the theme of Stayin’ Alive kicks in, the lighting slowly raising back to normal. But nothing, no wrestler, manager, nothing. The music stops.
Brooks: Here’s someone we haven’t seen in a very long time.
Hurse: Not since he played a hand in the ruination of our wedding, Robin.
Robin: The past is in the past, Steven. Fresh starts for everyone, including Disco Ninja. Who looks to get back to his winning ways.
Hurse: I want to keep hating him, but his dancing is just so infectious.
Dollar: Are you having a seizure?
Hurse: No, I’m boogying.
Johnny: Well stop it before I vomit.
Disco swings and gyrates his hips as the bell sounds, stuck in perpetual dance mode. His excitement does not infect Chase, who looks not only apathetic but disgusted at the mere sight of her opponent for the evening. Referee Ingelson keeps a close eye on the action as the two approach one another only to have That Disco Ninja pause, remove a squeaky rubber throwing star and toss it right into Taylor’s stomach. She jumps back and screams, at first anticipating an actual weapon, only to watch as the rubber toy bounces off to the canvas.
Before she can even begin to express her outrage, the crafty Ninja boogies in, grabs her by the back of the head and pulls her down into a small package.
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Taylor kicks out before the distraction could cost her the match.
Hurse: I’ve fallen for that myself in the past.
Dollar: Did he steal that weapon from an infant or something?
Hurse: God, I hope not, cause that’s not nearly as easy as it sounds.
An indignant expression is exuded by Chase as she scrambles back to her feet only to run into a knife edge chop from Disco Ninja that takes her back down. She then rolls from the ring, putting some distance between herself and Disco Ninja, who is in full spin-a-rooni mode at the moment, throwing in a break-dance move.
Taylor clearly has no idea what in the world to make of her opponent, who kips back to his feet and does a little strut to the delight of the crowd. He then leaps through the ropes and gives hot pursuit to Chase, who is in the process of backing up and begging off, insisting that she needs a few moments to get her head straight.
That Disco Ninja does not adhere to her request, charging in only to be caught with a drop toe hold that sends her opponent collapsing face first into the steel steps. He bounces off and goes stumbling back, yet there is even some rhythm to his stagger. Eventually he finds his way into the clutches of Chase, who bounces his skull off of the apron with force then rolls him back into the ring.
Dollar: In spite of her inexperience, Taylor was able to lure Disco Ninja….
Hurse: Excuse me…but it’s THAT Disco Ninja.
Dollar: Ugh, fine. She lured THAT Disco Ninja into a drop toe hold which has put her in the driver’s seat.
Hurse: Better.
Taylor enters the ring and waits for her opponent to stand. That Disco Ninja is barely upright before Chase rushes in and hit’s a chop block to the back of his knee. The Ninja collapses and grabs at his leg, aching already but not making the slightest peep. He stumbles to his feet when Chase steps in, delivering a kick to the crease of his knee. She then delivers another kick forcing Disco Ninja to fall into the ropes, utilizing them as support.
Clearly Chase has wisely honed in her offense on the legs of her opponent, ensuring he won’t be dancing his way to victory tonight. She steps in and goes for another kick only to have Disco Ninja employ the ropes as a crutch as he lifts his legs into the air, causing Chase’s foot to miss its mark while he dangles in mid-air. He then swings his legs through the ropes he’s seated on the middle cable. Chase rushes in to grab him only to have Disco drop his upper body back, launching his shins over the top rope right into Taylor’s face.
The stiff kick knocks Taylor back a few steps but doesn’t knock her down. What does take her off her feet is Disco Ninja’s next move, slipping his legs back so that he’s now standing on the middle rope and then springing off of the cable into a reverse elbow.
Both athletes go down but Disco is right back to his feet…or more accurately the one foot that can tolerate his weight, dancing as best he can upon it.
Dollar: Disco Ninja right back into it, but the damage has already been done to his leg.
Brooks: It’s not stopping him from busting a move though.
Pain radiates from Chase’s chest, yet she still rises to her feet even under a hailstorm of rights and lefts from that Disco Ninja. The shots back her up across the ring and into the turnbuckle and only stop once she rakes her opponent’s eyes.
Disco Ninja turns away, wincing and doubling over from the pain while Chase pulls herself up onto the second rope, ready to go airborne. She doesn’t get a chance too thanks to the lightning speed of her opponent. Disco Ninja drops into a backwards roll, shooting his legs up into the air and wrapping them around Taylor’s knee. He then yanks her down into a drop toe hold pulling her from the second rope face first with force onto the canvas.
Hurse: That was unique.
Robin: Never seen a drop toe hold executed like that before.
Chase gets to her knees holding her lower lip, checking to see if it’s swollen or not. If it wasn’t before, it’ll be now that That Disco Ninja rushes up behind her, grabs the back of her head and delivers a modified bulldog, taking her down from her kneeling base face first into the canvas. She bounces off of the ring and rolls to her back, Disco Ninja swinging his hips during his upward ascent.
He approaches the ropes and leaps over them to the apron. He still grips the top cable as he now springs up to the top rope prepared to take flight only to have Taylor take his feet out from under him. She leaps up, and pushes the legs, causing Disco to fall knee first on the top rope and bounce off, flipping into the ring.
Dollar: Gruesome landing for the Disco Ninja….
Hurse: Ahem?
Dollar: Oh good lord….THAT Disco Ninja.
Brooks: Even more damage done to his leg with that springboard attempt going horribly awry.
Taylor continues checking her lips and adjusting her clothes to make sure she looks good before stepping in and grabbing the leg of her prone opponent. She hit’s a leg DDT, driving Disco Ninja’s foot into the canvas and causing him to writhe in pain. Naturally, even his writhing has some dancing elements to it. Chase grabs the leg, extends it over the canvas then drops an elbow right into the side of his knee.
The fans are despondent, realizing that the leg has become the focal point of Chase’s offence, severally limiting her opponent’s offence, but more importantly, bringing her closer to victory. Another elbow to the knee results in excruciating pain for that Disco Ninja and more confidence from Chase. She even goes as far as to stand, sashay across the ring and kick her hair back to the disgust of the masses.
A smile forms on her face, proud to be antagonizing the fans who have made it abundantly clear how they feel about her only within seconds of having met her. Taylor doesn’t care about their feelings, love, hate or indifferent…she’s only got one concern at the moment, victory. She pounces on Disco Ninja the moment he works…gyrates back to his feet with the use of the ropes as an aid. The injured limb is grabbed and used to drag Disco Ninja to the center of the ring where he is then dragon screw leg whipped right down to the canvas.
Hurse: Taylor keeping on that knee. Very smart…which you normally wouldn’t expect from such a beautiful woman.
Brooks: Hey now. I’m gorgeous AND intelligent.
Hurse: Yes, but you’ve always been an aberration to the natural order of things.
Brooks: I’m debating rather that requires a pinch or not.
The grin on Chase’s face widens once she stands up, still holding the leg of her opponent. She then mocks Disco Ninja by swinging her hips before twirling around and going for the figure four leg lock. Unfortunately she exposes her backside to her opponent for too long in the middle of her grandstanding, giving him time to counter. He lifts his free leg into the air and wedges it to Tay-Tay’s rear-end. He is just about to kick her off when Taylor reaches back, grabbing his ankle and swinging around so that she’s now holding his good leg, looking down at Disco Ninja with a grin on her face.
Taylor: I think not bitch…
Before she can finish rubbing salt in the wounds Disco rolls towards her and connects with a lethal kick to the side of her face via his one good leg. Tay-Tay twists into the ropes, looking almost brain-dead as a result of that strike. After bouncing off the ropes she staggers backwards into the waiting arms of her opposition. Disco Ninja does a slight headstand, shooting his good leg up into the air and delivering a very fancy kick right to the back of Taylor’s head.
Hurse: Apparently Disco Ninja is good with those feet in a variety of ways.
Dollar: Some nice kicks thoroughly discombobulating Chase. Guess she hasn’t done enough damage to the legs.
Chase falls throat first into the middle rope, leaning upon it while Disco Ninja limps to his feet and across the ring. He does a Travolta-esque finger point at his opponent then comes rushing across the ring, dropping into a baseball slide to the apron before leaping to his feet and connecting with a front dropkick to the side of Taylor’s head. The stiff kick sends Taylor rolling to the center of the ring, but it’s not the only thing rolling, as her eyes have also rolled to the back of her skull.
The crowd is feeding into Disco Ninja’s adrenaline rush as he slips through the ropes and gets a running start. An unsuspecting Chase has just stood up when that Disco Ninja leaps into the air with a famouser only to be shoved off at the last second. Disco lands on his feet but almost goes down as his knee threatens to buckle. Though disorientated, Chase tries to take advantage by charging in with yet another chop block to the bad knee. Her move is not only side stepped by Disco though, but countered in the process into a roll up. Disco Ninja leaps over his opponent, catches her around the waist, and pulls her down into the cover by her hips.
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2
Chase shocks Disco now by not only kicking out but grabbing his legs in the process. She rolls back to her feet, lifts her adversary’s legs into the air, swings around them and drops down into the figure four leg lock.
Robin: Figure four locked in! I put that hold on a lot of opponents in the past, I know how much damage it can do.
Mayne: It’s got That Disco Ninja down, but can he hang in there in spite of this?
Dollar: I don’t know, cause a lot of damage has already been done to that knee.
All Taylor’s strength is put into the hold, twisting and ripping the knees of Disco Ninja until he’s at the point of tapping out, cause clearly he can’t utter the words ‘I Quit.’ He persists in spite of the pain, falling to his back and forcing Ingelson to make a count.
1
Disco sits back up, refusing to give in although he’s in absolute agony. Finally he lifts his hand into the air, doing an ocean wave gyration with his arms in the process even as he prepares to tap out. Just as his open palm falls to the ring he balls it up into a fist and lifts it up high, whole body pulsating as he tries to fight through the agony.
Dollar: He’s STILL fighting this.
Into his endless pockets Disco Ninja reaches, removing a disco ball which emit’s a blinding ray of lights striking an unsuspecting Taylor right in the eyes. She grabs at her pupils as the referee grabs at the ball, ripping it out of Disco’s hands. But the weapon has already done the trick, leaving Taylor sightless and in misery and allowing That Disco Ninja to begin freeing himself.
He pries Taylor’s legs apart and then rolls to his side, dragging her along with him and to her chest. Before she realizes it the pain has left her eyes and moved to her lower back as Disco applies a Texas Cloverleaf.
Hurse: That counter delivered with ‘blinding’ speed….HAHAHAHAHAHA. Ohhhh, I truly hate myself.
Dollar: Nice you got on board with the rest of us.
Robin: That Disco Ninja using his bag of tricks to get back on the advantage. Is Chase going to be the one who taps!?!
She lifts a palm, ready to submit to the pain coursing from her surgically restructured knee, yet much like her opponent, she fights through the trauma. She shimmies her body from side to side before reaching out with her hands and grabbing the bottom rope, forcing Ingelson into action. He starts a five count that ends with a break of the hold at four.
That Disco Ninja limps to the middle of the ring, shaking off the damage done to his leg yet multitasking as he keeps a wary eye on Chase as well. She stands up on the opposite side of the ropes, utilizing them as a crutch to ascend to her feet. Disco Ninja moves in as quickly as he can, slipping through the ropes to the apron beside her and delivering a swift kick to Tay-Tay’s midsection. She doubles over, wincing in pain while Disco pulls her head forward into a front face-lock, now signaling for a DDT on the apron much to the crowd’s delight.
Johnny: He’s not gonna do this….not to Tay-Tay, not to TAY-TAY!
It seems that the Chase family is going to be down by one sister in just moments before Taylor avails herself of the situation. She spins out of the front chancery and catches Disco Ninja around the neck, setting up for a diamond cutter on the apron instead.
Hurse: She’s not gonna do this…not to Disco Ninja, not to DISCO NINJA!
Dollar: In this case, imitation is NOT flattery.
The crowd watches with baited breath as Taylor drags Disco across the apron and steps up the turnbuckle, looking to deliver a sliced bread number 2 on the apron instead. Many fans are already wincing or turning away, unable to watch the impending destruction of Disco Ninja only to have him shove Taylor off at the last second, sending her flipping over the ropes back into the ring.
She lands on her feet and then turns to her opponent just as Disco Ninja launches a foot over the ropes directly into the side of her head. The kick connects with enough force to almost knock Taylor’s head off of her shoulders as she twists across the ring.
Robin: That Disco Ninja just saved himself mere moments before his head could get caved in via what would have been an absolutely nasty Sliced Bread on the apron.
The kick results in an echo and an explosion of cheers from the crowd, the fans overjoyed first by Disco Ninja sparing himself a career shortening move on the apron, and second, the continued humbling of Chase. However, though the kick did damage to Chase, it had some painful side effects on Disco Ninja as well. He grabs at his knee, shaking out the kinks then starting to get back into the ring. That one second of hesitation proves costly, Chase rushes across the ring and delivers a basement dropkick right to the knee he had over the middle cable, sandwiching it between her feet and the rope.
Disco reaches for his leg and in the process leaves the rest of his body susceptible, a fact Taylor is painfully aware of. Over the ropes Taylor leaps, catching That Disco Ninja’s head on the way down and spiking him directly on top of it with a gnarly DDT upon the apron. A loud gasp is heard from the crowd as That Disco Ninja does a head-stand on the apron before finally falling through the ropes into the ring.
Hurse: Uhhhh…that looked pretty damn painful.
Brooks; A DDT right onto the apron from Chase, catching Disco with his pants down.
Dollar: Please don’t put that imagery in my head.
Robin: Total decimation.
There is no function left in Disco Ninja’s brain whatsoever, but his body STILL tries to stand up. He gets to his feet and half heartedly does a pelvis thrust before Taylor leaps into the air at his side and nails him with her steel plated protective knee pad right against the temple. The T.K.O connects with such force that Disco Ninja is rendered unconscious instantly.
Robin: That DDT followed up by the devastating T.K.O!
Hurse: Disco might be dead.
Dollar: Yeah, the eighties killed it.
Disco is down and Taylor is already stretched over his chest hooking the leg and kicking back her hair.
1
2
3!
Several boos mix with an onslaught of other such derogatory, character defaming statements aimed at Taylor. She ignores them and instead embraces victory, letting Ingelson raise her hand when she’s ready to have said hand raised.
Robin: Tay-Tay gets the win. It was pretty academic after That Disco Ninja was dumped right on his head with that DDT…
Dollar: Then it was followed up with that absolutely nasty knee strike which deals double damage, due to the protective knee brace, and the fact that her leg is filled with ball bearings.
Hurse: Poor Disco, had such high hopes for the guy. Can I go back to hating him now though?
The fans lament the defeat of Disco Ninja while Taylor rises triumphant over her fallen opponent, total arrogance displayed in her smile.
Robin: Another hotly contested bout ending with a major win for Taylor Chase. Like her or not, she’s made an impression…
Dollar: Probably not a very good one on the fans though.
As Tay Tay celebrates in the ring cameras cut backstage rather quickly.
Standing with monitor positioned just a few inches from the snide grin on his face is Frankie Paradise. A hand strokes the stubble on his jaw as he sways rhythmically to the tunes of Taylor’s entrance turned celebration music. Clear, judging by the intoxicated look on his face, he’s quite enchanted with what he’s seeing inside of the ring.
You know, a normal person would be dressed professionally, maybe even elegantly for a night as auspicious as tonight, but Susie Moore could never be referred to as ‘normal,’ and her apparel demonstrates her detachment from reality. A graduation cap and gown covers her long flowing blonde locks and seductive curves.
Susie Moore: Hi everyone, good to be back here in the IWC, and looking forward to being the absolute best broadcast journalist in the game today.
Though one hand is occupied by a microphone, the other clutches a diploma.
Susie: See, I went to journalism school and everything, got myself a PHD…Susie equals smart now.
The diploma continues to be flaunted.
Moore: Meaning everyone should want to be interviewed by the super-duper-genius, and totally get an Emmy or something else shiny out of it. Including these guys right here.
Four of IWC’s newest talent acquisitions are brought into view. Xander Cassius, the aspiring two sport athlete, St. John Barlow, the wrestler’s wrestler, Denile Partis, the mysterious enigmatic and charismatic combatant, and Sebastian Knight, the debonair and dapper brawler. Though they stand shoulder to shoulder at the moment in the interview area, within seconds they’ll all four face off in the ring.
Susie: Howdy doody fellas. Glad to have you all on board in the new IWC.
There are some grumbles and head nods.
Moore: You guys are gonna totally go at it and beat the stuffing out of one another tonight in a four way, right?
St. John is shaken from his introspection.
Barlow: What? You don’t know?
Susie: Sure I do, was just making sure you did.
The smile and cocksureness wasn’t fooling anyone.
Moore: What should the fans know about you guys before you head out there and do your thing? Spikey haired dude, you first.
The mic is stuck out in Xander’s face.
Cassius: Words right now are meaningless. Yeah I could tell the fans what to expect out of me, but the time for hype is over, it’s time to SHOW them what I’m capable of. Which is exactly what I’ll do right here tonig….
Parits: Heh….
It took nothing more than a sneer to derail Xander’s train of thought, hopefully he’ll be more focused in the ring.
Denile: Seriously? Does the word ‘cliché’ mean anything to you?
It’s Cassius turn to let out a snort.
Partis: Alright..alright…alright…we get it, your Mr. No Non-Sense. You’re totally stoic, you’re nothing more than a cool cucumber. But it doesn’t matter how ‘cool’ you are, how ‘focused’ you may be. Because you, like these other chaps….
Partis slaps the shoulders of Barlow and Knight.
Denile:…don’t have what I have….experience. I’m the only one to have competed in the IWC, I know what to expect when those curtains part and I make my way down that ramp. No butterflies in my stomach…just whatever I had for breakfast….honestly can’t remember. I’ve been here, I’ve done this. I’ve won matches in the old IWC, and tonight, I’m going to start winning matches in the new IWC. Nothing beats veteran instincts guys…See you all out there, good luck.
Already Denile’s entrance music can be heard echoing throughout the backstage corridors as he moves towards the curtains, passing right through. The trio of newcomers exchange tense glares before Knight reaches out, guiding Susie’s hand to his lips so he can speak.
Sebastian: Good to know there aren’t any egos here in IWC. Bad haircuts maybe….(Gestures towards the departing Denile)….but clearly no egotism. Yeah…yeah…I understand that Partis has a few more matches under his belt than I do…That he’s been in the IWC…but what exactly did he accomplish in this federation during his tenure? (Taps temple) Hmmm, I can’t remember, and not because I have memory issues like Mr. Partis. What Denile fails to realize is that he may have experience, but I have talent….NATURAL talent. And that’s something even experience won’t overcome.
Susie’s hand is released and Sebastian makes his way towards the ring, debut impending. She’s so busy blushing as she watches him walk away that she doesn’t even realize that St John has now taken her microphone baring hand, guiding it to his mouth.
St. Barlow: Natural talent? Did I just hear that guy right? If you want to see REAL natural talent on top of experience, look no further than St. John Barlow…I have a perfect blend of both. I’ve competed all over the world, in Japan, Mexico, Canada, and here in the states. So not only do I have that NATURAL talent…but I’ve also picked up a lot of new skills over the years. Everyone is about to see my wealth of knowledge when I go out there and school my opponents.
From the interview area storms St. John, out to make a major impact…perhaps a game changing one. And then there were two, Susie and Xander.
Xander: Ummmmm yeah…okay. I don’t even mind the rude interruption, because I already got out what I wanted to say. But if you REALLY need to know what I bring to the table. Well I suppose it’s a vastly different style than any of my three opponents have ever seen. And I don’t think I’m too far off when I suspect that they ain’t gonna be ready for it.
Cassius is the last to depart, leaving Susie behind as she sniffs the air around her.
Susie: I can just smell that Emmy. Kinda smells like burnt oatmeal.
Slip by Five Bolt Main is still playing in the background as Denile Partis paces in the ring.
Hurse: Everyone ready to be razzle dazzled by some multi-man matches?
Dollar: I think you’ve probably already been razzle dazzled by multiple men.
Hurse: What happens in a prison shower STAYS in a prison shower, Johnny.
“Badass” by Saliva echoes from the PA system as Sabastian Knight makes his way through the curtain to a favortable reaction, flanked by his manager/benefactor Tabitha Silverstone… Knight and Silverstone walk down to the ring. They reach the ring. He slides under the rope. He hops on the top rope beating his chest to the crowd’s favorable reaction. He hops off the turnbuckle. He hits the ropes charging himself up for the fight at hand.
Brooks: Here’s a great newcomer to the IWC fold who has A LOT of potential, not to mention loads of charisma.
Dollar: One of many promising stars who claimed backstage that he was born with ‘natural talents’ let’s see if that’s true here tonight or not.
The arena lights fade to darkness as the Jumbo-tron lights up. The word’s “Warriors Code” appears then fades as
In The Warriors Code
There’s No Surrender
Though His Body Says Stop
His Spirit Cries – Never
The tron fades to black as the stage explodes in pyro as “Perfect Weapon” blares loudly though out the arena. St. Jon Barlow aka Sinjin walks out from backstage onto the foggy stage taking in the crowd’s energy.
St. John walks slowly through the smoke down the aisle all the way too the ring. Once he reaches the ring, St. John leaps onto the apron then climbs over the top rope getting into the ring. St. John climbs between the bottom and middle rope standing as he taunts the crowd. The lights in the ring fade to normal as St. John removes his ring gear.
Hurse: Yet another newcomer who not only has potential but has proven himself as a true ‘warrior’ all around the wrestling world.
Brooks: Yes, but we all know anything you’ve accomplished elsewhere, means nothing around here. It’s about what you do when you get in that ring.
The stage lights turn red, blue, and yellow and all pant up and down as “Hero” by Skillet begins to play. The screen shows some slow motion MMA clips of Xander Cassius knocking people out mixed with black and white clips of him pointing to the sky on walking on the beach.
From the back walks Xander, wearing heavy duty red and black athletic shorts along with a black shirt with a red and gold cross printed on the front and his name on the back. His hands are covered with MMA style gloves.
Cassius steps to the center of the stage and drops to his knees and bows his head as to give a short prayer. After a few moments he jumps to his feet and starts to pumps the fans up and he makes his way to the ring. A slight smile is on his face as he slaps the hands of the fans. He rolls under the bottom rope and runs to the far corner. He jumps to the middle rope, pulls his shirt off revealing the many tattoos on his body, and throws the shirt to the fans.
Dollar: All of these guys made some pretty interesting comments…and by pretty interesting, I mean bored me to the point I’d rather watch paint dry.
Brooks: Each of them looking to make a HUGE splash in this 4 Way Fray and get a jumpstart to their IWC careers. Much like Xander Cassius here, it’ll be interesting to see this ‘unique style’ he was eluding to moments ago.
The bell sounds and the first two men to start out this bout are Partis and Cassius, the amnesiac versus the former MMA fighter. Their contrasting personalities and styles should create an interesting mesh to say the least. Cassius steps in and connects with a big kick right to the thigh of Partis, inflicting some quick damage. Denile staggers away from Xander into the ropes, leaning on them for support and working out the kinks in his legs.
Xander pivots in the process, staying limber as Partis tentatively steps in and gets another kick to the opposite thigh this time, knocking his legs out from under him. Instantly Cassius drops beside him and begins to deliver rapid fire punches to every area that presents itself. Denile covers his head with both arms as the punches continue to rain down upon him. It isn’t until Fitzpatrick steps in and starts a five count that the MMA blows stop connecting and Denile creates some space between he and his opponent.
He rolls into the ropes and is surprised by a tag from Barlow.
Hurse: Xander Cassius showing off some of that MMA style that’s brought him here to the dance.
Dollar: And then Barlow makes the blind tag bringing himself into this bout, let’s see if he has any better luck against this unique style of Cassius.
Barlow stands back and sizes up the competition, not wanting to rush into anything. Once he’s got the impatient Xander figured out he rushes in and learns the hard way that he had absolutely NOTHING figured whatsoever. He rushes directly into a drop toe hold from Cassius, who then leaps onto Barlow’s back, delivering repeated elbows to the back of the skull.
St John tries desperately to cover up against these devastating strikes but they prove too lethal to be blocked. Again Fitzpatrick is forced to intervene before brain damage can be inflicted, prying Xander off his opponent, who crawls across the ring and reaches through the ropes, slapping the thigh of Sebastian Knight.
Brooks: Barlow already forced to take a breather.
Dollar: Are any of these men able to stand up against this MMA offence?
A no non-sense expression remains plastered on Xander’s face, stepping back with arms outstretched to his sides, calling for the crowd to show some love. They put their hands together as Knight enters the ring, ready to take on the challenge. He and Cassius begin to circle one another before Knight shows the size of his testicles by actually stepping into a collar elbow tie up. Almost instantly Xander pulls him down by the back of his head into a series of knee strikes right to the face.
Knight backs across the ring dragging Xander along, who refuses to stop delivering the knees. Eventually Sebastian grabs the top cable and the referee intervenes for a third time, backing Xander off of his stunned opponent. As Cassius is backed away Sebastian shakes off the strikes and rushes in to deliver some of his own. A knife edge chop rocks Xander, staggering him before he gets another and then a third.
Dollar: Finally….someone getting in some offense against Cassius.
The chops continue before Knight spins around and clocks his opponent with a forearm right to the jaw, sending him stumbling into the ropes where he’s tagged by Partis. The blind tag is not received very well, Cassius looking miffed that he’s being taken out of the match.
Brooks: This is EXACTLY what needed to happen, Partis removing Cassius from the equation.
Xander finally vacates the ring as Partis jumps the top rope and comes barreling right into a big hip toss. He crashes to the canvas, rolls across it to his feet and then comes charging into a back elbow to the face this time that puts him down. Knight is getting fired up, taking Denile by the bangs, leading him up to his feet and connecting with a knife edge chop. He then spins around into a discus forearm that this time is avoided. Partis ducks the strike, swings behind Knight and takes him around the waist, pushing him forward into the ropes.
Sebastian hits them chest first and Partis drops back for a roll-up only to have Knight snare the top cable, refusing to let go. Denile rolls back to his feet before leaving them, leaping into the air to catch an inbound opponent with a big time dropkick. The spit is knocked from Knight’s mouth as he collapses to the canvas, rolling into the corner and making the tag to a recovered Barlow.
St John steps into the ring and rushes in behind a rising Partis, nailing him to the back of the head with a lariat that takes both men down. They don’t remain on the canvas for very long, St John getting to his feet and yanking Partis to his before heaving him up into a brutal back drop suplex. The air is knocked from Denile upon collision with the canvas, his spine taking quite a bit of punishment. His chest takes even more damage as St John ricochets from the ropes and delivers a quick elbow drop.
Hurse: Yay, the action is getting all fast paced and junk.
Dollar: And it’s brilliant commentary like that which brought that wheelbarrow full of money to my doorstep so I’d sign that contract.
Hurse: I didn’t get a wheelbarrow full of money, actually, I didn’t even get a pack of Skittles.
Robin: I got a slightly used hot-tub.
Once again Partis is yanked up to his feet and the aggressive Barlow heaves him into the air for a suplex. In mid-air Denile connects with a knee to the top of St John’s skull, breaking himself free from the chancery then dropping to his feet in front of a stunned Barlow. He then rushes at Denile only to receive a leaping knee strike right under the jaw. The stiff shot sends Barlow backing across the ring before getting his footing. He then rushes at the ropes, ricochets off and tries to reclaim the advantage only to find himself running at thin air.
Denile went racing into the ropes right along behind him and Barlow learns this a second too late. He turns around just as Denile leaps through the air and flies into his face with a soaring knee strike that hits its target absolutely perfectly. St John collapses and convulses while Denile races into the ropes beside him, springing off them leaping half way across the ring into a big time knee drop. The knee-cap collides with mush, resulting in even more twitches from Barlow.
He grips his nearly fractured nose but will not allow it to keep him down. He works his way up just as Denile comes up behind him and delivers the step up enzugari to the back of his head. The strike sends Barlow twirling into the ropes which are low bridged by Knight. As he collapses over them Knight slaps him on the knee, making yet another blind tag. He then turns to begin entering the ring but Denile spots him, rushing in and catching Knight with a swinging neck breaker when he only half way through the ropes.
Dollar: Knight tagged himself in and he got what he wanted I guess.
Hurse: If these guys don’t keep themselves in the match they have no opportunity to score the pinfall. Got to take the risk with the reward I guess.
Brooks: Anyone notice they’ve completely isolated Cassius’ portion of the ring?
Clearly Xander has noticed as well, feeling like a leper. He shouts for a tag but his three opponents stay completely away from his side of the ring, consciously aware that they’ve isolated him. Knight struggles back to his feet under a barrage of elbow upon elbow upon elbow to the temple and jaw, stumbling him back into the turnbuckle. The corner is used as a brace for Knight as the strikes continue. Denile then backs up and gets a big running start, leaping into the air with a diving elbow strike that is avoided at the last second.
Out of the way Knight steps, causing Denile to change his move at the last second, landing on the turnbuckle feet first. He then springs off and twists in mid-air only to be caught right across Sebastian’s chest. Knight then throws him up into the air with a front chancery applied and delivers a high impact vertical suplex, connecting with enough force to inflict some series internal damage.
Brooks: Knight is finally in the driver’s seat, having a knack for finding the chinks in the armor of his opponents thus far.
Hurse: Yep, he looks just as crafty as he is chiseled.
Dollar: And you wonder why I decided to let Robin sit in the center, so as to separate us?
Though Denile’s kidneys are aching he still sits up, putting him in a bad position, as Knight nails a running boot straight to the face. The kick knocks Partis to his back where Knight drops over his chest and hooks both legs.
1
2
A kick out keeps Denile’s hopes of victory in tact. Sebastian does not allow his momentum to be derailed by the kick out, leaping to his feet and then into the air with a boot stomping down right into the bridge of his opposition’s nose.
Sebastian then takes him by the hair, leading him up to his feet and then delivering numerous strikes to every side of Partis, greatly disorientating him. He then bounces off the ropes, building momentum into a devastating bionic elbow that knocks Partis back to the canvas.
Denile’s body bounces from the ring and goes rolling into the ropes with Knight following closely behind. He takes Partis around the neck, leads him up to his feet and looks to connect with a suplex. Instead he drops Denile by the knees to the top rope, letting him bounce off so that he can deliver his vertical suplex with even greater force.
The end result is a pain addled Partis sitting up on the canvas, grimacing from the anguish flowing through his lower back. Knight stands up and looks to take advantage of his seated opponent, rushing backwards into the ropes to get a running start only to feel a slap on his shoulder. Before he can even react to the blind tag, Barlow drops from the apron, reaches under the ropes, grabs his ankle, rips his legs out from under him and then uses his grip to drag Knight to the outside of the ring before leading him by the back of his skull right into the steel steps.
Hurse: Barlow’s back and in very violent fashion.
Brooks: That might take Mr. Knight out of the pages of GQ and to the center spread of Fangoria.
Dollar: I see that Hurse’s nerdiness is contagious.
A huffing and puffing Partis gets to his feet just as Barlow rushes in with a shoulder block that almost sends the victim flipping over. He collides with the canvas then sits back up as St John swoops in, plucking him back to his feet only to deliver a snap swinging neck breaker. Partis slams against the canvas and pops to his seat while St. John crawls up behind him, applying a rear naked choke.
Air deprivation begins to take its toll, Partis beginning to lose consciousness especially after all the punishment he’s endured. Nevertheless he refuses to wave the white tag, to yield in the face of such adversity. With fists clinched and shaking Partis begins to his upward ascent, the crowd getting behind him.
Johnny: This guy must have a high threshold for pain.
Hurse: He doesn’t know anything about suffrage, he’s never had to listen to a Justin Bieber album.
To the delight of the masses Partis gets to his feet and turns, delivering an elbow right to his adversary’s stomach, but is isn’t enough to break the hold. Another elbow finally detaches St. John’s arms and leaves his face exposed to a right hand from Denile, followed by a second and then ultimately a third. St. John is rocked but does not go down as Denile sprints into the ropes, bounces off and comes back in at Barlow who catches him with a double handed thrust to the ribs on the way back in. Denile is doubled over then lifted into the air, heaved over Barlow’s shoulder then dumped on top of his head with a piledriver to the absolute shock of the masses.
Robin: Cringe worthy.
Denile flips to his back and St. John climbs into the cover.
1
2
Partis still has enough left in the tank to kick out, surprising everyone, St. John included. The versatile Barlow tries to remain unaffected as he pulls Denile to his seat and then goes rushing into the cables. He is just about to bounce off them when Knight leaps to the apron and launches a fist into his inbound face, officially tagging himself in. St. John is staggered by the strike as Knight sticks his head under the ropes, placing it beneath his rear-end then standing up straight, backdropping Barlow to the outside of the ring. His body nearly implodes upon impact with the mats.
Knight has just stood up straight when Denile comes stumbling in and gets a punch of his own between the eyes for his troubles. The stiff shot knocks Partis back to the center of the ring where he almost looses his footing, all the damage taking its toll.
Sebastian then takes the top rope and looks like he’s about to employ an aerial move against his disorientated opposition. He is about to leap the top rope only to get his foot caught in the clutches of Barlow.
A disgruntled St. John tries to drag Knight down to the mats but gets a boot to his lips for his trouble. The shot knocks St John back and allows Sebastian to return his focus to his opponent…a tad bit too late because Denile is currently springing from the middle rope, twisting in mid-flight and nailing a dropkick to Knight’s chest that sends him flying down right into Barlow. Both men collapse to the mats amongst squeals from the crowd while Denile races as quickly as he can back to his feet, body still feeling the wrath of his opponents.
Xander watches with a shaking head, getting very anxious as he’s forced to do nothing but observe the action, which is really picking up. Sebastian is the first back to his feet on the outside mats, stumbling back towards the ring as Denile connects with a basement slide dropkick to his shoulder. The collision knocks him backwards into the barricade, falling against it for support while Denile leaps to his feet in the ring and takes hold of the top rope, looking to hit a dive that will dazzle the masses and more importantly inflict A LOT of pain.
He is just about to go high risk when St. John jumps up onto the apron and rushes in for a lariat. Denile ducks the inbound blow and then jumps into the air, clearing the top rope but holding onto it as he lands shins first on top of Barlow’s shoulders. He then lets go of the cables and delivers a head scissors that sends St. John flipping off of the apron and crashing forcefully on the outside mats.
Dollar: Oh wow…painful landing for Barlow and some unique offense from Partis.
Brooks: Partis is the only veteran IWC competitor amongst these four, but he’s really pulling out all the stops to impress.
The crowd slaps the barricade in response to that breathtaking move from Partis, who staggers to his feet, looking to keep his advantage. That’s when Knight steps up behind him, wedges a shoulder to his spine then heaves him up into the air before ultimately delivering a vicious back drop right onto the outside mats. His body connects with a devastating thud that gets a groan from the crowd.
Knight rises back to his feet when a recovered Barlow rushes in going for a double axe handle only to get a boot to the ribs. Sebastian then snap suplexes right him directly into the thin protective matting. He rushes into the ring to break the official’s ten count then exits in order to grab Partis, bringing him back into the fold. Denile rolls under the ropes and just as he ends up stretched across his back, Sebastian crawls into the cover.
1
2
Yet another kick out from Denile, keeping himself alive in this Four Way Fray.
Robin: Sebastian thought he had the win there and under any other circumstances he probably would, but Partis is proving to be one tough bucko.
Sebastian tries not to lose his cool as he drags Partis up to his feet and delivers a quick series of strikes that almost topples him. He finishes it off with a European Uppercut that has Denile teetering yet remaining upright somehow. Knight then goes for a second European Uppercut that is ducked. Partis catches the inbound arm, twists around behind Knight and catches his other arm, dragging him down into a backslide.
1
Knight kicks out, dropping to his knees as Partis lands on his feet then gets a running start. He gets caught in Sebastian’s clutches though, Knight throwing him directly over his head and into the ropes. The crowd erupts when Denile lands on the top rope, springs off and twists into the Falling Angel, the lariat connecting right against Sebastian’s throat.
Dollar: NICE!
Hurse: Lariat connects!
Robin: But did you see Xander make the blind tag on Partis?
Johnny: Totally missed it. Though I probably wouldn’t be too upset about missing anything involving Xander.
Denile rolls through the lariat and gets to his feet just as Xander begins entering the ring. It’s at this point that Denile realizes he was tagged, prompting him to try and take Cassius out. Unfortunately he bolts directly into a roundhouse kick to the side of his head that knocks him completely unconscious.
Knight is rising back to his feet, or more accurately, shambling into an upright position until he’s nailed to the side of the face with a twisting back fist from Cassius that connects with tooth shattering impact.
Hurse: MMA strikes from Xander, allowing him to absolutely dominate his opponents.
Robin: All that time on the apron did was cause him to build up a lot of pint up aggression.
The incredibly stiff back fist sends Knight twisting into the corner where a tag is made to his shoulder by St John Barlow. He then enters the ring and throws Knight through the ropes, shouting some foul language at him in the process. He then turns towards Cassius, who is in the process of picking Partis up. He gets him into position and then delivers a sick leaping knee strike that almost removes Denile’s head.
As he comes back down to his feet, Xander turns directly into a decapitating clothesline from Barlow, dropping him like he’s hot.
Dollar: Cassius needs to grow some eyes in the back of his head.
Hurse: Wouldn’t that make him a circus freak though? I fear carnies.
Barlow drops down into the lateral press, shouting at the referee do their damn job. The official makes the count.
1
2
Although he was the one on the receiving end of an incredibly stiff shot this time, Xander is able to take just as good as he gives, kicking out with time to spare. Barlow protests the referee’s count, insisting he’s seen better officiating out of an orangutan. Though he’s miffed he tries to remain focused, rushing into the ropes, or so he thought. Instead he charges right into the waiting arms of Knight, catching him by the knees. He lifts Barlow over his shoulders then drives him down with incredible force into the canvas via the Alabama Slam.
Dollar: That’s karma for you…Barlow caught Xander off guard, and then paid for it when Knight caught him when he wasn’t looking via that Alabama Slam.
Brooks: If Knight were the legal man he’d probably have the pinfall right now.
At the behest of the referee Knight vacates the ring, but in the process of turning his back he doesn’t see a recovered Cassius dragging Barlow into the Tangled in Faithlessness.
Hurse: Turn around Knight, Xander has got that submission locked in!
Robin: He calls that the Tangled in Faithlessness and my God does it look painful.
Robin clearly wasn’t overselling the damage done by the hold, cause within seconds of it being locked in, Barlow is already tapping out.
Dollar: And he submits instantly. St John Barlow giving up within seconds of that hold being applied.
Hurse: I think you were right, Robin, when you said it was painful.
Robin: Are you implying that I’m ever wrong?
The hold is broken to Barlow’s relief, dropping to the canvas where he continues to writhe in agony. Xander on the other hand, hops right back to his feet and pivots a little, showing no ill effects of this battle. His hand is raised into the air as a display of victory but even that doesn’t bring a grin to his stoic face. Another person not grinning is Knight, who turns around just when he hears the lyrics to Cassius’ entrance music, shocked to learn that Xander won this match while his back was turned.
Hurse: What terrific action in this match concluding with a victory for Cassius.
Dollar: This guy is a beast, might make a good addition to my growing list of clients. Emphasis on the word ‘might.’
Brooks: Definitely a real standout athlete who just made a MAJOR splash right here on Riot! Which is going to be the modus operandi for a lot of people here tonight…including two more debuting stars in the form of the Chase Wrestling Collectiv…
In the words of Joey Lawrence…WHOA!
Hurse: Things just got cranked up to an EPIC level peeps.
Brooks: How many times am I going to be interrupted tonight?
Hurse: OUCH! What the hell was that pinch for?
Robin: You were closest to me.
The reason behind Steven’s excitement…and pain….becomes evident the moment Porno Lad struts to the stage. A sizeable pop rocks the Manhattan Center when the sight of the Original Prankster’s breathtaking fro becomes visible. He waves to the masses, pandering to them only briefly before he gets to his point, shouting into the microphone.
Porno IIIIII’MMMMMM HOOOOOMMMEEE!
As if the reception couldn’t possibly get any louder. Lungs are absolutely deflated as Porno Lad does what he does best, rile up the people.
Porno Lad: Ya’ hear me, can ya feel me? Sure a lot of you would like to, and just as many of you already have.
A wink wasn’t necessary, but he gave one regardless.
Porno Lad: But it’s time for you to feel something else tonight….something you haven’t felt since the IWC logo flashed and the opening credits rolled…wait…it’s been even longer than that. I’m talking about that feeling you haven’t experienced in years….ever since the very night the chains were thrown on the doors of the Manhattan Center and the IWC closed for what would seem like an eternity. I’m talking about a feeling only I could bring you….EXCITEMENT! Which I’m sure is trending worldwide right now….Just don’t forget that gay ass hash-tag.
Hurse: I’m tweeting as we speak.
Dollar: You can actually understand twitter?
Hurse: Well apparently it’s a prerequisite of being a professional wrestler now.
The crowd is in the back pocket of Porno Lad as he continues his spiel.
Porno Lad: Which isn’t shocking, cause since it was announced that Porno Lad was coming back to the IWC, my name has been trending like Margot Kidder crazy! And for good reason, cause you people know, your MILFs know, even your GMILFs know, that I’m gonna make IWC fun….thrilling….maybe even…EPIC.
Yes, he winked again. Shamefully.
Porno Lad: And something else the whole wide world knows about Porno Lad, is that when I make a promise, I don’t go back on it. Every match I swore to win, I did. When I said I was going to have the perfect Paranoia moment, what happened? I won the World Heavyweight Championship. And when I say I’m going to get your nether regions twinging with excitement, you best believe it’s gonna happen! I’m gonna razzle dazzle. I’m gonna excite. I’m gonna enthuse. I’m gonna make tonight’s main event AAAAWWWESSSSOMMMMEE! Cause you can’t have three guys like Christian, Silencer and me oh me in the ring tonight, and not expect to have the house burnt down. Just not possible. I’ve been to war with Christian, I’ve had my battles with Silencer, and they’ve always been SICK. So expect nothing less tonight people, when Porno Lad returns to the IWC…..and more importantly….returns triumphant!
The mic falls to the canvas and Porno Lad moon-walks to the backstage area, giving a thumbs up to the celebrating crowd. His entrance theme blares in the background as he makes his way through the curtains after making his point to the masses.
Dollar: Statements now made by all three men in tonight’s main event.
Robin: And speaking of statements, we’re expecting to hear one from our new Owner, Orlando Cruze, in mere moments. I understand Mark Comeau is going to have an exclusive interview with him live from the Icon’s office.
Hurse: Can’t wait to hear what Orlando has to say about my incredible commentating skills and perfectly waxed eyebrows.
Hand-held cameras circle a very disheveled, putting it politely…he looks more like month old road-kill…individual standing backstage taking a swig of liquid courage. His bottle is snatched out of his hand by a well dressed man who immediately starts barking into his ear while simultaneously instructing the camera crew to get images of his ‘star’s’ good side.
Dollar: But before we hear what Buff Buddha has to say, we’ve got yet another debut on tap.
Hurse: Didn’t I give change to that guy for washing my windshield before the show?
Robin: Definite possibility. That’s street urchin turned reality star, Wino-Jack, just one of many new stars here in the IWC, and we’re going to see him, and his agent Ross Spectre, within moments.
Hurse: I want my thirty cents back.
Ross continues to multi-task, encouraging Wino-Jack to drink something a bit stronger, pulling a flask from his jacket, and at the same time telling the camera-operators to be ready for anything.
Ratings see a spike as well as the trousers of many male viewers when cameras break numerous laws by filming Charity Bizarre and Domino Rogue ‘suiting’ up for their tag team match. They are in the midst of helping one another fit into their leather ring gear. Charity applying her white leather short shorts.
Dollar: Uhhhh, are we allowed to be seeing this right now?
Hurse: I’m holding my hand over my eyes, Robin, see look.
Robin: Sure this may be a total invasion of privacy, but Sinsation, yet another set of stars on the cusp of debuting here in the IWC, are getting geared up for their big tag team match later this evening.
Hurse: Is it safe to look yet?
Though Domino has her back to the camera, the removal of her bra, and the ensuing image of a side boob is more than tantalizing
Robin: No.
Hurse: Too late.
Johnny: Did the whole table just move?
Brooks: It’s been one hell of an evening already boys, what do we think of the next match
Hurse: Who is it?
Dollar: A drunk and then Kellen Jeffries, I’m guessing even Olek could come up with the inevitable conclusion to this one
Hurse: I don’t know, how do you hurt someone who pissed as a newt, they won’t feel it?
Dollar: You knock them out cold…it’s that easy and that’s why I am Johnny Dollar
The arena lights go dark and a single spot light appears at entrance…throughout the arena we hear
“Guess who’s back? Haha”
The opening riff for “Cocky” then begin and as the first verse plays Kellen appears in the spotlight bobbing his head up and down with the music a huge arrogant smirk on his face….
I used to be broke
Confused
No Joke
Got used
Smoked Dope
Paid Dues
Refused
To give up quick
Now there’s 10 Million Motherf****** on my d***
Sold what
Say how
Say who
Do what
Screw me
f*** you
Come clean
You know I will
Drink a fifth of Jim Beam
And still stand still
I’m the illest fool
Cooler than the water in a swimming pool
Fly like a seagull
Kickin’ like a mule
More jams than a Beatle from Liverpool
I deliver fool
Who the hell are you
I’m Kid motherf***** Rock
From the old school
Got more money
Than Matchbox 20
kick more ass
Than Mark McGrath
Once the chorus hits, Kellen sprints to the ring sliding in under the bottom rope without breaking stride.
They say I’m cocky
And I say what
It ain’t braggin’ motherf*ckerif you back it up
They say I’m cocky
And I say what
It ain’t braggin’ motherf*cker if you back it up
The lights then come back on, Kellen mocking and arguing with the fans
Robin: Well, he seems confident if nothing else
Hurse: Or arrogant, and I know arrogant
Dollar: Arrogance isn’t already a bad thing as long as you can back it up
Seasick Steve’s “Happy (to have a Job)” pumps out of the arena’s PA system as the private camera crew of Ross Spectre hurry out to get into position. Spectre himself stalks out from behind the curtains, dressed in an immaculate gray suit and smiling arrogantly. After enjoying the brief spotlight for a moment, he finally realizes his actual wrestler isn’t on the stage. Spectre reaches back through the curtains and pulls Wino Jack through. Jack wears a pair of shorts made from a burlap sack, cinched around his midsection with what appears to be a bungee cord, and an IWC shirt that doesn’t appear to have ever been washed, with a large hole in the front. There seems to be a bird living in his beard, and he regularly takes a deep swig from a bottle in a brown paper sack.
Wino Jack stumbles down to the ring, with Ross Spectre occasionally shoving him or kicking him to speed him up, while the private camera crew circles the scene to get as much footage as possible. Upon reaching the ring, Jack tries to slide into the ring, but can’t quite get his leg up high enough and falls off. Spectre ends up helping him by essentially throwing him in. Jack just sits in the ring drinking while waiting for the bell
Hurse: Robin, reminds me of you on a Saturday night but without the skirt around his head
Robin: That was one time Steven and you loved it
Dollar: There’s the bell…let the massacre begin
Kellen arrogantly steps to the center of the ring inviting Jack to join him, laughing as his opponent’s stumbles to his feet. Kellen meets him with a right hand, and then another, snapping Jack’s head back on his shoulders but other than that not having any effect. Kellen then grabs the wrist of Jack and Irish Whips him into the ropes, scooping him up and dropping him with a Body Slam into the canvas. Kellen gets to his feet and is surprised to see Jack stumble up to his almost immediately, a dazed look on his face.
Brooks: Seems you were right Steven, he doesn’t feel a thing
Hurse: And Spectre at ringside knows that
Kellen trash talks Jack whilst circling him, then jumps in with a kick to the stomach which doubles Jack up, Kellen spinning him around and dropping him to the canvas with a Back body drop, following them up with an Elbow Drop across Jack’s chest. He then gets him to his feet with some effort and whips him into the corner, following it up with a Splash into the corner. As Wino stumbles out of the corner Kellen waits patiently for Jack to turn around, before drilling him with a Flying Forearm Smash. He then nips down and into the cover
1…
Wino Jack kicks out to Kellen’s chagrin, but the onslaught doesn’t stop, Kellen hooking Jack by the head in a head lock whilst forcing his knee into the spine of his opponent.
Dollar: Very impressed with Jeffries at the moment, showing a lot of determination to not allow Jack to get started
Hurse: Does Jack even know where he is?
Kellen gets Jack to his feet, still talking smack, before lifting him up and delivering a Spinning back suplex which brings the crowd to their feet, and not for the first time this evening
Brooks: Another cover
1…
2…
Wino Jack kicks out, showing his resiliency in abundance. Kellen scoots to his feet and measures Jack, going for the Standing Moonsault. But to everyone’s surprises Wino Jack rolls out the way, and Kellen hits nothing but canvas, before quickly rolling out the ring and to the outside to boos from the fans
Brooks: Kellen knew Jack could have got something going there and got out of the way and fast
Hurse: Who can blame him? I’ve heard this Jack character doesn’t ever wash, not even his…you know?
Brooks: Are you going to say penis?
Hurse: Well, I was, but you’ve said it for me
Dollar: Jeffries is one of the quickest around, and he put that to good effect there to escape.
Finally Jeffries rolls into the ring after motioning for Jack to back off. Jeffries runs in, looking for a knee lift, but Jack pushes him away, sending Jeffries flat on his back. As Jeffries quickly gets to his feet Jack gouges Kellen in both eyes temporarily blinding him.
Hurse: That’s cheating, come on referee
Dollar: Jeffries isn’t adverse to that himself, what’s good for the goose?
Hurse: I’ve never understood that saying, it’s like you can lead a horse to water but you can’t make it drink. Because you can, just dunk its head in…and it drinks
Back in the ring Jack follows up his illegal move with a punch to the throat, Kellen rocking back towards the ropes. Jack then hits a clothesline which sends Kellen to the outside and this time not intentionally. Jack slides under the ropes and to the outside, picking up Jeffries and dropping him onto the steel steps head first, the crash reverberating around the Manhattan Center. Spectre simply slaps his man on his back, whilst Jack picks Kellen up to his feet, but unfortunately receivers a low blow from Jeffries which causes him to let go. Almost comedically he drops to one knee and then falls over to the side
Hurse: I don’t care how drunk you are, you receive a shot to the pills, and you feel it
Brooks: And Jack felt that for sure
Jeffries shakes his head to get rid of the cobwebs from the mini salvo, before walking over to Jack. As he picks him to his feet however Jack head-butts him right between the eyes, then intentially knees Kellen in the groin
Dollar: Touché Kellen Jeffries, what’s good for the…
Hurse: Don’t, just don’t Johnny.
Brooks: Kellen just got a taste of his own medicine, and I didn’t need to see that thank you Jack
Wino Jack takes a look at his jewels, making sure they are ok, before sliding Jeffries back into the ring and following him. Jeffries holds his groin in agony, but Jack, egged on by Spectre doesn’t stop there, and climbs unsteadily climbs the turnbuckle. Jeffries see’s this however and runs over, grabbing Jack and hitting a Superplex from right there at the top of the turnbuckle.
Dollar: And that right there is the difference between a seasoned competitor and a drunken bum. Now finish it Jeffries
Kellen drops to one knee, shouting out at the fans
Hurse: Just pin him already
Brooks: He’s hesitating too much
1…
2…
3…
No, kick out by Jack at the very last second. The crowd jumps to their feet and start a ‘Wino Jack’ chant all around the arena. Kellen leans over the ropes; not liking what he is hearing and flipping off at the crowd
Dollar: Pay attention Kellen for Christ’s sake. Look behind you
Jack and crawled across the ring, and reaches up, rolling Kellen up into a pin
1…
2…
A surprised Jeffries manages to kick out, and he launches into a brutal assault on Jack, slamming his foot down on Jack’s prone body over and over. Jack doesn’t attempt to cover up, the blows raining in on his body whilst all the time Kellen shouts expletives at him.
Hurse: Someone’s lost it
Dollar: Do you think?
Kellen drags Jack upright once again, and being motioning to the crowd and gyrating his hips. The crowd is going absolutely crazy, willing Jack to escape, but he doesn’t and Jeffries hits the Heavens Gate, a reverse neck breaker which leaves Jack prone in the center of the ring.
Brooks: Now this time, pin him.
Hurse: He won’t
Jeffries climbs a turnbuckle and taunts the crowd, really going to town on his insults. He turns around, pointing at Jack and laughing, before jumping down and walking over to a corner, retrieving something from ringside and the referee checks on Jack
Brooks: What’s he doing? Up to no good no doubt
Dollar: I think I know what’s coming
Hurse: Ewwww, Johnny please waits till the dressing room
Dollar: What?
Hurse: Filthy bastard
Brooks: He’s got the Brass Knucks…referee for God’s sake do something
Jack pulls himself up on the corner and staggers into the center of the ring. Jeffries doesn’t hesitate, and hits a Spinning Back Fist, right into the temple of Wino Jack who collapses to the floor. The referee immediately checks Jack, giving Kellen time to dispose of the weapon
Hurse: Job done
Dollar: Not the most classic of victories I grant you
Brooks: He’s not won yet…here’s the count
1…
2…
3…
NO…at the very last possible second Jack throws up his shoulder, Kellen pulling at his hair in frustration. He jumps to his feet and remonstrates with the Alex Ingelson who holds up two fingers which annoys Kellen even more
Hurse: Now that was surprising…this particular Wino just keeps hanging in there and it’s frustrating the hell out of Jeffries
Brooks: He needs to stop blaming people and get this done
Kellen shakes his head at Ingelson, before grabbing Jack’s hair and pulling him to his feet. At this point Jack draws his hand back and slaps Kellen across the cheek which reddens immediately. Jack seems to have gotten a second wind and he starts to throw punch after punch, each one hitting their target. He then grabs Kellen and whips him across the ring, Clotheslining him with authority. Jack steps back a little as Kellen gets to all fours and Jack runs in, viciously punting Jeffries in the head, seemingly knocking him clean out
Brooks: What a turn around, Jeffries is in massive trouble here
Dollar: Wino Jack is going for it here, this could be over
He drops into a pin
1…
2…
Kick out by Jeffries
Brooks: If he’d hooked a leg he would have got that
Dollar: He’s nowhere near the standard of talent Jeffries is, but he could have won it right there
Jack picks Kellen up and grabs the back of his head, pulling it down just as he lifts his knee up, nearly snapping Jeffries head of his shoulders. Jeffries falls to the mat once more, Spectre pointing to the top turnbuckle where Jack starts to climb to the top, the crowd chanting his name
Hurse: What the hell?
Dollar: Have you ever seen a drunkard fly Steven because I think you are about to?
ack leaps from the turnbuckle but Kellen has it scouted and rolls out the way, the crowd erupting in boo’s as Jack’s face hits the canvas hard, his flying head butt failing in the worse possible way. Kellen quickly pins Jack, a handful of tights helping his cause
1…
2…
3…
Spectre slides into the ring as Kellen rolls out the other side, Alex Ingelson holding his arm aloft
Dollar: One mistake and that’s all it took. That is the level at which we are at folks, and Wino Jack just earned that lesson the hard way
Hurse: Yeah, but it’s not like he is going to remember it is it?
Kellen celebrates his win with Spectre shouting at Wino-Jack as he staggers up the ramp. Jeffries rolls up to his knees and is standing up when he looks outside the ring when he notices two men and a woman jump over the barricade. Dressed in street clothes, one of the men carries a chair with him while the other seems to be filming a now very nervous looking Jeffries in the middle of the ring. The woman who is sliding into the ring ahead of the two men, does so with some rope in her hand and a huge smile on her face. Seeing all of this going on, Ross Spectre grabs Wino Jack pulling him from the ring before he can even grab his flask from the corner, and quickly ushers him to the back while Jeffries is frozen now, unsure of what to do, as the two men have entered with woman, who is now waving at him.
Robin Brooks: Alright the match is over, what is going on here?
Hurse: I don’t know, but it looks like Kellen Jeffries knows who he is looking at here.
Johnny Dollar: Actually I think I’ve seen these three poking around on twitter the past couple weeks. That’s….
Hurse: Don’t say it. Whoever they are or whoever they work for, they are not on the IWC roster, and we are not giving free publicity to anyone else.
Robin Brooks: Damn right.
Seeing no other alternative despite having just been in a match, Jeffries chooses to fight. Turning to the man with the chair, Jeffries rushes him with a clothesline. Being fresh though the man ducks underneath and then when Jeffries turns around he nails him in the head with a pele kick while wearing cowboy boots that draws ooohs and ahhs from the crowd. Just getting started the second man picks Jeffries up to his feet and nails him with a couple of stiff forearms to the face as the woman moves in behind him and drives her fist into his groin
Robin Brooks: Wow. Jeffries has been worried about trying to find his son. He might not need to worry about having any more kids after that.
Hurse: Let this be a lesson kids. Don’t spend all of your time lying and trying to piss other people off.
Johnny Dollar: I have a feeling these three are just getting started too.
Jeffries grimaces in pain, and drops to his knees following the low blow. Before he can hit the canvas however, the woman has moved around in front of him while the second man starts filming everything on the I-Phone. Locking in a front face lock, she drills him with an impaler style DDT on the chair that is now in the middle of the ring to even more ooohs and ahhs. Not to be outdone, the first man, with an empty look in his eyes, rips up Jeffries who is now bleeding from his forehead, gets him in position and hits a thunderous inverted double underhook face buster, driving the back of his head into the chair now with a sickening thud. Handing the I-Phone to the woman, who drops onto the mat in order to get a closeup of Jeffries face as this goes on, the second man locks the motionless, bleeding man in a brutal crippler crossface
Robin Brooks: Whoever they are, this needs to stop and soon! They are decimating Kellen Jeffries.
Hurse: And they’re not even on the payroll here.
Johnny Dollar: I have never understood people who will willingly work for free.
His attackers now stand over the fallen Jeffries, continue to film everything on the I Phone. It looks like they might be getting ready to leave when the woman with a bright smile on her face leans over and talks with the two men who nod in approval. From there, the second man with the phone walks over to a corner and perches himself on the top turnbuckle, keeping the camera rolling. Meanwhile the first man sets up the now slightly warped chair, and with the help of the woman sets Jeffries on it, before the two of them tie him in place with the rope she brought. The woman then hands the man Wino Jack’s flask that was left in the corner. The man takes a big swig from the bottle and spits it out in Jeffries blood covered face while the woman starts skipping in a circle around the two of them, still smiling and singing “Burning down the house”. Not satisfied yet, the man empties the rest of contents probably half the flask over Jeffries body from the
head down
Robin Brooks: Alcohol in open wounds, you know that just burns.
Hurse: I don’t think Jeffries is conscious enough to feel it. I still want to know what the meaning of all this is, and what in the hell is wrong with that girl? She’s singing now?
Johnny Dollar: More like what is wrong with all three of them. One thing is for sure, they don’t give a damn about Wino Jack or Ross Spectre. If they did, the two of them would probably be laid out right now next to Kellen Jeffries.
Robin Brooks: Someone needs to put a stop to this guys.
Hurse: You heard her Dollar, get in there.
Johnny Dollar: Yeah, I think I’ll pass.
The contents of the flask now empty, the man gets into Jeffries face, as his head falls limp and yells
Man: You are nothing but a fraud, Saint!
There is absolutely no reaction from Jeffries who doesn’t move, and this seems to anger the woman. As the man gives way to her she gets into his face now, picking up his head screaming
Woman: You look at My Cowboy when he is talking to you, Saint!
Still no reaction, the woman slaps Jeffries hard across the face.
Woman: I said wake up and look at him damn it!
The force of the slap throws Jeffries to the mat, while still tied in the chair. The woman just shrugs and takes out a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of her jeans along with a book of matches. She lights the cigarette and takes a puff
Robin Brooks: I’m sure smoking is not legal inside this building…
Hurse: Something tells me she really isn’t worried about the law my dear.
Johnny Dollar: You both make good points.
Walking over a few steps away from Jeffries next to the man, the woman puts her arm around him and kisses him, then looking back she…..
TOSSES THE LIT MATCH ON THE ALCOHOL SOAKED BLEEDING JEFFRIES, SETTING HIM ABLAZE!
Robin Brooks: Kellen Jeffries is on fire! The man is literally burning in the ring!
Hurse: Damn it, get someone out here to help him now!!
Johnny Dollar: I’m at a loss for words…I’m never at a loss for words.
Satisfied the filming is over, the second man hops down out of the corner and rejoins the first man and the woman. The three of them then exit the ring like nothing happened, and hop back over the guard rail, leaving the way they arrived through the crowd, which is now in stunned, horrified silence thanks to their actions. In less than a minute, EMTs, and security rush the ring to put the fire out with extinguishers and aid Jeffries anyway they can as the scene fades to commercial
Robin: In no way can we condone what just happened out here. This is disgusting.
Hurse: Kellen Jefferies just massacred.
Dollar: EMTs trying their best to aid him. But how do you aid someone who got burned alive?
Brooks: I understand we’re going to be hearing from Orlando Cruze in a few moments, hopefully he’ll have something to say about what just happened. Can’t believe this took place on our first show back.
Hurse: Disgusting, absolutely disgusting. Who were those three masochists?
Robin: Can we cut to something else? Please! I understand we have that promo from the Chase Wrestling Collective…FINALLY….can we air it already?
The show cuts to anything that isn’t EMTs tending to a scorched Jefferies.
Imposing doesn’t even begin to describe Bash Kincaid and Hugo Magnusson, the heavy hitter and the technical tyrant. They stand shoulder to shoulder, arms crossed over their chests and smug grins on their faces. Though their smugness can’t even begin to compare to the man who steps front row center, Adam Chase himself.
Adam Chase: At long last the LA Boy, Adam Chase gets his moment in the spotlight. It’s what you have all been anticipating throughout the night, the chance to hear from a member of the most influential family in all of professional wrestling.
Egotistical doesn’t even BEGIN to describe Chase’s present demeanor.
Chase: The Chase family comes to the IWC….
A hand raises to the heavens as he looks towards an imaginary marquee, reading it aloud.
Chase: No…that doesn’t sound right…how about, ‘The Chase Family takes OVER the IWC..,’ yeah, has a much better ring to it. And you know what? It won’t be that difficult when I’m flanked by an army comprised of two of the most talented men to ever grace a professional wrestling ring. Two men who could win the World Title on their own, so just imagine what their capable of when paired together. Wait, you won’t have to imagine, because you’re going to see it, and Sinsation is going to feel it.
Slaps are given to the shoulders of both Magnusson and Kincaid, who continue to resemble human statues cut from pure marble.
Chase: I bring to you Hugo Magnusson and Bash Kincaid….pure dominance! Key players in the ascent of Adam Chase to the top of the wrestling pantheon. Two men who will be instrumental in my take-over of the IWC, and my eventual take-over of Los Angelus, a REAL city, unlike the canker-sore that is Manhattan.
Merely mentioning IWC’s home turf puts a sour taste in Chase’s mouth, one that he spits out.
Adam: IWC serves a means to an end, and nothing more. The Chase family widens its sphere of power…
Right in the midst of tearing IWC a new asshole that same video distortion seen earlier in the night ruins the feed. The images of the TCWC are replaced with static, and the words of Adam Chase are overtaken with the sounds of overlapping voices.
For we Are Many
For we Are Many
For we Are Many
Static begins to take shape, a figure barely visible amongst the pixilation. That same lady adorned in a mask and dress sits Indian style in the center of the empty, but obnoxiously well lit room while the bowler hat wearing gentleman stands over her back, hand pressed to her shoulder and hat over heart.
Gaunt: Needs of the flesh…
The figures known as Hush and Silence vanish, giving rise to static before transitioning into a close up image of Gaunt’s moving lips.
Gaunt: Money…
Legion stands in the epicenter of that empty room, arms stretched to his sides and head lowered so that his piercing gaze is focused on the floor.
Gaunt: Love…
Hush and Silence appear kneeling beneath the outstretched arms of Legion before Gaunt’s smirk overtakes the screen.
Gaunt: Friendship….
Hush and Silence disappear leaving Legion standing in the near blinding light alone.
Gaunt: They need none of these…they need only to defile…to desecrate. For we are many.
For we Are Many
For we Are Many
For we Are Many
Static.
A still image of Kellen Jefferies lying on a stretcher, neck braced, and burned flesh elevated above the heart, comes into view.
Robin: Welcome back to Riot!, and thankfully, during the break, the EMTs deemed Kellen Jefferies to be in good enough condition for transportation.
Hurse: That kid is never going to be the same, never.
Dollar: In all my time doing this I can safely say that I have NEVER seen someone set on fire like that before. I could actually smell Kellen’s flesh roasting.
Hurse: Again, I’ll repeat myself….who where those three psychos who did this?
The video captured during the commercial features the fans giving a supportive clap as Kellen is wheeled up the ramp towards the backstage area. His career cut short, if not ended at the hands of the three mysterious monsters who mangled him so.
Dollar: Speaking of violence, I understand one of your little legends…one with a passion for blood, gore and Clive Barker novels, has something to say.
Hurse: Oh please don’t be talking about who I think your talking about. If it’s Psycho, I so didn’t come prepared. I’m not even wearing huggies.
HAHAHAHAHA….
Whoever said that laughter is the best medicine has never met Isaac Saine…Mark Hamil’s creepy Joker chuckle has absolutely nothing on the Sadistic One….The giggles serve as nothing more than pure nightmare fuel for Susie Moore, who proves that woman do not just glow but definitely sweat. It looks like she just swallowed not only a canary but an entire aviary as she approaches the back of the demented monster. He leans against a conveniently placed chain link fence that cages a number of crates.
Susie: Okay, you’re a professional, you can do this. You have a diploma, you have a diploma. No one messes with anyone who has a diploma. But just in case…
She takes out her lucky Treasure Troll doll and kisses it before utterly several Hail Mary’s.
Moore: The power of Christ compels thee…the power of Christ compels thee.
Finally Moore works up the courage to fully address Isaac.
Susie: Ummm, Mr. Saine.
Isaac: Yeeeeeesss?
It doesn’t make it any easier when Isaac turns to face Susie. All the pigment has been drained from her features.
Saine: Why if it isn’t lil’ Susie Moore. The beautiful yet so gullible Susie Moore.
A lock of her hair is picked and smelt by Saine.
Moore: Uhhhhm, yep, that’s me…
Isaac: What brings you here, Susie? Want me to recount my favorite IWC memories, perhaps? Or maybe, just maybe, you’d like to help me create some brand new ones.
Moore: I think I’ll pass…
Saine: Oh, then you must want me to comment on my match against Eddie Vines tonight. Yes…that’s what you’re expecting, isn’t it? A few verbal jabs at Vines…a few crazed comments about the level of violence I intend to unleash upon him. Probably a couple blood and gore references? Is that what you want?
Susie: Yep.
Isaac: Sorry to disappoint Susie, bur I’m not obsessed with the past. Though this Vines character is. Naturally it seems to be a revisionist version of the past. He brings up my time spent playing tiddlywinks with Too Magnificent, and opts to forget the buckets of blood I drained from Chapel’s body. He talks about my naked antics, and ignores the brutality I unleashed on Killjoy. Why? Because he deflects. He tries to make ME sound like the butt of a joke, when clearly, Vines is the punch line….And the only one who will be laughing by the end of the night, is I, Isaac Saine. Yes…Hashahaha. That’s all I can do when I think about Vines…laugh. Cause although he perpetuates himself as a hardcore GAWD, he’s done nothing to prove it. He’s proven nothing to me, nothing to the fans, nothing to anyone, not even himself. His claims of being hardcore, have never been backed up here in the IWC, and anything he’s done way…way.. WAAAAYYY
in the past means jack-SHIT!
Susie swallows her heart.
Saine: I look at Vines, and I don’t cringe, I laugh. Like he said, he’s nothing more than a gimmick. But me…I’m 100%, I breathe hardcore. I embody hardcore…I AM HARDCORE. And that’s…well…no laughing matter…..HAHAHAHA.
Isaac turns back towards the chain link fence, and Susie takes a breathe for the first time in the past five minutes.
The eyes all focus on the stage as King Zero by Drowning Pool hit’s over the P.A System. The crowd get to their feet and start to boo as Frankie Paradise confidently struts out from the back wearing his wrestling attire along with trademark leather jacket with his name emblazoned on the back. The Los Angeles Native spins around and points to his back with his thumbs before turning back around with a smirk on his face.
Ring Announcer: “Ladies and Gentleman, hailing from Los Angeles, California. He weighed in tonight at 180lbs – FRAAAAAANKIEEEEE PAAARRAAAADDIIISSEEE!!”
Paradise looks at the nearest camera hyped up after the introduction pointing to himself.
Frankie Paradise: “YEAH BABY! WOOO! Who’s your daddy, I am bitches!”
He then begins to confidently walk down towards the ring as the female fans scream amongst the mixture of boo’s. Once he reaches the bottom of the ramp he stops and smirks before approaching one female fan in the front row and leans in pointing to his cheek, but just before she can get kiss it he moves away and laughs leaving her heartbroken as he leaps onto the apron and enters the ring. The crowd continue to boo as Frankie climbs to the second turnbuckle and begins to remove his leather jacket and tossing it to someone at ringside. He then runs his hands through his hair and removes his sunglasses with a confident smirk on his face throwing them down as well before stepping to the canvas from the corner and turning around running the ropes getting the feel for the ring…
Dollar: Glad to see that seductress Susie Moore got out of that interview in one piece.
Hurse: I pity Eddie Vines tonight. I’ve went to war with Isaac Saine more times than I can count, and when you’ve pissed him off, your just asking for years to be taken off your career.
Robin: Switching gears, here comes this hot new up and coming star….
Hurse: Hot?
Brooks: Don’t get jealous.
Hurse: I’m not, was just gonna correct ya, cause this guy is SMOKIN.
Diamond: Frankie Paradise, one of several new stars looking to make an impact here in the IWC, and demonstrate their self worth in my eyes as well. This guy could be a very good addition to my growing list of clients. He just oozes charisma.
Brooks: He oozes something that’s for sure.
Once in the ring Frankie is in the process of sizing up referee Michelle Blacker, eyes undressing her before demanding that she frisk him for weapons. Tentatively she feels his knee pads and boots before he insists upon moving higher. Just as she begins to do so Frankie gently swipes her arms away and holds up two palms, ordering her to control herself. Before she can even finish rolling her eyes, the tunes of Frankie’s opponent blare in the background.
As the thumping beat of “4th of July” starts, the Statue of Liberty appears on the tron. El Presidente comes marching out and heads towards the ring. He stops to hand out small American flags to the fans. If there are any babies at ringside, he will pause to kiss them and check out the racks on their mothers. Once his duty is accomplished, El Presidente slides under the bottom rope. He climbs to the second turnbuckle and salutes the crowd. Then El Presidente hops off and waits for battle.
Dollar: El Presidente making his debut in the Manhattan Center, where he too looks to showcase to the world the skills he’s honed plying his craft.
Hurse: Ya’ know, I don’t remember voting for this guy.
Robin: Oh please. The last time you voted you wrote in Troy McClure, I don’t even know who the hell he is.
Hurse: Only the single greatest peripheral character in Simpson’s history.
Johnny: Wonder if Presidente is going to gain a few new constituents after this match against the brazen Paradise.
An answer doesn’t have to wait very long as Blacker signals for the bell and the match gets underway. Surprising, given his pre-match statements and actions, Frankie steps forward to adhere to a certain code of honor, hand extended towards El Presidente. The leader of the masses closely eyes the outstretched palm and sneers beneath his mask before accepting the handshake.
Predictably the gesture was all just a snare, and El Presidente seemingly fell right into the trap, exposing his nether regions to a boot from Paradise. But no…wait….behind his mask there proves to be a much sharper brain than one would have anticipated, Presidente catching the foot with toes mere inches from his sack. Frankie begs off and explains he was swatting at a wasp dangerously close to El Presidente’s crotch, but the lucha star turned political juggernaut buys it not. He shoves the foot down, sending Frankie into a spin followed by a fireman’s carry that puts him right on his rear-end, back exposed to a brutal shin kick between the should blades.
Dollar: Looks like our President didn’t fall for that one.
Hurse: How disrespectful, Frankie was just trying to keep those annoying Manhattan Center wasp away. We really need to call an exterminator.
Robin: I can think of a few PESTS they can start with.
The kidney imploding kick has Frankie in fits, scurrying across his butt on the canvas like a dog with worms. Eventually he ends up in the ropes, clutching them desperately as El Presidente tries to drag him back to the center of the ring by his shoulders. Paradise only lets go long enough to hit an elbow to his adversary’s temple, knocking him back. The escape allows him to slip to the apron but the reprieve is only brief as El Presidente is right back on him, reaching over the cables and grabbing his wonderful fro.
The locks are yanked, ruining the precisely combed style of Paradise but putting him back on his feet in the process. Frankie reaches up though, wrapping an arm around the masked man’s skull and beginning to drop down to hang him up throat first upon the ropes. Before his windpipe could be crushed the master orator saves his larynx for future summits and state of the union addresses, yanking his head free and grabbing the back of Frankie’s in the process.
El Presidente charges his opponent across the apron and throws him into the turnbuckle, hoping to inflict some very series cranial calamity. However, Frankie grabs the corner and leaps into the air, clearing the top rope while twisting his body so that he lands with ankles right on top of his challenger’s shoulders. He lets go of the corner and twists, throwing El Presidente skull first into the top turnbuckle pad with a modified leg scissors.
Robin: Some lovely transitions from these two leading into that head scissors.
Dollar: Maybe El Presidente should have thought ahead and put some padding in that mask to keep such things from happening.
Hurse: Give the man a break, Johnny. For crying out loud he’s running a country, he doesn’t have time to think about things like these when he’s juggling things like finance reform, lowering the budget, and loads upon loads of sexual harassment lawsuits.
After delivering the move Frankie leaps back to his feet from a head-stand position, showing off to the disgust of the males and the delight of the ladies. He then turns back towards Presidente and charges in, delivering a quick knee to the back of his the kneeling man’s skull. The blow proves devastating, causing the masked man to collapse to the canvas where he again finds himself in a prone state, cause Paradise grabs the top rope and jumps square onto his ribs. The double stomp connects but Frankie isn’t done there, he begins to rapidly stomp with one foot after another against the mid-section of Presidente, all the while gripping the top rope.
It takes Blacker’s intervention to finally end the brutality and blatant cheating from Paradise, taking him by the shoulder and physically pulling him off of his opponent. Immediately Frankie spins around so that Michelle’s hands are on his chest, causing her to instantly pull away in disgust.
She backs across the ring as Frankie violates her personal space, swaying his hips in the process of approaching her. All this wooing leaves him exposed, Presidente regaining his senses long enough to grab his opponent’s shoulder and spin him around. But now its’ his hands coddling the exquisite man teets of Paradise, who acts unsurprised that even the males wish to fondle him. But the type of fondling El Presidente commits goes way beyond heavy petting, almost raking the nipples clean from Frankie’s chest.
Frankie desperately tries to cover up his sternum before throwing a right hand that hits nothing but air. Paradise ducks it and takes off into the ropes behind his opponent. There’s barely enough time for Paradise to spin around before his jaw is rocked by a diving back heel kick from Presidente, taking both men down to the canvas.
The shot leaves Paradise decommissioned but puts El Presidente at the top of the heap. Back to his feet he lunges before lifts his arms into the air then drawing one directly to his chest.
El Presidente: U…S….A!
Those patriotic Americans in the crowd recite the very same initials and then watch as El Presidente ricochets from the ropes and drops an elbow square against Frankie’s chest.
Dollar: El Presidente hamming it up…
Robin: You’re hardly one to talk about hamming it up….I’ve seen your Twitter.
Hurse: ROBIN! You SLUT!
Dollar: To be fair, Steven, a lot of women have been exposed to my Twitter.
After the perfectly placed elbow El Presidente sits up and applauds himself, several of the fans joining in. One person not clapping or joining in the jocularity is Paradise, who rolls instinctively across the ring to create some separation between he and his opponent. He ends up in the ropes, utilizing them to reach his feet before El Presidente steps in and grabs him by the shoulder. Another reverse elbow attempts to derail the Luchadore’s momentum but misses this time, a simple ducking allowing him to avoid calamity. The momentum of the missed swing sends Frankie into a spin, his back pressed to the ropes which he is sent tumbling over thanks to a quick running lariat from his opponent.
Frankie not only flips over the ropes but collides face first with the apron on his way down, doing double damage.
The brain trauma leaves Paradise staggering around like an inebriate post an Applebee’s Happy Hour bender, desperately trying to find his footing. Just as he braces himself, El Presidente leaps over the ropes to the apron then drops the back of his legs against the top cable, flipping back into an Arabian Press that connects right against his adversary’s shoulder, taking both men down.
Robin: El Presidente going for broke….
Hurse: Might as well, he’s already bankrupted the country…And by the way, I give that one a solid 7.
Johnny: I give it a 6.5.
The fans are in hysterics, hyped beyond hyped by the last move that has Paradise still toppled but Presidente back on his feet, clapping his hands like he was just elected to a second term. The celebration is cut short as he rolls into the ring then back out to break Blacker’s ten count, ending up on the apron and poised for yet another devastating, mojo shattering blow to his opponent.
A discombobulated Paradise gets to his feet, looking like he just drank a beverage spiked with some GHB. In spite of getten’ tipsy, Paradise stands just as El Presidente rushes across the ring and prepares to take flight. Frankie’s training, what he can remember of it, kicks in, allowing him to evade the dive by dropping to his back then rolling under the tarp beneath the ring. The Luchadore stops cold in his tracks, not even giving himself time to be annoyed before he’s leaping to the mats and reaching beneath the ring, going after Paradise, who fails to surprise anyone when he rolls out from under the other side of the squared circle.
He insists that the crowd ‘shush,’ putting a finger to his lips then zipping them shut. Unfortunately for him, the crowd fails to adhere to his demands, cluing the Politician into the ploy set into motion by the man crawling around the ring, still hoping to get the drop. He stands up in a crouch before taking off, Before he can reach the corner steps, El Presidente cuts him off, rushing at the stairs, stepping off them and leaping into a forward flipping plancha that connects to Frankie’s sternum. Again both men hit the mats but El Presidente isn’t down for long, leaping to his feet and throwing a hand over his chest as he recites the pledge of allegiance.
Dollar: Lil’ Frankie’s plan backfires again…nothing working out for him thus far in this match.
Robin: If he spent a little less time concentrating on his tan and a bit more time preparing for the match maybe he’d be doing a little better right now.
Hurse: Would you guys hush it? You’re being totally unpatriotic. Can’t you see we’re doing the Pledge of Allegiance.
Johnny: You keep on doing that Sport.
If only El Presidente had an American flag to wave he’d been in total glory. Instead of baring the red, white and blue he tries to turn Frankie black and blue, leading him to his feet and jacking his jaw with a forearm so stiff it sends him twirling back into the ring. The true Patriot leaps to the apron and slips through the ropes, straddling them just long enough for Frankie to rush to his feet, grab the middle cable and yank it straight up into his star spangled scrotum.
The fans groan along with El Presidente, suffering sympathy pains as a result of the strike to his crotch. Yet in spite of it all he tries to stand upright, getting almost his entire body into the ring with one leg still draped over the middle rope. The lightning fast Paradise uses the middle rope again, this time the one running perpendicular to the one that El Presidente still straddles, springing from it and delivering a devastating roundhouse kick square to the forehead.
The crowd shows appreciation, the camera catching their reactions and displaying them to their delight on the titantron.
Paradise: Dude, seriously, WTF!?!
He shouts over the top rope at the camera operating, insisting he stop filming the crowd and keep the lens focused on him for the entirety of this match, especially after such a move that razzles and positively dazzles.
Dollar: I think that Frankie’s reputation of being a hot-head is deserved.
Hurse: He’s right to be angry, these fans should be frothing at their mouths and totally disrobing right now. Especially that blonde in the third row…..OWWW!
Robin: I’ll give another pinch if you’re not careful.
To make Frankie even angrier, he turns and spots El Presidente rising back to his feet, back aimed in his direction. With all the motivation that rage can give him, Paradise rushes in, snatches his opponent around the neck and delivers a painful running reverse DDT, crushing the masked skull.
At the sight of Presidente writhing in agony, Blacker finally blushes and tries to fan herself off, letting her true predalections shine through. Though he was just dumped on his head, the Masked Man is trying valiantly to get back to his feet only to have Paradise step in nonchalantly and give him a kick right to the ribs, flipping him onto his spine. A grinning Frankie drops into the lateral press and adds insult by rubbing his forearm against the bridge of his opponent’s nose.
1
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El Presidente staves off defeat via throwing a shoulder from the ring. Outrage doesn’t even begin to describe Frankie’s disposition as he rises to his knees and slaps his hands in front of Blacker’s face, asking her if she can even count past two.
Michelle remains too flustered to be insulted by such accusations, therefore Paradise puts his focus back into physical decimation rather than verbal defamation. He grabs El Presidente by his masked head, lifts it and then slams it back down to the canvas before doing it again and again. Finally Blacker is forced to intervene, though she really really would prefer to continue watching. Instead of confessing any wrong doing Paradise claims that he was merely adjusting El Presidente’s mask. While he has Michelle distracted he puts his heel against his opponent’s eye and grinds it against the pupil.
The cheating goes unnoticed by Blacker but not the fans, who react with disgust over the reprehensible actions on display. Paradise tunes out the masses he approaches El Presidente, snatches him by the back of the head and sits him on the canvas before ultimately bouncing off the ropes and diving into a lariat right to the throat of his seated prey. El Presidente is down and perfectly positioned for the next plan of attack, Paradise jumping to his feet then approaching the turnbuckle, scaling to the middle rope.
Robin: Frankie is getting freaky, he’s about to take flight it appears.
Hurse: Where is El Presidente’s secret service when he needs it?
Brooks: Probably getting some action in a South American hotel.
For whatever reason there is no one to watch El Presidente’s back, besides himself. Just as Frankie reaches the top rope with spine facing opponent, the Luchadore regains his faculties, rushes in and shoves his legs out from under him. As a result Frankie drops to his bum on the top rope and then falls back, ending up in a tree of woe.
Hurse: This is SO not where Frankie wants to be right now.
Dollar: I feel his pain.
With his opponent trapped El Presidente looks to take immediate advantage. Although his bell is still rung, he knocks the bats from the belfry and rushes into the opposite turnbuckle before darting across the ring into a Bronco Buster. His crotch repeatedly slams against Paradise’s jaw and face, inflicting some serious damage and insult as well, but this is one insult the crowd actually gets behind, cheering on every second of Paradise’s humiliation and pain.
Hurse: I’m guessing El Presidente learned this move from some of his interns.
After decimating his opponent with his rump, the masked politician drops into a backwards roll, ending up on his feet only briefly before landing a basement dropkick right to Frankie’s face. The crowd howls with delight while Frankie drops out of the corner like a limp noodle. A determined Presidente takes his opponent’s wrist and ankle, dragging him to the center of the ring then stepping over his body and ultimately flipping back into a standing moonsault that connects right on the money, but will it take him straight to the bank?
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A kick out by Frankie is achieved just in time to keep him in the game.
Before frustration can set in El Presidente reaches his feet and takes the bangs of his opponent into his hands once again, utilizing the fro to lead an unconscious Paradise to his feet. He then lifts Frankie into the air and connects with an Atomic Drop, payback for the earlier strike on his testicles. Paradise’s most prized possession is cupped by his hands as he hops in place, remaining upright long enough for a discus forearm smash to almost ruin his perfect grill.
Hurse: Our Commander and Chief really building some momentum now.
Brooks: He’s closing in on victory that’s for sure.
Hurse: Hopefully he has as much luck in the poles in 2016.
Though his brain is rattled Frankie staggers to his feet eventually standing up, albeit by instinct instead of choice, just as El Presidente swings around into yet another discus elbow smash. To the surprise of many, El Presidente particularly, Paradise ducks out of the way and swings behind his opponent, catching him around the waist. This time he suffers a reverse elbow though right to the temple, knocking him into a backwards roll where he ends up on his knees.
El Presidente charges in to keep the advantage only to rush right into a lunging headbunt directly to the testicles. The collision connects with enough force to double El Presidente over and knock all the wind from his sails. Just as the crowd begins to suffer right alongside him, Frankie further deflates their hopes by delivering a running reverse STO, the Snap Shot driving El Presidente skull first against the canvas.
Dollar: Paradise calls that the Snap Shot! Can it put El Presidente away?
Hurse: Don’t worry Presidente, I’ll still vote for you.
E Presidente is down and out as Frankie crawls into the cover, both legs hooked and victory within his grasp.
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As Michelle’s hand slaps the canvas El Presidente kicks out just a second too late.
Brooks: Paradise victorious in his debut here in the IWC, but El Presidente put him through one heck of a match here.
Dollar: And the circumstances of Frankie’s victory were a bit cheeky however, to say the least.
Paradise immediately rolls from the ring after the victory, not wasting any time on Blacker or the fans. Instead he postures to the delight of absolutely no one but himself, smirking a very toothy smirk on his way to the backstage area. El Presidente watches on, recovering in time to watch the disgusting celebration continue while also holding his swollen nether regions.
The spotlight is given over to what many consider to be the most important object in all of the IWC….no, not Orlando Cruze’s incredible arching eyebrow…but what rests over his shoulder. Glistening…lustrous gold….the IWC World Title remains in the possession of the Icon, the man who defeated…nay decimated and destroyed his half brother in the land of Supreme in order to hold the gold at that very moment.
Mark Comeau: No false advertisement…when I promise a big interview, I deliver on the goods. I’m standing by with none other than the President of the IWC himself, Orlando Cruze.
Smug wasn’t a strong enough adjective…no…there was no adjective in the English language that could possibly describe the expression on Orlando’s face. He looked at one…at peace planted in his roller chair, eyes scrutinizing a stack of documents, and fifteen pounds of gold weighing down his shoulder. Oddly the same comfort level is not extended to Comeau, who is forced to stand as he addresses the President.
Comeau: Tonight has already been a big, big GANGBUSTERS kind of night as the IWC makes its return to the wrestling scene….
Orlando: Yes…yes…no need to thank me any further, Mark, I know you owe your livelihood to me, but the fan mail I’ve already received is gratitude enough. If you keep this up I might start to get a swelled head.
Mark carries on with the interview after a brief batting of his eyes.
Mark: Mmmkay…So has tonight lived up to your expectations thus far, Orlando?
Orlando: Naturally….
A full on scoff is restrained.
Cruze: All the hard-work, all the sacrifice, all the lost hours of sleep and skipped meals…seriously…I went without lunch several times this week….pretty much lived on a bag of Combos….anyway, the damage to my digestive track and the kinks in my colon have been worth it. Things couldn’t go anymore perfect…why, because that’s exactly how I planned it. And when I put my head to it, anything can be accomplished, just like bringing the IWC back and returning it to its former…wait…bringing it to GREATER glories than its ever seen before.
Comeau: Indeed. You’ve brought together quite a blend of talents, the old guard, sort of speak, meshing with a new younger group of stars. What was your thought process when it came to assembling the roster for the re-launch?
Orlando: I’d like to take all the credit for the great roster we have here in the IWC, and lord knows I could…but my main man Jacob Lyman did a little bit of the leg work.
Mark’s eyes almost rolled right out of his head.
Cruze: I wanted to pick guys I KNOW can go in that ring, talents that took me to the limit and tested my tremendous skills….Which is why you have people like Christian Savior and Silencer coming back into the fold. I know those two could sell pay-perviews and put asses in the seats….Granted they got much of their exposure in matches against me, but that’s neither here nor there at the moment…Then you have people who I see a lot of myself in, be it Frankie Paradise, who just OOZES charisma, or Xander Cassius, who brings a unique style to the ring. I look for people who like myself, just have it all, the total and complete package, and that’s what you’ll see outta the likes of El Presidente and the Chase Wrestling Collective.
Mark: It’s a great roster to say the least….
Orlando: Once again, you’re welcome, Mark.
Comeau: Oh….well thanks, I guess. Of course what everyone has been asking about, and no doubt everyone on this new roster is in pursuit of, concerns that very belt sitting on your shoulder right now.
Confusion is at first displayed by Cruze before he turns his focus to the title, acting like he just realized it was glued to his shoulder.
Orlando: OH! It is a thing of beauty isn’t it?
An answer wasn’t necessary, Orlando well aware just how good the belt looked, especially with his reflection in it. He holds the gold across his forearm, staring at the initials ‘IWC’ and reminiscing on his glorious moments performing under those very letters.
Mark: Indeed. And what would be even more beautiful is if you could give us an official announcement regarding how you will crown the very first IWC….
Orlando: Talking about beautiful titles…I’m about to give you a sneak peek of the brand new Evolution Championship, Mark.
From a drawer in his desk, the Evolution Championship is plucked and placed where the camera can get the best view of it.
Orlando: That’s why I agreed to this interview tonight, Mark. Obviously I’m a very…VERY busy man, but I had to address all the questions on Twitter regarding the Evolution title….
Comeau: Yes, there has been a lot of speculation about this new belt…but just as much attention has been devoted to the crowning of the first IWC World….
Orlando: And believe me, I’ll be getting to the coronation of a new Evolution Champion soon enough, but first I want to answer all the questions regarding what makes THIS title truly unique. To show just how different the IWC is, this belt gives the holder that ultimate choice, THEY’LL get to decide the stipulations its defended under.
Mark: Oh?
Orlando: That’s right….within reason of course. For example, say the Champion wants the belt defended under submission or last man standing rules…then that’s precisely what they’ll get. Hell, they can even decide that it can only be defended exclusively in evening gown matches…seems like a stipulation right up Isaac Saine’s alley. And the title will constantly change stipulations depending on the whims of whomever is holding it….again…within reason. Brilliant, huh?
Comeau: I suppose….
Orlando: Mark, Mark, stop….I’m blushing. And this is just another of a long line of what I dub, Orlando Innovations.
Mark: Yeah…speaking of innovation…do you have some creative means of crowning our first IWC World Heavy….
Cruze: And another thing I’m sure everyone is wondering about concerns what happened to Kellen Jefferies earlier tonight. Rest assured, I’ll take care of that as well. I will find and punish the culprits responsible for his attack.
Mark: Ooookay. But about the World Ti…
Orlando: Hold that thought….look what the cat dragged in, played with, then puked back up on the braided rug.
Mr. D: What a ‘warm’ greeting.
A surprisingly loud reception is heard for SCW’s reigning figure head, Mr. D, boldly walking right into enemy territory. There are a lot of boos but many gasps from the Manhatanites, stunned to see the SCW’s Boss standing vie a vie with the IWC Icon. In spite of his disingenuous greeting, Cruze rises in order to shake hands with Mr. D.
Orlando: You can expect nothing less outta me, D-Man. Not to sound like a bad host, but why in the hell are you in my office?
Mr. D is totally unaffected by the lack of tact.
Mr. D: I’ll gladly get straight to business, cause I really don’t want to share oxygen with you for too long, Orlando. Excuse me for busting out the proverbial ‘as you know, Bob,’ but Cruze, even though you’ve convinced the fans via social media and what have you not, that your solely responsible for the rebirth of the IWC, I don’t think even YOU could forget that it was I who got into the ear of SCW’s Board of Directors and got them to invest in the resurrection of your lil’ federation.
Orlando swallows his pride and upchucks his next comment.
Orlando: I haven’t forgotten.
Mr. D: Of course you haven’t. And I’m sure you know that this deal we have set up doesn’t come without it’s fair share of strings attached. Seriously, you can’t think the Board of Directors would sign off on something like this without having a safety net.
Orlando: What’s that supposed to mean?
The skin on Orlando’s face changes shades, though it’s pretty much an amalgamation of every pigment known to man already. He looks sick over having to play Mr. D’s game on his own home turf.
Mr. D: I went to the Board and got them to back this whole resurrection in order to get YOU, and all your trouble making friends OUT of my company….and the Board jumped at the opportunity given all the chaos YOU’VE created.
Cruze looks a little proud of himself.
Mr. D: But given that chaos and carnage you and your buddies are responsible for…along with your extremely poor choice in judgment, the Board has decided that you might need someone to keep you in check.
Orlando: What?
His shade has gone from red to green.
Mr. D: I don’t like to repeat myself. I SAID, that the Board has opted to assign you a baby sitter sort of speak, and I’ve been interning him over in SCW for the past couple of weeks getting him ready for this position.
Orlando: Really? Heh.
Orlando laughs to save face, but internally he’s a pot ready to boil over the edges.
Orlando: DESMOND….you can come in now.
The shout is heard through Orlando’s door, and the stubby straight laced Desmond Drake comes strolling right through it. His eyes are wide, either through mass quantities of opiates, or from sheer glee. His smile is about the length of his whole body as his previously mentioned large eyes gaze upon the disgruntled Orlando. It doesn’t take long for Cruze’s anger to shift into amusement after being forced to look down….and down….and down at Desmond, who barely even stands level to the Icon’s hips.
Desmond: Hello Mr. Cruze, I’m Desmond, and I just have to say that it’s an honor to be working alongside you.
A diminutive hand reaches out but is not reciprocated with a shake.
Cruze: Real cute, Mr. D. Is it bring your kid to work day or something?
Desmond awkwardly lowers his hand.
Mr. D: Be nice, Orlando. Remember, Desmond here has been entrusted with all the powers of the Board of Directors, he’s there on sight decision maker. So if you too don’t see eye to eye….
Orlando: Ha…what a poor choice of words.
Mr. D:….He has the power to not only challenge, but override your decisions. And if you piss him off, you piss off the Board of Directors, who are not nearly as forgiving and understanding as I am.
The implication sits about as well on Orlando as the expired milk he mistakenly drank several days ago, which resulted in a steaming pile about the size of the man who has been assigned the task of being his handler.
Mr. D: You two play nice. Don’t make me have to come back to this city again.
With the will of the Board of Director’s decreed, Mr. D makes a hasty exit, going back to greener pastures. Dissension is left in his wake, an awkward and tense silence ensuing between Drake and Orlando. Finally Desmond breaks the lull.
Desmond: I uhhhh…really am looking forward to working with you, Mr. Cruze. I’ve always been a HUGE fan of yours.
Orlando: Not that ‘huge’ I imagine.
The statement is said just loud enough to offend Drake.
Desmond: Sorry?
Cruze: I said it SHOULD be a HUGE honor for you. But can I give you a word of advice?
Desmond: Of course…
Orlando: I hope you realize that the IWC is a whole different animal than SCW.
Drake: Absolutely….
Orlando: Please don’t interrupt me.
Desmond tries to take this demand….order….in stride.
Cruze:…So everything you learned from Mr. D, means zilch…nadda…understood?
Desmond: Okay, I understand….
Orlando: And you’ll do just fine if you remember to stay out of my way.
In spite of Orlando’s ego and attitude, Desmond hasn’t lost his smile as easily as Shawn Michaels after being asked to do a job.
Desmond: I know I’m inexperienced, but I’ve been preparing for this pretty much my entire life. I have a LOT of great ideas, including a solution for crowning the first IWC World Champion. Do you have a minute so we can sit and talk about….
He’s already in the process of pulling up a chair….with both hands of course and by the legs….before Orlando cuts him off….AGAIN.
Orlando: Oh my…didn’t realize it was THAT close to main event time….
He informs while checking his Rolex.
Cruze: Got to make a major announcement regarding the title. We’ll totally talk later though…Nice meeting ya, Donald.
Drake: It’s Desmo….
Orlando was already out the door before Drake could finish correcting him…as if the Icon would have actually listened had he stayed behind. Another awkward silence now ensues when Desmond realizes that Comeau is still standing idly by, picking gunk from his finger nails.
Desmond: Hi, I’m Desmond.
His call for a friendly hand-shake once again goes unanswered.
Comeau: Yep.
Mark walks off without even acknowledging the pint sized new owner.
Frankie: Did ya see that, it was the GOAT…it was total GOAT!
The sounds of Frankie Paradise’s voice fill one of the many pointless backstage corridors. Now this area of the Manhattan Center does serve a purpose though, ‘wooing’ purposes, as Paradises shamelessly puts the moves on Taylor Chase by virtue of bragging. She has her face buried predictably in her I-Phone, nodding occasionally.
Frankie: Ya should have seen it, it was wicked. My friend Goggles was probably even blown away by it…if he actually watched my match that is…he doesn’t turn the TV on very often, he has some kind of fear about Matthew Perry trying to brainwash him or something. Anyway, back to my decimation of El Presidente….it was…it was….
It finally sinks in that Frankie is not the center of Taylor’s universe.
Paradise: Yo, hello, are you listening to me.
At long last she looks up from the phone and glares in annoyance at Paradise.
Taylor: You’re talking to me?
Frankie: Yeah, I know you feel pretty honored.
Taylor: What are you? Like twelve?
The confidence that was oozing from Frankie, now evaporates completely.
Taylor: Tell your Mother to stop buying your clothes.
With that Taylor goes back to tweeting.
Paradise: Listen here, Bitch…
The derogatory term takes her focus from the phone at long last.
Frankie: I’m Frankie Paradise. I’m the guy who just won his debut in the IWC. I have legions upon legions of fans…and probably a lot more Twitter followers too.
Chase: Oh, I know you didn’t just go there….
Taylor: You listen…bitch….I’m THE Taylor Chase….the offspring of the ‘BROD’ himself….and I don’t waste my time on guys who can’t even grow a chest hair.
Frankie feels his sternum, suddenly wishing that he were like Sparkles, and at least had some peach fuzz.
Paradise: Whatever, bitch…
Taylor: Oh please…bitch.
Frankie: Bitch.
Taylor: Bitch.
Hey…hey…hey..mis compadres.
Before the ‘bitch-off’ can continue, El Presidente swoops in and tries to calm nerves, draping his arms over the shoulders of both Frankie and Taylor.
El Presidente: Can’t all us bitches just get along?
Taylor: Why are you touching me right now?
El Presidente’s arm is forced back off of Taylor’s shoulders. He steps back to quickly hoist his Vice President into the air, an obnoxiously quacking duck.
El Presidente: As Commander and Chief, I’m trying to bring peace and stability to the backstage area, Hermosa chica. And it won’t involve shock and awe to do it.
Taylor: I’m not even going to start with you…
Frankie: Why does your breath smell like White Castles?
He questions while swiping the odor away.
El Presidente: We need a summit, yes, a peace summit. Then we need people to protest the summit. I’ll bring galletas and ponche de frutas.
Chase: Okay, I’m done with this.
The President and VP are brushed aside, leaving Frankie and Presidente to have further discussions….maybe.
Paradise: If you ever touch me again, I’ll give you the same beating I just did in the ring.
Clearly El Presidente is NOT frightened by the threats, even as Paradise takes a step towards him, hoping he’d flinch but getting absolutely no reaction. He then walks off shaking his head.
El Presidente: Silly Americanos…but they are our potential voters. Speaking of which….
El Presidente’s focus shifts from the duck in his hands to the gyrating Ninja a few inches away. The masked gun…or squeaky toy for hire…is in the midst of doing his best Saturday Night Fever, John Travolta impersonation.
El Presidente: Hola, mi compadre.
Disco turns to address the Luchadore without missing a single step in his dance routine.
El Presidente: I’m El Presidente, pleased to make you acquaintance. Do you have a baby, I’ll kiss it…appropriately.
There is no verbal response from That Disco Ninja, who shakes his head instead.
El Presidente: I understand you are a professional hit-man? Si?
Disco nods while doing the Bunny Slope.
El Presidente: Do you, como se dice, bodyguard as well?
Disco nods while doing the Giddy Down.
El Presidente: Fantastico.
The wheels are turning in El Presidente’s head, a plan unfolding beneath the blue mask.
The show goes back to ringside, featuring the three person commentary team.
Dollar: Nobody having very much luck with Taylor Chase tonight.
Robin: What a cold fish.
Hurse: Let the poor woman tweet for crying out….
This will NOT be accepted…
Brooks: What a shock, ANOTHER interruption.
This time it’s not one of the three combatants in the main event interrupting the proceedings, but Eddie Vines himself. He storms down the ramp, nostrils flaring, and veins bulging through his skin. There is no entrance music, as Vines would undoubtedly talk over it anyways.
Vines: I’m outraged…I’m pissed beyond pissed!
He shouts while entering the ring through the ropes.
Eddie: Why? Because the IWC refused to sanction a hardcore match between myself and Isaac Saine tonight.
Steam almost shoots from his ears.
Vines: There worried about property damage. Ewwww, they want to make a good impression on those corporate ass kissers who run the Manhattan Center. Ohhhh…they don’t want to offend the Board of Directors. That is total and complete BULLSHIT!
His saliva flies at the camera.
Vines: How can you put two monsters in the ring like Isaac and I and not let us tear each other part with no rules? It’s ridiculous! I came here tonight to make a point about hardcore wrestling, to show what it truly represents, and then I find out our match isn’t going to be contested in the realm of extreme. Unacceptable! And to make matters worse, Isaac Saine questions my hardcore credentials? He calls me a nothing? He shows no fear of me whatsoever!?! Unreal!
Eddie continues to spit venom after feeling like he was dosed with poison.
Eddie: You know what IWC, I hate to piss on the parade, but you’ve backed me into a corner and you set me off, so tonight’s match won’t happen. Saine and I aren’t going to wrestle one on one….no….make it unsanctioned, do whatever pleases you, cause one way or another, we’re going to get in this ring and we’re going to beat the living shit out of one another without rules or limitations. Isaac and I will go hardcore tonight! And he’ll find out that I am NOT just a gimmick.
The microphone is thrown aside and Vines paces impatiently in anticipation of his opponent.
Brooks: What a strong statement just made. Apparently Orlando Cruze REFUSED to make this match Hardcore.
Dollar: It’s the first show back, why would he want to taint it with such mindless violence?
Referee Fitzpatrick is on his way back to the ring, given no break whatsoever, even though he sports such a magnificent…magnificent beard. Beard or no beard he’s called back to duty, trying to manage the insanity that should follow, or at least that’s what he thought. He doesn’t even have time to go over the rules with Vines before the combatant steps right up to his face, making some statements of his own.
Vines: What in Jupiter’s cock do you think your doing here?
Confusion is contagious, Fitzpatrick AND the fans with decent hearing catching a case of it. Patient numbero uno, Eddie only exacerbates instead of cures this ailment, refusing to let the official perform his normal prematch rituals.
Eddie: Why the fuck are you here?
A smile forms on Fitzpatrick’s face, clearly thinking this is no more than a joke….it has to be…nevertheless he gives a quick reply.
Fitzpatrick: I’m gonna officiate the match.
The grin remains plastered on Fitzpatrick’s face until he realizes that Vines isn’t playing around, that he is stone cold serious.
Vines: Your going to do what?
Fitzpatrick: Ref….the….match….
Vines: What match?
Fitzpatrick: Yours.
Fitzpatrick wishes that the cackle of laughter from Vines broke the tension, but it only made it a hundred thousand billion times worse. The hives on the referee’s arms were now growing hives of their own, and what hairs on his head weren’t gray quickly joined their brethren.
Eddie: You fool….There isn’t about to be a match….Which means your not needed.
There is no laughter from Vines, only violence in the form of a cruel dispatching of the referee. By the beard Fitzpatrick is dragged across the ring and eventually tossed through the ropes before crashing forcefully against the mats.
Hurse: BALLS! What the hell just happened?
Dollar: I don’t think Eddie Vines understands what a wrestling match is supposed to be…You kinda need a referee to you know, make the three count and all that jazz.
Robin: Apparently Vines doesn’t think this is going to be a wrestling match and he doesn’t need a referee for this. Ummmm, I hope that Orlando is doing something about this. If Vines and Saine go at it totally unrestrained, we’re in for an absolute perfect storm of chaos.
Fitzpatrick hasn’t even started cradling his aching pelvis before the all too familiar tunes of Saine’s entrance music explodes through the speakers. Eddie’s crazed eyes snap to the entry way as does the attention of the gathered masses.
Robin: So ummm, confused….are we gonna have a match here or not?
Dollar: Whoever booked this match in the first place couldn’t think in a million years that these two would actually wrestle each other.
“Empty Walls” blares through the PA system and without delay Isaac Saine storms through the curtains, marching straight down the ramp as he gears up for what should now be a most violent collision.
The moment Saine reaches the end of the ramp he’s pounced upon by a laughing Vines, who is entirely TOO enthused to stir up some chaos. He instantly grabs Saine by the back of the head, dragging him across the mats and throwing him face first into the ring post. His masked skull ricochets from the steel before he goes twirling into the barricade.
Brooks: Talk about a chaotic way to start the matc….wait, can I even call it that?
The barrier props up Isaac long enough for Vines to come rushing in looking to indulge his masochistic tendencies only to be thrown by the back of his skull this time, ending up embracing the barrier shoulder first. He remains perched against the steel aching, and enjoying every single moment of it, even the brutal open hand palm strike to the chest that follows.
Yet Saine isn’t through living up to his hardcore reputation, grabbing Eddie’s wrist and whipping him with every bit of strength he has into the perpendicular barrier. The collision of bone to steel resembles the sound of a gunshot reverberating throughout the Manhattan Center, actually resulting in a cringe from the masses. But the violence hasn’t even begun to molest the tip of an iceberg, evident by the fact that a steel chair is already being dragged from the front row by Saine.
With the chair raised aloft Saine pounces on his opponent only to run right into an absolutely sickening gore to the mid-section that sends him crashing violently into the thin protective mats.
Dollar: That’ll rearrange some vital organs.
Hurse: Me thinks that Saine will be pooping out his spleen tomorrow.
Robin: This is just sheer chaos. Can we get some confirmation yet? Is this a MATCH, or what? Did we get a disqualification, or did it even start?
Johnny: No ref, no answers.
The chair that threatened Vines earlier now finds itself in the hands of the intended victim, being placed in an unfolded seated position on the mats. Eddie turns from the steel chair to the steel mask of his opponent, seizing some hair and using it to drag Saine up to his feet. By the bangs Saine is dragged down face first into the chair then turned so that he is seated on top of it. Eddie then slides into the ring, leaving his opponent in a prone precarious position, takes the top rope and launches himself over into a cross body. The fans are shocked to witness the ghastly sight of Vines crashing down from such heights right into Saine’s sternum, imploding the chair beneath both their weights.
Dollar: How positively violent of them.
Hurse: I give it a 5.5.
Johnny: I’ll be a bit kinder and give that dive a 7. He all but killed himself in the process after all.
The extent of his injuries have been overstated by Dollar, or maybe Vines’ brain just hasn’t caught up to his battered body, which is already upright and pouncing on Saine. Shockingly Isaac is working his way up as well, walking right into a hailstorm of forearms to the back and elbows to both sides of the temples. The shots leave Saine disorientated but not entirely out, still remaining upright as Eddie gets a running start and smashes a forearm against his jaw. Somehow Isaac pulls off his best Leaning Tower of Pisa impersonation, remaining upright as he teeters beneath feet, prompting his deranged opponent to come rushing in with a second forearm.
The elbow does not connect with flesh because Isaac catches his opposition coming in and drops back into a release belly to belly overhead suplex on the outside mats. The padding offers little to no protection as Eddie implodes upon it, sitting up and cringing yet maintaining that disturbing grin upon his face.
Referees come out to check on the condition….but not of Vines or Saine…they are assisting Fitzpatrick to his feet and clearing him from the battlefield.
Robin: Ummm, if they’re taking Fitzpatrick away should the three of us get out of here too?
Dollar: Knew I should have brought my protective pope bubble.
Hurse: I wore a chastity belt, but I don’t think it’s gonna help me.
With Vines down Saine approaches the steel stairs, dividing it straight down the middle, completely removing the top layer. Eddie is none-the-wiser as he reaches his feet and turns just as Saine throws the extremely heavy steps several feet so that they eventually collide directly with Eddie’s forehead. The high impact echoes throughout the arena, police perhaps being informed that there is some type of gang style shoot-out occurring inside the Manhattan Center.
The force of the impact of steel to skull sends Isaac staggering back and spilling onto the steel plated ramp way. This incursion upon their personal space entices the referees to put a pep in their step, eagerly clearing out of dodge with their injured colleague propped between them. They get through the curtains just in time to avoid being caught in the crossfire. Vines crawls up the ramp with Isaac in hot pursuit, having a new weapon in hand, an electrical cable attached to one of the video cameras. Said cable is utilized as a noose, ensnaring the throat of his opponent, transforming his face to a blood red hue.
Robin: Saine is strangling Vines…and….and there’s nobody to stop this.
Hurse: Honestly, looks like Vines prefers it that way. He seems to be enjoying this.
Dollar: He’d be the only one.
The cord continues to deprive any air supply to Vines’ head, yet he still has enough oxygen to laugh maniacally. This only entices Saine to put more torque on the choke-hold before ultimately utilizing the cord to drag Eddie to his feet then throw him high into the air, ultimately sending Vines crashing back first across the steel ramp.
Saine tosses the cord aside and instead employs his own hands as weapons of mass destruction, immediately digging his claws into the eye sockets of a kneeling Vines. Roars of anguish mix with giggles of glee as his face is ripped and torn viciously by the Sadistic One.
The gouge eyes are utilized to drag Vines to his feet then charge him straight up the ramp where he is eventually smashed face first into the struts supporting the titantron. There is no give…either from the steel strut or from Vines’ skull, rattling his brain…or at least what’s left of it. He ricochets off and turns right into the waiting arms of Isaac, who scoops him up onto his shoulder then charges him spine first right back against the very object that just caused him such grief.
Hurse: These two well versed and using every part of the building as a weapon. I wouldn’t be surprised if they picked you up and used you as a weapon Dollar.
Dollar: My mind is the greatest weapon of them all, Steven, which is why I have such an exquisitely large head. Not to mention a breathtaking fro sitting upon it.
The sheer force of steel colliding with spine almost implodes the internal organs of Vines, resting like a limp fish over the shoulder of Saine. But there is no rest for the wicked. Isaac backs up then charges him spinal column first against the steel strut a second time, inflicting untold amounts of damage. Somehow Vines reaches back with his arm, locking it around the strut as his body hangs from it, suspended above the ramp.
Saine, eyes bulging from the slits of his mask, backs several feet and then gets a running start in order to splash…nay totally squish Vines against the support. Before Eddie can be flattened into a pancake he shocks everyone, Isaac especially by leaping off of the strut, catching the inbound Isaac around the neck and delivering a gruesome tornado DDT that puts his deranged opponent cranium first right into the steel.
Dollar: That’ll leave you loopier than huffing paint varnish after a Saturday night binder.
Brooks: Gnarly DDT right on the stage, but would THAT even be enough to hold Saine down?
Johnny: Elephant tranquilizers wouldn’t even be enough.
No attempt at a cover is made, mostly because this contest has become nothing more than an unsanctioned war between two of IWC’s most demented combatants. Vines, in spite of the many welts and bruises forming on his skin is already back on his feet screaming at one of the fans in the front row. Although he’s doubled over, barely able to stand the show attendee does not trifle with the demented beast, doing exactly as he’s told, even though it means sacrificing his chair.
The seat is thrown over the barrier and onto the stage where Vines catches it then swings it forcefully against the ramp, getting himself psyched up. Unbeknownst to Saine, true horror awaits him as he grabs that same steel support and utilizes it to reach his feet, turning just as Vines rushes in and swings for the fences, chair traveling directly at his skull.
At the last second Isaac ducks, the steel traveling right past his head and smashing the inanimate prop. Somehow, even though a reverberation tears his hands apart, Eddie holds onto the chair and turns, taking his eyes briefly off the ball. This leaves him susceptible to the impending spear from Isaac, who looks to get revenge for Vines’ earlier infringement upon one of his devastating moves. And Saine’s spear does prove devastating, for HIMSELF.
Eddie side-steps the inbound spear and as a result, Isaac crashes into the support, or more accurately, THROUGH the strut. His head goes completely through a hollowed out section and ends up sticking out of the opposite side.
Before the shock of the predicament can even set in Vines seizes the advantage, swinging the chair into Isaac’s completely unprotected head, smashing it between steel and steel. But he doesn’t stop there, he rushes around the stage in a semi-circle, building momentum before leaping into the air, sticking the chair beneath his feet and dropkicking it right into Isaac’s prone cranium, squishing it like a watermelon on the end of a Gallagher sledgehammer.
Robin: Repeated chair shots to Isaac’s face, certainly won’t hurt his looks but isn’t about to improve them either.
Hurse: Saine got his head stuck in that strut like Winnie-the-Poo getting his head caught in a honey jar.
Dollar: Never make such comparisons again, please.
The chair and the dropkick uncorks Saine’s head from the strut, launching him out of the support and back a few steps. In the midst of his discombobulated stagger, he turns his back to Vines, exposing it long enough to receive a vicious shot right between the shoulder blades that again sounds like a gun blast throughout the building.
Hurse: Looks like their taking this backstage.
Dollar: Thank God.
Robin: My sentiments exactly. They were getting WAY too close to our announce table out here. If ANYTHING were to be spilled on my dress, blood included, they’d have to face YOUR wrath, Steven.
Hurse: MINE!?!
It’s unclear which is dented up worse, chair or the bones it’s collided against several times. Once again the chair slams against Isaac’s back, knocking him almost through the curtains. Improbably he remains upright, turning as Eddie places the chair on the stage before him then gets a running start, leaping from the seat into a flying leg lariat that knocks both men through the curtains.
Dollar: These two sycophants fighting their way through the curtains….Wonder if anyone in the back is gonna try and stop this.
Robin: I don’t know if anyone should risk life and well being getting between these two.
The crowd watches on, both thrilled yet upset that this violent brawl has spilt over into parts unknown, unable to witness the culmination to the chaos.
Robin: Talk about brutality. What are we going to see next here on Riot!?!
Hurse: Can we get something a bit more wholesome this time? Maybe some Care-Bears or My Pet Pony?
The toothiest of toothy grins stretches from one earlobe all the way to the other as Orlando Cruze walks like on cloud nine. There is quite a pep in his step, obviously overjoyed by everything he’s witnessed thus far tonight. Perhaps the jovial mood is exacerbated by the very World Title belt that he won from his brother over in SCW, the IWC Championship, which remains wrapped about his shoulder.
Orlando: Big things happening. Oh yeah, big things…
Cruze continues down the corridor towards the gorilla position, ready to make yet another bombshell announcement. Before he can get there however, he’s cut off by the imposing figure that is Too Magnificent, decked out in blue jeans and a black polo shirt, in full regalia for his new position as Road Agent.
Too Magnificent: Hey, Big Man on Campus. Need to talk at you for a second.
Orlando: As long as it’s JUST a second, got some big news to deliver involving the title.
Too Magnificent: Fair enough. Just wanted to know what you want done about Vines and Saine?
Orlando: What about them?
Too Magnificent: Uhhh…well…they just kinda beat up a referee and fought their way backstage. And as far as I know their still beating the holy hell out of each other.
Orlando sneers.
Cruze: So?
Too Magnificent: Shouldn’t we do something about it?
Orlando: Answer me something, do you ever get between two dogs when their fighting for a piece of meat? No, you don’t, you let them finish. Survival of the fittest.
Too Magnificent: So you want me to just keep letting them go at it?
Orlando: Yep. Let them fight it out of their systems. And if they end up taking each other, well then, problem solved.
Too Magnificent: Maybe I should talk to that new guy, what’s his name, Desmond something or other.
Orlando: NO!
The sneer quickly transforms into a look of indignation.
Orlando: I’m the BOSS, I’m the one running this show. So what I say, goes. Don’t question my authority.
Too Magnificent: Fair enough.
Orlando: Now I’ve got ACTUAL business to take care of.
Orlando continues on his way towards the ring, leaving a miffed Too Magnificent in his wake.
The entrance lyrics of Katelyn Buehler’s song continue to feed through the PA system even though she’s already in the ring, adorned with the X-Class Championship and clutching a microphone.
Brooks: Katelyn is back everyone…
Hurse: And she still has plenty of back too.
Robin: Steven…
Hurse: Should I just go ahead and pinch myself?
Brooks: Save me the trouble. But Katelyn might be in trouble considering she’s STILL wearing the X-Class Championship. She was the last reigning X-Class Champion, and from what I heard, the company plans on bringing that Title back.
Dollar: I think her bigger problem is who she’s facing tonight.
Although she’s only been back in the fold for seconds, she’s already got a microphone and like Eddie Vines moments ago, plans to rip the IWC a new one.
Katelyn: Ladies and gentlemen, Eddie just came out here and talked about injustice. Well I’ve got some injustice of my own to discuss. Namely, the way IWC has outright IGNORED the fact that I’m STILL the X-Class Champion…
She removes the belt and holds it up high.
Buehler: They just overlook me. They think they can bring back the X-Class Division while totally ignoring the fact that I’m STILL your champion. That’s a REAL injustice. And I’m going to march straight up to Orl…
Static….
The arena lights go dark and suddenly there is a pounding of a drum, akin to a beating heart as a spotlight shines down upon the IWC entry ramp, showing where a sigil of some sort has appeared during the few seconds of darkness.
The double beat sounds once again and the light vanishes, and all is black once again. A third repetition sounds, and the spotlight is back, revealing that a black guantleted hand has torn through the metal mesh of the entry ramp. A fourth and the arena lights come back up, but in a sinister blood red as the hideous flame-hued mask of Legion appears on the jumbotron.
The monster has torn himself free of the entry ramp and raises his arms as guitars play for a moment and columns of flame light up the IWC arena, sending the lights back to their normal state. Legion walks to the ring, rolling under the bottom rope and stands, raising his left hand into the air.
Hurse: Holy God….Mother Mary of Jesus…Robin, protect me.
Robin: I’ve never had a stronger desire to run to the ladies room in my entire life.
Dollar: What the hell is going on with our monitors and the lighting in this building.
Hurse: I don’t know, and I don’t wanna know. I just want my binky.
Terror incarnate, Legion stands menacingly so on the apron, glaring into the soul of Buehler. Katelyn tries to act tough even though buckets of sweat saturate her arm pits and face. She is frozen like a deer caught in headlights, unable to move as Gaunt instructs Legion to enter the ring. Just as he puts a foot over the ropes Buehler dives through the opposite set of cables, lunges the barricade and rushes screaming through the crowd.
Johnny: Seriously? Katelyn Buehler is running away.
Hurse: Out of sheer terror. I don’t blame her. If my ankle wasn’t in a ball in chain right now, I’d be joining her.
Brooks: Buehler would rather run then even TRY to face this…this…THING.
Leland shakes his head and cracks a smile that is anything but pleasant. He slips through the ropes and steps to the side of Legion, the behemoth dropping to his knees in the center of the ring. Gaunt pats him on the shoulder and overlooks the masses with raw displeasure.
Referee Ingelson has already made a ten count, disqualifying Katelyn Buehler on the basis that she fled instead of fought.
Hurse: I don’t think Katelyn Buehler is going to be the last person we see take a count out instead of facing this demon that is Legion.
Brooks: This man is pure FEAR. Who in their right mind, would WANT to face off against him?
Legion continues to kneel in the ring, hands bound into fists, ready to victimize but finding no competition willing to endure his onslaught.
Static.
Due to video distortion in the ringside cameras, they switch to some backstage ones featuring an upset Adam Chase leading Bash Kincaid and Hugo Magnusson towards the ring. Clearly the LA Boy is none too happy over the constant interruptions to his promotional video throughout the night, and it looks like Kincaid and Magnusson are about to do something about it.
Hurse: Hopefully we’ll actually get a match here next, as TCWC makes their debut.
Robin: With the way this night is going, who knows what the hell is going to happen next?
Dollar: And that Legion guy and Gaunt can leave right now…pretty please.
Instead of the usual exchange of verbal fisticuffs one would expect to emanate from backstage, its literal fisticuffs this time. Knuckles fly into flesh as Isaac Saine and Eddie Vines fight their way down the corridor through the catering loading and unloading zones. This is of course means they are surrounded by numerous crates and loading bay doors, which will undoubtedly find their way into the fray momentarily. As predicted it doesn’t take long for Vines to be led along by his bangs face first against one of said doors, the steel shaking upon the collision.
Dollar: These two are STILL going at it. Do you guys hire you’re security guards from the mall or something?
Hurse: Probably from the Baby Gap.
Robin: No one has pulled these two apart YET!?!
Hurse: Like you said earlier, who would want to try?
A dent is left in both the skull of Vines and the loading door, yet shockingly Eddie remains upright. It takes an absolutely sickening running big boot sandwiching his head between the door and Isaac’s especially large foot to finally topple him. He collapses to his butt, spine wedged to the very door that just inflicted so much damage upon him, remaining in a seated position perhaps to his detriment…strike that….DEFINITELY to his detriment. This becomes painfully clear the moment Isaac gets his hands on a large steel crate poised upon a set of rollers.
Hurse: This ain’t good.
Dollar: So gonna wear a splatter guard the next time I come to one of these shows.
Those in attendance watch with baited breaths as Saine pulls the crate into position, about to transform Saine’s head into nothing more than an ink blot test.
Saine: Ya want some violence? I’ll give you your Goddamn hardcore.
The crate is pushed from a distance with all of Saine’s strength, traveling straight towards the skull of his victim. However, the shoe goes on the other foot, Vines leaping to his feet, jumping into the air, landing on top of the crate and then diving off right into a lariat to a shocked Saine’s throat. Both men collapse to the concrete.
Robin: Eddie avoids having his brain turned into jello.
Hurse: And catches Saine with the lariat all in one swift move.
Dollar: These two won’t stop until one of them is DOA.
Back to their feet the two brawl, continuing to exchange rights, lefts, from both fists and feet before Eddie leaps into the air for a knee strike. To his dismay the knee meets air and the crease of his knee is caught right on top of Isaac’s shoulder. Saine acts quickly, catching his opponent’s opposite limb and throwing it over his shoulder as well. Before Eddie can react he’s turned and power bombed maliciously and viciously right on top of the steel crate he leaped off of earlier. Eddie’s spine curls from the crate as a look of unbridled agony drapes his features, yet a trace of a smile remains n his face.
Dollar: Brutal powerb….
Hurse: He’s not done yet!
Before the magnitude of the last move can set in and Vines even has an inkling of a chance to recover, Saine grabs the back of his knees and swings him off the crate like a pendulum side first into the loading bay door. He bounces off and collapses upon the concrete with a thud, looking totally incapacitated at long last.
Saine: You’re over….YOU’RE DONE!!
Barks Saine as the pain finally begins to set in. He feels the large knot on the top of his head as a result of the DDT on the stage earlier upon staggering away from a barely breathing Vines. The war has concluded, Saine falling against a nearby crate and utilizing it as crutch as he chuckles to himself rather dementedly.
Isaac: Hardcore….HA!
The ‘ha’ transforms into an ‘ah’ the moment that very crate loaded on wheels comes rolling at extreme velocity right into his lower back. Isaac is launched to the ground as Eddie comes staggering in, barely able to stand.
Saine: You stupid bastard! DIE ALREADY!
Saine fights his way back to his feet under a hailstorm of forearms and right hands as the two do their dance off camera.
Johnny: It’s just like I said, which makes sense considering that everything I say comes true….These two are gonna have to kill each other.
Hurse: Or die trying.
Dollar: Wait…How does that make even the slightest bit of sense?
Brooks: The violence between Saine and Vines continues backstage, and it’s showing no signs of ending.
Hurse: Can we just call in the National Guard already?
Dollar: As if it couldn’t get hotter in here, my word I’ve been waiting for this next match
Hurse: Big fan of Hugo and Bash are you?
Dollar: I’m of course talking about Sinsation, Domino and Charity
Hurse: Of course you were
Brooks: Children, if you hadn’t noticed we have a match about to happen, and two teams who will have their eyes on the tag team prize…that rhymes, did you see what I did?
“Woman” by Wolfmother hits over the loudspeakers, and when the guitar hits come in, the lights begin flashing blue and white.
“Woman! You need a WOMAN! You’ve got to BE a woman! I got the feeling of love…”
Charity Bizarre bounds out from the back, a bundle of energy, and accompanied by her wife Domino, who strolls out behind her. She stops at the top of the ramp and turns to Domino, blowing her a kiss. Domino catches it with a cheesy expression on her face, they have a good chuckle, and then they head down the ramp, Charity jogging energetically.
“When you, you’re talking TO me, you see right THROUGH me! I got the feeling of love!”
At the bottom of the ramp, they turn to each other, then run and slide into the ring together under the bottom rope, Charity swinging herself to a kneeling position as Domino pushes up to a standing base.
“She’s a WOMAN, you KNOW what I mean! You better listen, listen to me: she’s gonna set you FREE, yeahhhh, YEAH!”
Charity looks up and behind her, delicately raising a hand, which Domino takes and uses to lift her up to standing. She twirls her around on the hand and they end up in a dancing embrace, Domino dipping Charity, and the crowd roaring for them to kiss. With a mischievous raise of an eyebrow on both parts, they make out to the roars of the crowd.
“She’s gonna set you FREE, YEAAAAAHHHH, YEAH!”
With Charity now twirling Domino this time, Domino looks at her wife with a seductive gaze before sashaying out of the ring. Charity watches for a second, then goes to a corner and stretches out to warm up.
Dollar: And these two can wrestle as well…I love them already
Hurse: Hugo and…
Dollar: Will you stop that already?
The drum beat of Crash Karma’s “Fight” begins to play over the crowd, bringing them to their feet. First, Adam Chase steps out from the back, stretching his arms out in presentation. He turns around to face the stage, arms still out, as the guitar kicks in.
Hugo Magnusson and Bash Kincaid step out from the back, looking over the booing crowd. Chase claps his hands with enough vigor to make up for the booing as the two men start to walk down towards the ring. They move past Chase who quickly turns around and starts to follow.
Once they get to the ring the tag team slide under the bottom ropes and each rush to an opposite corner, where they take their perch and look out over the crowd again. Chase climbs the stairs, but stays on the apron as he applauds his duo. Their music fades out…
Dollar: All business, these two know what they want
Brooks: And looking at them both them are determined to get it. And with Chase at ringside as well there is no doubt they believe they are shoe-ins for the tag titles
Hurse: But they have to get past Sinsation first and that isn’t going to be easy. Yes they look good, but they can go, and it wouldn’t be a surprise if they pulled this off.
Brooks: Well, there’s the bell, and it looks like it’s going to be Hugo and Charity kicking us off.
Hugo and Charity both walk to the center of the ring, Hugo exploding almost immediately with a vicious right hand which sends Charity sprawling across the canvas and to the floor
Dollar: Owwww, that had to hurt.
Charity quickly gets to her feet, shaking off the cobwebs, but Hugo runs in with a raised knee which Charity only just manages to evade. Hugo spins around but not quickly enough, and receives a slap right across his chops. Charity goes for another but Hugo is ready this time and grabs her arm, smirking and tapping his head with delight. Charity isn’t bothered about that however as she knees Hugo in the guts doubling him over before spring boarding off the ropes, and bringing her leg down across the back of his head with a variation of a Fameasser.
Brooks: Hugo got the first shot in, but Charity recovered double time, and is now the aggressor.
Charity pulls Hugo to his feet, but Magnusson rolls Charity up and into a small package
1…
2…
Charity kicks out, but Hugo isn’t hanging around and gets to his feet, whipping her into their corner, whist remonstrating with the referee. With his back turned, Bash is quick to take advantage, dropping the elbow down on Charity’s skull. Hugo then runs in, driving his knee into the temple of Bizarre who falls to her knees, allowed Magnusson to grabs the back of her head and plant it into the canvas. Hugo then tags in his partner Kincaid who cockily enters the ring, mocking Domino as he does. Domino steps into the ring, but the referee stops her, motioning for her to leave, and as she does Bash picks Charity up and drills her with a Suplex, moving straight into a cover
1…
2…
Bizarre kicks out to the delight of the crowd who is already siding with them, and are on the backs of Bash, Hugo and Chase. Chase turns around and flips the bird and the fans which doesn’t do him any favors, not that he gives a damn. Back in the ring Bash picks Charity up and pushes her into the corner once again, climbing up onto the turnbuckle and raining down hard rights and lefts. Eventually Charity’s legs buckle and she drops onto her backside, Hugo laughing as Bash once again hands him the tag
Hurse: They have singled Charity out and they are not letting her out of the corner. This is already looking bad for Sinsation
Brooks: They’ve shown time and time again that they can come back from seemingly insurmountable odds.
Dollar: But that wasn’t against the Chase Wrestling Collective was it?
Hugo picks Charity to her feet, and whips her into the ropes, catching her as she returns and scooping her up, before dropping her with an immense Power slam. The impact drives the wind from Charity’s lungs but there is no reprieve as Hugo goes for the cover
1…
2…
3…No, Domino breaks up the cover, the fans going bonkers. As the referee pushes Domino out the ring, Hugo drags Charity to the corner again, tagging in Bash
Dollar: That would have been over if it wasn’t for Domino, phenomenal awareness from her
Bash enters the ring once again, whipping Charity across the ring, but this time as she returns Charity slides between his legs. As she nips up, Bash runs in with a lariat which Charity ducks with a forward rolls, quickly holding up her hand and getting the tag from Domino. Bash doesn’t see this, and charges across the ring, looking for maximum impact, but Domino is already on the turnbuckle and launching herself off it. Before Bash even knows what is happening, he is hit by a perfect Missile Dropkick which takes him off his feet and to the mat, the Manhattan Center erupting. Charity rolls out the ring as Domino mounts the fallen Bash, hard lefts and rights raining down on his face.
Brooks: Now that’s what I am talking about
Dollar: She’s a freeking mad woman…I like her even more
Bash pushes her off him, and tries to get to his feet, but Domino nearly takes his head off with a stiff arm lariat. As Bash hits the floor Domino keeps running, up the turnbuckle and then somersaulting, landing across the TCWC member with a perfect Splash. Steadying herself she hooks the leg and goes for the pin
1…
2…
Bash kicks out with authority, sending Domino flying out to the ring side area. Almost immediately Hugo is there, and drives Domino’s face into the steel barricades. Bash slides out the ring and Hugo whips Domino towards him, Bash putting her arm across her chest and driving her into the arena floor with a Rock Bottom.
Brooks: Come on referee, get a grip
Hurse: He’s lost it…it is Ingelson though so what do you expect?
Dollar: A decent standard of refereeing, we pay these guys good money to officiate properly
Bash and Hugo drag Domino to her feet, Alex Ingelson issuing the ten counts. Charity however has recovered and charges across the ring, straight past the referee and dives through the ropes, taking out TCWC. Everyone seems stunned as to what has just happened, and Adam Chase makes his way around the ring. But Charity helps her partner up and slides her into the ring, Ingelson restarting his count
1…
2…
3…
4…
5…
Chase makes it to his team and helps Hugo to his feet. Both of them turn to Bash who is out of it, his head having crashed into hard steel
6…
Hurse: They’re not going to make it, Sinsation have pulled this one off
7…
Dollar: Major upset if that is the case
Hugo pulls Bash up but he is gone
8…
Hugo slides Bash into the ring anyway, breaking up the count but Domino is on the turnbuckle about to leap with a Flying Leg Drop. Before she can however Chase grabs the strands causing her to slip and crash onto the steep ring steps, her spine taking most of the impact
Brooks: And that’s why Chase is out here
Dollar: Brilliant move possibly saved his team right there.
Bash gets to his feet as Hugo almost throws Domino back into the ring before Charity can get there. Domino pulls herself up on the strands, unaware that Bash is measuring her. As she turns, Bash executes a spinning Back Fist, but Domino somehow ducks, Bash hitting nothing but fresh air. Domino hits Bash with a low blow, which drops him down to one knee, as Charity enters the ring, running past the referee and hitting a Shinning Wizard. For a moment Bash looks ok, but then his eyes glaze over and he topples over, Domino dropping into a pin
1…
2…
Hugo grabs Dominos foot and pulls her to the outside, and a brawl breaks out as the pair trades rights and lefts. In the ring Bash gets to his feet, as Charity kicks him in the stomach, and nails him with a Spinning Neck Breaker which sends Bash to the outside. As the referee tries to deal with Hugo and Domino, Chase enters the ring with a steel chair, Charity totally unaware.
Brooks: Watch out Charity
Dollar: Someone’s about to get their clock cleaned
And that someone might just be Adam Chase. Charity turns just in time to freeze him in his tracks, taking a few threatening steps towards Chase, who puts down the chair and insists he was just being a gentleman by pulling it up for her. Charity isn’t buying it, but thankfully for Chase, he doesn’t have to worry about her, because Bash reemerges, catches Charity from behind and lifts her into a full nelson slam right on top of the sat up chair.
Hurse: Ohhh that was downright nasty!
The chair is grabbed by Chase and cleared from the ring as Bash drops into the cover, hooking Charity’s legs. The referee turns away from the ruckus outside the ring just in time to make the count.
1
2
3!
A piercing roar of disapproval emanates from the crowd. The only one celebrating is Chase, who is quite pleased with the dominance displayed by his team.
Brooks: Well Adam Chase said it, his team was pure dominance, and that’s just what we witnessed. A victory for The Chase Wrestling Collective.
Dollar: And in gruesome fashion too, with that full nelson on the chair.
Chase and Bash celebrate while Hugo re-enters the fold, joining in with the shenanigans, leaving Domino looking jaded at ringside.
Hurse: Dominance on display by the TCWC. They did exactly what Chase said they would do.
Brooks: Another superb outing here on Riot!, and speaking of outing. Apparently Orlando Cruze is going to be joining us here in just a few moments to let the cat out of the bag regarding the IWC Championship.
Dollar: He should just forfeit the belt to a member of the Academy, it’ll give it instant credibility.
Brooks: We’ll find out the fate of the Championship in mere moments.
AAAAHHHH.
Robin: Wait, what the hell is going on backstage?
Dollar: I’m sure we’re about to find out.
Katelyn: Oh my God…oh my God….oh my God….
Katelyn clutches her precious X-Class Championship to her chest as she races through the backstage parking lot, desperately trying to find a car with an unlocked door to hide in or underneath of. She looks thoroughly freaked out by the monster she was SUPPOSED to face moments ago.
Buehler: Come on…come…get me out of here…PLEASE!
Billy: Where in the hell am I?
From around the side of a Cadillac, Billy comes staggering, covered in discarded candy wrappers and a few broken condoms. He looks thoroughly disorientated and unable to stand as he staggers up behind Buehler, who is still fidgetting with a door lock.
Mayne: Hey…what the hell happened…
Katelyn: RAPE!
She not only screeches the moment Billy’s hand barely taps her shoulder, but grabs a can of mace from her pocket, spraying it directly into his eyes. Now Mayne is the one screaming, trashing around and falling over the trunk of the Cadillac, crying in agony. Buehler doesn’t apologize, too busy rushing through the parking lot TRYING to find an escape.
Dollar: And so the misfortune of Billy Mayne continues.
Brooks: Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy.
The show returns to ringside just as John Murphy busts out the lyrics to “In a House, in a Heartbeat,†resulting in a reaction that could register on a Richter Scale.
Dollar: Looks like we’re gonna be joined by the man smart enough to bring me in to class up the joint.
Robin: Our new owner, Orlando Cruze, making an unexpected appearance. He got some bad news earlier in the night but can really turn things around should he make a bombshell announcement, as promised, regarding the IWC Title.
Hurse: The only announcement that would make him, and the entire wresting superverse happy, would be to forfeit the World Title unto yours truly. I would totally throw glitter on that damned thing, bling it out gangsta style. I’d put gold stars on it too, but the universe would collapse upon itself due to that much awesomeness.
Johnny: Orlando’s clearly too intelligent, given the fact that he signed me, to make such a foolish error. I’m actually intrigued to see what announcement he’s gonna drop on us.
The announcers, fans, and talent in the back, don’t have to wait long to hear Orlando’s earth splitting statement. To the stage Orlando sashays with no hesitation, adorned in a full suit for such a monumental occasion, including a fancy button down jacket. And of course his duds just wouldn’t be complete without some bling, in the form of the World Heavyweight Title, draped over his forearm.
Orlando: Corneu said it himself earlier, we don’t make false advertisements in the IWC. When I told the world earlier to expect an announcement that would cause your Grandmother’s pace-maker to explode, I wasn’t blowing smoke up your collective assholes. No…that’s not the Icon…that’s not YOUR IWC President….I never underwhelm, I only keep raising the bar that much higher. So without further ado…enough with the suspense…enough with the hype….Let’s get to the announcement you’ve all been waiting for…an announcement involving the very championship I came out here wearing.
Everyone’s focus diverts to the World Title over his forearm, the masses getting excited that an official announcement will at last be made.
Orlando: Tonight we’ve seen a lot of great matches and great moments, so it’s only fitting we’d close the very first edition of Riot!, with an announcement that gives you a hematoma. At IWC Awakening, a new champion will be crowned when eight of IWC’s talents collide in a tournament for the gold.
Brooks: Wow, interesting announcement.
Dollar: A new Champion being crowned at Awakening in a Tournament….talk about high stakes.
Cruze: And which eight athletes will compete in this tournament you ask? Well you’ll find out exclusively on IWC.com, after we’ve RANDOMLY select the names of the combatants who will be involved in the Tournament. You heard me clearly people. I believe in giving everyone a chance in the new IWC, and a random selection totally evens the playing field. So rather you’re a returning legend, or a total newbie, you’re name stands just as good a chance of being selected from the tumbler as anyone else’s. Everyone gets a shot at Awakening….Just another in a long line of Orlando Innovations…But wait…there’s more…
Dollar: Oh? You rascally lil devil you.
Orlando: Because I think every IWC show should end with a bang. That’s why I’m giving the winner of this triple threat main event….which I booked by the way….you’re welcome….an automatic spot in that tournament.
The main event has just been spiced up and the fans can definitely taste the little extra kick the Icon has just thrown in, acting like they just got biting into pure cayenne pepper.
Orlando: And as if this match couldn’t get any bigger, I’M going to sit right there at ringside to watch the whole thing go down, so that I can personally congratulate the winner and usher them into the Tournament at Awakening. Now…now…I know I might distract you from the action in the ring, but please, TRY to give the wrestlers in this triple threat match SOME of your attention.
His music kicks in once again as he embarks towards the ring, a chair already sat and placed at ringside with a “Reserved for Mr. Cruze,†sign placed on top of it.
Brooks: Major announcements just made by Orlando. Now we know the next IWC Champion will be crowned at Awakening in an Eight Person Tournament…and seven of the combatants will be announced on IWC.com via random drawing, while one will be decided tonight by virtue of winning the main event. Whoo….lord I need some oxygen.
Hurse: Did you take a breathe once during the course of that entire statement?
Robin: Don’t know, might explain why I’m blacking out right now.
Orlando plants himself directly at ringside, arms crossed over the IWC World Title belt and eyes locked on the ring.
Orlando has just got himself comfortable when…
“GO AHEAD…SILENCE MEâ€
The familiar voice screams over the speakers, as the crowd rises to their feet, cheering. The lights in the arena fade out, and the sounds of a heartbeat emanate throughout the arena.
“SILENCE ME…â€
The voice echoes throughout the arena once more, as the arena switches to a deep shade of blue. Silencer steps out from the backstage area, wearing his wrestling attire, much to the delight of the fans. Slowly Silencer walks to the end of the stage, and puts a finger over his lip.
“Silence Me…â€
The voice echoes throughout the arena once more as he closes his eyes….Slowly he bows his head, and lowers his hand to his side before walking to the ring…At ringside he walks around the ring and climbs the stairs, before finally looking up around all the people in the crowd; some chanting his name over and over again. He climbs into the ring and sits on the middle turnbuckle as the lights return to normal and his music fades.
Hurse: Listen to the ovation for the former World Heavyweight Champion.
Dollar: He made a personal decree earlier tonight that he was going to stamp out all things redundant and boring. Now’s his chance to make good on that promise.
Robin: He’s gonna have his work cut out for him for sure. But let’s not forget what Silencer can do in that ring. As Steven eluded to earlier, he’s a former World Champion, Tag Team Champion…he’s pretty held gold everywhere he goes. He’s also very nimble and has tremendous speed that will be dangerous for his opponents.
“You think you know me?”
“So I’m COMING HOME!”
The fans jump to their feet as the opening notes of “Coming Home” by Alter Bridge play loudly. As the music plays, the words form into a message:
“Ex Cineribus Resurgam”
Which quickly transform into the name “Christian Savior”.
“Lost on a road I don’t belong!
I’ll rest my song.
I’m so alone!
Far from the streets I call my own.
I’m coming home!”
The fans in the stands are up in cheers and roars as from the growing mist of fog walks out The Rising Phoenix, Christian Savior and the Queen of Thorns, Rose Savior. The titantron alternates between images of his name and segments of Savior spearing an opponent, holding up a title, or merely of him smirking and grinning from his victories.
“Rushing back to me
As the city sleeps
So afraid of what I will find
Memories they haunt
From deep inside
Every broken man
Comes to understand
that he’ll never find paradise
When all that he wants
Was there all the time”
As the Sun King makes his way down the ramp, he looks around with a slight grin on his face, stopping mid-way down the ramp, Rose kneeling in front of him. The fans wait with baited breath before Savior suddenly throws his arms in the air, a series of fire red and orange fireworks shooting behind him back up the ramp where an explosion of fireworks of the same colors shoot in all directions, the rising symbolism evident. As the pyro show dies away, Savior helps Rose to her feet before he rushes to the ring, sliding in, his eyes still on the audience around him.
“I’m coming home
I”m coming home”
Jumping to his feet, Savior holds the ropes open as Rose climbs up the stairs and into the ring. As the music continues to play with the video, Savior and Rose stand in the middle of the ring, the former World Champion’s hand raised and out to the masses, his free hand around his wife. WIth a clench of his hand out to the audience, Savior taunts for a certain move. As he grins wickedly at the audience, they immediately begin shouting out in unison “Spear! Spear! Spear!” which brightens the smirk on Christian and Rose’s faces as the music fades. Shortly thereafter, Rose waves goodbye to Savior, kisses him on the cheek and vacates the ring, headed to the back.
Hurse: Christian Savior has rose from the ashes as well to compete in our first main event under the new era.
Dollar: He too made a statement before the match, which I’m sure didn’t sit too well with Cruze.
Brooks: Are we sure Orlando even heard what Christian said earlier?
Johnny: Yeah, I think he’s been more obsessed with the World Title than Christian here.
The tension is palpable between Savior and Silencer, the two locking eyes already in a game of mental oneupmanship. There staredown is only broken when..
Everything about you by ugly kid joe begins to play through the arena speakers
the crowd responds with a round of boo’s
Katelyn Buehler steps out from behind the curtain with a smug expression on her face she smiles and then motions to the entrance and porno lad steps out wearing a black hooded sweatshirt that has I hate you all written on the back. He lifts the hood up slightly and snarls in distaste looking out at the audience.
Katelyn poses as pyro bursts on both sides of the duo leaning back as if she is about to fall but porno lad catches her just as she is about to fall giving the camera a full view of her cleavage she smiles and then porno lad twirls her and she spins doing a little bow before the duo continues on theyre way to the ring.
Once at ring side porno lad looks to the left then right then quickly rolls into the ring he spins then so he is on one knee he then stays this way.
After his introduction Porno Lad stands, shoots a fist in the air and then turns to give Katelyn a hair tussling, before she heads to the backstage area.
Dollar: The ladies being sent to the back, these guys want this match to be straight up three way action, no outside interference.
Brooks: I have to give him credit for that, and credit to the fans for their lung capacity, listen to the ovation their giving Porno Lad.
Hurse: Porno Lad had his perfect Paranoia moment, but tonight, he’s gonna have his perfect Riot! Moment, mark my words.
All the pieces are positioned as the bell rings to commence the first main event under the watchful gauze of Orlando Cruze.
Hurse: The bell has chimed, all three players are in place, and the gleam from Orlando’s forehead is giving me a migraine…looks like our main event is set.
Dollar: That chrome dome could light an airport runway. But yes, we’ve got three of IWC’s best about to collide…and now for a HUGE opportunity coming up at Awakening.
Robin: And these three have NEVER been fans of one another. And I’ve never been fans of any of them either, so it only makes sense.
The bell chimes and we are on, the action getting off to a predictably tepid start. Hesitation is shown from Savior, Silencer and Porno Lad, the trio circling one another, looking for that small opening to capitalize but refusing to make a major mistake. Finally Porno Lad is the bolder of the trio, lifting an arm into the air with fingers twiddling away to summon Silencer into a test of strength.
The former IWC World Champion steps in apprehensively and reaches out, interlocking knuckles with his opponent only to receive a blatant eye gouge for his troubles. Silencer grabs at his damaged retinas while Porno Lad shrugs non-chalantly towards the crowd, many chuckling and many cheering. He doesn’t have time to show off for long before Savior rushes in, lobbing a right hand at his opponent that is blocked by the Prankster.
A left hand connects directly beneath Savior’s jaw, followed by a second strike, then a third. Porno Lad then does some fancy foot work, followed by a twirl before throwing a knock out blow that is ducked at the last second. Savior takes off into the cables while Silencer clears his eyes then charges at PL’s backside. Thankfully for Porno Lad, his spidey sense was tingling, ducking at the last second and causing Silencer’s lariat to connect to the inbound throat of Savior, taking him down to the canvas/
Silencer then turns just as Porno Lad delivers a spinning back heel kick aimed at the ribs only to find his foot caught in his opponent’s clutches. The Original Prankster hobbles on one foot for several moments, pleading off before eventually leaping into the air for an enzugari, that connects, just not with the head he had planned on hitting. Silencer ducks, allowing the foot to carry over his head and connect to the side of a recovered Savior’s face. The stiff shot sends Christian twirling into a turnbuckle while Porno Lad falls onto one foot then delivers a reverse dropsault, hitting Silencer right on the sternum.
The kick was delivered with enough force to send Silencer cascading back first into Savior’s chest, both men wedged against the turnbuckle.
Porno Lad races to his feet, looking to capitalize on this glorious opportunity. Two birds with one stone, that’s PL’s mentality, and he doesn’t care how many PETA officials he pisses off by thinking it. Into the air he leaps, splash intended. However, Savior, thinking quickly, pushes Silencer with all his strength, sending him charging head first right into Porno Lad’s airborne crotch, knocking him out of the air and to the canvas where he cradles his swollen sack.
Brooks: Porno Lad may have to alter his post-show plans.
Dollar: Got to appreciate the thinking of Savior though, showing some super sharp wit to employ Silencer as a weapon against Porno Lad.
The impact with Porno Lad’s crotch sends Silencer stumbling backwards into the waiting arms of Savior. The Rising Phoenix hoists his painted opposition into the air for a back drop suplex only to have his plans go horribly awry. Silencer flips over and off the shoulder of Savior, landing behind him with the grace of a cat. Now it’s Christian out to do some animal mutilation, twisting around and throwing a lariat only to have the insanely quick Silencer drop into a baseball slide between his legs, ending up behind him once again.
Silencer leaps to his feet just as Porno Lad comes charging up behind him, blocking the pain from his crotch. What he can’t block is the kick to the back of the knee he receives from Silencer, knocking his legs out from under him and sending his feet traveling into Christian’s rump, the dropkick knocking Savior forward and through the ropes shoulder first into the exposed turnbuckle post.
Hurse: Savior just keeps getting caught in the middle.
Robin: Maybe he should change his name to Frankie Munez.
Hurse: Cool, cause Bryan Cranston is the most super awesome father ever.
Though his clavicle might be injured Savior stumbles back into the waiting arms of Silencer, who catches him around the neck, looking for a bulldog. He rushes at the turnbuckle, steps up it and then twists in mid-air just as Porno Lad rushes in. Silencer alters his move at the last second, sticking his legs out and placing them on top of Christian’s shoulders, going for a double take down.
The Original Prankster blocks the move, wedging his hands to the back of Silencer’s shins and shoving them up into the air. Silencer flips over the shoulder of Savior, this time not of his own volition, and lands behind Christian’s back.
Savior then delivers a boot to Porno Lad’s gut, and uses him as a battering ram, charging him into Silencer’s stomach and knocking both men through the ropes to the outside of the ring. They crash with a thud but don’t let injuries hold them back, fighting their way back to their feet, eyes taken completely off of the former World Champion remaining in the ring.
With tremendous speed Christian runs at the ropes then shows tremendous flexibility by leaping off the middle rope then jumping over the top one on a perpendicular set of cables, coming down with a splash on top of both his opponents.
Hurse: Seven!
Dollar: Five from me.
Brooks: That’s really starting to get old.
Dollar: You’d know something about that.
Brooks: What?
Johnny: Nothing.
A rousing ovation is heard from the crowd resulting from that last dive, and something tells them it won’t be the last time they get all riled up by this triple threat action. Savior reaches his feet and Silencer is up next, leaving him to be the Rising Phoenix’s prey. A forearm knocks him to the temple and sends him spiraling into the steps. He falls against them just as Christian comes charging in only to receive two boots to the chest. The kick from Silencer not only knocks Savior back but sends his own body rolling in reverse as well. He lands on his feet on the opposite side of the steel steps and then charges right at them, leaping off the stairs, twisting his body, landing on the apron then flipping back into a moonsault that connects right against Christian’s shoulder.
Hurse: Wow…oh yeah…a seven!
Dollar: Have you no originality? I’d say more of a 6.5.
Silencer rolls off of Christian and reaches his feet just in time to spot Porno Lad employing the apron to reach his feet. He barrels in with as much speed as possible only to be caught by his opponent, wedging hands to Silencer’s knees and throwing him up into the air. Silencer counters the counter however, doing a headstand on top of the apron then falling down so that his shins land across Porno Lad’s shoulders. He then twists so that he launches Porno Lad face first into the apron with a head scissors.
The thud can be heard throughout the building and reverberates throughout PL’s skull. A shook up Porno Lad staggers back, throwing punches at imaginary figures while Silencer charges up behind him, catching the back of his head. He leaps to the apron and steps off into a tornado bulldog. But at the last second Savior steps in, causing Silencer to change up his gameplan, landing with his legs on top of Christian’s shoulders. He falls to his side and finally connects with a head scissors, modified bulldog combination, sending both men crashing to the mats.
A pop is heard from the fans….a rather sizeable one at that…but Silencer shows no fanfare, instead rushing at the ring, slipping in under the ropes before leaping to his feet and getting a running start across the squared circle.
Hurse: Get your score-card ready.
Enough speed is built for Silencer to perform a truly suicidal dive, but that plan is thwarted the moment that Savior rushes at the ring. Silencer jumps to the middle cable and straddles it as Savior slides in under him and the bottom rope. He stands up behind Silencer, who throws his legs back, placing them on top of Christian’s shoulders and going for a second head scissors takedown.
This time Christian shoves the legs of Silencer off his shoulders and into the air, sending him flipping over the ropes. On the way down he twists and lands on top of a recovered Porno Lad’s shoulders on the outside of the ring, twisting his body into a big hurricarana that launches his adversary across the mats and the fans out of their seats.
Dollar: Silencer showing what made him a former World Champion, great timing and great use of mascara.
Hurse: It really does make his eyes POP.
Robin: Looks like the eyes are popping out of the fans after that last move.
Silencer quickly leaps back to the apron before Christian barrels across the ring to cut him down with a spear through the ropes. At the last second Silencer sidesteps Savior, causing him to end up straddling the middle rope just as he gets a basement dropkick to the temple. Christian twirls across the ring, stumbling to the center as referee Wright steps in to check his condition. All the while Silencer is pacing impatiently, finally taking to the air once Christian turns back to face him. He springs to the top rope and prepares for flight only to have Savior yank Wright between he and his opponent, utilizing the referee at first as a human barrier, then as a human battering ram, shoving him towards the ropes.
Silencer gets tremendous air time as he leaps right over the inbound referee and travels directly into a big dropkick that knocks him out of the air. Both of Savior’s boots land against Silencer’s ribs, deflating him and the fans as the painted competitor collapses to the canvas. Christian then slithers into the cover, hooking both legs. Wright remains professional in spite of his anger, dropping to make the count.
1
2
One shoulder separated from the canvas prevents defeat, Silencer hanging in there. The kick-out seems to have impressed Orlando, who nods his head and arches an eyebrow, pleased by Silencer’s determination. Christian grabs the spiky hair on his opponent’s head, forcing him to his feet and then driving a forearm right against his temple.
Spit and sweat flies from Silencer’s skull as he goes stumbling back into the ropes, bouncing off and coming right back into a big boot to the jaw that knocks him to the canvas. Silencer turns to his elbows and knees while Christian spins away, taking deep breaths and trying to gather himself. Unbeknownst to him, Porno Lad has entered the ring and is rushing across it. He steps off of Silencer’s back, using him as a launching pad. He soars right into a flying forearm only to be caught in mid-air, Christian powering him down into a spine buster right on top of the back of Silencer.
Hurse: Double-the-trouble…double-the-pain!
Robin: Savior AGAIN using his opponent’s as weapons against each other, and that may have just been enough to get him the win.
Silencer rolls to his stomach as Porno Lad falls over top of him, both men totally incapacitated. Savior then throws himself into the fray, falling across PL’s chest, causing Wright to make a double count for both pinfall attempts.
1…1
2….2
Both Porno Lad AND Silencer kick out before either man can be pinned. Miffed doesn’t even begin to describe Christian’s reaction, his face twisted into a picture of angst. He sneers at the referee then takes Porno Lad by the ankle, rolling him over to his feet then applying a front chancery. He now lifts Porno Lad into the air for a vertical suplex that will slam him once more on top of Cagero’s prone body.
At the last second though, PL twists his body and catches Christian around the neck, applying a sleeper with his arms and a body scissors with his legs.
Robin: He’s gonna choke him out.
Already Christian is starting to resemble a Smurf as the blood supply is drained to his head, arms flailing desperately in an attempt to free himself. He finally does avail himself, dropping to his knees and flipping Porno Lad over his head down to the canvas. PL rolls forward across the ring right back to his feet, but does not allow his momentum to be derailed. He rushes at the kneeling Savior, stepping off his back and then launching himself into a flying forearm smash that connects to the recovered Silencer’s forehead.
The stiff strike topples Silencer and sends Porno Lad twirling into the ropes. He bounces off and then staggers towards a now upright Christian, leaping onto his back and applying a body scissors, sleeper hold combination.
Dollar: He’s right back on the hold again!
Hurse: I know just how stubborn Porno Lad can be. He once refused to trade his Garbage Pail kids cards Sicky Vicky card with me even though he has three of them….THREE of them…just one would have completed my set….that son of a bitch.
Robin: It’s okay Steven, you can cry on my shoulder later.
Hurse: Will you let me watch the Garbage Pail Kids movie too?
Robin: If you behave yourself.
Savior’s face has gone through multiple shades of red as he desperately tries to shake off Porno Lad. Like a tick PL Has embedded himself and he will not let go until one thing has happened, his hand is raised in victory. What he hadn’t counted on was the quick recuperative capabilities of Silencer, who comes stumbling up behind Porno Lad then leaps into the air, wedging both knees to Porno Lad’s back. He drags him down out of the sleeper into a backstabber than receives quite the reception from the crowd.
Porno Lad bounces up onto his seat, arching his back and roaring in pain just as Christian spins around, delivering a running knee strike right between his opponent’s eyes. Porno Lad falls to his back and Christian scurries into a lateral press.
1
2
Victory is within Savior’s grasp before Silencer races in, as fast as his body will allow, catching Christian under the jaw then flipping over his head, applying a bridging chin-lock. Christian gasps in pain as Silencer bends over in a crab position, still yanking back on the head of his opponent.
Brooks: From one submission to another. Christian can’t catch a break.
Hurse: This is what happens when nobody likes you. I would hate to feel that way.
Dollar: Yeah, since your so very popular.
Hurse: Of course I am, just ask my Mother.
Johnny: Wouldn’t I have to dig her up first?
Christian cries out in agony as Silencer puts even greater pressure upon the hold, really twisting back on the chin. He reaches out for the ropes but once it becomes clear that he’s not about to reach them his extended palm becomes an indication of calamity, perhaps seconds from striking the canvas. All the fans watch closely, wondering if the submission is about to unfold, granting Silencer a victory and a birth into the gauntlet at Awakening.
Silencer has the victory in his grasp and NOTHING will stop him from reaching a means to his ends…unless of course, Porno Lad wasn’t rushing in and delivering a hesitation dropkick that connects with the exposed face of Savior and the skull of Silencer all in one. The submission is broken as a result of the stiff dropkick from the quick thinking Porno Lad. A groan is heard from the crowd as a result of the move that so violently broke up the submission and may have allowed PL to sneak in the back door to pick up the win. He shoves Savior over onto his back and hooks both legs for the pin. The fans chant along with each slap of the canvas.
1
2
Christian’s shoulder escapes the ring and evades defeat to screeches from the masses.
Dollar: This ain’t over yet. No fat ladies are singing in Christian’s mind.
After all the submissions and all the pin fall attempts Savior looks absolutely spent, Porno Lad realizing this as he takes Christian into a head lock. He delivers a knee to the face, followed by a second one, and then a third, almost taking Savior down completely. Porno Lad pulls him back up and then rushes at the corner, stepping up it to deliver the Sliced Bread Number 2. Once again Porno Lad misjudged the extent of Savior’s injuries, cause Christian shoves him off at the last conceivable second. PL is sent flipping over his shoulder and landing directly behind Christian, but nothing will derail him, except for the Original Sin. Christian leaps into the air and plants Porno Lad’s face against his raised knees with the Code Breaker.
Porno Lad bounces off the knees and turns just as Silencer steps in and almost decapitates him via the super kick.
Hurse: That went from bad to worse!
Robin: Original Sin followed by the super kick from Silencer, Porno Lad has got to be deader than Aurora Rose’s career.
Dollar: Who?
Brooks: My point exactly.
Porno Lad collapses to the ring in a heap, looking totally unconscious at this point. With PL down Christian looks to steal the victory, bending down to go for the pin only to be caught with a kick right to the face by Silencer. The punt like shot causes Christian to stand completely upright as Silencer goes for a second super kick only to have his foot caught. Savior pushes the leg down and sends Silencer spinning around into the Original Sin. Christian leaps into the air and connects with his knees to Silencer’s face while coming down with a back first splash right against Porno Lad’s ribs.
Dollar: Two for one special.
Silencer flies back while Christian reaches back, hooking Porno Lad’s leg, victory all but locked in at this point.
1
2
Johnny: Christian’s going to the main event of Awakening.
3!
Don’t think so…Porno Lad launches a shoulder from the canvas with mere seconds to spare.
Robin: So close….so incredibly close….The spot in that Title Tournament at Awakening was within Christian’s reach.
Christian sits on the canvas with a look of sheer rage radiating from his bulging eyes. The shock wears off, replaced with an unshakeable determination to win this match. He drags Porno Lad by his fro to his feet and sets up the Into the Ashes, the downward spiral surely carrying him to victory and into that tournament at Awakening.
He’s just about to drop back when he notices Silencer staggering towards them, operating on what limited mental capacity he has remaining. He walks right into the other arm of Savior, locking him up around the neck and stepping around his leg. The fans rise in anticipation of seeing a STEREO downward spiral onto BOTH of his opponents.
Hurse: THIS is gonna be interesting.
Dollar: And brutal.
Christian grins but that smile is short lived as Porno Lad swings out of position for the move and then twists around into the Epic Fail to a loud reaction from the crowd. His boot travels directly into Savior’s face only to have Christian duck it, causing the kick to connect…no…Silencer catches the boot just BEFORE it can obliterate his jaw.
He then pushes down on the boot, sending Porno Lad spinning back towards Savior, who has come barreling across the ring into the Bloodline Spear. But wait, Porno Lead leaps into the air, avoiding the spear which carries Christian right into the waiting arms of Silencer, who catches him with the Break the Silence. He bends Savior over backwards and prepares to drop back into the move when Christian twists free at the last second, shoving the former World Champion forward into the Epic Fail!
Hurse: Epic Fail, he’s done it, my boy has got it in the bag!
The crowd is out of their seats and on their feet at the sight of Porno Lad kicking Silencer’s jaw in and going for the pin only to stagger forward right into the Bloodline Spear that almost severs him in two.
Dollar: Wait! Savior just slipped through the backdoor and nailed the SPEAR!
The cheers have transformed to rage as Christian scrambles into the cover on Porno Lad the referee makes what might be a decisive three count.
1
2
3!
The Manhattan Center shakes like there’s an earthquake, Christian picking up a major win in IWC’s first main event.
Brooks: Savior has done it, he’s won, albeit through his usual shady tactics.
Hurse: I guess some things just never change.
Silencer rises back to his elbows but can’t get across the ring in time to break the count.
Silencer: Predictable.
Christian sits up with fists clinched and raised high over head, not even having the ability to stand up after this hard fought win.
Dollar: Christian has an automatic spot in the Title Tournament at Awakening, but damn if he didn’t have to EARN it tonight.
Hurse: This will be interesting, Orlando promised he was going to ‘personally’ welcome the winner into that tournament, but given the animosity between he and Christian, I wonder if he’s going to make good on that statement.
Without any form of trepidation Cruze is back in the ring with the World Heavyweight Title placed over his forearm and a very proud expression on his face. It doesn’t even bother him that he may have to eat crow by giving Christian, his long time nemesis, an automatic spot in the tournament. Savior is already back on his feet, smirking the toothiest of grins, realizing the compromising position this places Orlando in. Yet Cruze acts as if there’s absolutely NO issue, like he just smelt a bouquet of flowers, or heard a baby’s laughter. With microphone in hand he marches straight towards the recovering Savior.
Orlando: Congratulations Savior, what a hard fought win…Give it up for him people. Show this man some proper respect. He just paid his dues to get into that tournament.,
Some fans, the brainless drones amongst the masses and the Savior smarks, clap for IWC’s bad guy. It’s not the applause that has Savior looking like he was just asked what Pat’s gender is on Saturday Night Live, but the props coming from the unlikely source that is Cruze.
Cruze: And that is just what you’ve done, Christian. You’ve won a spot in the IWC Title Tournament at Awakening, meaning you’ll fight seven other combatants for the prestigious belt in my possession here….
All eyes shift to the World Heavyweight Title over Orlando’s forearm.
Orlando: Which means you could very well emerge from Awakening as the brand new, Evolution Champion…
The buttoned up suit snaps open to reveal the Evolution Championship Cruze was referring to earlier tonight and is now wearing around his waist. A very tepid response comes from the crowd, obviously feeling the same sensation as Savior, like they were just baited and switched.,
Hurse: The Evolution Championship? That’s what he was talking about?
Brooks: Yeah, I’m confused too..Though he was finally making an announcement regarding the World Title.
Orlando throws the World Championship over his shoulder and now removes the Evolution belt so that he can examine his reflection in it.
Orlando: And in spite of our history, Christian, I just want to wish you the best of luck when you face those seven others and possibly emerge as the Evolution Champion.
From the ring Cruze saunters, leaving Savior in the same state as the fans, excited, yet let down by the announcement.
Dollar: A great match, and an ‘interesting’ announcement from Orlando Cruze to say the least.
Hurse: So the Evolution Championship will be the centerpiece of Awakening apparently and Christian Savior, after winning this intense triple threat, will be one of eight participants in the tournament to crown the champ….
Cheers continue to be the predominate emotion displayed by the masses, yet some are still a bit under whelmed by Orlando’s announcement….having expected a decision regarding a completely different championship. However, their confusion and apathy is thrown out the window at the sight of a fist being thrown directly into the face of Eddie Vines.
Dollar: Oh you’ve GOT to be kidding me.
Hurse: THEIR BACK!
Robin: And the brawl wages on! Vines and Saine STILL going to war. Can’t believe this.
The fans watch the shambling corpses of the two hardcore combatants going at it, their brains unable to catch up with their busted up bodies, yet they continue to throw fists. A knife edge chop lands across Isaac’s chest followed by a Mongolian chop to the shoulders of the Masked Man. Saine looks like he is about to collapse but pops right back up and nails an uppercut right to Eddie’s chin.
The strike right to the throat and jaw structure almost takes Eddie down, but like Saine he keeps his footing. He turns right into a chair that a pudgy fan cleared out of in the knick of time. This proves to be quite apropos for Vines, who snatches up the chair before he can collapse upon it, turns and throws it with all his of strength right into Isaac’s face.
Steel bounces off the knot mentioned earlier on the top of Isaac’s head and finally causes him to kneel yet STILL not go down. He teeters even as Vines grabs another empty chair and hurls it with all of his strength right into Isaac’s face. The crowd groans at the sound of the collision yet screams just as loud at the sight of Isaac remaining upright.
Less that politely Vines asks a fan to vacate his chair.
Vines: MOVE!
They dash from their chair and grab their heart, pace-maker on the fritz as a result of their fright. Vines shows why he should be feared as he picks up a third chair and throws it with ALL of his remaining strength directly against the bridge of Isaac’s nose. At long last Isaac collapses, but just goes down to his knees, refusing to go down completely.
Any hint of a smile that was on Eddie’s face completely fades at the sight of Isaac stating vertical. As a result he just starts grabbing chair after chair, throwing one after another in rapid fire fashion against Isaac’s head. Chair upon chair upon chair connects with Isaac’s head as he bobs back and forth upon his knees, eyes fluttering and saliva seeping from the corner of his mouth.
Dollar: How many chair-shots can this man take?
Hurse: I think you and I both know the answer to that question, Robin.
Robin: Isaac hasn’t lost any of his toughness in his time away from this company. Can security PLEASE get out here and break this up? Otherwise this is never going to end.
All the chair shots in the world just aren’t enough to keep Isaac down, prompting Vines to get a more vicious. He lifts one of the chairs in the air and instead of throwing it he swings it with enough force to cave in the skull and the chair. The back of it breaks away and the remainder of the chair is left hanging around the neck of Isaac.
Hurse: Dear God!
The unbelievable force of chair to cranium results in a ‘holy shit’ chant from the masses, getting thoroughly swept up into the madness. Vines is having just as good a time even though he probably has quite a few broken bones and bruises organs. None of these will limit him, evident as he snatches a hand of hair and drags Isaac to his feet. He then wraps an arm around his neck and begins to charge forward in order to deliver a bulldog.
The good times for Vines come to an end when Isaac stands up, hoists Eddie into the air and then throws him off the bulldog into a few rows of empty chairs. Security gets all the fans out of the way just in time to avoid the airborne Vines who comes crashing down into the sea of empty seats. The chairs collapse beneath Vines’ body before he ultimately plummets to the concrete.
Dollar: Major ouch!
Hurse: YOW! Those poor chairs.
Brooks: This is just getting gruesome.
Even though Vines hasn’t recovered from the collision against the chairs, Isaac comes charging in and goes airborne himself, ultimately crashing with a back first splash right across the chest of Vines. Once more Eddie finds his body squished between Saine’s girth and the mangled chairs beneath his body. Isaac sits up blowing hair out of his face and taking maniacal breaths, truly starting to enjoy himself.
Violence wages on as Saine pulls Eddie from the crumbled chairs and drags him into a gorilla press, heaving him high. He is then thrown on top of the barricade, crashing into it back first with enough force to send it toppling right over with him on top.
Hurse: So much for the IWC’s return to the Manhattan Center, after we tear the building apart I don’t think we’ll ever be able to come back again.
Robin: Security…come on already.
Dollar: I think that’s a total lost cause, Dear…obviously Orlando just wants these two to destroy each other.
Saine staggers right past Vines, feeling the full effects of the damage this looong brawl has taken upon him. He steps right past Vines and blows him off in the process before Eddie suddenly reaches out and takes him by the ankle, refusing to let go. Isaac looks down at him with his eyes giving the impression that he just can’t believe this. A forearm rams into Eddie’s back but he won’t let go. Isaac yanks Eddie to his feet then into the air by his throat, throwing him right at the apron.
Eddie’s back crashes against the hardest portion of the ring, which deals damage but holds him up at the same time. Now he becomes strangled by the massive hands of Saine, who is trying to choke the very life out of him. Eddie gasps for air but refuses to give up, refusing to die. Saine breaks the choke and then rushes in with a splash that connects, his chest colliding right against the apron. The air is knocked out of his lungs and he is knocked back a few steps, putting enough distance between himself and the ring for Vines to pull off some aerial insanity.
Although he can barely stand, Vines rushes at the apron, leaps off of it and then turns in mid-air to connect with a diving knee directly to the forehead of his equally as crazed opponent.
The stiff strike sends Isaac twirling but not going down. He plants himself, roars and then comes charging back at Vines who recovers in time to leap into the air, catch the inbound Saine and drop back into a downward spiral planting him face first into the steel steps.
Dollar: How is Vines even able to breathe at this point?
Hurse: These guys need some serious electro-shock therapy.
Another loud thus echoes throughout the arena as the pain echoes throughout Saine’s skull. Once again he’s sent staggering back, swinging his arms to keep him upright. To perhaps even his own surprise he plants his feet and unleashes another guttural growl before charging full force at Vines.
Eddie sees him coming and has just enough time to spring off the edge of the steps into a moonsault connecting right against Saine’s chest and finally taking both men down to the mats.
Dollar: Well I have to applaud Vines for his aerial daredevilry…devil may cry….devil may care….something to do with the devil.
Hurse: I understand they call him the God of Hardcore Wrestling…
Robin: Yeeeeaaah…You have a follow up to that?
Hurse: Not really, just thought I’d acknowledge what’s being shouted into my ear right now.
Vines rises, battered body and all, to his feet then dashes at the apron, leaping to it only briefly before leaping off, twisting and crashing with a splash across the prone frame of his opponent. Isaac convulses as Eddie rolls towards the ring, reaching beneath it for yet another weapon. The crowd squeals like Jenny Craig dieters when seeing a piece of chocolate cake. Their hardcore passions fueled as a ladder is plucked from beneath the ring.
Hurse: Ohhh snap.
Brooks: A frickin ladder? Seriously?
The ladder is leaned against the barricade, Vines unable to even support its weight before turning towards his ailing opponent. He walks unsuspectingly right into an uppercut that has him rocking. His knees nearly buckle after the sheer impact of the punch yet he remains upright long for Saine to snatch him by the back of the head and throw him into the ring.
Eddie rolls to the center, desperately trying to recover as Isaac climbs up onto the apron, but takes entirely too long to do so. He gets his footing just as Eddie rushes across the ring and dives into a cross body over the top rope, crashing into Isaac’s chest then taking both men right down on top of the ladder. It does not give as Isaac crashes back first against it with Eddie stretched over his chest.
Another ‘holy shit’ reverberates throughout the Manhattan Center as a result of that last crash. A normal man would be completely crippled by the last move but neither Vines or Saine can be described as anything even remotely close to normal. Vines falls off of Saine and crawls to the ring, rolling back inside and quickly rushing into the far ropes. His battered body bounces from the cables, giving him all the momentum he needs to perform a plancha, sailing over the top rope and flipping forward before ultimately crashing spine first directly into his oppon….no wait….he collides with nothing but ladder instead, Isaac rolling out of the way just in time.
Dollar: Somebody get this man’s chiropractor on speed dial.
Robin: Vines went high risk and took out the ladder instead of Saine.
Hurse: Brutal. I still give it a six though.
Dollar: You’re being far too generous.
The masses barely have anything left but still can cut loose with another rousing rendition of ‘holy shit,’ amazed by the lengths the two continue to go to and the damage they’re willing to inflict upon one another. Saine leans against the barrier, watching Vines twitch and convulse upon the steel rungs of the ladder, slowly shaking his head.
Saine: Stay down….
Isaac crouches over the fractured frame of his opponent.
Saine: Staaay down.
After making his message clear Isaac starts towards the ramp, rubbing his sore muscles. The message has been made quite clear to Vines and to the fans, showcasing that he is above all the true master of hardcor…..hold the phone, cause Saine’s ankle is being held in the grips of Vines. He turns his shocked eyes towards the man he’s dragging on his leg, Vines holding onto him like a bear trap.
Brooks: Are you joking?
Dollar; No, cause if I was you’d be pissing your pants right now.
Saine huffs and puffs and prepares to blow Vines away.
Saine: Stupid…stupid…stupid.
Vines is yanked to his feet and then thrown by the hair into the ring, Isaac grabbing the portion of the barricade that was collapsed earlier under Eddie’s body. Now that very same portion of the barrier finds its way ON TOP of Eddie.
Johnny: This can’t be good.
Shortly after planting the barrier on top of Vines, a chair finds its way into Isaac’s grip and he puts it to use, slamming it against the rails of the barricade, driving it down into the body of Eddie below. Each shot is delivered with more force and more malice than the last until Eddie is not longer moving beneath the barrier. Saine then approaches the turnbuckle, not through until Vines has not only stopped twitching, but stopped breathing as well.
He steps up the turnbuckle and places the chair across his stomach then dives off into a Vader bomb, coming down right on top of the barricade. The move hurts both men, but has to deal more damage to Eddie, who was completely squished beneath Saine’s weight and the barrier.
Though the pain is starting to take its toll Saine stands, but doesn’t stand tall, and neither does he walk tall, his legs barely able to support him at this point. He drags the barrier off of what’s left of Vines, placing it diagonally against the ropes, putting everyone in the building in high alert. Fans are already gathering behind what’s left of the barricade, waiting to see these two up the violence even further. Isaac turns and his eyes nearly launch from their sockets at the sight of Eddie actually rising to his knees.
Isaac runs his hands over his masked face then throws them out to his sides, perhaps signaling for a truly crippling move. The one he decides will inflict the greatest amount of damage is the crucifix bomb, hence why he lifts Eddie into the air and racks him over his back. He turns to the barrier and gets a running start to finish Eddie off for good….maybe…possibly…finger’s crossed.
Apparently they weren’t crossed enough cause Eddie slips right from the clutches of Saine, dropping behind him. Isaac spins around in anger, right in front of the barrier then comes charging directly into a thrust kick that lands square to the jaw. The stiff strike sends Isaac into yet another stagger, but he will not give up let alone go down. In fact the super kick only seems to anger and enrage him, unleashing a primal roar that results in a second stiff thrust kick right under the jaw.
The strike only further stumbles but does not topple Saine, bringing him closer to the barrier. Eddie then grabs the steel chair and throws it right at Saine only to have Isaac catch it mere inches in front of his face. Vines was counting on this, leaping into a roundhouse kick to the chair that totally misses its mark. Saine was one step ahead of Eddie yet again, the two switching positions with Eddie turning into what promises to be a disfiguring chair shot. Isaac swings the steel into nothing but thin air, Eddie ducking out of the way and then charging into the ropes behind him.
Before it even registers that he missed with the chair, Isaac turns into a springboard DDT, twisting him around and planting him skull first right into the barricade section.
Robin: Dear…dear…dear…another tornado DDT driving Saine’s head into the barrier this time.
Hurse: There aren’t enough exclamation points in the world to display my shock. Thank goodness I don’t have a pace-maker.
After taking the full force of the DDT the last thing anyone would expect outta Saine was for him to stand up, which is precisely what he does. Isaac pops back up to his feet with the steel chair still in hand, almost holding it by sheer instinct alone. He lifts the chair just as Eddie stands up on the barricade and launches himself off of into a big roundhouse kick right into the seat, driving it directly against Isaac’s face.
Saine twists from the blow and eventually collapses on top of the barricade, leaning in a prone state diagonal between the ropes and the ring, looking incapacitated. Which is why there is such a sense of urgency in Vines’ step, staggering to the nearest corner and scaling to the top rope. He leaps to it and then leaps off to screams of shock from the adrenaline junkies at the sight of him delivering the Vine Drop. He hits all the frog splash onto Isaac and the diagonal barrier.
Hurse: Frog Splash, the second one we’ve tonight, delivers…but will it deliver upon the goods…oh wait, this isn’t even a match….
Apparently Hurse is forced to correct his correction, because Desmond Drake, races from the backstage area but is slowed as he tries to drag along something behind him. Referee Fitzpatrick, in spite of being banged up, is yanked by the much smaller Drake to the stage, who hops up and down excitedly motioning to the ring. Fitzpatrick rolls his eyes but does his job, putting aside his injures to rush to the ring and do his job.
Brooks: That’s Desmond Drake, we saw him earlier, and he’s…he’s bringing a referee out here!
Dollar: He wants the chaos OVER.
Fitzpatrick slides into the ring and makes the count as Vines remains pressed over the chest of an incapacitated Saine.
1
2
3!!!
It’s over…the violence is finally…finally over.
Hurse: And the chaos comes to an end! Drake making Fitzpatrick make the three count in order to bring the brawl to an end.
The fans are cheering like crazy as Vines falls off of Saine and lays crumbled on the canvas, his injuries preventing him from celebrating. Drake watches from the stage and nods approvingly.
Brooks: What a way to end the night. Saine and Vines finally conclude this war they’ve been waging throughout the evening. We got a terrific triple threat main event, and then this brawl as the icing on the cake.
Hurse: What a night…the IWC is back baby…..
Dollar: And in grand fashion.
Eddie finally finds the strength to get to his knees, arm raised and laughter emitting from his mangled body. The entire audience joins in one, standing on their feet, clapping their hands and chanting the initials that haven’t been heard in far too long.
Fans: I…W…C!
Robin: Thank you to everyone involved in the resurrection of the IWC. Thank you for your loyal support through these years. Thank you for….
STATIC.
Hurse: Oh Jesus God merciful heavens no.
Dollar: This can’t be what I think it is.
The distortion in screen resolution only gets worse when the living nightmare that is Legion slides into the ring and nearly decapitates a celebrating Vines via a colossal boot to the skull.
Johnny: That demonic apparition led by Leland Gaunt is BACK! And he’s going right after Eddie Vines!!
Brooks: What in the hell is this? Can’t we have a feel good moment in the IWC without the show ending with me shitting myself?
Leland stands at ringside, flanked by Silence and Hush, the three watching the total destruction of the two hardcore combatants in the ring. They are totally caught off guard, not that it would matter if they were prepared, given the fact that neither man is capable of defending themselves. Evident as Legion takes Eddie into his arms, hoists him up into a crucifix position then drops him with a downright sickening reverse DDT.
Hurse: What in the hell was that!?!
Dollar: Whatever it was, I think it just killed Eddie Vines.
Legion is back to his feet immediately, Leland looking somewhat pleased at the sight of the Misery I being delivered with bone breaking malice. The savage intentions of Legion continue as Isaac finds himself in the clutches of the behemoth, throwing some right hands in a feeble attempt to fight back. There is no rescue for Isaac and no remorse from Legion, who shows his incredible strength by lifting Isaac up into the air and then driving him down to the canvas with a Misery III, crushing the skull of his victim.
Saine flips to his back and lies completely unconscious at this point, eyes fluttering, providing his malfunctioning brain with brief glimpses of the monster who towers above him. Legion stares through the slits of his mask without emotion. The same stoicism is evident amongst the three macabre souls entering the ring, led by Leland Gaunt. A microphone has found its way into his palm.
Leland: You two men claim to be fearless, do you?
Eddie is held up by his beard in the clutches of Silence, slapping him a few times to ensure he’s conscious enough to hear what is being uttered.
Leland: You call yourselves HARDCORE…EXTREME…you constantly live life on the edge? And that means you must have nothing to fear, right? Well look into these eyes…
Legion bends forward so that he staring eye to eye with the barely coherent Vines.
Leland: Then tell me you have no fear.
Silence throws Eddie back down to the canvas with a thud. Leland turns to address the screeching masses.
Leland: WE will give you something to fear….all of you something to fear. WE will find what terrifies you and exploit it. For WE have no remorse…WE have no compassion…WE have no morals…For WE ARE MANY.
Static can be heard as the microphone hit’s the canvas, and then static is all that can be seen before one final image of Legion, Hush, Silence and Leland Gaunt standing over the bodies of Vines and Saine closes the show.
IWC 