No Brand Wrestling Presents: GHOSTS on PAY-PER-VIEW!
Live from the Kemper Arena in Kansas City, Missouri
Black Screen, faded into the classic red screened FBI warning about pirating the broadcast. This was then upstaged by the new nBW logo for two brief seconds. The logo faded out to a hype video package presented with a blackscreen and voiceover.
Voiceover courtesy of FE59:
" Trent Mcknight: "Some would say he's an unlikely challenger; an underdog. Do you think he has a chance of beating Ali Amore for the world championship?"
Showtime: "If he can beat me, he can beat anybody."
Trent McKnight: "And if he wins? Will D-T ever be the same?"
Showtime: "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it." "
Intro
The voice of Showtime led the package to its end as the camera footage shot to a live view of the attendance in the arena. The Kemper Arena was sold out and every single able fan in attendance was standing, stomping, and cheering as loudly as humanly possible and then some. They were ready and waiting for the action to begin.
The roars of the crowd were deafening next only to the pyro which exploded around the stage in a spectacular display. The camera crews cut around the ring at a handful of fans supporting their superstars. Signs that read: “That’s Amore!”, “Kill the Dream Warriors, Supersquad!”, “Proteus is The Guy!”, “Spiked!”, “Where is your Smile?”, “Thaddeus Boyle for President!”, “What about Showtime?”, “STRIKE.”, and the last show landed on a line of Kansas City Chiefs players whom held up a strungout banner their support for Proteus. The cameras then cut over to the announcer booth where Marc Gordon and Terry Renton sat ready to get the show moving.
“Ladies and gentlemen I thank you for tuning in tonight to no brand Wrestling’s pay-per-view spectacular called Ghosts. We are coming to you live from the Kemper Arena in Kansas City, and as you can see and hear by the crowds’ reaction the atmosphere around here is off the charts.” Gordon welcomed those watching at home.
“And why should it not be? Tonight the Modernizer of the Microphone will have everyone bowing before him before the night is over.” Continued Renton.
“That may be true Terry, but he will first have to survive against the angered giant for sixty minutes in the first of our Main Events tonight. An entire hour against the one he has mouthed off to the past months. I expect we will see a side of Spike Saunders that we never expected to see, or wanted to.” Remarked Gordon.
“We also have RaVage looking to earn his shot against the World champion that is he can get pass Keegan tonight.”
“Sure to be a throw-down. That’s not all, D-T member Showtime will be going one on one with the Son of Malta is what is sure to be an exciting match-up.” Continued Gordon.
“It should be him tonight, but nonetheless as we heard on Full Effect 59 we will also be seeing the Creede Brothers, Myth and Legend, and of course For the Win in a number one contenders match. The exact match-type has yet to be disclosed.”
“I’m pulling for a ladder match Terry.” Exclaimed Gordon. “Also in tag team action tonight are the champions themselves when they defend against The Supersquad.”
“Plus the battle of the monsters with Torment and the Beast from the East Khan finally get their chance to see who is tougher.”
“I don’t imagine that will end smoothly. And tonight in our other Main Event; our World Champion Ali Amore may finally have met his match when he defends the coveted gold against D-T’s other member, Proteus. Both men are extremely athletically gifted and superior athletes so it is bound to be a great exhibition of what no brand Wrestling is all about.” Pronounced Gordon.
“I am pulling for Proteus here Marc. When he wins I want to see what happens to D-T.”
“And what better way to start then with some tag team action, Terry? Who do you--“ Gordon paused and looked back towards the camera. “Sorry folks it seems we have an important announcement first to send you to by our promoter in charge, Thaddeus Boyle.”
The Strike is...
The cameras returned and focused on the figure of Thaddeus Boyle, and the senior official Jonothan Monroe standing next to one another.
“Congratulations Jonothan, with your demands met I hope we can finally put this ordeal in the past and move forward?”
Thaddeus extended his arm with his palm open.
“Consider the Strike finished. I will go inform the other officials to get their gear ready.”
Monroe clasped Boyle’s hand within his own and shook it.
“Look forward to working with you again,” he smiled and paused before continuing. “Boss.”
“The Strike is over Trent!” exclaimed Marc Gordon from off-screen.
Monroe exited the room while Boyle sat back down in his chair. Finally, they had settled the dispute. And at no small expense.
“Looks like the Company gave in to their demands. Probably a good thing otherwise who would officiate our matches tonight?” remarked Terry Renton as the cameras left the office and focused in on Monroe walking down the hallway.
He stopped at the door to the officials and reached for the handle.
BANG!
Jonothan Monroe’s head careened into the door and his body fell to the ground. Two hands grabbed at his ankles from off-camera and dragged him a few feet to another door which read ‘Custodial’, opened it and pushed the lifeless body inside before shutting the door.
The figure remained unseen as referee Chuck Radford opened the other door and looked around before walking back inside. “Sorry Ed, thought I heard a knock. You were saying?” He pulled the door closed behind him.
"What just happen Terry?" The cameras cut back to the announcer booth as Gordon grilled his partner. "Who was that?"
"Why you asking me? Whoever it was will get caught eventually. We should not dwaddle on what happened, but instead on what will happen tonight."
"Yes you're right, but who will inform the officials that the Strike is over?" Gordon shook his head and then tilted his head to look up at the nbW-Tron as it lit up. "Looks like we will have to wait and see." The cameras cut away from the booth to a clearshot of the Tron.
Everything is For The Moment
In a galaxy far away, in a universe spread across the stars, and a time light-years from today lays a dormant planet named Earth. On this planet amongst the animal species and fluttering spirits stand two beings of epic proportions.
In their left hand they wield Fire, and in their right is Hope. Billions and trillions of beings fly across space to face these two in ImMortal Kombat to decide the fate of their universe. Eons have passed since their last trial, but tonight they once more wage war for the survival of the human species.
For the hope of mankind.
Tonight they savor the flavor of success and triumph. Let the Earth be saved by its’ heroes.
‘Hey Kids’ from Jet followed the booming voice of the heavens as the duo of the stars, the epics of modern society and the plain just damn awesome For The Win stood at the entry way enjoying the approving applause from the stadium. “It’s time. It’s Time. It’s damn time to get this partaaaaaaay movin’!” called out Chris Noid while the two slid into the ring.
“Ladies and Gents. Tonight is that night you have been waiting for. Tonight is that epic waiting to happen. That’s right you all. It happens. Tonight!”
The mic was hand-tossed to the other immortal being Tony Spark. “Tonight!” he yelled to the heavens. “You see, tonight, and we do apologize for stating this so much in this little promo but you see it is all bout Tonight!” The crowd ate it up cheering and hollering. “Yea yeah, you read us then. You see Tonight, we set our feet down on the lowest rung of the ladder that the greats have climbed. From guys like our good friends D-T, to the legends of nbW such as William Arthur Reagan and Uncensored. Even those guys that were given the title for good will or something like that such as Jason Kain, Rejection, and even Torment. You see, Tonight, we grasp that very same ladder.”
He handed the microphone back over to allow Noid to continue. “Sure that ladder has seen better days. It may be rusty. It may need a paintjob, but damnit, it is still OUR ladder and our goal. And it all starts tonight. We will start our climb to the top and bust through that glass ceiling like the others have before us. And it happens-“
He held the mic in the air.
‘TONIGHT!’ came the response from the audience.
“Right-a-mondo. You see, it seems that our match work, our athleticism, our charisma and down-right not-the-creede-bros has enabled management to see us as something worth pushing. That is why tonight you will see your favorite tag team compete in order to claim the number one contendership for those championships being wrapped around the Dream Warriors waists.”
And a toss back to Tony.
“And it all starts-“
‘TONIGHT!’ responded the crowd once more.
“Wonderful. Now we could let the suspense ware you down, but who needs it. We all know that there are two specific teams angry that we got the rub before they ever have. That would be the bitter brothers, and the angst teenagers.”
“But does it really matter who we face? They can all line up, and we will just knock them right back down from the rungs. Because let’s face it, just like any other day, tonight, everything we do is-“
The mic was raised high.
‘FOR THE WIN’ screamed the fans in approval.
“Man, you guys are great at this. I wonder if you will repeat us if I say that the Creedes are nothing more than-“
For The Win Versus The Creede Bros. Versus Myth and Legend
Number One Contendership for the Dynasty Tag Team Championships
The rules were rather simple and already explained to the three teams however Renton and Gordon are luckily great commentators to fill in the blanks.
“Here it is Terry. Tonight is their night.” Remarked Gordon while the three teams circled each other.
“For which team though should be the question here. Myth and Legend show promise and commitment but the Creede Brothers are the superior athletes. For the Win are simply in the wrong entertainment industry.”
“Be it as it may Terry, they earned this opportunity and tonight is their chance to spur towards home in this first ever nbW creation called The Gauntlet, but as to not be confused with the Pay Per View event name and even the match-type it has been deemed The G.”
“A rip off from American Gladiators is what it is Marc. The three teams start out in the ring and have to make their way to the stage area where our generous promoter is waiting with the briefcase.” Added Terry as the cameras focused in on the smiling greek.
“But more on that later Terry as it looks like the bell did indeed ring and the three teams are wasting no time.”
Mercury and Miaate had found themselves in a strangle-war, rather than tug-a-war, by the Creedes and FTW. The two kept diving for the ropes but were yanked back to the center of the ring and pounded on. Mercury snapped to his feet upon the second attempt and dropped Spade with one of those hard hitting DDTs to enable himself to charge at Tony Spark who shot out a lariat which was ducked and Mark Mercury dived through the ropes.
“The first to escape the ring and if he can shake off those effects he has the chance to obtain the victory here.” Remarked Gordon as Mercury laid sprawled out on the floor below. Mane Miaate was the next to make the dive only to get yanked back in by Spark while Noid used Miaate’s back for a springboard legsault across Mercury’s spine.
You would have to imagine that this type of match would take a toll on the body. It may not seem like it at first glance but remember; when wrestlers compete in a battleroyal the object is to toss the other competitors over the top rope to eliminate them from the contest. In this case you want to GET the hell out of dodge as quickly as you can. The only rule here is simply to make it to the back.
By any means.
And we do mean any means as is evident right now where Spade stopped Spark from exiting the ring with a lower section uppercut also referred to as a lowblow. This stopped him dead in the tracks to allow his head to get smashed into the thigh then a knee to the side of the head to flatten him out cold.
Outside the ring Noid has pulled a table out and propped it up against the barricade near the fans. He then proceeded to lay Mercury’s face into it with slamming velocity. This however was a blind mistake by Chris Noid thanks to Ace Creede being outside the ring already as well. In his hands were the wicked structure known to baseball pitchers world over as a baseball bat.
With a thundering echo the bat cracked across Noid’s backside and then into Mercury’s chest caving in the lungs. This left Ace the freedom to leap over the two and make the dash up the aisle.
And dash he did.
BOOM!
Ace fell and failed back a few steps as the explosion of pyro nearly singe his hair off.
“Looks like Ace was the first to meet the first obstacle in place for this G match. The wall of fire. It will take excellent timing to get through unscathed.”
Ace waited as the flames lowered once more and he hurried forward only to get nearly burnt a second time. While Ace continued to try and advance his brother was in the hands of Myth and Legend being thrown around like a blowup doll at a frat party.
Spade ducked through Mercury’s arms and grabbed hold of the neck for a reverse neckbreaker only to find the boot of Miaate smacked his face. Miaate looked on proudly but that moment was ruined thanks to the athleticism of Chris Noid as he flew off of the turnbuckle into the Legend.
As the cameras gave a quick overview of the carnage the ring was shown to be empty while the outskirts were surrounded by the three teams, san-Ace whom was still trying to advance past the raising flames.
Tony Spark slipped under the ring and pulled out a ladder which he quickly used to dispose of the semi-standing Myth and Legend. He then carried it up to where Ace stood and tossed it like a javelin at him. Ace dodged off to the side and the flames briefly dispersed before rising again with passion.
Spark grinned as Ace yelled at almost being toasted only to turn around and confront Ace face to face. But the Creede brother had anticipated that and with a brutal uppercut to floor the younger talent he took him down. Back by the ring Noid was already at work pulling out different weapons and utilities from under the ring, trying to gain a foothold maker. Mark Mercury realized this thinking strategy and when Noid pulled out a trashcan, he was clobbered in the back with a kendo stick. Mercury held the trashcan and called Miaate over.
He canned his own teammate and shoved him towards the entrance aisle sending him head and can fist into the flames. It worked however despite the burns that Mane Miaate was going to feel later.
“The first obstacle has been passed, but they still have to-“ started the commentator of the blackest night Terry Renton, before he paused and held back his laughter as Mane Miaate fell backwards through the flames. But he was not alone, as a stretcher carried along on its wheels right behind him. “The second challenge, courtesy of Gyle and his NewBorn at the top next to Thaddeus.”
That indeed was the truth here. Thaddeus stood with the briefcase in hand while Gyle was fronted with Sam Girard, and two of the other NewBorn talent. Behind them sat four more Stretchers stationed and ready to wheel down. Now even if they managed through the fire it would still be impossible to pass the sliding beds of doom.
“This is REDICULOUS” screamed out Ace Creede as he looked up at the topped stretcher next to him. To the side Miaate was shrugging off the trashcan and then bashed it across Ace’s body.
Ace charged back down to the ring and clobbered Noid from behind freeing Spade from his clutches. He pointed up at the ramp where the fire was now dormant. The two eyes the area around them. And then it hit them.
The audience.
“Well Terry looks like the Creedes are planning on bypassing the issue through the crowd but isn’t that against the regulations here?”
As Marc spoke it, the truth was set free. “May I have your attention please,” spoke Thaddeus Boyle from the top of the ramp. “It is my duty to inform you that any exiting of the ring area, such as through the audience or even up into the rafters if possible, will deem you disqualified from this contest. I would suggest not completing that trek across the barricade walls Ace.” Ace looked back up at the boss and slammed his hands down into the wall before jumping back off.
The two brothers grew frustrated at the bells and whistles and the hoops they had to jump through just to get the tag title shot. This is Wrestling not the circus. What the hell.
But to guys like Chris Noid and Tony Spark, the very event was a gamer’s haven. They were thankful for their secret phone call to the Company while ordering pizza the other night. This would be a tremendous event, at least that is how they sold it, now they had to keep up that end of the bargain.
Noid was the first to notice the usefulness of the table they still had laying off to the side. He called over Tony and the two carried it to the flames. It was laid out across the pyro pit and immediately started to show signs of melting and fire. The two pushed forward and stepped up to the first oncoming stretcher. Noid leaped in the air and Spark was able to dodge to the side which enabled the stretcher to continue and nail Ace who was trying to follow from behind.
The two were not yet at the finish line however. As a second stretcher slid down at them, they both ducked to the side and noticed that Myth and Legend were now following their steps. As Mercury hopped off the burning table it burst into flame and completely engulfed.
The Creedes stood on the otherside of the flames throwing a fit as Myth and Legend alongside For the Win surmounted the hill.
Effectively it was down to two teams now. Mercury and Miaate rushed at For the Win from behind and drove them into the ramp. Mercury flung Spark over his head into the guardrail while Miaate locked in a leg lock on Noid. Another stretcher begin to slide down the ramp courtesy of Gyle and the NewBorn, which Mercury wrangled to the side and Miaate pulled the outstretched leg into its path..
The stretcher rolled across Noid’s leg as he screamed out in pain and it then topped down onto him. Miaate then walked over to Mercury where the two lifted Spark into the air and dropped him face first into the barricade. This happened a second time before the Mercury stopped them and the two recollected an earlier statement by Thaddeus.
“It seems they have other plans now. Shame that the Creedes are stuck behind the wall of flame.”
“Their resourceful. Surely they can find another way.” Commented Renton.
Mark Mercury directed traffic and pointed to the audience. Miaate got the idea. They grabbed him by the armpits and spun him around then tossed him towards the barricade.
“And that is the end of them thanks to the Heave HO!” called out Renton approving their methods.
However.
You can’t keep a good Spark down. Tony used his feet like a cat to stop them dead in their tracks, and walking up the side he flipped to drop them both with a DDT.
Spark looked around for Noid and rushed over to the stretcher shoving it out of the way to retrieve his partner. The two hobbled back up the ramp towards Thaddeus as he waited in patience.
“That’s the finish line. All they have to do is walk up to Mister Boyle and retrieve the briefcase.”
And that is what they did. Hobbling up the ramp with no more stretchers to roll down it seemed. Clear path to victory then.
“Thaddeus.” Spoke Noid as he reached forward and was handed the briefcase. “Heck of a workout boss. Hope this-“
WHAM. BAM.
The son of bitches known as Myth and Legend had pulled off two of the stretcher wheels and tossed them at the rightful winners. Noid fell into Thaddeus while Spark dropped to the side into Gyle’s open arms. Mercury and Miaate rushed up the ramp and ripped the briefcase from Noid’s hands. The Creedes sat on the ring apron watching in awe, horror and embarrassment. Miaate raised the briefcase in the air and cradled it against his chest as the two hopped the bodies and vanished through the entrance curtain.
Thaddeus sat back up and shook his head at the result. Or was that the reason?
He reached into his pocket and withdrew a key which was handed to Noid.
Locked Briefcase, needs a key to open right?
Looks like overtime but for this match as signaled by the pyro stopping, was over. The Creedes charged up the ramp at the two but were met with the opposition of the NewBorn and Gyle Boyle, along with what security was available. They would not be making the headlines of the news paper tonight.
Thaddeus rose his hand for silence. “That was an excellent bout of athleticism mixed with intelligence. However, the first two challenges were obvious, but the third has yet to be completed. As it stands right now,” Thaddeus pointed towards Noid and Spark, the latter kneeling to support the other. “these two have the Key to success in nbW. Their shot at the Dynasty Tag Team Championship.”
Cheers from the crowd rained throughout the arena while yells of ‘its unfair’ poured from the mouths of the Creede brothers.
“However. That key is nothing without the Briefcase. And to the same point, the Briefcase that Myth and Legend stole away with just now, is nothing without the Key. Thus we have a problem here.”
He pointed to the nbW tron where Mercury and Miaate were seen running through the back.
“Neither team has earned the contendership at this time. The only way to do so is by opening that briefcase and signing the documents within. That briefcase,” again he pointed at the tron. “And that key” he stated while pointing to the key in Noid’s hand. “Mean nothing without the other. The ones whose name are indicated on the dotted line will be the ones receiving the championship shot against the Dream Warriors.”
He turned as the fans started to boo. “Sorry guys. Rules are rules.” Unceremoniously the greek headed through the curtain and off towards his office in all likelihood. The Creedes were released and each time they tried to attack FTW they were pulled back until they also left the stage.
Spark held Noid up by supporting him with his body as the fans stood and cheered. Their cheers however turned to boos as the nbW tron showed Myth and Legend shoving the briefcase into a car and followed by the sounds of screeching tires on pavement as it sped away from the arena.
This left many to wonder what was next and how For the Win would acquire the documents now. It seems that the answer will have to wait until they reach St. Louis and catch up with the thieves.
Thankfully for the audience… the night was just getting started.
OUTCOME: Contendership Not Determined
Like taking Candy from a baby.
Backstage, the cameras quickly swooned to the parking garage where a long, gold limousine was slowly rolling into park. The driver emerged and quickly scurried around to the back where he straightens his tie, quickly glances around at the people who had began to gather to watch who has arrived.
He pulls open the door and steps out of the way, bowing slightly as a man emerges. A man wearing a pair of Aviator shades, a gold Ralph Lauren polo shirt and a pair of Giorgio Armani jeans. Draped over his shoulder is his Religios Rasslin' Championship belt, formerly the nbW Keystone Championship.
It is J. Leslie Voss.
Those wathcing inside the arena immediately erupted into boos as the Religious Rasslin' Experience lowered his shades to glare at the onlookers, clearly displaying his disdain for those which had gathered to look on.
He hands it acros to the driver and raises his arms up. This is the driver's queue. He wraps the belt around JLV's waist. With that done, Voss snaps his fingers and the driver darts to the rear of the car, opening the trunk. He plucks out a golden Adidas gym bag and heaves it over his shoulder, following J. Leslie Voss as the arena still rains their hate at the Religious Rasslin' Experience. Voss stops before the people.
"The fuck're you 'Net surfin' virgins staring at? Spank banks full yet? Get outta my way. I've got an important match to entertain you fuckheads with."
Voss began to step through the crowd when he stopped. A lady stood there with a baby on her hip. The baby was licking a lollipop. voss locked eyes with the baby.
The baby peered back at him.
Voss removed his Aviators and stared down the baby.
The baby blinked.
Voss snatched the lollipop and those around him? They began to voice their disapproval.
The Religious Rasslin' Champion? He grinned his sick and sadistic shit-eating grin and handed the lollipop back to the limo driver, who took it begrudgingly.
"Go wash that. I'm gonna enjoy that after I've sprayed Spliff Saunders..."
Inside the arena, the fans began to chant.
"SPIKE!" "SPIKE!" "SPIKE!" "SPIKE!" "SPIKE!"
"Whatever. I'll enjoy it after I've sprayed Spike Saunders blood all over this arena and retained my Religious Rasslin' Championship."
And the Ayatollah of Ass-a-hollah spun on his heels and headed onward into the arena, ready to prepare for his big match, to the sounds of a baby's cry.
Welcomed guest 
'I gotta feeling!
That tonight’s going to be a good night, that tonight’s going to be a good night, that tonight’s going to be a good good night!
Ohhhh owwww!'
Stopping his ringtone by answering his phone. “What’s ya beef!?” A man answered his phone looking at the door which had a black and white sign that read: “No Brand Wrestling Superstars Only!”
“I’m here Spike. Lemme in, and when did you become a superstar?” The man chuckled as the door opened and the colossus of nbW was standing in the doorway. “Long time, dude.” Spike said with a smile. “Glad you came. No bag? No gear?”
The man put his cell phone in his jacket pocket, “I threw those rags away. You invited me to watch you tear into that Ratings Magnet; I’m here as a friend and more importantly a fan. I want a hotdog and a cherry coke, bro! Oh, and a foam finger!”
“Same goofy bastard, Advent.” Spike chuckled as he talked to the former nbW 'superstar'.
NewBorn Showcase: Obia Solomon Versus Merrick Douglas
Obia Solomon of the NewBorn stood in the ring waiting for his opponent and fellow NewBorn talent, Merrick Douglas. The wait was small as the curtains dispersed and the six foot ten German trainee walked down to the ring. The two shook hands as a show of sportsmanship and took separate sides of the ring in wait for the bell to toll.
They waited in anticipation. For them, this venue, this electric environment was their first. The prospect of entertaining the fans infused them with energy.
And they continued to wait. Obia looked around the ring. Merrick paced nervously as he could feel the stares and crowd losing interest in them quickly.
Then it became clear. The bell wouldn't ring. The key ingredient was missing.
There was no officiator for the match. Obia and Merrick realized this and looked at each other for answers. Their attention was soon drawn to the stage where Michael O'Dell stood waiving his arm in a 'come back' signal. The two slid under the ropes and walked back up the ramp to a chorus of boos.
O'Dell patted them on the back and assured them it was not their fault before he herded them through the curtain.
OUTCOME: Match Never Started
Where the hell were you??
The cameras immediately went to the back where the view was nearly toppled over thanks to the thundering Greek charging their direction. Thaddeus Boyle came to a halt at the door to the referees and flung it open. "WHAT. THE. HELL." Those three words flew from his lips as he spotted his referees playing poker. Boyle walked over to Tal Nedrick and pulled him to his feet.
"Dude, you almost cost me my hand." The urgency and importance of the man holding his arm had yet to set in. "Oh shi-" he caught himself barely.
"WHY ARE YOU STILL IN HERE!" his voice raised and even the passer-byers could hear this not-so-silent conversation. "Is THIS the thanks I get for risking my career and fighting tooth and nail with The Company to get YOUR demands met?"
Boyle turned and looked at Chuck. "Do you guys want to see the nbW fail?"
And to Ed Gates. "Because of you, I now have two superstars that suffered the embarrassment of their lives and an arena filled with angered fans."
And then to Samuel. "Jonothan should have made it clear to you nearly fifteen minutes ago. Now I have-"
"We are Sorry boss." interrupted Samuel as he laid his cards down and stood. "We had no idea. Jon has yet to return." he motioned towards Chuck and the rest whom all stood and started pulling out their black and whites. "We'll get out there now."
Boyle looked ready to speak more but turned and headed out of the room. This was just not going smoothly. He needed to turn it around...
Luckily, a savor was just arriving.
Arrivals and Absences
Showtime and Proteus, justly thought of as two of the franchise players of nbW, have a reputation for showing up late for the show. It isn't that they don't care about punctuality, it's that they often have commitments elsewhere that press against their wrestling schedule. The team considers it a mark of their professionalism that, while they may occasionally be late for the show's start, they will always be there for their own matches.
Plus, it gives them a chance to shoot a segment where they pull up in the parking lot, all nonchalant-like, which they feel makes them look cool.
So we see a rented Ford Taurus pull up to the back entryway. The driver, Showtime, steps out, dressed in a black Official nbW Showtime shirt, jeans and his mask, with a gym bag, and tromps angrily toward the entrance. As per contractual stipulation, interviewer Trent McKnight was there to greet him.
"Trent!" Showtime barked, "No time for pleasantries or casual promo-cutting. There's some real shit going on."
"You don't say," Trent observed, "You look agitated."
"No kidding I'm agitated!" Showtime said, "Here we are, fifteen minutes until Ghosts--"
"--it already began--" Trent interrupted
"And Proteus, my tag team partner for over a decade--"
"--You were inactive for like half of it--"
"Who is receiving his first World Title Shot in his career--"
"--since you usually use D-T to advance your own career--"
"Has been missing since this morning!" Showtime finished his thought, consciousnly ignoring Trent's interjections.
"What do you mean missing??" Trent asked.
"I mean I haven't seen him!" Showtime said, "Are you deaf? I've known Proteus for almost 11 years now. He can be impulsive but I usually get a good bead on his personality. He's been nervous lately, Trent, for obvious reasons. He's going up against a very skilled opponent, in the highest stakes match of his life. When I went to confer with him before the the show, he was nowhere to be found. He is freaking gone, Trent."
"Is he..."
"I don't understand it. It's not like Proteus. But the guy, I love him but he's unstable. That's why he's such a great ally. Because you can't account for his psyche. He's all over the place. And I'm worried that the pressure has just gotten to him here. I've never seen him run away from a fight, but here he is, absent."
"How about that..."
"But I was thinking about it on the way over here," the camera fixed on Showtime, "And I know it's last-minute, but as Proteus' tag partner and confidant, I thought maybe... and I don't love this idea, but I see no alternative, since the show must go on... I will volunteer to step into the ring against Ali Amore in Proteus' place."
"Is that so?"
"Absolutely. As the person Proteus beat to get that title shot, I think I'm the most qualified person in the company to face off against Ali Amore. I know it's not the match that was promoted, but I don't think the fans at home will be too disappointed."
"Uh huh," nodded the skeptical McKnight, "And what about your scheduled opponent for tonight, Son of Malta?"
"Well, I was thinking of fighting him, too. I mean, if I can beat him, then I've definitely earned my title shot."
"And if you don't beat him?"
"Well, we don't need to go there, Trent. I've stood toe to toe with some of the most accomplished fighters in this industry. I'm a man of international renown. I don't want to down-play it, but I would do anything to beat Son of Malta, if it meant getting that Ali Amore match. And I don't want to say I'd walk through it, but Son of Malta probably doesn't really know what he's up against."
"Well, that's just great, Showtime, but I think there's one thing you ought to see."
Trent led Showtime toward a doorway. He opened it to reveal... Proteus sitting, staring intently at the wall. The fans, seeing this on the nbW Tron, cheered.
Trent said, "Apparently he's been here since before dawn. Snuck into the building."
Showtime glanced at his partner and surmised, "He's mentally preparing himself. I should've guessed."
"Well," Trent smirked, "It's good to know you're so eager to step into his place."
"I've been reviewing battle tactics in my mind all day," Proteus intoned, not particularly addressing either of the two men, "I started with Bruce Lee tapes, then moved on to Georges St. Pierre fights... now I'm watching an episode of Blossom."
Puzzled, Trent asked, "Why Blossom?"
"Did you ever notice the way that girl dances in the opening credits? It's mental. A perfect defensive maneuver. As Joey Lawrence mighty say - Woah!"
Showtime knew exactly what Proteus was getting at, but Trent, sensing something fanr beyond his level of comprehension, backed away slowly.
Left alone in the room (with the camera man,) Proteus merely asked his partner, "Showtime... are you proud of me for getting this title shot?"
Showtime, without a moment's hesitation, replied, "Absolutely."
Keegan Versus RaVage
For World Championship Contention
Ghosts is an aptly-named PPV for both participants in a bout designed to determine the number one contender to the World title.
For many, RaVage is a man who suffers from small man syndrome. While small in height, he’s a stocky customer with the heart of a super heavyweight and an ego to match. Ever since he was forced to relinquish the gold, which he didn’t lose in the ring if he hasn’t already told you, he has had the hump. It’s easy to see why but it’s also clear the tough customer won’t rest until he regains what he considers ‘his.’
Keegan is nearly in the twilight of his career, aged just 35. A man tipped for greatness as a teenager when he touched down on U.S. soil, he had never lifted a World Championship of any kind until New Year’s Eve 2009 when he closed the door on SHOW and his bitter rival, Uncensored, ending William’s career forever.
RaVage asked for a shot at Ali Amore, Keegan’s student, directly. A compromise was reached: RaVage wins here, he gets Ali. However, there was another stipulation added: The winner, regardless of who it is, would face the world champion, whoever it may be. That’s right. Keegan could end up facing Ali Amore, his own trainee, or RaVage may yet square off against tag team specialist, Proteus. Or… fuck it. You can work out the other permutations for yourself.
Let’s get to the action.
(Click to Watch Keegan Intro Video)
Just as K was posing in front of the fans with his arms outstretched, RaVage struck with a clubbing blow to the back of the head, which didn’t floor the former Fighting Zone champion but was enough to startle him. As he turned around RaVage hit him with a haymaker causing him to stumble and a palm joust sent Special K into a corner, one which he couldn’t get out of. Referee Chuck Radford called out for the bell to get the match officially started.
RaVage’s punches seemed to be getting stronger, each one stiffer than its predecessor, and with Keegan on the way down, the stocky former world champion thought he’d be gracious and generous enough by doing his best Austin impression and stomping a mud hole in the Englishman and walking it dry.
RaVage, already in cruise control, edged the European import towards the ropes, away from the corner, and tried to whip the Newcastle native into the opposing set but the Briton reversed. Unfortunately, Keegan was still feeling the ill effects of the early assault here and put his head down. Lowering your head or guard at this level is potentially fatal and RaVage almost took his noggin off with a devastating double arm DDT…
1
2
That wasn’t an authoritative rejection by any means. As Keegan raised his head, seemingly dazed, RaVage pushed it back down again and came off the ropes with a stiff elbow drop. With momentum behind him, he decided to return to the ropes and propelled himself to quite a height, getting a lot of elevation on his belly splash to complete the combination, garnering another 2 count for his efforts.
Despite being in a state, Special K had presence of mind to roll over on his stomach after kicking out and away from an approaching RaVage. He wasn’t scared of the ex-champion, in fact he couldn’t wait to get his hands on him, but he was up against it here and in dire need of space. However, he must’ve forgotten who he was up against because he rolled towards the ropes. RaVage smiled, took a few steps back and then launched into Keegan with the so-called dropkick of shame, which sent the Brit between the ropes and out onto the floor in a heap.
There, he followed suit and was keen to continue the punishment. He did so by taking control of Keegan’s head and ramming it into the ring steps. Afterwards, he lifted the ring steps and brought them down on his opponent, who fell over as if he was drunk upon impact. RaVage laughed at the consequences of his own carnage. He told the fans Keegan was ‘pathetic.’ While he may have jumped the Geordie Genius, the game plan was going according to plan up until this point.
Perhaps overly-confident, RaVage wanted to pay his victim with the ultimate insult and injury at the same time. He hooked the bigger man’s arms up and seemed poised to paste his rival with a sickening piledriver on the floor. Nevertheless, the Newcastle native, who was still reeling from the sneak attack before the bell sounded, was too big, too strong and too smart for that. He suddenly dropped down to his knees, relinquishing RaVage’s grip. As the former nbW number one was going to put Special K in the identical position, he got a shock as the Englishman struck him with a strong right hand to the lower echelons. RaVage fell to the floor instantly, worrying he may not be able to pass on his DNA to a second-generation wrestler…
Slouched down, Keegan fought to regain his breath and brain. After seven seconds or so, he composed himself and then walked over to a grounded RaVage with serious, some would say bordering on evil, intent.
RaVage had expected that though and caught Keegan somewhere in the belly button with a crunching right hand, which forced the famed fighter to keel over. Piledrivers were still dancing wildly in his mind and once again, RaVage had his foe set up. Once again, Keegan avoided the career-threatening spot as so many had over the years with a basic but ultimately successful backbody drop.
There was no precious seconds ticking away but Keegan was determined to finally get his greasy paws all over RaVage’s greasy hair. Before that, he decided to strut over to the timekeeper’s position. He didn’t need to ask twice, or once for that matter, as the timekeeper happily presented him with the chair his posterior had been parked on and along with an approving audience watched K smack RaVage right in the spine with it.
The Yardstick wasn’t done there though. No, not by a long shot. Returning to the vicinity of the timekeeper’s table, he did get his hands on RaVage’s long locks and lifted him into the air, bringing him back down to earth with a modified stun gun across the security wall.
RaVage was draped across the barrier, but not for much longer as the Newcastle native whacked him with a vicious right hand to put him straight on his arse. Thereafter, he picked RaVage up with no regard and sent him back where he came from, the barrier, spine-first, and like a catapult he walked straight into the Geordie’s grateful grasp…
GORILLIA PRESS SLAM
Back over the top rope and into the ring.
Awesome strength.
Keegan rolled back into the ring as RaVage pleaded with him to stop and tried to ask Referee Radford to stop it. Neither man would have any of it, particularly Keegan, who brushed past the official and mounted RaVage, nailing him with several rigid right hands to the temple. After about seven or eight, he took a step back, admired his handiwork – a motionless opponent – and then scored with a fist drop for his first pinfall attempt of the outing, which provoked a two count.
Special K sent into the ropes with authority but RaVage reversed. It was his time to be the beneficiary of the boomerang effect as Keegan came towards him, he trapped the vocal European and was about to plant him with a belly-to-belly suplex. The Englishman, on the other hand, was not obliging and refused to move when RaVage was poised to lift him. Instead, he moved his feet back a couple of centimetres, just enough, and reversed it beautifully successfully negotiating a bone-crushing belly-to-belly of his own…
1
2
No. RaVage tried to escape Keegan’s clutches but only succeeded into backing himself into a corner, which no doubt pleased his opposition, who let him have it with three knife-edge chops. After waylaying RaVage with those, he turned his attention to the ribs and stomach, banging at the body with two ferocious fists but the stocky 5’8 shooter took a shortcut and extended a thumb to the eye in order to halt Keegan’s momentum momentarily.
RaVage wanted to deposit Keegan into the opposite corner but the Brit slammed the brakes on. RaVage laid them in three hard knees of his own to the abdomen and that was enough to give him the green light, but somehow Special K reversed the whip.
From out of nowhere, Keegan launched towards his prey…
That got nothing but steel post as RaVage moved out of the way at the last split-second.
Keegan was left there hanging for a few extra seconds, allowing him to reflect and contemplate his wrong move. Was it too early? Had he misjudged the situation? The brief interval had now elapsed. RaVage, with a handful of hair, wanted his pound of flesh and lifted Keegan’s shoulder up to kick him up and around the armpit area not once, but twice.
Not scared, rather sensible, Special K tried to speedily walk away, create a distance between him and the rabid pitbull before him, though they both knew there was no chance of that. A feeble left hand was all he could muster with his right shoulder currently out of commission. It had no effect at all. RaVage softened him up further still with an arm wringer and pulled at it. Then, he moved to a hammerlock position and pushed Keegan back into the corner, shoulder-first, allowing himself to effectively pour more punishment on that sore spot – with a helping hand of course.
RaVage, despite Keegan’s resistance by clasping at his opponent’s hair that the referee managed to rebuff, draped his foe’s arm over the top rope and free reign at the shoulder, which he expertly capitalized on with three perfectly-placed boots.
The tough customer was determined to make Keegan regret interjecting himself in this situation, serving as an obstacle between him and his world championship, the one he never lost if you didn’t already know. A shoulderbreaker, simple and smart strategy, chillingly-executed led to a 2 count. He had hurt Keegan but he wasn’t going to put him down with that. Who did he think he was? Papa Shango?
It was time to slow things down. As Keegan sat up, RaVage decided to have a sit down with him and lean on the 271-pounder with all of his body weight, nearly 250 pounds, by placing his hand, rather forcefully I may add, on the shoulder, trying to penetrate the import’s nerve system as well.
Keegan was suffering but he still managed to thump his left hand down in the canvas to summon the crowd to clap for him. Any encouragement here, much to RaVage’s chagrin who put his index finger over his lips to ask them to be quiet, would give the first-ever 25 to Life winner a massive lease of life.
The Briton regained his vast vertical base and started to drop bombs, his left elbow introducing itself to the ex-champ’s stomach on three occasions…
RaVage walked towards Keegan, who was finding his range, using his left arm to chop RaVage. The tough little customer was out on his feet. With everything he could find, Keegan dug down deep and relying on his slightly weaker left hand, he rotated 360 degrees and got anything and everything he could behind his old finisher…
Nowadays, he prefers to call it F.R.O
The middle initial stands for ‘right.’
You can guess the rest.
And RaVage was out of it. Unfortunately, Keegan was down too.
They were giving it their all. RaVage was desperate to overcome the obstacle that stood between him and what he felt was his destiny. It was the first step in a two-part series designed to regain the strap he never relinquished in the ring. Keegan, regardless of who was wearing the world championship, even Ali Amore, the boy who he groomed to be great, couldn’t stand losing to anyone, let alone RaVage. He was going to protect the title on Ali’s behalf, though Proteus may have something to say about that later on, and then try to take it himself.
Here and now, the referee was up to a count of 7 when Keegan started to stir. RaVage was coming round too, his head bouncing off the ground as he looked up, unable to move. Slowly, Special K started to rise. His shoulder was hurting but he was used to pain now. What he never got used to was failure…
The Brit broke the count on 8. He approached RaVage. In fact, he covered him…
1
2
NO!
It was worth a try. Now, where to go…
RaVage was on his knees. Keegan helped him to complete the rest of the journey. He smacked RaVage with a knife-edge chop and RaVage, groggy, responded. Special K struck a second time but RaVage replied to that too.
Keegan then took a wild swing but he missed and RaVage applied a sleeper. However, Keegan knew where he was and merely backed his antagonist up into the corner once, twice, thrice… four times in total.
What he hadn’t noticed was that the referee had been stuck behind RaVage every time he tried to free himself and had been squashed by a combined weight well in excess of 500lbs.
Special K shook his head in an apologetic manner but had to focus. He fired RaVage into the buckle hard and when the stocky son of a bitch rebounded out….
Keegan couldn’t execute the cover but he’d done it this time round. His shoulder was bothering him and he was nursing it as he made a short crawl to drape an arm over the prone carcass of RaVage. Of course, the crowd counted along and surpassed three easily, they got to five before Keegan stared over at the fallen official and made his way to his feet.
This match should have been over but the man in the middle, the man who mattered, was on the floor and not moving.
Hands on hips, the former fighter was frustrated to say the least. He bent down to tap the referee on the shoulder but he was unable to revive him.
Meanwhile, with his back turned, there was another disturbance at the timekeeper’s table. By the time, the camera highlighted what everyone in the arena knew merely seconds earlier…
A man in red and black trousers with a dark t-shirt and mask to match was running into the ring…
With a chair…
SMACK!
Which he struck Keegan with in the back of the head as the Englishman returned to an upright position.
Now, he was down, his back arched and face contorted…
SMACK!
And subsequently, he was down and out.
Though the carnage did not stop there.
Picking the 271-pounder up like a newspaper, this well-built man, whoever he was, hoisted Keegan up with a double under-hook powerbomb and drilled him into the steel chair for what would be a third and final time.
If he hadn’t done enough already, he then tossed the evidence out of the ring and dragged RaVage into place, patting him on the back as he did so.
All the ex-champion had to do was crawl a couple of more lengths, like a slug, and put the faintest of touches on the heavily-beating chest of Keegan.
Fifteen seconds passed but, by now, the referee, who could barely see, could just make out that RaVage was pinning Keegan…
1…
2…
3!!!
Three men knew nothing about it.
But three seconds meant…
RaVage was one match away from title reign number two.
It could – and maybe should – have been a different story. On commentary, it was being argued that RaVage was in a great deal of debt to whoever the masked man was. The identity remained unknown but the result was decisive and they were probably right. It threw up many questions in the process.
Had RaVage hired someone to do his dirty work?
Was this man an enemy of Keegan?
Would we even see him again?
Regardless, one important question had been answered momentarily…
RaVage would meet the world champion.
OUTCOME: RaVage by Pinfall.
From Florida to KC
"An' Sugah Ole Remy promises he jus' gon' be ah minute", the words precede the appearance of the man. Then from behind the maple bleached press wood doors of the Kemper Arena out steps former LoC and Asylum competitor Remy Leroux.
The camera rolls around the six foot two inch Cajun with the ear to ear toothy grin, "Now Ah knoe' 'xactly what ch'all must be tinkin'. Ole Remy dun gon' an' signed up wit No Brand Wrasslin? It's bout time ah stah ah mah calibah graced dis promotion! See A'hm commin' from dis lil' place down Florida where dey went an' got all brand new on Ole Remy. Dey wanted dis country boi tah uproot an' follow dem up to dah big city... not dis country boi."
"So when dem folks at dat promotion Ah was makin' went an got brand new on Leroux," Remy smiled like he'd been rehearsing this in the mirror for hours, "Ole Remy went an' got No Brand on dem."
The fans inside the arena watching the segment on the screen by applauded the Cajun. A chant of "N B Dubya!" erupted off through the fans. Leroux waited patiently for them to quiet themselves.
"Now if you good people is dun'," again the chant resurfaced, Leroux didn't speak again just held his smile until the fans subsided.
"So now dat we all knoe' jus' why Ole Remy's donned dah eN Bee Dubyah bannah ch'all probably wonderin' jus' who A'hm takin' aim at? Is dis Ole Country Boi lookin' tah take dah Amore' from Ali? Noh, not jus' yet." The Cajun answered his own question with a wink, "Could Ole Remy be lookin' tah out thump eN Bee Dubyah's resident bible thumpah? Oh noh, J Leslie Voss got his hand full'nough with dat seven footah, Spike Saundahs."
The wily Cajun taps his forehead with his index finger, "Soh jus' wha' could dah Cajun's agendah beh? Well Ah'll tell ch'all dis much, you jus' tune intah Full Effect... Ole Remy'll be in rare form callin' ah spade, an' jus' wait till' ch'all see who dat beh."
Leroux pressed down on the bent metal handle and the door opened, his attention quickly turned from the camera back inside his private locker room, "Now Chere' Ah thought Ah tole y'all not tah start wit'out meh."
No Such thing as a Perfect World
"I just think it's awesome," El Avestruz said to his partner Emo Kevin, "If Proteus wins the nbW World Champinoship, and we win the nbW Dynasty Championship, then almost everyone in our stable will have a championship. I mean, not Showtime, but we can find something for him to do. He can be like our mascot."
"Look, I'm excited, too," Emo Kevin muttered unexcitedly, "But I think you need to get real. Maybe we'll beat Dark Ninja and Psycho and win the championship. Maybe Proteus will beat Ali Amore and become the world heavyweight championship. But But none of this amounts to what you just said, because, for the thousandth time, you need to realize that we are not in a stable with D-T. We're on our own, El Avestruz. We always have been. They're not on our side. Their success is not our success. We have to make our own way. And anywhere we've got to by now, up to and including this nbW Dynasty Tag Team championship match, is due to our own skills. Yes, Proteus and Showtime did help train both of us. And in a perfect world, they'd actually give a damn about our existence, but it's like my band says in our song 'There's No Such Thing As a Perfect World:...'"
(It sounds better with a screaming guitar riff. But it's still ridiculously cheesy.)
"Come on," Emo Kevin said, "They're playing our song."
SuperSquad Versus Dream Warriors (c)
Dynasty Tag Team Championship Match
A mildly supportive cheer arose from the crowd as Holding Out For a Hero pulsated through the arena. Standing next to Referee Chuck Radford, Brent Williams announced: "This match is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, at a combined weight of 355 lbs, the team of El Avestruz and Emo Kevin.. the SuperSquad!"
The pair hopped into the ring and mugged in an excessively babyface way for the crowd.
The speakers switched to Dream Warriors by Dokken. The arena went dark. The entryway filled with green mist. Blacklights illuminated anyone with white clothing.
"And their opponents, at a combined weight of 535 Lbs, the nbW Dynasty Tag Team Champions Dark Ninja and Psycho... the Dream Warriors!"
The normally obnoxious Dark Ninja was notably reserved compared to previous appearances, but the crowd reaced unfavorably all the same. Psycho, clearly a wrench or two short of a toolkit, dragged his gold belt behind him on the ground like a security blanket.
"The Dream Warriors - DW as they are often called - have a lot going for them," Marc Gordon commented, "They're the first new team to win the nbW Dynasty Tag Titles since Showtime and Proteus won them in late 2006, which, depending on your perspective, may be a long time ago, or not long enough."
Renton replied, "They've already proven themselves to be better representatives for this company - what gravitas! What respectability! This is how a champion should carry himself."
"That happens to be your opinion, Terry."
"It happens to be the truth!"
"In any case," sighed Gordon, "Beating D-T in a tag title scenario is something a lot of teams would love to have on their resume, but only DW can claim, and that gives them the type of momentum that makes them the favourites in this, or any, match."
The bell rang. Psycho started off against Emo Kevin, a return match from the earlier bout in which Kevin was largely dominated. The announcers mused whether it was possible for Kevin to have learned anything new in that time. Being tossed around the ring like a ragdoll and booted sharply in the face for the first several minutes suggested no.
"I can say a lot about the Dream Warriors," Gordon said, "I don't like their attitude, I don't like thier style, I don't like the way they cockily declare themselves the hottest thing in this business, but I can't argue with the results. They are a tough couple of fighters."
Psycho lifted Emo Kevin over his head, but Kevin wriggled downward to the mat, scooping Psycho over for a schoolboy pin. However, as Psycho was too big to schoolboy, Kevin modified his attack and wrangled him into a leg grapevine that proved astonishingly effective.
"Remarkable!" Gordon proclaimed, "After a fashion, Kevin managed to get himself in a favorable position, dropping the big man to the mat and keeping him there."
"Know what's remarkable?" Renton replied, "Ninja isn't the biggest cat in the park, but even he outweighs each member fo the SuperSquad by 50, 60, 70 pounds. For serious. Look at this bony little Emo kid. We let him be a wrestler?"
"He has the training to do so, Rents," Gordon replied, "In fact, the main thing El Avestruz and Dark Ninja have in common isthat they were both trained in large part by Proteus, who is challenging our world champion for his title tonight."
"You just love whoring D-T to the masses, don't you..." sighed Rents.
Emo Kevin kepts Psycho grounded by stomping the leg, wrenching it any way he could, just generally working on the knee so that, if Psycho would be able to stand, he would be too weak to do much. He tagged out to El Avestruz, who delivered a diving legdrop to his opponent's knee. As El Avestruz ran the ropes for a baseball slide, Psycho rolled out of his opponent's path and got to his feet. El Avestruz rebounded just in time to get caught by a huge lariat, turning him inside out (figuratively.) Psycho liften El Avestruz and whipped him to the corner. As he rushed in for an avalanche, El Avestruz ducked out through the middle ropes, then hopped to the top turnbuckle and lept off with a flying hurricanrana to his opponent! He covered:
1....
2... No, not realy yet.
The crowd was starting to get behind El Avestruz. Psycho get back up to his feet. El Avestruz attempted another attack but Psycho elbowed him aside and went for a tag out to Dark Ninja.
Dark Ninja caught El Avestruz with an arm drag, but gettign to his feet, El Avestruz responded with an armdrag of his own. As Ninja rebounded to his feet, he went for another, but was met instead with a spinning heel kick, sending him down flat. El Avestruz springboarded off the second rope with an elbow and covered:
ONE...
No, Ninja was far too fresh. El Avestruz attempted an armbar, but Ninja reversed it and locked in a chinlock.
And he held it.
And he helt it longer.
And that chinlock went on for about three and a half minutes.
And if you don't think that's a long time, close you eyes and try to imagine someone with their elbow around your chin, for three whole minutes, while the commentators yammer about the application for a good chin lock.
Dark Ninja had El AVestruz sufficiently grounded until Emo Kevin risked all to rush into the ring and break it up with a stomp. For his efforts, he was warned by the ref. And while the ref had his back turned, Psycho came in and the two champions began to double-team the challenger by whiping him into the ring opsts and launching one another at him. It was somewhat cruel, especially given that during this entire time, Emo Kevin was
And then, whipping him against the ropes, El Avestruz rebounded with a dropkick on both his opponents. He covered. The referee turned just in time.
ONE...
TWO...
No, no go. He stood DArk Ninja up and whipped him against the ropes. Ninja attempted a clothesline on the rebound, which El Avestruz ducked, and on the second pass, he back body-dropped Ninja. Ninja, having a keen sense of balance, landed on his feet and kept going, but El Avestruz, managing to anticipate this, and without skipping a beat, hit a backward-dropkick on his foe. The fans cheered.
"Remarkable!" Gordon cheered.
"Let's see him pull that off again," scoffed Rents. El Avestruz covered.
ONE...
TWO...
Still no. El Avestruz grabbed Dark Ninja's legs for a slingshot, but Ninja somehow managed to reverse it into a monkey flip. Dark Ninja crept behind El Avestruz and threw him with a tiger suplex. The shoulders were pinned...
ONE...
TWO...
No, El Avestruz still managed to fight back. Ninja tagged back out to Psycho. Psycho stomped at El Avestruz fiercely. He lifted him, preparing him for a power bomb, when Emo Kevin ran in defiantly to break up the domination.
He was greeted with a
rom Dark Ninja for his trouble.
Psycho executed the 
ONE...
TWO...
No! El Avestruz kicked out! Showing tenacity, he got the shuolder up. He attempted to stagger to his feet, but Dark Ninja grabbed him from behind, holding him in place. Psycho lined up for a big punch, but El Avestruz managed to duck it and Psycho hit Dark Ninja. Capitalizing on the chaos, El Avestruz dumped Dark Ninja over the top rope with a side suplex, and laid out Psycho with a jumping dropkick. Emo Kevin shook the cobwebs out, and did a high tope to the outside, landing on Dark Ninja. Both men were well out of commission. Psycho was still down. El Avestruz was standing tall. The crowd's support began to grow fervent. El Avestruz ascended the top rope, and came off with the Shootin Star Press...
Psycho caught him mid-rotation and turned it into a powerslam!
ONE....
TWO....
THREE!!
Ding Ding!
The arena filled with boos. Stunned, Dark Ninja rolled into the ring to join his partner. They were handed the belts, which they held high as they stumbled back up the ramps. For a few moments, it looked like the SuperSquad could overcome the odds and win the tag belts, but the champions proved that much tougher. As the SuperSquad stood, wearily, to maken their way back up the ramp, they were treated like heroes.
OUTCOME: Dream Warriors Retain the championships via Pinfall
Tonight NEVER happened
Trent McKnight stood ready at the nbW backdrop as the cameras greenlit for him.
“Good evening again everyone. Earlier we all witnessed the first ever Gauntlet, or G as it was called, in nbW’s history. While it may have a different spectacle then what we are used to seeing, it did give us two things to look forward to. Somewhere down the line from tonight Myth and Legend will have to face For the Win in order to become the rightful contenders.”
“You mean false contenders,” spoke Ace Creede as he shoved Trent out of the way. “What you saw out there was a travesty and mockery to this great sport. There was NO wrestling involved. It was a GAME”
“Fit for those wannabes. A game of their own design. Tonight should be striken from the records. Why the back office would even allow such a embarrassment in the record books is beyond us. Do you know Trent?” Spade turned towards McKnight who still stood next to them.
“Can not say I do boys. But I am sur-“
“Fool!” interrupted Spade. “This is just a conspiracy to keep guys like us out of the spotlight and away from their precious championships. Maybe the referees striking had the right idea. Maybe WE should strike? WE did after all earn that spotlight!”
“I beg your pardon Spade, but truthfully you did lose the match tonight and previously so-“
“Fool!” stated Spade once more interrupting McKnight. “It was a setup from day one. We were blind to the light shown to us. It was our fault then. But now, no. No now it is clear that the back office is conspiring with For the Win against us. They are just being Racist.”
This time Trent pulled the mic back to him. “Racist? You guys are Caucasian! Even For the Win are white. What the hell are you trying to insinuate? Do you even realize what the word rac-“
“FOOL!” interrupted Spade while yanking the microphone back. “We know it isn’t racist. But we will find out why they are conspiring against us. We will. And then events like tonight. Tragic embarrassments to the good name of this place; they will be in the past and never seen again.”
Ace shoved Trent to the side again and pushed through with his brother as the two vanished from view. Trent bent down and retrieved the microphone once more.
“Those guys need to lay off the decaf or something. They clearly have issues to work out.” Trent adjusted his collar and looked back at the camera. “Back to the action then.”
Switch up
Footage from the back was shown on the nbWTron where Thaddeus Boyle once more walked down the hallway. "You guys had better have a reason for not relieving Radford or-"
He stood next to the open door of the very room he was in earlier. Laying before him were the bodies of his referees, and his son Gyle. He immediately called out for assistance while leaning down to check on them. Moments passed before the EMTs arrived and started to go to work on the group. Everyone had a pulse, that was a good sign.
"Ugh," one of the bodies stirred and looked around him. "What happened?"
Boyle rushed over to him and held out an arm to help him up. "Tal. I was hoping you could tell us. What happened in here?"
Nedrick held his hand to the side of his head and looked around the room. "I can't--can't--" and collapsed back to the floor.
Boyle called one of the EMTs over to help him out. He stood and after one last look in the room, left. He had to hope that Chuck would last the rest of the night. He had to. There were still a few matches left plus the double Main Event.
This was just not working out.
Showtime Versus Son of Malta
The camera cut to Terry Renton and Marc Gordon.
"Well folks, former tag team champion Showtime has had a lot on his mind, lately," Gordon noted, "Ever since his nemesis Dark Ninja, arrived in nbW,"
"--The Holmes to Showtime's Moriarty," Renton interjected.
"I think you have that backwards," Gordon noted.
"No, Holmes was the good guy."
"Anyway, ever since Dark Ninja arrived, things have not been easy for Showtime. After losing his long-held tag titles to Ninja and his partner Psycho, Showtime's tag partner Proteus looks poised to ascend the singles ranks if he wins his World Heavyweight Championship match against Ali Amore tonight. Showtime, however, has bee off his game, turning in weak showings by his standards. Before he can step his game back up to where it once was, he needs to clear his mind and refocus his energies on being the performer we all know he is."
"Gordo!" Renton remarked, "I'm shocked. Are you losing faith in your favourite performer, Showtime?"
"I'm a broadcaster, Rents, a journalist;" Gordon replied, "I don't play favourites. As much as I respect Showtime both for his character and his ability, I'd be a fool not to acknowledge that Son of Malta poses a bigger threat than perhaps Showtime would acknowledge. Still remains capable of executing thrilling feats that still give him a tactical advantage, in this commentator's opinion."
Draw The Line by Aerosmith struck up and the fans cheered for the longtime nbW Fave, Showtime as he appeared at the entrance.
Brent Williams announced "This match is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, from Toronto, Ontario, Canada, weighing in at 219 Lbs, the Original Spectacle... Showtime!"
Showtime walked slowly, measuredly, to the ring. As he approached the stairs to the apron, a figure in a hooded sweatshirt emerged from the crowd and slammed him face-first into the ring post, whipping him into the steps, and kicking him while he was down. A trickle of blood poured down his face, under his mask. the fooded figure revealed himself to be Son of Malta himself.
"You think I am not worth your time? That you can walk over me? You won't walk away from this!"
Malta pulled a lead pipe out from under the ring and brandished it. He swung it at Showtime, but Showtime managed to scramble out of the way, just getting his bearings enough to tackle Malta to the ground. Officials swarmed the scene to pull them apart, but in his wild swinging, Malta managed to catch Showtime across the head with the pipe. You could see a vacant gaze in the former champ's eyes.
"Shameful," sighed Gordon, "If Malta wanted to prove himself, he could have done so in the ring against Showtime. This was a cowardly act, very unsporting."
"For once, I agree," Renton concurred, "He could've beaten Showtime up nice and legally inside the ring. He let his emotions get the better of him."
Malta was led off in one direction, Showtime in the other. After a moment, he appeared responsive. The match would not take place.
OUTCOME: Match Ruled No Contest
'Beast from the East' Khan Versus Torment
Blitzkrieg Rules
"Fans, we do apologize for what just happened. We have just been informed that Mr. Boyle has ordered the next scheduled match to take place imediately." remarked Gordon.
"Imediately, as in Right NOW." concluded Renton.
The Mongolian folklore vocals gave announcement to the arrival of the Beast from the east, Khan. The Mongolian took his sweet time walking down to the ring before crouching down in preparation at the center of the ring.
OUTCOME: Torment by Pinfall.
Don't play mindgames with a Monster.
The EMTs paid to be on staff for the evening waited in the ready position just behind the curtain. The traveling trainers were in the ring checking on Khan after the brutal battle with nbW's career shortening monster, Torment. The fans stood, not cheering or booing, just observing. Some to this day are still shocked at the carnage left in the wake of this motivated monster.
Finally they got the signal, when Khan was unresponsive to treatment the trainers signaled for the EMTs. They darted towards the ring leading the gurney upclose to the side of the ring. Torment paused as the much smaller men sprinted past him. His glare followed them to the ring, he seemed almost like he lost interest then started back towards the curtain.
The cameras followed the monster when he passed into the back, suddenly from off camera something blurs past the camera and splatters red all over Torment's chest. The cameras cut over to the south entrance where standing with his eyes closed adorned in all black leather is a monster of a man towering over a petite woman dressed in studded white leather.
"Blood ah dee Eldahs..." she screeched with her lifeless black eyes. "Guide dis empty vessel back where he belong."
Torment's shock was quickly converting anger as he realized this wasn't red dyed water dribbling down him. With one purposeful step towards the gyrating woman, "Heed mah call oh great powahzz... bring back dah real Torment."
Torment's arm raised towards the woman only to be caught directly out of the air by the man with his eyes closed. Torment's head whipped face to face with the man with all black hair. The woman dressed in white leather with matching hair suddenly stopped gyrating. As if on cue her monster's eyes popped open revealing no pupils.
Behind the mask the look on the face of the monster Torment was shock. It was evident as his eyes encompassed the entirety of the silts cut in the mask for them. The Egyptian monster pulled his arm back never releasing his own eyes from the two figures before him.
Moments passed while the entire guerrilla position swarmed with dark energy and essence of power surrounding the three. An arms length separated the building explosion waiting to happen before Michael O'Dell, one of the senior trainers, pushed through the two while the EMTs followed from behind with Khan on the gurney.
"Get him down the hall and fixed up," Thaddeus Boyle gave the directing orders while the group passed by him. His own eyes transferred towards the right there his monster was about to cost him another penny. "And you guys'," he pulled O'Dell's sleeve as he passed, "keep those two apart. I do NOT want another incident like what happened earlier. Clear?" Boyle continued down the hall towards his destination.
O'Dell nodded and called a few of the security guards over to him as he approached the two towering forces. They barely made it as Torments massive arm swung at the black leathered monster, this time it was caught by O'Dell and pulled back to the side.
"You two, scat. Before we have you hauled off for trespassing." He looked at the two hoping they would comply as his man power was dwindled due to those holding Torment at bay. A sigh of relief could be breathed as the woman turned and walked towards the opposite direction, followed by the towering monster.
"And you, the boss wants a word about what happened out there. And if you had any part in what happened to the Referee's, god hel- " O'Dell turned back to Torment only to find his security laid out on the ground and Torment no longer anywhere to be seen. "Great..." he leaned down to help up one of his colleagues while the deeper thought of what transpired trilled about in his cranium.
Saved... at last.
The cameras cut from O'Dell to the outside in the parking lot where Thaddeus Boyle barged through the door and paced nervously..
Bee--Beep
He stopped and waived to the small car rolling in. Without wasting a moment he approached the drivers door as the car came to a halt. Frantically he pulled at the handle and once unlocked from the inside, the door swung open.
"Mike, thank goodness you were home when I called. You were the closest there was. I know you had the week off after the baby and-" Boyle pulled the door to allow the man inside to step out.
"Well... it sounded urgent, and as I do have a family to feed; so those words about the raise on the phone were quite inviting. Plus it is nice to know the Strike is over."
His truck popped and Thaddeus pushed him towards the building. "How's the wife and kids." He pushed. "I am so glad you made it." and pushed. "How was the drive from Lenexa?" and pushed. "I will have someone get your stuff to you." and Pushed. "ThankyousomuchEdson."
Mike stopped and peered at his boss a moment before continuing on inside on his own.
Thaddeus exhaled a sigh of relief for the first time in this night.
A Mediation
Proteus sat in his locker room, still focussed.
"In 11 years, there is a lot one can do. I've been from one end to the other, I've been the craziest bastard out there, I've been the most calculating. I've inflicted a lot of damage, I have overcome a lot of obstacles. It can be overwhelming, this journey. And every time I felt myself buried, drowning, sinking, I knew I could reach up and grab the person next to me, and instead of being pulled down with me, I could trust they would bring me up. Time and again there is one hand I could always reach for that would bring me higher and higher, untikl I find myself, now, on a level far beyond what I ever expected to achieve. As I prepare to climb to the highest platform of the artform, there is only one person to thank, the one responsible for pushing me to improve myself, to show me that I have no limits."
Proteus looked over at the person in question... "My love, Gabriela." He stood, kissed her on the cheek, and left the room.
Spike Saunders Versus J. Leslie Voss (c)
Religious Rasslin' Championship Match
NO DQ. Street Fight. 60 Minutes.
(Click to Watch SAUNDERS INTRO)
J. Leslie Voss handed over his Religious Rasslin’ Championship belt, otherwise known as the nbW Keystone Championship, to referee Mike Edson, who came to relieve Chuck Radford at long last. He folded the straps in behind the plate and held it in the air for everyone to see. Voss’ eyes remained on the title that was raised high above the referee and then dropped them down to look at Spike Saunders. Mentally preparing himself not only for a fight with this giant… but for a war. Whatever they could lay their hands on was legal. Whatever they wanted to do to the other they could. They had sixty minutes to pin the other and war would wage as soon as the bell tolled.
The referee leant through the ropes and handed the belt across to a member of the ring crew who then transferred the title belt to the time keeper’s table. Voss watched the actions transpire and returned his gaze once more to the behemoth. Edson called them into the middle of the ring and spoke the instructions.
“There are no rules to this contest. You can only win by pinfall or submission. Rope breaks apply but outside of the ring there is no saviour. If I think someone’s life is endangered I will call it off and declare the other the winner. Do I make myself clear?”
Voss snarled. “Crystal.”
Saunders nodded. He understood fully well. He also understood that one should never underestimate someone like J. Leslie Voss who was cunning and conniving and sly all at once. He was a big guy, too. He knew Voss would fight dirty and do whatever it took to try and stay on the upper hand of the Religious Rasslin’ Experience.
JLV eyeballed Saunders one last time as he prepared for the bell to toll. The monster before him could tear him limb from limb. When he first arrived here in No Brand Wrestling, he thought the Double Dragon to be a pussy. A nothing. Now… that’s cowardice seemed to have left Saunders and a confident seven foot monster stood before him. Ready to do whatever it took to not only kick Voss’ ass on pay-per-view… but to take his Championship belt, too.
Voss slowly began to stir, trying to drag himself up to his feet using the ring apron. He pawed at some of the blood on his face, trying to clear his vision in the ring. He was exhausted. Battered. Bloodied. Bruised. Yet J. Leslie Voss had proven to the nbW fans he was no coward. That he was a fierce competitor. That he walked the walk and showed his bite was just as bad as his bite.
His opponent, Spike Saunders, rolled around on the concrete. His right leg was shaking with cramps. There was a fresh gash in the back of his head, which poured blood down the back of his neck. The fans couldn’t believe the war they witnessed.
J. Leslie Voss versus Spike Saunders.
Finally, Voss had managed to pull himself to his feet and he looked up toward the big screen, staring at the clock waiting for those seconds to tick away. He didn’t have enough in him to try and pin Saunders. But he figured he could ride out the final few moments.
OUTCOME: NEW Religious Rasslin' Champion, Spike Saunders by Pinfall!
Let the Celebration begin!
‘Spike’
‘Spike’
‘Spike’
The fans chanted in unison as the new Religious Rasslin’ Champion stood at the entrance curtains giving them one last appreciation before ducking through the curtains.
Clap
Clap
Clap
Saunders spun around and set his eyes into focus on the two men standing a few feet away. The first one was recognized instantly as Thaddeus Boyle he had that sort of presence. While the second seemed to be on the tip of his tongue, but just out of reach.
“So, champion again Spike?” spoke the man next to nbW’s promoter.
He grinned and slapped the former Keystone championship resting on his shoulder. “Damn right, someone had to stop that religious spewing buffoon.” He stepped to the side and rested up against the concrete wall. “What about you Ramey, what are you doing back here?”
It was Ramey’s turn to smile as he and Thaddeus shook hands before the boss dispersed to another section of the arena.
“The usual; had this interview. Stopped by here once I found out that Ghosts was in Kansas City. Thought I would check it out. Met your boss Mister Boyle and we had a chat.”
“That’s great. Glad you made it. Maybe you should come with us to the club after the show. Advent’s already got it booked, and if you need some arm candy, we have that as well.”
Jesse nodded and leaned back for a moment taking in the atmosphere around him. “You know Spike I may just take you up on the offer. I do need to really get acquainted with the guys here in nbW on a whole different level. By the by, I was just talking to Thaddeus by my new job here in nbW.”
Spike seemed surprised but quickly dropped any sense of the sort. “Awesome man; I’m actually- looking forward to facing you in the ring again. Maybe even for this here championship, alright?”
He stepped forward to Ramey and extended his arm which was received with a smile and Jesse’s hand outstretched to accept. “I actually would love to step back into the ring with you again Spike, but this time around I’m doing things different. Going to see what this new job opportunity holds in store for me. You see my new position here in nbW is going to go above and beyond being a ring talent.”
“Are you being serious? Helping out O’Dell?”
Ramey smiled once more and leans forward while still embracing Spike in the handshake. He cocks his head and whispers into the giant’s ear.
“Seriously?” remarks Saunders as he seems taken back.
“Congrats again Spike, see you in St. Louis next week.”
Jesse releases his hand and walks past the colossus whom simply shrugs as he to heads down the corridor where his friends await.
Upside down Frown
The Kemper Arena had grown slightly dull after a few moments of nothingness filled its entirety. The fans grew eager for the upcoming bout on the program. However, it would seem as though their anticipation would only grow.
Why was the following match prolonged?
"Babylon's Burning" by W.A.S.P. burst into action on the arena's PA system. Given the events of Full Effect 59, nbW's latest nuisance, Lunatic, was about to make his presence known. Needless to say, his name appeared no where on this event's lineup.
Sure enough, the clowned menace pushed through the curtains. Upon entering the arena, he looked around at the members of the audience. Their underwhelming boos were more than enough to cause his smile to grow ever so slowly with every passing moment. Needless to say, his evil grin was as apparent as it could possibly be.
With his slightly hunched posture, he headed towards the ring in an almost limping fashion. Through the jeers from the crowd, Lunatic pressed on, determined even further to reach his destination: the squared circle.
Upon entering the ringside area, Lunatic walked around the ring towards the time keeper's table. He approached the ring announcer and grabbed a hold of the microphone. Without any hesitation at all, Lunatic slapped the staff member with an opened palm. That last bit forced a chuckle out of the loony one. Without any further ado, Lunatic walked up the steel steps and entered the ring. He walked to the center and tried to speak.
Low and behold, there was a problem with this, apparently. The official who had been assigned to the upcoming bout, Mike Edson, was still standing in place. That is, up until Lunatic reached the center of the ring, however. He barked orders at the clowned freak. Demanding that he leave the ring in order for the match to take place.
Lunatic didn't give any thought to the referee's demands. However, they were enough to erase Lunatic's smile. Now, Lunatic's emotion was easily seen as a state of confusion. Slowly, Lunatic nodded his head and placed the microphone in his pocket. He backed away from the official only slightly in recourse.
Whatever state of submission Lunatic had shown was gone as quick as it had come. With a swift kick to his gut, Ed Gates had been bent forwards. A split second later, he found his face crashing against the canvas with a sit-out facebuster longtime nbW followers would remember being called the "Loony Buster." Apparently, the name had been repacked to, "Forcing a Smile."
Straight away, Lunatic shot off the mat and back to his feet with a gut hurling laugh that was picked up by the microphone in his pocket. In the empty pocket, Lunatic pulled out a small item. It was so small, it couldn't even be seen by the cameras.
Using his foot, Lunatic rolled the referee onto his back before mounting over him. Lunatic grabbed a handful of hair and pulled the man's head upward while keeping his torso hovering around the downed official's face. Lunatic's arm was visibly moving, though nothing could be seen.
Just like before, Lunatic shot up to his feet. Mike Edson had blue lipstick on his face that resembled a smile, although no actual emotion was present given the fact that he was unconscious. The makeup was eerily familiar to the same that was worn by Lunatic himself.
Finally, Lunatic spoke after calming down with the laughter.
"With that out of the way," he paused just for a moment to as the crowd's boos were heard. "I said on Full Effect that there were just a few things that needed to be taken care of. And with that said, Thadeus Boyle needs to get out here immediately!"
Lunatic dropped the microphone and waited a few moments for nbW's owner to make his entrance. However, his demands weren't apparently on Boyle's "To Address" list on this evening.
Gloating 
Showtime sat up in the medical center, alone except for the camera man, when a figure entered the room, unseen by the viewer.
Showtime groaned groggily, "Aw, hell. Not you."
The camera panned over to the door to reveal Dark Ninja, standing smugly. "And hello to you, big guy."
"What are you doing here? Where's Proteus?"
"Proteus is about to go out for his Championship match. They said you needed someone to watch over you, you know, so you don't fall asleep and die. Or whatever. Not that anybody cares if you did."
"And you volunteered for this, why, in order to gloat?"
"Well yeah," Ninja smirked under his mask, "I mean, I just think it's awesome. I knew that taking your belts would destroy you, but I never saw it happening so fastly."
"First of all," Showtime groaned, "Fastly isn't a word. Second, you didn't destroy me. I'm still here. This isn't over."
"The hell are you babbling about? Of course it's over. I took your belts. I shamed you. You're done with. I win."
"If you win, why am I still here?"
"Well, that's... I mean, just because..."
"Face it," Showtime tried to get clearheaded, "You know it's not over. It might never be over, and it definitely won't be over as long as you and I are both wrestling here in this company. Hell, I was happy, I was done with you, and you still felt the need to come back here and mess with me, so it might never be over until one of us is dead. You're in here because you want to see me at my lowest, and that's how I know it's not over."
"If this is your way of asking for a rematch, you can forget it, because it's never going to happen. D-T is old news."
Showtime paused a moment before responding, "Not the way I see it. The way I see it, Proteus getting the title shot is just the beginning. Imagine if he wins. He'll be on TV all the time, and I'll be there to support him, to defend him, to help him. I'll be all over TV, and you'll just a lowly midcard champion scrounging for airtime. Oh don't get me wrong, the Tag titles are great, they guarantee you airtime, but people don't buy the pay per views to see them get defended. They don't stroke your ego the way a World Title does. And as long as you have those belts, you'll be too busy defending them to challenge for the World Title anyway. So the way I see it, you haven't killed D-T. You're helping it grow."
Ninja took a moment to ponder this before replying, "And all this is supposed to happen if Proteus wins the title."
"When Proteus wins the title. Or if he doesn't, I will. It's only a matter of time, and once I've gotten my revenge on Son of Malta for putting me here..."
"So let's say Proteus rises above you, he wins the belt. I know you, Showtime. we're practically the same person."
"No we're not."
"Yeah we are. We're both really good at what we do, and we both only love ourselves. So if Proteus wins the belt... how lnog are you gonna be able to stand by, to clap for him, to be his sidekick? How long will you let yourself be a supporting player on the Proteus Show? How long will you put up with that, when you know in your heart, you think you're better than him, and you're just aching for a chance to prove that to the world."
A moment passed.
"You know, Ninja," Showtime finally said, "I think you'd better leave. Because if it's a choice between a conversation with you, and a life-threatening concussion, I'll take the concussion."
Ali Amore (c) Versus Proteus
World Championship Match
Before the music of either man could begin the fans watched as Referee Chuck Radford rushed down to the ring and again took his place in the cente.
We weren’t looking at two combatants who had a lot of demons. We weren’t looking at two men who were past the prime. There was even a claim they hadn’t reached their prime. No, what we had here were two participants packed with potential, ready to realize all of it and become the future of the business.
Yet, we’re not talking about a curtain-jerker or even a mid-card match…
These two athletes, Ali Amore and Proteus, were meeting for the most important title in nbW.
They’re held in similar regard but make no mistake about it, they’re different. Very different. Ali, the reigning world champion, was a fast-tempo, aerial-based risk taker with a background in amateur boxing. Proteus was more technical, high-impact, able to suplex from any angle and he called upon martial arts to help round off his game.
Proteus had earned this shot by seeing off Showtime, his other half in the tag team division. They are the cream of the crop in the tandem stakes, though they’ve recently been knocked off their perch. Meanwhile, Ali was firmly on his and some seven months after upsetting Torment, here he was making his first-ever title defense at a super show.
We were ready to go…
(Click to Watch Proteus Intro)
Uncharacteristically cautious, the two participants came together for a customary tie-up and Proteus soon assumed the advantage with a headlock. No sooner had he clasped his hands around Amore’s head was he being marched towards the ropes where Referee Radford asked them to break and he must’ve been happy as both men obliged.
Ali rubbed his tights and then went straight into another tie-up, this time it was him gaining the advantage with a headlock. Proteus pushed him off effortlessly and then dropped down to the canvas, the Colombian jumping over him and then bouncing back off the opposing set of ropes. The two men collided, the champion knocking the challenger over with a shoulder block in the process, but another passage of cris-cross followed and this time Proteus took the titleholder over with a nice hiptoss.
The audience applauded as Ali looked up at his determined challenger. They knew at that moment the other wasn’t going to lie down. Amore, normally challenged to prove his strength by bigger adversaries, called for a test of strength with Roman Knucklelock. Proteus was taken back slightly but was by no means afraid. Ali was slim by heavyweight standards. In fact, they is only a 2-pound difference in it. Hardly an advantage for the champion
They came together, their hearts racing and touching the other’s, when Amore managed to twist the fingers, drop down to the mat after a jump on the spot and negotiate a Monkey Flip. More impressively, Proteus landed on his feet, which Ali wasn’t aware of but he soon would be as the challenger welcomed him upon turning around with a side headlock. Not to be outdone, Amore, quicker than a hiccup, turned the predicament into a positive by negotiating a sitting headscissors. Notwithstanding, Proteus wasn’t going to allow Amore any sort of upper hand and after stamping his legs onto the canvas, jockeying for position and trying to lessen the leverage, he was back to a vertical base and they were both back to square one.
The pair were well-known for their athleticism so it came as a surprise when Proteus speedily shot in for a takedown, relentlessly grabbing and tugging at the foreign import’s leg. The Superstar of Bogota was off-balance but wouldn’t go down without a fight, struggling to stay on his feet. Eventually, it was too much and as Amore tried to lift Proteus up, almost into a piledriver position though with his leg still in Proteus’s possession, they went over the top rope and down onto the concrete floor.
While neither of them was seriously hurt, Ali took the brunt of the fall. This was all the time and space the tag team specialist needed. He checked to see where the Colombian was and anticipated it perfectly. Just as Amore stood up, he was powerless to prevent an airborne Proteus who had stood on the apron and then came off, utilizing his whole 210-pound frame to floor Ali again with a flying clothesline!
Fans were cheering the Master of Quantum Energy’s name but he wore no expression on his face as he helped Amore up and deposited him back into the ring. Only one thing was on the challenger’s mind…
1…
And, he only got a one count for it.
Undeterred, the Canadian allowed Ali up to one knee and then assisted him to his feet, firing him into the ropes. The South American starlet’s momentum acted in the same way as a boomerang, bringing him back to Proteus, who scored with a gorgeous dropkick. Taking a few steps to his left, he leaned back against the ropes and they assisted him in getting high elevation on the resultant legdrop…
1
2
Barely 2. In fact, Ali probably got his shoulder up just as the official’s palm struck the mat. Proteus knew fine well it wouldn’t be enough to pin Ali but he was in the driving seat and building both momentum and confidence here in the early going.
Take your eye off the ball with Ali and you’ll pay. The Ontarian was focused, no question, but a moment’s hesitation as he tried to pick the champion up enable Amore to mount a spirited offense, albeit it while kneeling up, nailing – and hurting – the number one contender with a couple of rib-tickling right hands. They were more than enough to halt Proteus who was tending to his stomach as if he was about to puke up but the real reason Ali was slow in getting up was, unfortunately for him, exposed in the process. As he ushered in a stiff knee to the stomach, Ali seemed to inflict more damage to himself and clutches it, trying not to go to ground. Seconds later, he does exactly that as Proteus punishes the weakness with an elementary but effective kick to the left limb.
Only a mug would stop there and Proteus asks Ali to make a wish, wrenching at the left leg. Ali sits up, almost like a man shoots up in the morning upon realization that he’s got cramp, but he’s shot back down again as Proteus rains in with an elbow to the inside of the leg.
With the pin still in his hand, Proteus clearly intends on doing more damage but Ali’s still strong and kicks his challenger off, causing separation. Unfortunately, he doesn’t succeed in creating too much space between him and his opponent, Proteus zeroing in on the leg but as he goes to grip it again, the South American demonstrates just how much he’s got left by kicking Proteus up and over the top rope with what seemed to be a gentle nudge.
Once again, Proteus, like a cat, lands on his feet and completes a ‘Skin The Cat’ routine, only to be put over the top rope with authority by Ali properly this time round with a stiff lariat. If this were a battle royal, he’d be out.
Thankfully for him, it isn’t and he isn’t eliminated but maybe he was wishing it had been. Despite the referee trying to get in his way, Ali brushed past him, ran up the turnbuckles and waited for 2-3 seconds until Proteus was staring up at him…
NO-HANDS SPRINGBOARD PLANCHA!
Ali rolled through. He had no regard for Proteus there or for himself. It was his turn to toss the D-T member back into the squared circle.
Just as the youngster was about to follow suit, he stopped. It appeared that he hadn’t emerged unscathed from the risk and aggravated his aching leg even more. When he did slip underneath the bottom rope, Proteus had recovered and cut him off with a martial arts chop to the side of the head.
It was also well-documented coming into this contest that Ali’s neck had come under recent scrutiny and was clearly bothering him. This was not lost on Proteus, who surely wouldn’t forget the leg but knew the key to the contest was to attack the equilibrium. His finisher would benefit from sufficient destruction to the lower and upper body, plus Ali was an athlete you had to ground so you couldn’t go wrong in taking a page from Bret Hart’s book.
A routine bodyslam went wrong, though, as he failed to complete the transaction and Ali fell on top of him for a quick two count, almost embarrassing the challenger in the process, and the foreigner beat Proteus to the punch, literally, as he caught him coming in with a kick to the gut and two hard body shots, loosening those ribs up. The Master of Quantum Energy evaded a third one, and on a fourth attempt, grabbed Ali by the shoulder and set him up with an arm wringer. But, this classy exhibition of counter-wrestling wasn’t complete yet. The legendary tag team innovator missed with a clothesline and Ali stuck him with another kick to the stomach. Just as Amore set his prey up for a piledriver, a worried Proteus took a couple of steps backwards to avoid and give himself enough momentum to dump Ali up over the top rope again with a backbody drop.
Proteus returned to the turnbuckle that Ali had with the plancha and patiently waited up there until Amore, struggling with the leg, got back to his feet. He might’ve wished he hadn’t as he leapt into air without any care, poetic recklessness, which allowed Ali to catch him in mid-air. Amore, despite being a great competitor was compassionate, and he simply lowered the Ontarian down onto his feet, almost wanting to conduct a completely clean fight. The challenger exploited the gesture, just as he did against his own partner Showtime to gain this golden opportunity, by hooking Ali’s arms and drilling him, face-first, into the steel steps with a ferocious facebuster!
It came as a surprise and everyone was silent as Proteus hurried to help Amore into the ring. He hadn’t done anything wrong after all. Purists could argue he’d taken a shortcut but hardened veterans would claim he’d have been a fool not to grasp such a naïve error by his opposition.
Several seconds passed but finally, the Niagara Falls native pushed Ali into the ring and slid back in himself. He didn’t hesitate here either. Seemingly, the champion was there for the taking and Proteus was determined to take him and his title here on this night…
He then rolled Ali back into the ring and dragged him towards the ring post where he smacked the starlet’s legs twice, full-force, from the outside. After that, he jumped up on the spot with his right leg…
Ring post figure four.
Significantly, we were informed by a close-up of the Colombian…
The champion was bleeding.
Meanwhile, the referee gave Proteus until the count of four to break the hold, which he duly did. There was no way, not on this night, he was going to surrender such a wonderful opportunity by risking disqualification. However, he had made inroads.
The ring post was unforgiving and the facebuster on the steels steps had also busted the Bogotá-born risk-taker open like a water melon. It was the first time anyone could recall Ali bleeding in a wrestling ring. How would he react, another first in addition to this being his maiden title defense on Pay-Per-View?
Nobody knew how the challenger felt. It was irrelevant. He was in charge and he confirmed that with a snap suplex that Ali offered absolutely no resistance to…
1
2
A near-fall.
Perhaps getting giddy, ahead of himself, Proteus again tagged the ropes in as a metaphorical tag team partner but his subsequent splash was all over the place and Ali raised the legs well in time to deny the challenger.
They were both down.
The crowd could get a breath.
Proteus couldn’t.
Ali’s counter attack had to be questioned too. Surely, it would’ve been better to have moved out of the way than risk injuring his leg anymore, which it appeared he had as he lay there clutching it with a clear grimace on his face?
Nevertheless, it was all to play for.
The official started his count.
1
2
3
4
5
6…
Proteus was up.
He confronted the Colombian, who was on one knee.
A body shot.
Two body shots.
Three…
Then four…
Finally five…
Before Proteus took his head off with a wicked martial arts kick.
The Colombian’s claret stained the canvas and the blood was flooding his face at a rapid rate.
Proteus, though, couldn’t capitalize. His ribcage was racked with pain and he gritted his teeth as he held onto them for five or six seconds, checking none of them were broken, Ali’s punches to that particular region clearly taking their toll.
Albeit it with a good 10-15 second delay, the D-T man elected to go for a lateral press…
1
2
It still garnered a two count but was a regression in comparison to the previous two covers. Or was it? Despite the delay, Proteus was still relatively close to securing the strap. Surely, he was a switch-press away from glory?
As he pulled the boy wonder up off the mat again, everyone assumed he had that in mind but nobody really knew. Nor would they ever know…
1
2
Kickout!
Amore had cheekily tried his luck with an inside cradle that almost caught the challenger napping. Both men now had a spring in their step…
Had being the operative word…
DOUBLE CLOTHESLINE!
1
2
3
4
5
6
7….
Proteus, again, was first up.
Ali, once again, wasn’t far behind.
The challenger struck first with a wonderful martial arts chop.
The champion, not normally one to shy away from these situations even with men double his size, retaliated.
Proteus socked him for a second time – and the last time in this particular passage.
Ali laid in with three punches, all to the temple, without an answer and then took Proteus by the hand, backing him into a corner and letting fly with an Irish whip, only for the D-T member to reverse…
Amore caught him coming in with an elbow smash.
Sensing blood, even though he was the one bleeding, Ali gambled by running towards Proteus, who ducked and then let him have it with a swinging neckbreaker…
1
2
Not quite. Ali was nursing his head. The story of this tie thus far was every time Ali built momentum, a mistake or an inspired piece of thinking by Proteus, sometimes a combination like the last instance, had derailed his progress. He had to be frustrated yet the challenger was assured, calm and had an air of confidence and conviction about him. The win he’d attained at the expense of his more esteemed partner, certainly in the singles stakes, Showtime, had clearly given him a spring in his step.
Proteus got his hands dirty and bloody on Ali’s face with a punch but he didn’t care. He was concentrating and in control of his own destiny. He tossed the titleholder over with a sweet snap mare...
Instead of going for a dropkick to the back of the head, Proteus wanted to score with one to the fact, but Ali had interpreted this and moved to meet him, cris-crossing, and as the challenger bounced from the opposing set of ropes, Amore thought he had him with a hurricanrana…
Up in the powerbomb position, Proteus, who still knew exactly where he was in the ring took a couple of steps back and dropped the champion right across the top rope, throat-first…
STUN GUN!
He was folded up with nowhere to go as Proteus put all of his weight on him to complete the pinning predicament….
ONE…
TWO…
NEAR-FALL!
Some members in the stands thought Proteus had done it there and then judging by the reaction, forcing the referee to raise two fingers, not to flip them off but to inform everyone that, for now at least, Ali Amore was still at the top of the mountain in a figurative sense.
Literally, he was on his ass and facing an uphill struggle, another ferocious battle against a different style, someone more similar to himself, to try and pry the piece of gold he desperately wanted to cling onto.
Proteus agonized over his next step. He had been close. If it had been in doubt, it wasn’t anymore. He was a bona fide threat to Amore’s title reign.
On the other hand, anyone who had doubted that either athlete would require anything less than the heavy artillery to overcome his opposite number was sorely mistaken too.
Ali was up.
So were the fans.
Proteus stepped towards him.
Three moves in mind to give him the most important and ecstatic three seconds of his life…
One kick…
Two kicks…
He hooked the head…
And two steps forward were replaced by two seconds as Ali snuck out of there and slid out of the squared circle for a breather.
The Switch-Press DDT had almost turned Ali’s lights out.
“If he wasn’t the quickest athlete on the roster, he’d be an ex-champion right now.”
The experienced commentator was right. Everyone knew least of all both champion and challenger, who stared at each other. Ali’s face, despite his dark skin and crimson mask, was almost white. Proteus reflected and almost afforded a smile, non-verbally telling Ali ‘I almost had you.’ In spite of that, he was frustrated. He hadn’t hesitated. In fact, he’d done everything right but the 4th Emergency Service was faster than Ben Johnson on steroids.
The titleholder took his time, wiped some blood from his forehead, and then re-entered the fray. He wasn’t a coward but he wasn’t stupid either. He had to get out of there. Inexperienced as he was, Ali had learned from Keegan, who knew plenty about professional wrestling, who has privately tried to slow his protégé down to prolong his career and maximize those high-risks when he wheels them out.
Ali came back in with his trademark somersault and nodded to himself, trying to instill some confidence and reassurance. He circled Proteus searching for a weakness, like a boxer waiting to connect with a killer punch, when he leaned his right hand, which the challenger accepted, not as a handshake, but another round of Roman knucklelock. Amore dragged Proteus towards the corner, not breaking immediately. He eventually catered to the referee’s wishes, completing a clean break, and then welled Proteus with two hard knife-edge chops that turned the challenger’s chest the colour of the champion’s face. He set him up for an Irish whip, which again Proteus managed to reverse, and as the South American stumbled out of the corner…
Well, that was on the menu but as Proteus hooked the DDT, the Colombian kept his fingers clenched together and held onto his rival’s back for dear life and impressively reversed the situation into a Fisherman’s suplex…
1…
2…
No!
Incensed and overly enthusiastic, Proteus wandered straight into a powerslam, Ali using his momentum and speed against him to devastating effect. Rather than go for cover, Amore opted to imitate Chris Jericho…
Springboard moonsault.
1…
2…
3?!
Mighty close.
Things were beginning to go the champion’s way. This time, his Irish whip attempt wasn’t foiled and the momentum he had, the speed and certainty in his run-up almost meant the Canadian was prone to a scintillating Stinger-esque splash.
As Proteus came out of the corner, almost coughing his guts up, Ali had another treat in store…
Bulldog!
1…
2….
Proteus, somehow and not at all convincingly, raised his shoulder a few millimeters to deny Ali.
That’s all it took and he was still in the game. The contest was very much in the balance and all it would take is a moment of madness or greatness to tip it back into the other direction or settle it. Amore had his tail up but Proteus hadn’t given up.
Ali dragged the tag team specialist, one half of nbW’s greatest tandem, up and if it wasn’t for the ropes, Proteus would be sprawled out on the floor. However, he still managed up there as a relentless kid from the drug capital of the world, who grew up poor and with aspirations to be champion of the world, rattled him with six sickening knife-edge chops and used his head, figuratively and literally, to cave the challenger’s ribs in. After he’d stopped, Proteus who was now resting against the bottom rope, received the mudhole treatment, Amore laying them in at will, everything connecting in and around the ribcage.
Now, it was the titleholder’s turn to scrape his opponent up off the floor. Proteus was helpless, hurting and tiring. Ali hoisted him up onto the top rope and wasn’t far behind, joining him on the same level. All or nothing, Ali jumped up to wrap his legs around Proteus…
But got nothing.
His hurricanrana attempt had failed.
He hurt his neck, his head bouncing off the canvas. Proteus, unfortunately for him, wasn’t in a position to capitalize and stayed sitting on the top turnbuckle as if he’d been relaxing in a sauna for four hours and could no longer be bothered to move.
Amazingly, Ali was in a position to have another bite at the cherry. This time, he didn’t ascend the ropes. He took an alternative route by going outside onto the apron. The moment he did, Proteus bent down and attacked him with a vicious right hand that forced a surprised and stunned South American to slump to his knees. However, he wasn’t giving up on this. He dusted himself down and got back to his feet, slightly dazed, and then started to climb the ropes from the outside. As he did, Proteus rocked him with three punches, stopping Ali’s ascent on the second level. Then, Proteus stood up on the top turnbuckle and hurt Amore again with a martial arts chop. Ali’s punches and Proteus’s chops was a contest in itself, both men damaging the other with their not-so-secret weapons. Ali was holding onto the middle rope, hoping it would keep him upright and it was doing a fine job.
Proteus tried another right, only for it to be blocked and returned it with interest. Desperate, Proteus went to the well again but found the same misfortune. Ali then stepped between the ropes and again straddled the 2nd rope, making sure he and Proteus were in place, steadying himself, careful not to lose balance like he had with the hurricanrana. He couldn’t afford to make that mistake again.
Ali hooked Proteus’s tights but wanted to put his rival on the top strand, probably for maximum effect and impact on whatever it was he wanted to do, some speculation a superplex was in the offing. While Proteus was again sat on the top turnbuckle, like a sitting duck, Ali grabbed him with two hands and amazingly, unexpectedly, held Proteus up with the intention, though struggling to hold him there, of maneuvering him into a gorilla-press position.
He had to act quickly. The two participants were in a delicate position. Ali turned 360 degrees, still standing on the 2nd rope, with Proteus only just above his head and they went on a rollercoaster ride together…
It was a hell of a landing.
In mid-air, Amore stuck his right knee out to smash Proteus’s insides in with a sickening gutbuster!
Upon landing, Proteus rolled around in agony, his feet repeatedly thumping against the canvas, expressing his distress.
Ali sprinted over to the diagonal turnbuckle, but not before turning the D-T member over and moving him mere inches to set him up.
No sooner had they been on one set of turnbuckles, strapped in and ready for a crash landing, Ali was directly opposite, this time standing alone, as everyone else in the arena – with the notable exception of Proteus – standing up with him in anticipation, expectation of a phenomenal…
Ali hurt himself on connecting but only had to turn a couple of inches after his second downward spiral in less than twenty seconds, allowing the fans to count along with a slow yet seemingly academic cover…
1…
2….
3.
That was more than enough.
The crowd popped as Ali, exhausted and in clear pain, rested his head along the stomach, the same stomach he had terrorized throughout the duration of this contest, of Proteus.
As the official retrieved the starlet’s strap for him and everyone gave him a standing ovation, Amore didn’t have the energy to repay the favour.
He lay there, looking down at his belt, analyzing it in great detail. Hopefully, someone had told him to do that before the bout as well because tonight was excruciatingly close to being the last time he’d see it for a while.
Proteus had given it everything he could and was close, so close, to switching the lights out not once, but twice. The challenger came in surprisingly aggressive, not holding back, throwing everything at a unique opportunity, one he achieved at the expense of his tag team partner, Showtime.
What now for Proteus, who has shown tonight he can compete at the very highest level? Will he return to his role as one half of the company’s best tag team in what is a potentially exciting period for the doubles division? Or will he and Showtime go the same way of so many tremendous tandems, attempting to sink or swim in singles competition?
As far as Ali is concerned, the jury is still out concerning the Colombian’s lack of experience but he is gaining vast amounts of the stuff every time he goes out there. Tonight, he had faced another style and had been pushed to the limits.
At least, his first title defense on Pay-Per-View had been a successful one.
Maybe ghosts hadn’t been put to bed, considering the age, ability and potential of the two participants…
Rather, seeds had been planted.
Seeds for the future.
OUTCOME: Ali Amore Retains by Pinfall.
Credits:
Show Segments
Intro -
Spike
The Strike is - Spike
Everything is for this Moment - Jake
Dynasty Number One Contendship: For The Win Versus Creede Bros. Versus Myth and Legend - Jake
Like taking candy from a Baby -
Voss
Welcomed Guest - Spike/Josh
NewBorn Showcase: Obia Solomon Versus Merrick Douglas - Spike
Where the hell were you? - Spike
Arrivals and Absences -
Scott
World Number One Contendership: Keegan Versus RaVage - Keegan
From Florida to KC - Dan
No Such thing as Perfect World - Scott
Dynasty Championship: Supersquad Versus Dream Warriors - Scott
Tonight NEVER happened - Jake/Spike
Switch up - Spike
Showtime Versus Son of Malta - Scott
Khan Versus Torment - Spike
Don't play mindgames with a monster - Spike/??
Saved at Last - Spike
Mediation - Scott
Religious Rasslin' Championship: Spike Saunders Versus JLV - Voss
Let the Celebration begin - Spike/Jesse
Upside Down Frown - Ryan/Ernie
Gloating - Scott
World Championship: Ali Amore Versus Proteus - Keegan
The Keystone Championship was defended as a part of the NA Championship in an interpromotional match at F.A.T.E?
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