No Brand Wrestling Presents: SLAM! Episode XIII on Hulu.Com!
Live from The Epic II Arena in St. Louis, Missouri
Previously on The Fighting Zone
Nightwolf was one of the most decorated fighters to ever grace The Fighting Zone. He held The Championship for 5 consecutive years between 1994 and 1999. In one of his most memorable fights he ever had was in 1996 against Vinnie Jack. Vinnie Jack was a black belt in kung fu, and his style was quite different from that usually seen in the Fighting Zone. In an amazing fight that lasted more than an hour, Nightwolf managed to defend the title yet again.
Thaddeus Boyle's Grand Announcement
As the NBW logo faded out of view it was replaced by the Greek stature of NBW’s head promoter, Thaddeus Boyle. Sitting behind his oak desk his attention was focused at the camera in front of him.
“Good evening. Tonight you are in for a great showcase of action, talent, drama, comedy, and everything you have come to expect from the NBW. However before we get into that I would like to address the recent actions of two groups within the organization. First, the actions of late by our developmental league, 4CW. I have spoken to the CEO Loghan Collins and he assures me that their actions are not ushered by his hand. Be it Fact or False that does not change what they have done to our Superstars. It is time to put a stop to this. Therefore our next event, Slam 14, will see not one but two separate elimination matches; each side will have a wager invoked.”
He withdrew two manila folders from his desk drawer and sat them on the topside. Flipping open the rightmost folder.
“At Slam 14 this will end one way or another. 4CW will be represented by their best against a team led by their latest target, Spike Saunders. Should the team of Saunders and company win, 4CW will be here-in banned from competing in the NBW ring and officially dropped as our developmental territory. On the opposite end of that spectrum if 4CW manages to overcome the Colossus and his allies, we will see the end of those Superstars within the NBW. They will no longer be employed as NBW Superstars. Unfortunately for Mr. Saunders this burden will make it difficult to come up with an opposing team; but I trust in his judgment.”
He moved the folder to the side and waited while the fans finished soaking in the first stage of his announcement.
“Moving on to the actions of the current World Heavyweight and Keystone Champion ‘Superstar’ Vince Jacobs and his Upper Echelon. According to him, he runs this place. That our ratings success the last 6 months can be attributed to only him. Even he has the gall to say there is nobody worthy of being a challenger. My, my Vince, you sure do live in quite the reality. It seems you have forgotten about the new number one contender.”
He smiled as the fans cheered and chanted ‘Saunders’ throughout the arena.
“He can challenge you at any point. You could see it coming. Or you may never see it coming. Luckily for you he is busy with the aforementioned match. That does not mean you have it easy. You see there are a few men in the NBW that are, hmm well let us just say-chomping at the bit for a piece of you and those two championships you hold. Those two men are quite familiar with you Vince. Let me re-introduce you.”
A lone hand laid across the right shoulder of Thaddeus as the camera panned to the right and the cheers in the arena grew. Tenchcoat bound was the rollin’ and ragin’ Cajun himself, Remy Leroux, granting the chants of ‘La’ Roo! La’ Roo!’.
“Oh but Mr. Jacobs, he is not alone. Aside from the entire locker room being tired of your shtick, someone arguably as phenomenal as you claim to be would care to differ.”
A second hand was placed across Thaddeus’s left shoulder as the camera panned over. The Phenom, Shawn Jessica Hart, grinned ear to ear enjoying the outside reaction.
“Now Vince these two men would greatly enjoy a Championship opportunity and to be quite honest I would love to grant them one; but not today. Not next week either. You see, SLAM! Episode Fourteen is right around the corner. These two gentlemen have already agreed to what I am about to announce to you and the world; the question is to rather or not you truly have faith in those boys you have corralled.”
The camera zoomed back in on Thaddeus as he placed his palms on the desk across the two manila folders. He chose the left and opened it.
“What I have here is a signed agreement by yours truly, and the two talented individuals next to me. What it says is that I, Thaddeus P. Boyle, turn over control of the NBW to one Vince Jacobs – providing that the following represents the truth. Before I get into that Vince let me tell you what is going to happen. Because quite frankly you seem to have forgotten that I run this organization, not you. But I am a fair man, and willing to give you the opportunity to do the same… provided you succeed that is. Vince, your Upper Echelon will be challenged by Remy Leroux and Shawn Hart here along with Ali Amore and another superstar of their choosing. Should the Upper Echelon win, this document will be faxed to The Company and controlling authority of NBW will be turned over to you.”
This brought a course of jeers at the thought of the Champion in charge.
“However should Hart and Leroux’s team win, the authority will remain with me and everything you hold dear will be removed, including your group the Upper Echelon which will be demolished and you will defend both your championships at Slam 16. On Slam 15 Remy and Hart will challenge each other and the winner will get the World shot, and the loser the Keystone championship shot on 16.” He paused while listening to the crowd.
“Now Vince you will have to put your faith in the group you have assembled because while you do have the opportunity at gaining the authority here, you also risk losing both championships in the same night. Is your trust well placed in them? I say them Vince because you will not be competing in that match. Instead you will be defending a championship of your choice against a very special guest. A man whom had had some time within the NBW and was a participant at NBW’s huge Shivaree event not so long ago. And Trust me Vince; he’ll be more than worth your time. I guarantee it.”
He closed the folders and leaned over the desk once more.
“Slam 14 will represent serious changes within the NBW no matter which outcome is presented. The good and the bad. Regardless who prevails, SLAM 14 will represent Victory for two sides. But that is still a ways away. Let us get back to the present. Enjoy the show fans.”
The camera faded out as Hart, Remy and Boyle conversed over their chances.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to NBW's Thirteenth Episode of SLAM! I'm Marc Gordon, and joining me at ringside is of course none other than Terry 'Rents' Renton."
"You heard it here first folks. Boyle's about to be usurped from his position of power, because lets face it--His group of cronies are no match for the Upper Echelon's fully glory, even without Your God at the helm."
"I wouldn't count them out just yet Terry. The sides are evenly matched and it could be anybody's game. The question however should be to if the same can be said for the second match Boyle's created. We all know that 4CW contains a highly impressive roster of talent any of them could be included, but what of Spike Saunders' team? Is there anybody in the back that would risk their very livelihood, their career in NBW, to join him against 4CW?"
"If it means riding the arena of those rookies, heck I will even lace up the boots. The quicker the better Marc." Renton of course was quick to agreeing due to his dislike for the usage of rookies or enhancement talent in his product.
"None the less we have a heck of a show for you all tonight including D-T defending their Dynasty Tag Team Championships against 4CW's Myth and Legend, Mark Mercury and Mane Miaate. But before we can get to that it seems the EpiCenter II is lighting up and we're about to be graced by someone or something."
Enter the (Techno) Dragon. Also, the rest of the Night Life USA. BOOOOO.
“Hey nbW! Fans! The paying customers! Look up!”
The EpiCenter II flickered a set of static before the camera view finally focused on a set of shadows slowly coming into view. The fans started to boo when they saw the forms of the same group that had attacked Vic Gravender and Adam Faulkner last week. It was time to be introduced to the assailants, it seemed.
“S'up, bitches and hoes?”
The camera focused in on a man decked out in a silver mask and matching colored knee-length peacoat that looked out of Liberace's closet. His silver mask had visible blue eyes and the mouth exposed, showing off a rather cheesy grin. Behind him, a giant of a man with black pants and a neon-green mask with no visible eye or mouth. At their side, a pair of what appeared to be identical looking men, twins maybe. Both men had box-style wrestling trunks with matching black masks, only the mouths visible but with one red flames and the other sporting a blue ice pattern.
And in the middle of all four masked men? A brunette woman dressed in a black business coat, a matching micro skirt, and legs that went just about to the sky.
“No Brand Wrestling... for those of you who don't know us... and that's all of you because you're a group of clueless ponces...” She paused for boos. “Prepare to be amazed. Prepare to be dazzled. Prepare for the party of a lifetime! For tonight, what you are looking at is four of the most talented athletes that No Brand Wrestling has ever seen! I am your party host, Kaylee! Stand up, cheer, applaud, bask in my sheer beauty! Know that you can look, but can't touch! Cheer, mortals!”
Instead of cheering as requested, St. Louis did the exact opposite and shouted some rather obnoxious and downright mean slurs at Kaylee. She jumped up and smiled.
“Oh, St. Louis, you know just how to make a girl feel welcome!” She took off her glasses and gave a playful wink. Now let me introduce you to the rest of this clan.”
The short, masked silver guy nodded and tipped his fingers to the camera.
“You can call me the Techno Dragon. I can DJ. I can wrestle. I can sure kick your fucking heads in, too! I'm wrestling's triple threat! Oh, and I've got quite the dong. You can call me the Quintuple Threat... cause the dong counts for two, you see. And for the uneducated... that's all of you... quintuple means five!”
They booed, but he didn't care. Kaylee turned her attention to the twins.
“The tandem next to me aren't just any tag team thrown together. Identical twins. For any of the teams here in nbW, you're dealing with people who have been teamed since birth. You'll face the cold demeanor of Polar and get burned by the fiery fury that is Hotstreak!”
The two twins raised their fists in the air, not saying a word. Kaylee patted them both on the back as she then directed view to the tall man above.
“And for those of you who think about trying to touch greatness, you'll have to contend with a real prodigy behind me. Barely twenty years old, but standing at a menacing six-foot eight and weighing in at over 270 pounds... one day, it will be Plazma's time to shine!”
“You're all fucked!” Plazma shouted as he grinned behind his mask.
“We're The Night Life USA! Our brethren overseas have been dominating their competition. A little place called All-Star Championship Wrestling. But when we learned of nbW, a place where Spike Saunders frequented, we looked for the chance to turn the place he calls home into our own party that cannot be stopped. So to SVJ and his Upper Echelon, this 4CW group that's been trying to run things... what you're looking at is the real force to be reckoned with.”
“Adam Faulkner, Vic Gravender...” Techno Dragon spoke up. “You two relics are going to find out first-hand what the Night Life is all about. We'll be dancing circles around your fat asses and we'll be laughing the whole time doing. You two will be the first to be introduced to us... welcome to the Night Life USA!”
And soon... static.
"Holy gorgons! Marc, the Night Life is in NBW! These guys are legends from overseas and currently down in the brownpit of Mexico."
"I wonder what this USA Chapter will bring to the table for NBW's already flourishing tag division? We already know that they are gold hungry sycophants, even Saunders could atest to that."
"D-T days are numbered. If not by The Dream Warriors, then the NLUSA baby!" Renton nodded his head enthusiastically.
"What about Supersquad? For the Win? Those guys have been here far longer and are more deserving Terry." Marc looked for an answer but was served the silent treatment. "Folks, we'll be back with the action shortly but first please enjoy these paid advertisements courtesy of Hulu Dot Com."
Unaffordable Luxaries
“You should tell her,” spoke the brunette as she curled her red streaks through her fingers as the cameras were rolling once more; this time from the backstage lockers.
“No.” spoke the giant as he nursed his taped ribs.
“If you do not, I will Spike.” Lexia hopped backwards and plopped down on the wooden bench. “She deserves to know, and-“
“No!” he said again as she continued to bug him about this trivial matter.
“Spike,” she stood and walked back up to him. “I like her, Callie’s a good woman. We should not keep it from her. I understand the need with the rest, but this is the woman that you have been friends with for years. Do you not think she deserves to know the truth?”
She leaned up against him and playfully hugged his head before he pushed her away: “NO!” he stood and looked over at her. “Damnit, just drop this subject. Okay?” Lexia welled up her eyes and started to pout. “Don’t even start! I know you can cry on cue.” She stopped and stuck her tongue out at him. “Besides if she knew, others might as well. We can’t have that. Not right now. Not at this point. We can’t afford that luxury.”
She huffed and headed out of the room: “Fine, but we will talk about this later. ” And out the door she went. Saunders lowered back to the bench and closed his eyes to rest.
Unfortunately unknown to the two of them, clear across at the other side of the Epic II, dastardly plans were being placed in motion.
"Who does that masked monster think he is! Interrupting our fun with that giant bag of shit." Benjamin Jones stood next to his legion of Xiang, Khan, and Tremoid; speaking on the events that took place at Slam 12. "We had no reason to focus on him and his freak nature."
"Choices are made often, Jones. Torment made his and tonight he will regret it. I've already spoken to the boss. Despite Myth and Legend having their championship shot tonight, 4CW will get a second match when Torment faces one of us."
"Who of us?" Xiang questioned Tremoid.
"Loghan agreed to this?"
"I would not mind tearing that mask off his face." Jones stated with enthusiasm.
"Loghan's time is at an end. But Fret not. Not tonight boys. His opponent will be none of us four, but one still of employment of the 4CW. It has already been booked and she should be being informed any moment now."
"She?" spoke Xiang and Jones in unison.
Meanwhile the camera switched to a Splitscreen view as on the left screen Michael O'Dell was shown walking past the locker room of Spike Saunders and stopping the young brunette woman just down the corridor. The sound was inaudible, but on the right screen Tremoid's was heard quite clearly.
"She got her start with 4CW, and it is about time she pays her dues."
Boyle you are so Misguided
The ever-familiar voice of the Icon echoed throughout the arena.
Kirk 'Masterpiece' Butler Versus Jupiter
CUE: Starstrukk by 3OH!3 feat. Katy Perry.
The fans united together in absolute agony, groaning at the music that was currently blaring over the sound system. A young fan in the front row -- let's call him Markus -- threw down his alcoholic beverage and stormed off in protest. Guess he *really* hated the song.
Unfortunately for the rest of the fans, the horror increased tenfold when none other than Kirk 'Masterpiece' Butler walked out. Dressed to wrestle and armed with a microphone. He made it a point to ignore the fans in the front row, giving him a ton of grief. After all, Kirk had more important things on his mind.
Kirk did stop at the bottom of the ramp, to survey the ring. Those who didn't know Kirk didn't know how serious the self-proclaimed Masterpiece was about what he did. He gazed at the squared circle, considering it like some sort of sacred entity. With a determined nod, Kirk finally slithered into the ring, waving his free hand in a dismissive manner as a signal for his music to (mercifully) be cut.
But the second he raised the microphone to his lips, Kirk found that the fans had banded together to jeer the ever-living crap out of him. The level of hate being served up by the crowd was quite intense. Did they really despise Butler so much, so quickly?
Kirk's reaction?
... He grinned, and shuffled to the middle of the ring.
"Now, THAT is what I'm talking about!" the so-called Ultimate All-Rounder shouted, drawing even more heat. "Who else can elicit that sort of reaction, just three shows into their career, huh? Not bad. Not bad at all. See, this is what I've been talking about.
For some people, it takes them a lifetime before they can garner a reaction like the one I'm getting now. Not me. I am a magnet. It doesn't matter that people hate me; it's just natural that people abhor greatness that they themselves don't achieve. This is why, ladies and gentlemen, I've been labelled The Box-Office Draw!
Because everywhere I go, people come to see me. True story.
... that's what you get, for being a MASTERPIECE."
Kirk laughed as he lowered his microphone, and the fans continued to berate him with a string of curse-words and derogatory comments. A couple of teenagers in the rafters began a very interesting chant: "YOU SUCK DICK! YOU SUCK DICK!" -- alas, it didn't catch on.
Butler soaked up the heat a while more, absolutely content just waiting for the fans to grow tired of their incessant jeering and hissing. And once that moment finally arrived?
The self-proclaimed Masterpiece was more than ready to get talkin' again. "Right. Thank you all for finally shutting up. Enough chit-chat; let's get right down to business. On the previous episode of SLAM!, I made my in-ring debut in SPECTACULAR fashion.
Unfortunately, an unruly fighter made it his point to ensure I wouldn't walk out with the victory. Good thing is, that TWAT didn't earn the victory either. New business! Tonight, there will be no open challenge. Mainly because Management has already hand-picked my vic... errr, opponent for tonight.
Wait, you know what? VICTIM. That's right, my VICTIM for tonight.
It just so happens I know this sack of shit about to come out. He, like I, had to go through the trials of a supposed 'super-agent' to get our spot here in NBW. The difference is, this ELEPHANT of a man got his paperwork all done up while I had to sit at home, waiting for the call, and then find out my paperwork had NOT been completed.
That, for the uninformed, is a TRAVESTY of the highest order. TRAVESTY.
Don't look so confused, twats. Buy a dictionary on your way home tonight. Maybe buy two dictionaries; you guys need all the help you can get."
Oh, Kirk. Why do you have to be such an asshole, huh?
The capacity crowd, having rested their throats, launched into another round of massive jeers. This time, though, Butler didn't smirk it up. He scowled a little, in fact, while walking around the ring.
"Yeah, jeer me for speaking the truth. Twats." Kirk fired back, his free hand now parked on the side of his hip. "But enough time-wasting. Let's get on with my demolition job, I have many a young woman to party with tonight.
Let's introduce my victim for tonight. He's hails from the land of obesity, and in fact goes by the nickname of The Fat Sack Of Shit as of this very moment. He's so fat, he doesn't deserve any theme music. Reappearing for the first time since he tried to interfere in another man's business at the PRIDE pay-per-view... he is Jupiter!"
True enough, with absolutely no theme music whatsoever, Jupiter walked out from the back to a modest round of cheers. Probably because the fans were in a 'screw-you-Kirk-Butler' kinda mood. Still, despite being made fun of by Kirk, Jupiter had a tight smile on his face and acknowledged the fans with a wave.
Smartly, Jupiter even traded high-fives with some of the fans in the front row. That got him more cheers, which meant only good things for him heading into this showdown with the self-proclaimed Masterpiece. In the ring, Butler rolled his eyes. He liked to do that a lot, eh?
Jupiter -- last spotted at the PRIDE 2010 pay-per-view as handily pointed out by Kirk Butler -- hadn't wrestled since his epic encounter with Judasbleek way back on SLAM! Episode VIII, back in October of last year. Where had he been?
*shrug*
At any rate, Jupiter quickly made his way up the ring steps and stepped through the ropes, just as Kirk Butler tossed his microphone out of the ring. The appointed referee for this mate, Ed Gates, stepped in between both competitors before they could get started.
"Hey! It's you, Referee No Name!" Butler quipped, cracking his knuckles. "Don't be a twat and count me out again this week, okay? Or else, I'll re-arrange your face and have your nose shoved up your ass!"
Referee Ed Gates shook his head. "The name's Gates. Ed Gates. And watch your tongue; I can disqualify you at any moment, as and when I see fit!"
Kirk stopped what he was doing and snarled. He didn't like the sound of that.
DING DING DING!
He also didn't like the sight of Jupiter pushing the referee aside and charging at him. LARIATTTTTTOOOO! Butler was turned inside-out, and the fans roared, delighted at the self-proclaimed Masterpiece had already tasted canvas so early in the match.
With a chuckle, Jupiter pulled Kirk up to his feet and smashed a forearm into his face. Twice. Thrice, in fact. The third one saw Butler stagger back into the corner turnbuckle, dazed and confused. That only made Jupiter back up a few steps, the fans already anticipating what was going to happen next.
RUNNING HIP ATTACK!
... Followed up with a bulldog faceplant, out of the corner! Fun fact: had Jupiter allowed Kirk Butler to stumble out of the corner and then execute a fallaway slam, that would have been Jupiter's finishing move.
As it was, the bulldog faceplant -- it inself perfectly executed -- appeared to be game over for the so-called Ultimate All-Rounder. Butler was out cold. Jupiter did the only thing he could. He rolled Butler over, and hooked the legs;
ONE!
TWO!
TH -- NO!
It wasn't three, but it was rather close.
The fans were disappointed, but Jupiter thought nothing of it (not even the fact that he probably should have gone for his finisher there instead of just the bulldog faceplant). He pulled a visibly gasping-for-air Butler up and swung his right hand at the self-proclaimed Masterpiece. DUCKED! Kirk countered with a solid gut punch, before wrapping his arms around Jupiter's waist.
Really? Was the so-called Ultimate All-Rounder really going there? Yeah, right. Like Butler had any chance of lifting a man twice his size off the canvas. Psssh. Dream on, Kirk Butler.
... Oh, wait.
NORTHERN LIGHTS RELEASE SUPLEX!
Well, colour me red. Kirk Butler really did it, surprising every single fan in the arena. Best of all, Kirk immediately floated over and hooked the legs, shaking his head as he did so. Did even Kirk think that was an extraordinary feat?
"COUNT, YOU IDIOT!" Butler screamed at the referee, who was stunned by what just happened. Gates snapped out of his trance and got down to his knees;
ONE!
TWO!
THRE -- NO!
Kirk Butler raced to his feet and stormed over to Ed Gates, who raised his hands up in defense. "YOU! If you hadn't stood there gawking at my AWESOMENESS, that would have been it!" Butler barked, his spittle flying all over the place.
In response, Referee Ed Gates simply apologised profusely. Truthfully, he was waiting for Jupiter to get back up to his feet. And once that was done, Gates got the hell outta dodge. Butler, who'd spent one full minute lambasting the referee, was confused. Until he got sent hurtling through the ropes, courtesy of a hard kick to his be-hind.
And oh, how the fans rejoiced.
Jupiter didn't let up, either. He hopped out of the ring and measured Kirk up, nearly decapitating him with another tremendous clothesline! It appeared as if Jupiter had fully recovered from his previous injuries and had returned from his time off with renewed vigour. Not bad at all.
Kirk Butler? He was drooling at ringside, unable to figure out where he was exactly. Jupiter decided to help him out, since Butler only had nice things to say about him earlier. Wait, what? That wasn't true at all.
Butler? Meet the ring apron. SMACK! Jupiter afforded himself a smile as he tossed the self-proclaimed Masterpiece back into the ring, after introducing Kirk's head to the ring apron. From there, Jupiter slowly got back into the squared circle as well, crouching down behind the slowly recovering Kirk Butler. Who was seeing stars at that moment.
In addition to the thousands of fans flipping him off, of course.
By the time Kirk turned around? Jupiter had mapped out his next five moves. The first of which involved kicking Kirk in the gut. The second of which involved a standing headscissors. The third consisted mainly of lifting Kirk up in the air and milking the moment for all it was worth.
The fourth move? A fantastic sit-out powerbomb. That meant the fifth move was either a striptease, or the immediate pinfall attempt. Thankfully for everybody (including me), Jupiter went for the latter.
And with obvious glee, Referee Ed Gates dropped to his knees;
ONE!
TWO!
THRE -- NEIN!
... Somehow, Kirk had managed to get a shoulder up.
Jupiter growled, the smile from his face finally fading. He rose to his feet and looked down at the self-proclaimed Masterpiece, bewildered at how he had gotten the shoulder up.
Nonetheless, Jupiter decided not to dwell on the fact that the win had not been obtained. He pulled Kirk Butler up and walloped him with a mighty right haymaker. Then a left jab. Then a stinging right uppercut, before sending Butler flying across the ring! Kirk's back collided violently with the corner turnbuckle.
This time, there was a gleam evident in Jupiter's eyes. He pounded his massive chest with his bare hands, hyping up the fans. Was it time for another running hip attack, leading to his fallaway slam finisher? It appeared so. The fans certainly thought so, as they started jumping up and down excitedly.
Thanks for coming, Kirk Butler. You loudmouth braggart.
BUT WAIT, THE NAZIS HAD ARRIVED! Zuh? No, what actually happened was this: Jupiter went for the running hip attack, but Butler had managed to hit the deck at the last possible moment! Jupiter hit nothing but the corner turnbuckle. And at the speed Jupiter was going, that collision hurt like a motherqucker.
Butler, relief printed on his face, crawled through Jupiter's legs and stumbled up to his feet. He peered over his shoulder, at Jupiter staggering out of the corner. KIRKED OUT! In a flash, the self-proclaimed Masterpiece had dropped Jupiter with *his* version of a RKO / Diamond Cutter!
Well, dayum. Perhaps Butler wasn't full of shit after all.
"AND NOW, FOR THE GRAND FINALE~!" Kirk boasted after kipping up to his feet. The fans were roundly silenced, stunned at how quickly the supposed Box Office Draw had turned things around.
It was only gonna get worse. Why?
Can you say... back-mounted Buffalo sleeper hold? Yeah, sickening submission move. One made famous by industry legend (and giant bastard) Daniel Phillips. Kirk Butler laughed as he tightened his grip on Jupiter; Kirk was completely in the zone by now.
Jupiter had nowhere to run. And no other choice.
TAP.
TAP.
TAP.
It was alllll ovah!
Kirk Butler quickly relinquished his deadly submission hold and shot to his feet, barking at Referee Ed Gates to raised his arm in victory. Sighing, Gates obliged. The result? Massive outpouring of jeers. Butler smirked a wonderful smirk, and then yanked his arm away from Gates.
After which, the supposed Box Office Draw gestured at the timekeeper for a microphone. Oh dear. He was going to blather on some more? This wasn't going to be good.
Strap in for more annoying rambling, folks.
The Beginning of a Beautiful Rivalry
"Now, that... THAT, is how you win a wrestling match."
That arrogant jack-off. Seriously.
Kirk Butler dropped to one knee and smiled into the hard camera, catching his breath and revelling in the jeers of the crowd. Jupiter, meanwhile, was being helped out of the ring by Referee Ed Gates.
The self-proclaimed Masterpiece sniggered as he stole a glance at Gates and Jupiter. "In a shade under five minutes, I took down a man twice my size and made him tap out to one of the deadliest submission moves in all of wrestling today.
In case any of you were wondering, that move was called BUTLER-RIFFIC! I have an incredibly important story on how I came to adopt that move as my be-all and end-all finisher -- but that's a story for another time. Like the next episode of SLAM!, whenever that is.
For now, I have another story to tell. Spotlight, PLEASE."
Almost immediately, a single spotlight shone down upon Butler kneeling in the ring, while the rest of the lights in the building dimmed to nothingness. The fans jeered. Couldn't Kirk just shut up and walk away, bragging quietly to himself about the victory? Hmm?
Fat chance of that happening. If you never heard of Hawaiian Pro-Wrestling, then... well; good for you, actually. Because Kirk Butler used to pull this kind of stunt a lot in HPW, his previous place of employment.
With the fans' disdain at a fever pitch, Kirk Butler cleared his throat and looked up at the rafters. What in the world did he have to say? Surely something to further boost his gigantic ego.
"Once upon a time, in a wrestling organisation known as No Brand Wrestling -- which is, quite frankly, one of the dumbest names ever -- there was nothing but mediocrity infesting the roster." Kirk began to speak, lowering his tone and acting as if he was doing some voice-over work. "Mediocrity that was preventing NBW from being recognised as a top promotion.
That was, until a MASTERPIECE joined the ranks of NBW. Oh, but unfortunately for NBW, the incompetence of a supposed 'super-agent' prevented the MASTERPIECE from debuting. A giant cock-up, which only hurt NBW's chances of being taken seriously.
Now, however, the MASTERPIECE has finally debuted. Ratings are going through the roof because of this MASTERPIECE. The friendly people over at Hulu.com continually cream their pants, every single time this MASTERPIECE shows up on-camera... and you know what? This awesome individual has only been seen on camera a handful of times. Truly remarkable.
The identity of this MASTERPIECE? Well, that's simple.
... It's ME."
Jesus. H. Christ. Almighty. Was there no boundary to the arrogance of this man? Apparently not. Kirk Butler extended both his arms out and closed his eyes, soaking in the moment. Yeah, big talk for someone who almost lost both his matches so far; one draw and one win over a rookie doesn't mean squat, Kirk.
Suddenly, though, there were scattered cheers from certain sections of the crowd. Kirk didn't pick up on it, until he opened his eyes and slowly regained his vertical balance. Noticing, even in the near darkness, that the fans in the front rows were jumping up and down for no apparent reason... the so-called Ultimate All-Rounder began to realise that something was off.
By the time he waved his free hand, signalling for the lights to come back on? It was much too late. Kirk Butler wasn't alone in the ring.
SMACK!
Kirk dropped to the canvas, his microphone dropping out of his hand. The fans roared, once they recognised who Butler's assailant was.
SMACK!
Another shot to the back of Kirk's head! Oh, how the fans ate that up.
SMACK!
Three. And the last one, it seemed. Kirk Butler was done.
Seriously. He was out cold, with a tiny bit of blood trickling out of the fresh wound in the back of the head, immediately staining the canvas. His assailant raised the now-dented chair up in the air, and received a healthy amount of cheers for it.
The bearded assailant then decided to exchange the chair for the microphone, with the fans going wild all the while. Until, of course, this assailant raised his right hand up and got the crowd to simmer down.
"Oi."
CHEEEEEER~!
"OI."
CHEEEEEEEEEER~!; every single fan were on their feet now.
"OI!"
The fans, being so anti-Butler, went ballistic.
More importantly, they remembered how darn much they liked Alexander 'Journeyman' Benson from the previous episode of SLAM! and how he sufficiently dampened Kirk Butler's 'debut extravaganza'.
"So, aye, this pile of shite here is a bit of a loudmouth, innit?" Benson sneered, poking the downed Butler with his right boot. "Bastard's even gone ahead and stolen my catchphrase. Bloody ignorant Yank.
Errr, then again. I'm in Yankland. Sorry about 'at. BACK TO TOPIC~! Savvy this, Kirk; our match on SLAM! a couple of weeks ago was a bit of a wash, thanks to the double count-out. Now, I normally wouldn't care, but being how as ye like to run your bleedin' mouth about being a MASTERPIECE, I'm here to remind ye one thing.
Ye... are the biggest sodding TWAT 'ere in all of NBW!"
The crowd liked the sound of that. They really enjoyed the sight of Benson rubbing the heel of his boot in Kirk Butler's face. Hell, that image was the highlight of their nights thus far.
Prodigy's Smack My Bitch Up blared over the speakers, prompting Alexander Benson to raise up his arms. The moral victory was his, and for the second show in a row, the Journeyman had succeeded in derailing Kirk Butler's ego trip.
Looks like this was the beginning of a beautiful rivalry, eh?
"What a showcase between Butler and Jupiter, but it looks like Benson may have his number." remarked Gordon as he watched Benson make his way back up the ramp.
"Paaaa-lease, the Masterpiece already dialed that number and it was returned with a disconnection announcement."
"What?" Gordon was perplexed to his co-commentator's comment. "Anyway... It seems Trent McKnight is already backstage and
has an interview he is attempting to chase down. Off to you then!"
Grr. Argh.
Grrr. Argh.
Somewhere in the deeper, darker recesses of the arena, the camera caught focus of an elevator lowering down to the ground level. The elevator opened to reveal none other than the bulky-looking form of “The Innovator of Impact” Adam Faulkner and the VERY GODDAMN bulky form of his tag team partner, “The Watertown Wrecking Ball” Vic Gravender.
Neither man looked pleased.
Being the victim of a cowardly hit-and-run attack by a new group of ravers would do that. It also didn't help that not too long ago, the same group talked some smack about them.
They also didn't like having what looked like a robot penis being jammed in their face.
Well, at second glance, both Vic and Adam turned over to see none other than nbW interviewer Trent McKnight, holding a microphone up.
“Adam Faulkner, Vic Gravender. Can I have a word with you regarding your match later tonight?”
The last couple of weeks, Adam Faulkner was able to play along with the crowd, showing that he had a little bit of a fun-loving side to him. He was happy to laugh and joke for the masses while managing to be pretty decent at this whole wrestling thing, along with his monster of a tag team partner. Tonight, however?
“I...” Adam looked at Vic before turning back to Trent. “Uh... I'd make it a quick one if I were you. Vic here has a temper and I'll be honest... they screwed up his order at Fuddruckers earlier. Badly. He will probably kill you where you stand.”
Vic said nothing, grimacing as Trent McKnight gulped.
“Uh... last week, you guys were the victim of a heinous assault by a group of wrestlers called Night Life USA. They referred to you both as relics and promised to make an example out of you. What are you going to d...?”
“WHAT THE...?” Vic and his near-400 pound frame stood over Trent, who looked like he was ready to piss himself. “Ask me a stupid question like that, I ought to kick your ass just for asking th...”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, easy, Vic, easy!”
Adam got in between Vic and Trent, getting Vic to let go of the interviewer. After composing himself, Trent shook the wrinkles out of his collar and made sure that he hadn't soiled himself.
“I'll field that question, Trent...” Adam commented. “Being that myself and Vic have each been in this business for a decade-plus, it's perfectly understandable for younger guys to try and shuffle out veterans to make their time now and all that jazz. Get it, got it, good. Now, I could stand here and throw you some BS about how we're not ready to go out into that good night, sunset, we're in the twilight of our careers, blahblahblahfuckitydoo. But Night Life USA? You picked the WRRROOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGG mofos to be pulling this shit on. You're gonna be dancing circles around us? Spinning your Moby records? Blasting our eardrums with some shit music that hasn't changed since the late 80's? Sweet. Go ahead and sing and dance and spin your records, boys.”
Vic grabbed the mic from Trent and clenched it tightly.
“We'll just fuck you all up. How's THAT sound?” Vic tossed it away as he and Adam Faulkner walked on in a huff.
Zed w/Matt Haddon Versus Frank Silver
The fans in the Epic II had seen themselves quite a show thus far. The war between “Superstar” Vince Jacobs’ Upper Echelon and nbW as a whole was waging with his newest faction growing stronger each week. But what the fans were going to be subject to next?
Lights out.
'Ride the Lightning'
The music of Metallica gave way to Zed. A long-standing member of No Brand Wrestling, the man in the red body suit was flanked by none other than Matt Haddon, another tenured roster member. The music and flash effects quickly cut out as they looked out to the crowd. Zed remained silent as Matt Haddon had a microphone in his hand.
“Is everybody in St. Louis having a good time tonight?”
A sparse amount of applause and cheers from the hometown as Matt Haddon continued to look out to the crowd.
“Are you? Well, SHOVE IT UP YOUR ASSES!”
Annnnnnnnndddddddddd all those cheers and adulation that Matt Haddon and Zed were getting? All gone. He handed the microphone to the masked Zed as he grumbled under his breath.
“All this focus and attention… it’s ALL going to the wrong damn people. Superstar Vince Jacobs and his Upper Echelon he’s cooking up… Shawn Jessica Hart… tag teams… Night Life USA… those stupid relics, Faulkner and Gravender… AND I’M SICK OF IT! The focus should be on ME! ZED! AND “THE INNOVATOR” MATT HADDON! I’M NOT GOING TO STAND FOR THIS ANY GODDAMN LONGER!”
Both men entered the ring amidst a sea of jeers from the crowd as Zed had the microphone.
“We’ve been here for a long time and quite frankly, I’m fed up with the lack of respect we’re getting. So here’s how it’s going to be… somebody needs to be made an example of and it’s going to happen RIGHT NOW. Don’t care if you’re new; don’t care if you’re old. Don’t care if you’re short, fat, lazy, the future of this business, the present of this business, what generation wrestler you are. I’m calling out any of the boys in the back. Tonight, I’m turning the attention back to us! Somebody better get out here or I’m going to go back into that locker room and FIND somebody to drag out here.”
Zed dropped the microphone as a referee ran out to the ring, getting ready to start what might very well be an impromptu match-up. The fans looked on with a vested interest to see who exactly was going to be taking up the challenge laid out by the masked marvel of nbW. He adjusted his mask as he waved and knelt downwards, ready for a fight.
They waited.
And waited.
And waited.
A whole minute had gone by and nobody came.
“Damn this. Typical.”
Zed shook his head as he gestured for Matt Haddon to head back up the ramp. The tandem were indeed, about to leave…
“I’M A BAAAAAAAAADDDDDDDDDD MOTHAFUCKA!”
And without warning, the crowd showed some love.
“The Sh!t” by Danger Mouse and Jemini.
On that happy note, Zed and Matt Haddon both stood in shock at the person standing in front of them, followed by the words that flashed repeatedly on the EpiCenter II.
BARON OF BALLISTICS.
SOVEREIGN SUPERMAN.
DUKE OF DEADLY.
THE DYNASTIC DOOMSDAY DEVICE.
But then two more words let the crowd know what they were seeing…
The fans gave a great ovation. Sure, he and his band of wrestlers… a little group called The Heirs of Wrestling… were in other organizations known for raising hell and winning tag team gold. But decked out in a body-length white coat with a furry black lining, sunglasses, and a raised royale pinky to the crowd, the godson of Sonny Silver made his way to the ring and got a nice reception, just for being there.
“Ladies and gentlemen… making his way to the ring from Seattle, Washington… weighing in at 259 pounds… he is FRANK SILVER!
Frank smirked to the crowd as he headed to the ring. Zed stood in the ring while Matt Haddon looked on from the outside. The 6’4”, 260-pound Zed was ready to fight, as was Frank Silver. Sonny Silver’s godson quickly climbed up the steps and tossed his coat and glasses away, showing off a very well-built physique underneath. Running his hands through his shoulder-length hair, he smiled with the same brash smile that normally made him hated… but whether they just liked the fact he was there or the fact somebody was out there to shut Zed and Matt Haddon up, which was good enough for the crowd. The referee stood in between the two men as he called for the bell.
DING DING DING!
Decked out in a pair of Austin-style half-blue and half-white trunks, Frank Silver didn’t play too much to the crowd, but one could tell he was a little off-guard from the reception. He didn’t care about all of that right now, though.
Zed went low immediately, going for a rear waistlock. The two men looked about even physically as they equally struggled with Zed trying to go for a slam and Frank trying to break the hold. Zed pulled around, but ate a nasty back elbow to the face. Frank kissed his palm before CHOPPING the bejeesus out of Zed, who felt the pain even through his bodysuit.
WHOO!
WHOO!
WHOO!
WHOO!
WHOO!
WHOO!
Six vicious chops to the chest doubled Zed over against the ropes. A kick to the gut was the prelude to a whip across the ring. Zed came flying back right into a nasty back elbow that turned him sideways. Zed clutched his jaw as he turned back up to his feet, only to be put right back down with a Discus Punch to the face!
Matt Haddon showed concern for his newfound cohort as he got picked up off the mat by Frank, getting shot back across the ring. Zed was grounded and got crunched in the ropes with a running Clothesline right to the chest. Another chop (WHOO!) and another (WHOO!) and finally, a third (WHOO!) rocked Zed before he was tossed back across the ring. Frank ran right at Zed, but all he got was a boot to the face that sent the Dynastic Doomsday Device staggering backwards. Zed saw his chance and ran right at him…
THE NOSE BLEEDS!
A high-angled variant on the Sit-Down Spinebuster landed in the middle of the ring perfectly as Silver went for the cover.
ONE!
TWO!
NO!
Zed escaped the fall, but did not like how this match was going right now. Frank rolled back to his feet and headed up to the second turnbuckle, waiting for The Annihilator to get back to his feet. Instead, he headed for lower ground, rolling away from Frank’s flight path and heading to the outside. The crowd booed at Zed, but he waved a dismissive hand at them as he headed outside.
Frank followed Zed out to the floor and hit him hard with a right hand, sending him stumbling back towards the barricade. From behind, he turned around and saw Mat Haddon try and distract him, but Silver wasn’t having it.
“You need to back the fuck up, buttercup.” He told him.
But he took his eye off the ball for a little too long and got SHOVED face-first into the turnbuckle, courtesy of Zed!
Silver grabbed his head in pain as Zed got back to his feet, now going on the assault. After firing about seven or eight vicious forearms to the back of the skull, Zed scooped Frank up and dropped him violently across the apron with a modified Snake Eyes!
Zed rolled him under the bottom rope and headed back into the ring, not wanting to get counted out. He grabbed Sonny Silver’s godson by the hair and drilled another hard volley of forearms to the face and followed it up with a kick to the jaw that doubled him over. With that, he snapped him over with a picture-perfect Double Underhook Suplex that drilled Frank into the mat. He rolled him over and went for the cover.
ONE!
TWO!
NO!
The Annihilator was slowly but surely living up to his name, annihilating the young Silver with a series of knees to the back. He peppered him with a couple more straight kicks to the back of the head before pulling Frank up to his feet. He stopped Zed with another chop to the chest (WHOO!) but Zed fired back with a straight-on boot to the face of Frank (BOO!).
Picking Frank up again, this time he deposited him in the middle of the ring with a Scoop Slam before heading up to the second rope. Raising his hand for all to see, he slapped his elbow before flying off…
ELBOW-Z-DOOM!
It was from off the second rope, but Zed landed the elbow perfectly. He rolled Frank over and hooked both legs again, hoping this would be enough to take down the tag team specialist.
ONE!
TWO!
TH… NO!
Frank shot a shoulder up off the mat, starting to infuriate Zed a little more. The Annihilator stayed on the assault as he grabbed Frank and doubled him over with couple jabs, then an uppercut that sent him flying off the ropes. Again, the Annihilator took time time to drill Frank into the middle of the ring, this time with a front slam. He rolled him onto his stomach and quickly applied a Steiner Recliner-like submission, pulling back on Frank’s head and neck.
“LET’S GO, SILVER! Clap clap clap clap clap!
LET’S GO, SILVER! Clap clap clap clap clap!
LET’S GO, SILVER! Clap clap clap clap clap!
LET’S GO, SILVER! Clap clap clap clap clap!”
It seemed, for some reason, the fans were taking a little bit of a shine to the notorious Frank Silver as he started to grab on Zed’s hands to try and free himself from the submission. Trying to get some footing, he squirmed his legs up and tried to get to a kneeling position, but Zed drilled him on the top of the head with some pointed elbows. Back to the submission again, but Frank wasn’t going to be deterred.
With the fans behind him (something he thought he would never hear), he fought upwards as he threw a couple of elbows into the chest of Zed, doubling over the Annihilator and sending him to the ropes. He came back, but Frank was ready, taking him up and over with a Samoan Drop!
Both Frank and Zed were down,, The Baron of Ballistics having bought himself some time as Zed cradled his back. He slowly got back to his feet, as did Frank, still holding his neck.
The two met in the center of the ring where Zed had a punch blocked, only to get nailed with a right by Frank. He tried for a second punch, but Frank blocked again and nailed the punch. Zed got himself a running start off the ropes as Frank tried for a clothesline but missed. As Zed continued to the ropes, Frank followed him in, making Zed snap his head back around…
OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!
The rebound clothesline turned Zed nearly inside out! Frank knelt downwards and hooked a far leg, trying to go for the win.
ONE!
TWO!
THR… NO!
It was close, but Zed still had some fight left in him. The Sovereign Superman and self-proclaimed wrestling royalty climbed back to the second rope again as he did earlier. Matt Haddon tried to warn Zed what was coming, but the Annihilator rose to his feet, only to get bowled right over with a Second Rope Shoulder Block!
With Zed down and out in the middle of the ring, Frank raised a pinky finger in the middle of the ring as he yelled to the crowd.
“YE OLDE ROYALE ELBOWWWWWWW!”
And with the bounce off the ropes, he dropped the Muta-style elbow right on the top of Zed’s forehead!
The Sovereign Superman was in the driver’s seat as he waited for the Annihilator to stagger back to his feet. He grabbed Zed by the head and tried to lock in a Cobra Clutch-like maneuver, but Zed ran for the turnbuckle and went low, faceplanting Silver into the top turnbuckle!
Stumbling back, Frank didn’t see the wicked sneer Zed had on his face as he ran forward, looking for the Z-Nihilator… NO!
CAUGHT.
YOU’RE SCREWED.
The fans groaned from the sickening impact of the Lightning Spiral that Frank had driven Zed into the mat with. This was the debut of the move he simply called YOU’RE SCREWED.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
Raising his hands into the air, Frank rolled off the unconscious body of Zed as he popped back to his feet, happy that his first singles outing in quite some time went off without a hitch… well, almost. He heard the crowd reaction, but by the time he could react, Matt Haddon already hit him from behind with blow to the back of the head.
Doubling Frank over, Matt Haddon looked out to the crowd before he threatened to Piledrive Frank into oblivion. He lifted him… BACK BODY DROP!
The Sovereign Superman fought back and waited for Matt Haddon to get back to his feet. He twirled his finger to let the crowd know exactly what was going to happen to poor Mr. Haddon as he grabbed him by the head…
YOU’RE SCREWED.
Crunched into a heap right next to Zed, Matt Haddon suffered the same fate as his ally. He was dumped right on the top of his head as Frank headed back to his feet. Looking out to his feet, the referee raised his hand as he was handed his sunglasses and jacket. He looked down at both the fallen Haddon and Zed and sneered.
“Pfft. Morons.”
“The sh!t” by Danger Mouse played him out of the ring as he simply went on his merry way. He’d made a solid impact tonight.
Not a bad day’s work for the new guy on the block, huh?
Backstage - SJH Interview Re: Boyle
Following the fireworks of Thaddeus Boyle's opening announcement, ace reporter TRENT McKNIGHT was backstage with one of the men involved with its fallout, the Prime Minister of Gettin' Sinister SJH.
Rocking Labyrinth hair, leopard-print pleather and a custom tee reading, “Unfunny.”, Hart was practically foaming at the mouth as McKnight launched into journalist mode.
“SJH, by order of Mr. Boyle, you will team up next week with Remy Leroux, Ali Amore, and a partner of your choosing to face the Upper Echelon. Now, if your team manages to win, in addition to securing control of NBW for Mr. Boyle, you and Remy will meet each other in the ring for the chance to take down one of Vince Jacobs' titles! Now, after your, let's be honest here, disappointing performance the past few weeks--”
SJH seemingly threw up a bit in his mouth.
“...It looks like things are starting to turn around for you now in NBW!”
McKnight extended the microphone to SJH. Hart chuckled to himself and responded.
“I'll tell you what, Mac-Daddy... last week I swore a blood oath that if I didn't pull out the win against the Son of Malta and SVJ, we were gonna have some serious shit on our hands. Some NUCLEAR, 88 miles an hour, flux capacitor has the power kinda shit...”
Dramatic pause.
“Needless to say, I did not win. But it seems like every time Pro Wrestling's SJH hits a valley, he finds himself a sweet, l'il honey spot in the shade before he climbs back up, because Thaddy Pee-Bee saw what transpired, he FELT the elec-TRUUUUUUUUcity from all the Hart-broken Phenom Fiends, and he knew what he had to do. He had to put the Prime Minister of Gettin' Sinister, spread your sister's legs before I FINISH HER, the hottest sensation to hit this great nation since mechanically-induced orgasmic vibrations-the last LoC Champ, the Lady is a TRAMP, the lovely.. the LUSCIOUS Shawn Jessica Hart, PhD up against that double-champ, double-CHUMP, slack-jawed like Bubba Gump GOOF, Vince Jacobs... so I can defeat that evil bastard and make this place respectable again!!”
Being a pro, McKnight did his best not to get swept up by SJH's tenacity, but did offer up a query concerning Hart's promise of the previous week.
“So, with these new developments, is it safe to say you're NOT going to be wreaking havoc on No Brand to, I don't know.. avenge your defeat of last week?”
SJH shook his head disgustedly.
“Are you kidding me?! I'm a man of MY WORD! So while my thirst for carnage may have been partially quenched, the steak n' eggs of the situation is that I'm here TONIGHT to show that JACKHOLE I'm serious! That said, you can bet your booty I'm gonna tape these titties down, strap on my SAMUS suit, and blast the shit out of anyone that pisses me off, INCLUDING but not limited to the Upper Echelon! So if any of you yokels wandering around here tonight want to keep your limbs in digits in the right place, you'll stay the hell out of my way! And that includes you, MAC!!”
Jam Master Jiggy glared at McKnight, who took a step backward slowly.
“Now if you'll excuse me, I've got to go carbo-load for all that ass kicking that's about to take place! PELVIS has left the building!”
SJH stormed off the shot like a madman as Trent nervously stared into the camera as the footage returned to ringside.
"Shawn Hart has some nerve. Nobody, and that includes him, Leroux, Saunders and the rest. Nobody stands an inch above the Double Champion."
"Folks, as you are well aware ever since The Fighting Zone's return the hatred has been flying. Not only has our Champion been on a roll against all challengers but even the likes of Hall of Famer's William Arthur Reagan and Keegan have returned to the Zone after years of absense. Tonight a very special conference was held with TFZ's most important members and two men set to fight. We now join that meeting."
Vic Gravendar and Adam Faulkner Versus Night Life USA
The EpiCenter in St. Louis, Missouri was another packed house. And the next match was surely going to be chock-full of some fireworks between both teams.
The team of Adam Faulkner and Vic Gravender were a perfect two-and-oh so far, defeating some local talent and before that, the Creede Brothers of Ace and Spade. But tonight, they would have their toughest competition to date – especially because this would be their debut match in nbW.
Night Life USA – the Americanized chapter of the successful ACW stable overseas – had made their mark on Slam! 12 by assaulting Gravender and Faulkner after their match. So tonight, here we were. Now that you know the back story, let’s get on with the show.
The fans started to cheer for the opening riffs of “Beat You Down” by Downstait. And with it, the curtains parted to reveal the forms of the 5’11” 256-pound “Innovator of Impact” Adam Faulkner and the 6’3”, 385-pound mass of humanity called “The Watertown Wrecking Ball” Vic Gravender. Normally, the team had been all smiles (well, mostly Adam) but they were both fan favorites. Tonight, they were only interested in getting some payback as their game faces remained perpetually set to “on.”
Faulkner and Gravender both entered the ring and nodded at one another before raising their fists for the excited crowd. Tonight, there would be some competition.
The lights faded out and suddenly, the hub lights around the entrance started to pulsate several different shades of blue, purple, and yellow. The Epic video screen started to display names.
TFZ Presents... Brotherly Hate
There are seven men sat at a long table, surrounded by the latest hi-tech equipment and more microphones than you care to count. From left to right: Kelvin Christie, Drew Miller, Keegan, Gino Di Maggio, Don Toto, John C. Willis and Michael D’Alessandro.
Don Toto gestures for all of the guests to sit down and gives his business partner, Gino, a signal: “Gentlemen, welcome to today’s press conference. This is the first of two as we look forward to seeing the two biggest fights in one night since the return of The Fighting Zone. Johannes Antonious Castonovo will face the man he defeated for the championship, WAR in an eagerly-anticipated fight and we’re also promoting a fight we’ve dubbed ‘Brotherly Hate’ between the two half-brothers, Keegan and John C. Willis.”
Toto interrupts for a second: “We won’t be taking any questions in this press conference. Both fighters will speak separately at the conclusion of Mr. Di Maggio’s statement and field questions, again individually, later on. The whole pre-fight build-up will conclude with a weight-in of the two men this afternoon. Sorry Gino.”
Di Maggio acknowledged his partner and smiled before addressing his audience: “Nights like these are why we approached Thaddeus Prometheus Boyle to run The Fighting Zone in conjunction with No Brand Wrestling. We believe we bring a different dimension to the world of sports entertainment by bringing you action you won’t see on any other program, whether it be on TV or the internet. In addition to seeing some of the best wrestlers in the world, you also have the chance to watch the best fighters on the planet get physical.
“Pinnacle also represents our pinnacle, at least in this spell. We’ve already promoted some fabulous fights but not on this scale. Two monumental bouts in one night and we’re happy to be here to promote the first of two, which we have dubbed ‘Brotherly Hate.’
“Keegan and John C. Willis were the two biggest names in The Fighting Zone in two thousand and two. That’s because they were the best. They also had a rivalry which transcended sport and their professional lives. It was also popular because it was personal, two half-brothers who hated one another and were hell-bent on proving themselves to be the superior sibling.
“John won their first fight in The Fighting Zone and also secured the coveted trophy with it. As Keegan has told us, they had another fight in The Asylum which he won, effectively equalising and making the series one-one.
“Their matches have spanned three famous and proud companies – The Fighting Zone, The Asylum and now, No Brand Wrestling. This is their rubber match. Gentlemen, we present to you… Keegan v Willis three – Brotherly Hate.”
A round of applause greeted Gino’s announcement. Special K sat forward and then glanced along the line at his half-brother Willis, who was sitting cross-legged and very calmly indeed. Keegan decided to speak first: “I’d just like to say thanks to those who have an interest in this fight. We first fought eight years ago. That’s a long time in this game and I know some who were around for that aren’t here now. However, there are still enough who want to see this go ahead and I just want to add that I didn’t come back just to fight John for some silly rubber match. I came back because he tried to put me out of commission, him and WAR tried to put me on the shelf –permanently.
“Because of that, and how I grew up, I’m here for revenge. I won’t dress it up and I don’t have to. I am here to kick seven kinds of shit out of this bastard and believe me when I tell you this… I’ll do the same to WAR once I’m done with Willis. This is merely a formality. Unfortunately, he thinks it’s more than a warm-up fight. Ordinarily, it wouldn’t be but John’s always had a problem with living in the shadows.”
Willis smirked at that and the claim also provoked a unanimous ‘OOH’ from everyone, except Kelvin Christie, who laughed and clapped, clearly agreeing with his good friend’s remark.
The Geordie Genius glared at the Indiana Buffalo: “You’re the salad here John. You’ve lived in my shadow for your entire life and this isn’t about you either. The Fighting Zone, even the promoters here, they really want to see me and your bum boy, WAR, get it on. You’re the starter to the main course. I’ve got no problem with that. You tried to end my career as well and if you weren’t so stupid, I’d be venting all of my rage at you right now. You haven’t got a brain to call your own so I know WAR was behind the stunt you pulled at Slam five. It doesn’t matter. I’ll execute the two executioners, starting with you. Double the fights…Double the satisfaction. I’ll walk through you and then maim him. You both tried to end my career. You know what the irony is, John? I’m going to end both of your careers.”
John, as he has done throughout this stage of the feud, could only produce a smile. This wound Keegan up, who left his seat and stood. The two promoters who sat between the two big bulls looked worried, though they were privately excited that the press conference had heated up. Special K spat (verbally, not literally) at Willis with venom: “Is this a joke to you, John? Think this is funny?”
It appeared that the Englishman was ready to go there and then but Drew Miller and Kelvin Christie surrounded ‘their man’ and attempted to calm him down, though it didn’t work straightaway. Eventually, they refrained him from moving any closer towards Willis, who to be fair to him didn’t budge, while Don Toto and Gino Di Maggio also tried to reason with the explosive European import.
Willis calmly stood up and took a glass of water and threw it directly at Keegan. Even the promoters weren’t happy, as some of it splashed their expensive designer suits, but rather than cooling the 36-year-old down, his temper started to boil and Kelvin Christie virtually had to place a full-nelson on the Newcastle native to stop him from having his third fight against Willis there and then!
“You’re a fuckin’ pussy Willis. A fuckin’ pussy. Look at you runnin’. Try that again. I dare you. You’re dead. Let go of me. You’re fuckin’ dead.”
Drew Miller and Kel stopped their buddy from going anywhere near Willis while Di Maggio tried to talk sense to Special K, who kept on repeating: “It’s not me with the problem.”
D’Alessandro convinced his mate to leave the room in the way he’d entered and that Keegan wasn’t worth it. He started back at the Briton one final time, which was enough for the Yardstick to try again to escape the clutches of Christie and Miller, though that simply wasn’t going to happen.
Here at the press conference, Keegan had cried over spilled water.
Come fight time…
There will be a lot of blood shed.
Wyman Versus Hoa Linh Versus Lana Kazumbo
What happens when you have three women in a match on NBW programming?
Seeing how that had never happened before, everybody was about to find out. Having returned on the previous episode of SLAM! with the desire to get back into the swing of things, Wyman -- one of the survivors of now-missing Biron 'Le Super-Agent' Sexton's talent trials in the later half of 2009 -- found herself coming out to the ring fully recovered and raring to go.
Her opponents? Two women who were also part of Sexton's talent trials, that had suffered paperwork woes very much akin to Kirk Butler. As he'd done with the self-proclaimed Masterpiece, Owner Thaddeus Boyle had managed to close the loop on aforementioned issues with documentation, which meant Hoa Linh and Lana Kazumbo were finally making their official NBW debuts.
The fans didn't think much of the three women in the ring. Despite having seen glimpses of Wyman in late 2009 before she suffered an unfortunate injury, the fans didn't give her much of a reaction as she jogged around the ring in a warm-up routine. The lithe Hoa Linh, hailing from South East Asia, tied her hair into a ponytail and looked around nervously. This was to be her first wrestling match on the big stage. The husky Lana Kazumbo, on the other hand, appeared utterly assured and was a house of fire once the bell rang.
Indeed, the Nigerian ruled the roost, beating Wyman and Hoa Linh senseless with her robust style. It was thus rather surprising that she didn't choose to go for the win, and instead decided to pile on the pressure on her two opponents. That was where things went south for Lana; Wyman slipped out of the ring, leaving Hoa Linh alone in the ring with Lana. That allowed Wyman to catch her breath, while Hoa Linh bravely weathered the storm brought on by Lana. The lithe South East Asian was even finding avenues to fight back, rocking Lana with her swift kicks.
Eventually, Wyman decided to re-enter the equation, and did so spectacularly: she ascended to the top of the turnbuckle just as Lana Kazumbo ate an enziguiri from Hoa Linh. With the fans having invested in the match that had entered its eighth minute of action, the Texan Firecracker took flight with a brilliant shooting star press. Hoa Linh never stood a chance, and was pinned immediately after that. Lana's attempted save came a second too late, and Wyman stood tall as the victor.
Post-match, all three women shook hands, soaking in the appreciative cheers from the fans. More than anything, the St. Louis crowd respected good wrestling, and what they had witnessed was a solid contest between three women who now surely use this showcase as a springboard for a sustained run in NBW.
SJH Vs Catering
The cameras returned to the backstage area, this time the Catering section.
The scene had been almost entirely vacated.
Despite Thaddeus Boyle's announcement and its obvious benefit to him, SJH was in a surly mood, had promised to wreak havoc upon any and all to stray onto his path, and was on a B-line towards Catering to carbo-load.
All that remained of the usual “gut truck” crowd was one of the sous-chefs and an utterly oblivious Erick Davies, who sat in the corner with a giant bowl of Mac n' Cheese.
As Davies engulfed perhaps the largest bite of cheesy noodles ever consumed by man, the Prime Minister of Gettin' Sinister emerged onto the shot, zoomed past the grappler, and stepped up to the serving table.
“Yo, nnnnnnnnnnnnnndaddio!! You got burritos?! I need my some chili-verde goodness!!”
The sous-chef, who was mixing a sauce or pesto of some kind, responded without so much as glancing upward.
“Steak or chicken?”
SJH gritted his teeth.
“I just want beans man. My diet is totally vegetized.”
“No beans.”
SJH quickly removed the designer shades that were covering his emerald green eyes.
“I'm sorry?!”
The sous-chef stopped his stirring, placed his saucepan on the table, glared at Hart and with a great, discontented sigh, he reiterated--
“No beans, dude. It's steak, chicken, or hit the road..”
Shawn gritted his teeth again, cocked his head to both sides and spasmed at the eye.
“HIT THE ROAD?!”
Again, the attendant sighed, after which he shook his head disgustedly.
“Yeeeeeeeeeah guy. Jesus, all you wrestlers are the same! What can I say?! You want beans? We have no beans, man. You think you're the only guy that likes a bean burrito? Try coming by before the show when we're fully stocked. You want a burrito at the 11th hour? It's chicken, steak, or HIT-THE-”
SMACK!!!
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!”
Before he could finish the sentence, the sous-chef was sent flying into the wall behind him by SJH! Seconds later, Muff Daddy leap-frogged the catering table, yanked the attendant up by his apron, and POWERBOMBED the poor soul through his own spread!
KA-ZOWWWWWIEEE!!!
With the chef rolling around the ground amongst the remains of the table and prepared food, wincing and writhing in pain, SJH found the cameraman, grabbed his instrument by the lens, and pulled it in close to his face.
“You see what you made me do?! S-O-M, S-V-GAY, this shit is on you!! You made me do it!! And when I have the Upper Echelon in my cross-hairs, the whole lot of you are gettin' the same goddamn treatment, whether I get my beans or not! PELVIS has left the building!!!”
Hart flung his fist triumphantly to the heavens, then stormed away from the scene. Still completely oblivious to what was happening, Erick Davies abandoned his fork and stuck his whole face, tongue-first, into his macaroni and cheese. As SJH had destroyed catering, so too had Davies defeated his bowl of pasta!
Torment Versus Lexia
‘Monsters’ by Matchmakers Romance introduced the arrival of the blue-striped Brunette, 4CW superstar, Lexia Hart. No relation to Shawn Hart surely.
“Introducing first, representing 4CW, the Spitfire, Lexia Hart!”
Lexia sprinted down to the ring and leapt up on the corner post to pose and soak in the cheers from the live audience. Her rally soon died as ‘When You’re Evil’ by Voltaire warned the audience as the lights dimmed and the double doors parted to allow the imposing monstrous form of the seven foot cloak and mask monster stalk his way to the ring.
“And her opponent, at seven feet, hailing from parts unknown, the Monster, Torment!”
He stepped up the ring steps and over the top rope and proceeded to make a show of removing his cloak and hanging over the corner post before the bell rang.
“Tonight could be Lexia’s last. We all know what Torment is capable of Terry.”
“We do Marc, that we do. And we have those wannabe’s to blame.”
Lexia had expected to work a match tonight against Zatch Rollins, however as seen earlier in the evening Tremoid and gang somehow got her booked against Torment. The question was to how well she would do.
Lexia would start things off by avoiding a swinging arm from Torment and coming off the ropes with a swift kick to the chest. She followed with a series of kicks to the ribs and whipped him into the ropes, catching his arm on rebound to float the armbar and hook her legs around his neck.
She hung on tightly, wrenching the left arm, hyper extending it as much as she could as the Monster teetered around the ring and into the corner to knock her off her perch. Lexia would release his arm and hook her own around the corner post, dragging them into the corner with her legs still tightly woven around his neck.
The leg vice was in and secure. The referee checked with him continuously to see if he would submit but one chop from his free arm, and a shot into her exposed kidneys caused her to release her grip. She slunk down the corner and skirted the apron before hopping on the top rope and nailing Torment with a bodysplash.
She was caught, but her size was an advantage and a couple kicks let her slip free, snap kick to the chest, and a legsweep toppling the monster to the mat.
“Wow! Lexia has floored Torment, a feat most have failed to do and she did it in seconds.”
“I’ll admit, that was a shock.” Responded Renton.
Flooring him and keeping him down were two separate conditionals. Lexia hit the ropes and dove off the second with a pinpoint elbow drop to the sternum but Torment would roll out of the way and rebound to his feet in seconds. A Brutal Boot to the face was Lexia’s reward for her great showing earlier on. She was then gripped around the throat and raised to the heavens for the Chokeslam and dropped to the mat.
“Oh come on, what do they want.” Renton’s attention had turned to the entrance like the rest of the arena where 4CW had emerged and made their way to the ring. Tremoid and Khan slipped in first and a giant double shoulder tackle on Torment, announced the end of the match and start of something different.
“Oh my god, Torment was just leveled by those two beasts!” Gordon called out as Xiang had turned his own attention towards Lexia. She was hoisted up into his arms and like a bolt of lightning he struck with his Spinning DDT, careening her head into the apron.
“You see,” Tremoid stood next to the body of Torment as he spoke. “We had no intent on targeting you Torment. We had no reason. At one point Silverfox was even interested in bringing you into 4CW’s ranks. But Our boss never had his sights on you. This isn’t about you. It isn’t about her. So why are you getting involved where you don’t belong?”
He pointed at Jones whom lifted Torment to his knees and was met with a brutal rolling kick from Xiang to the head. He pointed again to Jones whom lifted Torment to his knees and then his feet just in time for Khan to bowl through him.
“This isn’t about you. This isn’t about her. This isn’t even about US.” He shook his head as his eyes fell on Lexia. Dropping the microphone to the ground he walked over and grabbed her by the hair and pulled her to her feet. Low Blow!
Lexia scurried out of his grasp but Jones was right behind her and locked her down with his arms. Tremoid had her shoved back at him and gripped her arm, twirling it around her own neck to strangle her for the setup of his patent-pending ChokeToss.
‘Spike-It-UP!’ hit and the fans exploded as the seven foot three colossus charged down the rampway, tossing his shades off to a lucky fan before sliding into the ring and immediately taking Jones down with a lariat. Tremoid found himself the victim of a Big Boot to the face courtesy of Spike Saunders. Khan charged only to be swiftly avoided and raised onto the Colossus’s shoulders before dropping to the mat with his signature-Spiked!.
Xiang had fled the ring and Saunders dropped down to his knees to check on Lexia.
“Thank goodness Spike Saunders was in the back or this could have gone quite differently tonight.” Remarked Marc Gordon.
Xiang scaled the ropes and leapt off with a Missile Dropkick at the Colossus, but he found his target had been expecting him and shoved him mid-air. Xiang came face to face with his nightmare, Spike however shook his head and pointed behind Xiang. Turning around he faced his second nightmare before Torment dropped him with Tormented, his Triple Powerbomb.
Saunders pulled Lexia up and rested her against him before spotting the prone microphone. Carefully he retrieved it and stopped Torment as he was leaving.
“You and I may have had some hard fights, but even you should be able to see eye to eye with me tonight. Fourteen, those despicable goons against The Colossus and The Monster.” The fans cheered: “What say you?”
He extended his arm with the mic and Torment continued his exit over the ropes. Once outside he walked back up the ramp and stopped at the stage, turning back slightly towards the ring.
He had his answer and gave it-
With a Nod.
“You heard it hear first folks, Spike’s force against 4CW has grown with a tremendous leap in the form of the monster.”
Gordon continued to recap Thaddeus Boyle’s earlier announcement and what bearing this would have on Slam 14, while Spike helped Lexia out of the ring and the two walked up the ramp to the rising cheers of the live audience.
Slam Fourteen. An event unprecedented in NBW’s history, would not only see the Upper Echelon fight for the control of the company, but two of the largest men team up to behead the snake that is 4CW.
Not looking too good!
The camera catches an nBW locker room door being tossed open and from inside,The Forgotten Son, Judasbleek walks out talking on his 4G HTC cell phone. The fresh new member of the Upper Echelon is already wearing what is his wrestling tights and a black tee with Dark red letters that say "The Forgotten Son” on the front. Judasbleek walks by the camera man and instead of following him, the cameraman just adjusts and catches the back of the shirt which reads in dark read letters "Trapped within your own apathy, Spiraling into a cycle of loss, Beaten mind with a bruised reflection, It's addiction to failure of substances, That ties you to your selfish punishment, In your eyes it's cursed, No fix, no cure and tortured with imperfection, This is my hatred, this is my vow, Never to be broken.”
Marc: Well that is one interesting shirt being worn by The Forgotten Son.
Terry: It certainly sends a very specific message.
Right before Judasbleek is able to disappear around a corner, C.G. Gains intercepts and in the process startling Judasbleek.
Judasbleek: Damn it. Be more careful were your walking monkey?
Judasbleek places the cell phone back to his ear.
C.G. Gains: I apologize Mr. Judasbleek, I was just hurrying so that I could try and get a couple of words with you before your match. If that is alright with you?
Judasbleek doesn’t come off as eager or cocky as he did last week but he still obliges.
Judasbleek: Don't worry I'll be there but I will catch up with you later Vince. Alright bye! What do you want Gains?
C.G. Gains: Well as you probably know by now, the match you had with Chris Wilson at last week’s edition of Slam has become public knowledge on nBW’s website. By all accounts it seems it is fair to say that Chris Wilson got the best of you. What is your reaction to the results after your match last week? And will you seek out any retribution?
Judasbleek sighs and places his hands on his hips.
Judasbleek: I’ve got no comment about Chris Wilson.
C.G. Gains holds his microphone out in front of Judasbleek for a moment longer, obviously expecting more of a response and very clearly more than a little surprised by the abrupt nature of the answer. Hesitantly he brings the microphone back to his own mouth.
C.G. Gains: But …he ended your streak! Surely you have something to say about it.
Judasbleek: Nothing.
C.G. Gains: Oh Come on, you-
Judasbleek: Fuck, I said no. Chris isn’t my main concern right now, alright? I’ve got more pressing matters to deal with.
C.G. Gains: I’m assuming you’re talking about Max Hopper?
Judasbleek: Absolutely. I’ve learned you need to come in with your mind clear. I can’t have Chris on my mind when I’m facing Max Hopper. One step at a time, I’m concentrating on winning tonight. Once that happens then I’ll figure out what I’m going to do about that inferior punk Chris Wilson.
C.G. Gains: Fair enough. Then let me shift gears to your match tonight. Since this is your eighth time stepping between the ropes in an nBW ring, how are you feeling? Are you nervous? Excited?
Judasbleek: Nervous! Excited! There might be a few butterflies fluttering around Hopper’s stomach. Mostly though, I’m just ready to do what I do best and that is to destroy anther inferior wrestler. I’ve been training for 12 hours a day for a week now in preparation of this moment. I plan to go in there and execute. I plan to go in there and win. Simple as that!
C.G. Gains: And then?
Judasbleek: And then what?
C.G. Gains: … Well …
Judasbleek shakes his head again.
Judasbleek: Then … Chris Wilson will get what is coming to him. Now if you’ll excuse me.
Then Judasbleek brushes past C.G. Gains, leaving him alone. Quickly the camera shifts to Terry and Marc sitting at ring side.
Terry: Well Marc, is that more of the focus and drive you were looking for from The Forgotten Son last week?
Marc: It is a step in the right direction, Terry; He can go a long way towards getting a real seal of approval by winning his match against Max Hopper here tonight.
Ali Amore Versus Remy Leroux Versus El Dragon Loco
Have you heard the one about the Colombian, the Mexican and the Cajun?
No, neither have I but you’re about to see it.
Ali Amore and Remy Leroux were both in the ring so fans and viewers alike were treated to seeing El Dragon Loco, the Mexican in the above joke, enter the arena, accompanied by his manager, consultant and English translator, Raul Salazar. When he stepped foot into the squared circle, he was berated by the audience for not knowing their native tongue. He looked unfazed by it, probably because he didn’t understand a word of it.
The bell tolled and we were underway. Traditionally in a triple-threat match, the participants looked like they were dancing in a circle, not wanting to be the one who made a mistake or to become the victim of a two-pronged assault.
Suddenly, the circle stopped. Ali and Remy had EDL cornered, their clever footwork outfoxing Loco and he had nowhere to run. He tried but Remy pushed him back into the corner where he came from and unloaded with a knife-edge chop that gave us a tasty introduction.
Ali decided to enter a game of one-upmanship as the pair happily chopped the masked man’s chest to ribbons, the crowd chanting along in unison as they decided to call it a draw on 5-all. Remy then gave the relative newcomer three boots to the midsection, Amore followed that up with three strong shoulders ushered into the same area and the duo decided these things definitely come in threes as they simultaneously peppered his left and right side with lefts and rights of their own. They shook hands, congratulating one another and then grabbed one arm each. An Irish Whip made by a Cajun and a Colombian was El Dragon’s early Christmas present.
He didn’t enjoy unwrapping the contents. Ali then deposited Remy into the same corner, where Leroux used his head, literally, to borrow a page from Amore’s playbook and catch EDL flush in the stomach.
Cue take-off.
STINGER SPLASH!
What a start for everyone. The audience loved it.
Did I say everyone? I meant to exclude EDL and his hanger-on, I mean manager…
Once again, Amore and Leroux took one arm each and hoisted EDL over the top rope, which delighted the fans. They ‘washed’ their hands of him and this was seemingly down to two.
A good old-fashioned collar-and-elbow tie-up was what the pairing ordered first and Leroux’s starter, a side headlock, arrived before Ali’s. Ali pushed Remy off and when he rebounded back towards Ali, who’d put his head down too early, the Cajun punished Amore’s elementary error with a knee-life.
Coming off the ropes, Remy put the same limb to good use again by catching the Colombian with a kneedrop to the forehead. His cover, the first of many, didn’t even register 2 but it didn’t deter Leroux in the slightest. He swung the South American into the ropes and looked to behead him with a lariat and when he turned round, he had another plate – a helping of Ali’s right boot, courtesy of a spinning heel kick. Ali decided to try a cover of his own but like Leroux, it fell short of 2.
Down on his knees, Remy stared at Ali. He nodded and the crowd gave the two of them light applause. Leroux raised his hand, gesturing he wanted to test Ali’s strength but it was a ploy because the moment the ex-champion locked up, Remy took a shortcut with a kick to the gut. He quickly whipped Ali into the ropes. EDL was just about to get back in the ring on the same side at the same time. He extended a knee so Ali wasn’t Leroux’s boomerang after all, catching him in the lower back, which forced the 4th Emergency Service to a knee. Remy stood back as EDL re-entered the battleground by quickly jumping up onto the top strand and then driving his fellow cruiserweight’s face into the floor with a beautifully-timed springboard bulldog!
Why not try and win?
Remy easily pulled EDL off (no, not in that way and don’t be surprised if I use that joke more than once over the course of this match.) EDL looked up at Remy and tried to catch him off-guard with a lightning-like spring towards him but Leroux saw it coming and took him down with a nice, easy armdrag. When they tied up, El Dragon equalised by executing his own, just as well as Leroux, and it was there and then they decided to make a pact. Loco pointed at Amore, who was about to get to his feet but he was stopped from doing so as Leroux ushered in an axe-handle smash to the back and El Dragon picked up the guy he had a physical confrontation with recently, head between the knees (ahem…)
SPIKE PILEDRIVER!
Ever the opportunist, EDL flopped on top for the pin but Remy broke that up just as the referee’s hand slapped the mat for the second time. EDL shoved Remy but telegraphed his punch, which was wayward, and the fiery Baton Rouge native retaliated with three of his own, rocking the sensation in the process and then flooring him with a flying forearm.
Leroux went back to the arm but Loco pushed him off, back into Ali, who avoided contact with a leapfrog. All three men exchanged glances. Eventually, El Dragon broke up the Charlie Chaplin movie but his quest for the lead role was dealt a blow when Ali made him fluff his lines with a drop toehold and Leroux completed the double act’s double-teaming, part 2, with a lovely legdrop. Just when it seemed they were going to make up, Remy pulled out most treacherous trick of them all and decided to poke Ali in the eye rather than shaking his hand.
Picking the starlet up, Remy rattled Ali up with some hard chops. EDL had had enough of this and decided to gatecrash the party again. He just wouldn’t go again and he knocked on the door in the form of an elbow smash to the back of an unsuspecting Cajun’s head. The hard way, then.
EDL sent Leroux into the opposite turnbuckle, back-first, and he then lined Ali up to do the same. With the two of them piled up, the Mexican, love him or hate him and most fall into the latter category, had to applaud and admire as he (almost) killed two birds with one stone…
Handspring Elbow!
It was picturesque. I’m not kidding. Raul was leading the applause. Loco came out of the corner with an extra step in his swagger.
By the time he turned around to reflect on a job well-done, he was the recipient of another two-on-one attack as Amore and Leroux almost removed his head with a double clothesline.
This time, Remy underestimated Amore as his cheap shot was blocked by the Superstar of Bogotá, who lived by his trainer’s belief of hitting someone back twice as hard as they do to you, and he wasted no time in dumping Leroux on the top turnbuckle and then joining him up there, presumably not for a picnic.
EDL would not lie down and wasn’t going to turn down an invite to this party. He wanted in, he bought in and Ali assumedly let him in. They hooked an arm each, though not in the same way you’d prepare for an international flight with a Latin American airline company, and were strapped in. Time for take-off…
SUPERPLEX!
The earth shook, though it was hard to tell if it was from the impact of each combatant striking the canvas as the same time or the rapturous applause being bestowed on them by an appreciative audience.
Loco must be a Gaga fan because his smile must be his poker face as he dared to try and cheat the host, making a getaway with a smash-and-grab cover that Ali denied, grabbing the thief in the night by the scruff of the neck and exchanging words 393 million native speakers could understand – one million more than English, believe it or not.
Yes, they were speaking with lisps. Intentionally.
SLAP!
You don’t need me to tell you who was the subject and object of that, do I?
Needless to say, Ali exploded with chops, lefts, rights, wrongs and everything else he could muster, kicking seven types of nitrogenous waste out of his fellow Spanish-speaking cousin, who was trying to block every blow for all he was worth, but it was a case of damage limitation rather than a complete success.
Amore mounted EDL in the corner for a cheap sing-song with the crowd, who were counting along with each passing blow, predictably until he reached ten, though we wouldn’t know for sure as something interrupted the course of action at eight…
Remy had come up from behind and now had Ali in a piggy-back, like fathers with their three-year-olds. Leroux held him there for what seemed like an eternity, waiting for the Mexican to regain his marbles, if he ever had any to begin with. Oh, he did and as EDL climbed each rung to the top, electing not to go outside and save time, hundreds of people did the same thing, wondering where they – and more importantly, Ali – were going…
DOOMSDAY DEVICE!
It was sick. And, they’d done it to the fan favourite in this match.
But, by god, the fans loved it. They stayed on their feet to voice their respect for these three warriors.
Ali rolled out of the ring, checking to see if his head was still attached to his shoulders, and it appeared that his contract with a well-known shampoo manufacturer hung in the balance. Figuratively or literally, I’m not sure.
Raul, EDL’s head cheerleader, was at it again. It almost seemed like Loco had enjoyed that one too…
1
2
He didn’t enjoy that, though! He’d almost been rolled up by Remy, but the Latin American flyer got his own back, or rather his manager did it, by tripping Leroux up, who’d tried to run the ropes, and EDL exploited the trip, not complimentary this time, with a scintillating DDT…
1
2
NO!
Loco had learned his lesson and wasn’t resting on his laurels, not this time. His near-fall was followed up by another work of art…
SPRINGBOARD MOONSAULT!
UNO
DOS
TRE!
NO! NO! NO!
That translates and whether you speak Spanish or not, the shake of El Dragon’s head, masked or not, suggested he was incredulous under that disguise. Raul’s animated expression at ringside also suggested that he, along with everyone else, thought that was the nearest we’d come to a conclusion in this chapter filled with twists and turns.
EDL remonstrated with the ref, barking at him in all kinds of incomprehensible Spanish but the man in the middle stood his ground and on at least half a dozen occasions raised two fingers, not to tell Loco where to go, but that three was the magic number, not only in music but also the mat game.
While arguing with the official, Loco was struck in mid-speech and we couldn’t pick up whether he was related to Joe Pasquale, whether his balls hadn’t dropped or he was on helium…
What we could tell was that he fell down like a redwood in the forest, Leroux The Lumberjack had felled him with one foul swoop, the operative word being foul, down south of the border in his native Mexico.
Low blow in plain-as-day English.
Why the referee hadn’t counted the Colombian out, I don’t know, but maybe he was a fan, just like the packed building in St. Louis, who wanted to see this one get settled the right way with one man pinning another. The action the trio had delivered up until this point certainly warranted that.
Despite being hit in border control, El Dragon, remarkably, was the first to recover and break the official’s count. Maybe Leroux was getting a rest, and fuck knows what Ali was doing, but the overt villain of the piece had been given a golden opportunity to earn what would be a hard-earned triumph if he could do it, considering he’s taken the most abuse from the bout’s outset and the perfect riposte to his loss to Warren Spade on Pay-Per-View.
Faster than you can say ‘fuck me with a fork,’ Ali had leapt onto the apron like an annoying cat onto a neighbour’s roof and stopped EDL in his tracks with a high kick. Then, he scaled the turnbuckles, but when he got to the summit, he found an angry Loco, who shoved him to the ground with utter ease and contempt. He was later confronted by a second intruder atop Mount Loco, Leroux chanced his arm, literally by attempting another armdrag but EDL wasn’t playing and didn’t budge an inch.
His enemies were lying down, virtually next to each other. Raul was barking at his charge in their own language, probably telling him to take a chance like he had in previous contests…
SENTON SPLASH!
Ali and Remy raised a leg each at exactly at the same time. EDL was in danger of coughing up his spleen by the looks of it.
Each individual was down and subjected to the official’s count. You could call this a rest period. These three men were hurting. They all wanted a win and who knows what it could do for their careers? Remy had fluffed his chance against Vince Jacobs for the gold, El Dragon ran straight into the One-Man Stampede, Warren Spade and Ali’s career had derailed after his run as champion ended. This could prove to be a vital springboard for the victor.
Ali was up at 8. His first act after ‘waking up’ was to put Leroux’s lights out with a bulldog of his own and then he was about to do unto EDL as he had done unto him with a springboard bulldog but El Dragon had it well-scouted and just as the Colombian was about to pull the trigger on his rival, Loco, who was actually quite calm, crotched the kid on the top rope. From there, he sent the South American sprawling to the concrete floor with a springboard dropkick.
Loco had already gambled big in this bout. Was he about to risk it all again?
Yes, he was….
ASAI MOONSAULT!
Gorgeous. Poetry in motion. EDL had hit a HUGE move and the most ardent Amore fans even had to stand back and clap that. EDL had done it all for his no gain, no question, but he was entertaining this audience while doing it and probably stealing the show in the bargain. While his ultra-bright start may’ve been curtailed, this was a tremendous performance to catapult him back into the spotlight, exactly where Salazar wanted his protégé to be.
At the count of five, Loco stood up. He was groggy but probably pumped with adrenaline too. Not excessively though as he showed when Remy dashed towards him with a baseball slide only for EDL to step back. When the Cajun came slithering out of the squared circle, the phenomenal foreigner (well, they all are) grabbed a handful of hair and rammed the back of Remy’s head straight into the guardrail, making a sickening noise upon completion. Just for fun, and under instructions from Raul, he did it to Ali as well to reaffirm his dominance at this point in the contest.
El Dragon picked himself up and wandered back into the battleground alone. He had come full circle. At the start, it seemed he was victimised and would be ripe for the pickings. Now, he was overshadowing his opponents and in the perfect position to win.
Remy and Ali started to stir at approximately the same time, which coincided with the referee reaching eight. EDL broke the count, why nobody knew because he was on the verge of clinching the contest via count-out, and then it became clear. While EDL started mouthing off at the official and ‘retreating’ every time the referee raised a finger, Raul came around the ring to meet the obstacles in his man’s way with his patented cane.
He smacked Ali twice on that injured neck that’s been bothering the Superstar of Bogotá for some time now. Remy got exactly the same treatment. Suddenly, and unsurprisingly, El Dragon let the referee get on with his business again and he commenced the count.
At 7, Leroux stood up. 8…Ali did the same thing. At 9, they actually looked like they were going to surrender the battle to the Mexican, until said superstar decided to seal it once and for all…
MOONSAULT!
Ali caught him coming down to the arena floor in mid-air with a delightful dropkick! Salazar was seething but couldn’t do anything, not in full view of the law, while Remy rolled back into the ring. Could the Louisiana native now have a chance to emerge victorious, albeit via count out?
EDL’s ribcage had to be racked with pain while Ali had probably given himself a concussion executing the dropkick on the floor and banging his bonce off the floor after landing. The fans wanted more and nobody wanted it to end this way, except perhaps Remy, but even he would prefer to pin one of his fellow competitors, wouldn’t he?
We’d find out. Somehow, El Dragon was up, barely and clasping at his ribs when Raul came over to see how the masked man was doing. He brushed past his translator, suggesting he was okay, but the moment he rolled underneath the apron, everyone knew he was gutting it out. He was in a bad way and what about Ali?
Remy soon dropped EDL with a snap suplex. Then, he started a series of stomps: To the thigh, pelvis, elbow and shoulder. For good measure, he threw in three hard kicks to the sternum and put the metaphorical cherry on the cake with a back heel to the face, which was protected by the mask.
A loose lateral press was answered by an easy kickout at 2. Remy picked Loco up from the mat. Was he about to finish him off once and for all?
Well, he probably banked on it but as he was poised to make his next move, Ali, who’d made his way back up onto the apron, came off the top rope, dead-centre of the ring, with a crossbody…
1
2
Near-fall!
Remy was up a hair slower than Ali and it showed. You have to get up early in the morning to outpace Amore and Leroux’s lariat went awry and Ali seized the opening by burying a knee deep into Remy’s gut. Nevertheless, his suplex attempt was a mistake and Remy had too much for him. In the end, Leroux ended up hitting him with his own version, a vertical variation, holding the 212-pound 24-year-old in the air for several seconds. Still, there was no cover in the aftermath, which shocked everyone. As Remy stumbled to his feet, the camera revealed he wasn’t the only one with a vertical base…
CRESCENT KICK!
It sounded like a gunshot. EDL, a master of kicks and we hadn’t seen that so much during this offering, had put everything he had left behind that one and left Leroux laying in the middle. Notwithstanding, and no one was, it had taken all of the energy he had left and we were back to square one. Nobody had an advantage and the match was still very much there for the taking.
Out of nowhere, Remy extended an arm and draped it over EDL…
ONE…
TWO…
No sir.
The fans started chanting: “THIS IS AWESOME.” There was a buzz in the crowd, which was remarkable given that none of the participants looked like they could beat an egg at this rate. They’d given it their all.
Once again, the official started counting and Ali, who had enjoyed more rest than the others, following the last exchange, sat up and the fans cheered. This ex-champion, who had reigned proudly for a year, was just as desperate to have his hand raised in the air. He had his pick: El Dragon Loco or Remy.
Unfortunately, Remy was nearer to him. Ali speedily scaled the turnbuckles, not exiting at all, and he was on the 4th floor…
THAT’S AMORE!
Ali had hit his FROGSPLASH!
Where was the cover?
EDL, who had now sat up, was the object of Ali’s gaze. Ali nudged Remy with his foot a couple of times to get him out of further harm’s way. Amore pointed at EDL. Since that attack at Pride, Ali privately wanted to settle the score with nbW’s other resident Spanish speaker.
Ali and EDL. It boiled down to this. Remy was out of the equation. They exchanged punches, Ali getting the better when they were three apiece, rocking his rival’s head back and forth until he had him backed up in the corner. He then tried a monkey flip. However, EDL showed amazing agility to land on his feet. When Ali did a 360, he saw El Dragon standing there. It was his time to be beaten to the punch as he tried a crossbody, which was misjudged and mistimed, and Loco ducked in time. Ali ended up squatting the poor referee with his splash instead, rendering him useless at a critical point in proceedings.
Ali went to check on the official and made a signal to the back to get him out of there but nobody came into the ring…
Except Raul Salazar.
Amore must’ve heard the fans’ cries because just as Salazar was going to scramble his brains for supper, Ali turned round and hit him with three piston-like lefts and an uppercut that would’ve floored a normal wrestler, let alone Raul. EDL came over to address Amore, grabbing at the cane, but Ali had one hand on it too. There was a tug-of-war, which Ali won. Straightaway, he introduced Michael to El Dragon’s ribs, ironic given how well the object must’ve known his opponents down the years.
Loco fell to the mat immediately. Ali underlined his aggressive streak by showing everyone the cane, high into the air, and then driving it down into El Dragon’s oesophagus area four times. Anything EDL had left…surely it was gone?
Ali wanted to make sure. He went back to familiar territory – the top turnbuckle – after tossing the cane outside.
Flying Elbow to the heart of EDL. He’d shown plenty of that in this match and yet, it would ultimately seem, he’d be left heartbroken.
Ali was now on the opposite turnbuckle, at the summit again, and ready to resolve what had been a coming-together of three men who’d given each other and the entire audience thrills and spills from the get-go, including…
ALI…BOMAYE!
Amore had KILLED EDL with that one.
Corkscrew Shooting Star Press.
At the same time, he’d damaged his own ribs too and couldn’t capitalise on what was a match-winning spot that wowed the crowd. Ali rarely utilised the move and only busted it out when he really had to or when he had such disdain for a person. EDL probably ticked both boxes.
Inching closer to El Dragon, who was out, and no Raul Salazar…
Ali put his arm across a prone EDL.
Oh, I forgot…
There was no referee either.
Wait.
Remy Leroux, picked up the cane, and WHACKED Ali in the side of the head with it. It prompted an ‘OOH’ from all sections of the crowd. Ali rolled off EDL, his clock had been cleaned, and Remy gave him a shove with his left hand, pushing the kid out onto the apron.
Hey, Ali had done the same to him.
Remy’s hand was on EDL’s heavily-beating chest. And we had a referee running to the ring…
ONE…
TWO…
…
….
THREE?!
THREE!!!
“Perfect Strangers” by Deep Purple blared over the speakers but it didn’t take too long for it to go off again as every spectator rose to give the triumvirate their due. They may have had mixed feelings about the winner, Leroux, who had quite a following in some quarters and Amore and EDL extracted contrasting emotions from the fanbase, but they all had one thing in common tonight…
They’d worked their asses off to win and no matter what, in 2011, like the good old days, commitment, spirit and hard work will always endear you to your peers and fans. The match that should’ve happened at Slam 12 had gone down to tonight and those who had witnessed it were surely glad. Better late than never folks? One fan’s treasure? You bet.
None of them looked like winners. In the end, Remy, who’d probably played the best game tactically, was the guy who’d received the biggest boost, coming out of this triple threat with another notch in the W column.
You may not have heard the joke about the Colombian, Mexican and Cajun but you’d seen it…
And it was no joke.
Unfortunately, for all of the wrong reasons, nor was the next turn of events…
The Attack
The match official was still holding Remy Leroux hand up when suddenly “Ring Superstar” played over the arena. Remy Leroux looked to the entrance way expecting the double Champion to come out. But what he didn’t expect was the Son of Malta and Judasbleek to come from the fans and attack him from behind.
Both The Son of Malta and Judasbleek were beating Remy Leroux senseless, whilst William Arthur Reagan was outside the ring witnessing what was going on. Ali Amore, seeing the man who he had just battled so gallantly against, got up and tried his best to help the Cajun Sensation. At first being two against two balanced things out but after a couple of minutes trading back and forth, the Upper Echelon superstars got the upper hand again. It must have been the tiredness of the epic three way.
Judasbleek and the Son of Malta were beating the Colombian and the Cajun Sensation badly. Meanwhile William Arthur Reagan got to the ring and removed one of the turnbuckles, exposing the steel. As Judasbleek witnessed the exposed steel turnbuckle he grabbed Remy Leroux and was ready to throw him, head first, to the turnbuckle.
But before he could, RaVage and Shawn Jessica Hart came out running and that stopped Judasbleek from injuring Remy. The crowd chanted their names highly as the two started beating up Judasbleek and the Son of Malta badly. As Remy Leroux and Ali Amore started to get back to their feet, this was turning into a four against two beatdown. The faces were getting the advantage against the Upper Echelon.
Meanwhile on the outside William Arthur Reagan still didn’t enter the ring to help his protégé and his friend. Instead he just smiled. As WAR smiled, the arena went dark and when the lights came back Warren Spade was standing still in the middle of the ring whilst RaVage, Shawn Jessica Hart, Remy Leroux and Ali Amore were all down. William Arthur Reagan got in the ring and helped Judasbleek and Son of Malta back to their feet.
The Monster of the Mid-South grabbed the lifeless body of Remy Leroux and threw him to the exposed turnbuckle, neck first. The Cajun Sensation looked seriously injured. In fact the official started making the ‘X’ sign. The crowd was speechless at the ruthless aggression of Warren Spade.
Warren Spade then grabbed Ali Amore, and WAR brought out a brass knucks and with it he busted the Colombian wide open. With blood flowing out of Ali Amore forehead, the Son of Malta grabbed him and hooked the figure four on him. He kept it for more than a minute and when he released, Ali Amore was in big pain.
‘Superstar’ Vince Jacobs came out of the ramp and applauded his colleagues for the carnage they just left in the ring. William Arthur Reagan then asked for a mic as he and the other members of UE looked at the stage. Fenton Woods had come to the ring a few minutes earlier and now he was in the ring standing next to his monster Warren Spade.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to welcome to you the most accomplished superstar in no brand Wrestling since yours truly. The Keystone Champion, the World Champion, the True Superstar of nbW, Superstar Vince Jacobs”.
The crowd booed loudly as SVJ walked slowly to the ring. As he arrived, Judasbleek pulled the ropes down for him to enter. Inside the ring SVJ hugged WAR, the Son of Malta, Judasbleek and Warren Spade and then got the mic from WAR.
"What you have just witnessed right now is the true meaning of the Upper Echelon. These two superstars and WAR have dismantled some of nbW's finest. But it couldn't have been possible without the newest addition to the finest group of professional wrestlers in the world today. I am referring to the man known as the Monster of the Big-South, the Southern Giant, The One Man Stampede. Ladies and gentlemen welcome the newest members of the Upper Echelon, Warren Spade and Fenton Woods."
"I'm rich, biatch!"
"The Shit" by DJ Danger Mouse and Jemini
The screen comes to life with the theme, accompanied by pyrotechnics, silver and gold lighting, and the video package of "The Baron of Ballistics" Frank Silver. Silver strolled out of the back to an ovation from some of the crowd, to which he replied with the raise of Ye Olde Royale Pinky. He stood on the stage with a microphone in hand as the cheers died down.
"Mr. Jacobs I am out here to accept your open challenge. My godfather knows a whole lot about you and he has told me a few things. I am here in nbW to make an impact and what would be the biggest impact but to shut your mouth." Frank said as the fans erupted in cheers.
Jacobs smiled as he pulled the microphone back to his lips. "First off your godfather is a joke and a has been. He couldn't carry my jockstrap if I gave him a forklift. As for you kid, if you want the Legend in the ring than I will grant your wish. You want to rush your chance to be touched by greatness than I don't mind being a humanitarian for tonight. See you later kid."
Jacobs smirked as he watched Frank Silver head to the back. With that "The Good Life" played over the arena, and Upper Echelon made their way to the back to a chorus of boos whilst paramedics finally arrived to the ring to check on Remy Leroux and Ali Amore who looked as if they were seriously injured one in the neck and the other in the ankle.
Three men had been put together to achieve one fan's dream. In the end, they'd realized their own nightmares.
SJH Vs Jacobites
It was a peculiar sight indeed.
The middle of a professional wrestling show, seemingly endless lines in the arena concourse for the concession stands, and there amongst them all, still in hot pursuit of his bean burrito was the carb-deprived SJH.
The mob of hot dog and nacho-seeking fans around him couldn't help but notice one of the guys they had paid their hard-earned money to see standing there and waiting in the food line with them.
“C'mon daddio!! These sinuous hips of mine have places to go, single mommies to mount! Let's hurry it up here, huh?! Get me my burrrrrrr-IT-ooooo!!!”
The fans chuckled at Hart's hypoglycemic rage. For some of those around him however, the opportunity to have a personal encounter with the current reigning New Era Champion was too much to pass up. Two heavy-set, suspender-wearing men in particular wasted no time in abandoning their spot in line and stepping up to SJH, redneck blazing!
“Hey look, Bobbi-Joe!! It's the SHJ! Ha-HAAAAAAAA!! What'n'th'HELL is you doin' out hur', SHJ? Ain't you sposta be 'rasslin?! HA HA!”
The man could hardly contain his excitement, nearly losing his John Deere trucker hat and a mouth full of chaw in his exuberance. The aforementioned Bobbi-Joe was equally flustered, hootin' n' hollerin' so much, he nearly spilled a half-eaten ice cream cone on his newly-purchased SVJ t-shirt. Hart was not impressed.
“That's S-J-H, Jack.... and how's about you and yer l'il buddy there take it easy. Pace yourselves, yeah? You've got all night to grope each other and pass out in a pool of your own, drunken vomit.”
Hart winked and made a funny clicking noise, because funny noises are FUN! Sensing a bit of agitation, Bobbi-Joe stepped in close to the Prime Minister of Gettin' Sinister and threw his arm around him.
“Aww, c'mon now little guy! We's jus' fluffin' your balls a bit! No need to get sore!”
Shawn SHOVED the man's arm away and gave him the death stare.
“Listen brah, if you were Oprah, Bridget Powers, or that Lizzie McGuire chick - I'd gladly let you do your thing with deez nuts. As it stands, you're a toothless JACKHOLE, and if you think for ONE MOMENT that you can-”
Suddenly, SJH took notice of the man's new shirt.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. What, in the name of ALL that is HOLY, is that thing you're wearing?!”
Inexplicably, Bobbi-Joe gets all full of gumption.
“This here? This here's S-V-J! The best man in the biz! Better than your scrawny ass even!”
And anxious hush swept the crowd that had gathered. Hart looked around at them before firing a query.
“Better than ME, huh?”
“No doubt about it, brudda! NB-Dubbya Champ AND Keystone Champ!”
Hart scoffed.
“Keystone Champ?!”
“Yeah!!”
“KEYSTONE CHAMP?!”
“YEAH!”
Muff Daddy stormed over to the beer cart.
“I'll show you Keystone Champ!”
SJH shoved the bartender away, stuck the whole of his head under the Keystone Light tap, and unleashed a torrential stream of the cheapest, nastiest beer ever crafted down into the depths of his throat, onto his Bowie/Labyrinth-locked hair, and all over and into his eyes, ears, and nose! The crowd went WILD at the display. After having successfully showered in Keystone, he returned to his hillbilly cohorts, crouched down like a puma ready to POUNCE, and LAUNCHED into the men with a double clothesline!
THUDDDD!!!
The fans went wild as both men were dropped like a bad habit to the cold, hard concrete in the biggest cavalcade of sweating, jiggling flesh and broken dreams ever witnessed on No Brand TV!! Without a second's waste, Shawn shot back to his feet, TRUDGED to the front of the concessions line, yanked his long-sought bean burrito from one of the clerks, and again found himself a cameraman.
“YOU SEE?! You see what happens?!”
He took an ENORMOUS bite of his burrito and continued, mouth full'a beans.
“You dance with the DIRTIEST dude in NB-Dub, your ass goes DOWN like the midget hookers I have nightly!! But that's A-OK by me, because everyone n' their mama knows that Jacobs sucks! Jacobs SUCKS! JACOBS SUCKS!!”
The Hart-broken Phenom Fiends in the crowd began chanting with SJH, who couldn't help but soak it up. Seconds later, security descended onto the scene, prompting Hart to take one last CHOMP of his burrito, then bolt away toward the safety of the backstage area. Hillbilly ass had been successfully kicked, and the Upper Echelon was still to come!
Judasbleek Versus Max Hopper
The Epicenter I and Epicenter II shows a short reel of matches to come. The camera cuts to outside of the arena which shows the surrounding city of St. Louis and then cuts back to the nBW crowd before finally slowly it pans to a wide screen view of The Epicenter I.
Brent Williams: Making his way to the ring, from New York, NY, weighing in at 221 lbs. . . . Pure Styles…Max Hopper!
Indeed Judas is furious, and he goes to shove the referee, but NEW official isn’t so easily cast aside, and instead new official just points to the nBW logo on his shirt and holds up two fingers. Keeping his cool in the face of Judas is a smart move, as Judas has bigger fish to fry. With blazing eyes, Judas turns back to Hopper and picks him up and then slaps Hopper across the face, the audible smack making the crowd go “oh!” and then boo incessantly. Judas smirks in the heat of their anger and whips Hopper across the ring, into the opposite corner. Then he follows and delivers a stinger splash. Hopper clutches at his chest and falls to his knees, and Judas instantly proceeds to roundhouse kick Hopper in the side of the head. Hopper goes down hard and Judas goes for the cover again.
Marc: No count, Hopper’s foot was outside the ring!
Grunting, Judas grabs on to Hopper’ arm and drags the prone man to the center of the ring, where he once again goes for the cover.
One!
Two!
And Hopper kicks out. Judas sits up and adjusts his gloves,. Then he angles his head to look down at Hopper and with a swift scramble, he grabs Max’ arm, wraps his legs around Hopper’ neck and arches his back, locking in the arm bar. Hopper is howling in pain. Hopper is clawing at Judas’s legs, trying to wrench his arm free, but Judas is relentless and just keeps applying pressure to the limb. The referee checks on Hopper to see if he wants to submit, but Max shouts out a loud and clear “no”, before grimacing and squirming in pain. Hopper rolls into the arm bar, trying to shake Judas off, but even as he manages to get to his feet, Judas releases the arm with one hand and uses the free hand to hook Hopper’ heel and trip Max’ over, and once again the arm bar is firmly in place. Hopper tries to roll into the arm bar again, but he can’t find the energy. His eyes are glazing over in pain, breaths coming in rapid and shallow, as he tries to find some way out of the hold. He drops to his back, with Judas screaming at him to give up, his hand trembles just over Judas’s leg, wavering, hesitating. In the crowd, a chant begins…
Crowd: PLEASE DON’T TAP! PLEASE DON’T TAP!
Hopper’ eyes pop wide open and he turns to face Judas. His hand previously poised above Judas’s leg clenches into a fist and with a roar of effort, Hopper rolls into the arm bar, bunches Judas up, still grabbing on to the arm, and with malicious intent, Hopper starts punching his fist into Judas’s face. The ovation is thunderous. Judas is forced to let go of the hold and he rolls away to the side, clutching at his face, while Hopper tries to shake some life back in the left arm that was trapped in the fierce arm bar. Turning to face the rising Judas, Hopper has found his second wind and barrels into Judas shoulder-first, thrusting The Forgotten Son into the turnbuckles, driving the air from his lungs. Hopper takes a step back and kicks Judas in the gut, doubling him over. Hopper reaches around Judas’s waist and then hoists Judas up in a gut wrench powerbomb, but at the apex, Hopper’ arm gives out and Judas manages to flip up and over behind Hopper, landing on his feet. Hopper turns around and is met with a Muay Thai knee to the jaw that sends him reeling into the ropes. On the rebound, Judas delivers a flying knee to Max, who crashes down to the mat. He quickly rolls back to his feet though and as Judas goes to throw a roundhouse kick to his head, Hopper ducks it and steps in on Judas’s back, wraps his arms around Judas’s waist and then rolls backwards, somersaulting together with Judas, and as they roll through the crazy roll and come back onto their feet, Hopper lifts Judas up for a German, popping his hips – BANG!
Marc: A rolling wheelbarrow German suplex! Amazing athleticism! Amazing ability!
Hopper bridges up but not high as he would like and keeps the hold of Judas for the pin.
One!
Two!
Thr~!
Terry: Judas grabbed the rope!
Marc: Too close to the ropes and Judas manages to stay alive!
Terry: That was a perfect example of supreme in ring-awareness by Judas!
The crowd is going crazy again, some chanting for Hopper, others booing Judas, while a third faction is trying to get a ‘this is awesome’ chant going.
Marc: Both men are down and exhausted; this will come down to who wants it the most. Will it be Max Hopper, The Mexican Grass Hopper?
Terry: Or will it be Judasbleek, The Forgotten Son and master of mind-games?
Hopper is the first to stir, with Judas close behind. The two men climb back to their feet, using each other for support. Judas throws a punch.
Crowd: Boos!
Hopper throws a right hook.
Crowd: pops!
Judas throws a left hook.
Crowd: Boo!
Hopper throws a left hook – and as the crowd goes to chant “pops”, Judas grabs the arm, leaps and locks in a flying arm bar, crashing both men down to the mat, with Hopper hollering in pain, trying to roll this way and that. The relentless Judasbleek holds on to the arm as if it was his favorite teddy bear and the referee keeps checking on Hopper, asking if he wants to give up. Hopper refuses, pushing the referee away and then he rolls into the arm bar, but instead of just staying upright, he continues the roll – with Judas hanging on to the arm, the momentum lifts Judas off the ground as Hopper rolls onto his back and brings Judas up and over in a sideways one-arm grounded slam. Judas’s grip on the arm loosens and Hopper can quickly roll to his feet, clutching at his arm and glaring at Judas. With the roaring crowd in the background, the two men once again lock up collar-and-elbow, with Hopper gaining the upper hand to the approval of the audience. Hopper steps up really close to Judas and then extends his leg between Judas’s legs and heel-trips Judas, both men crashing down with Hopper on top, but still holding the collar-and-elbow lock up. The roll to the side and Judas goes on top, still locked up in the struggle for advantage. Then they roll back and Hopper is once again the right way up and using his momentum in the roll, he releases the tie-up and grabs Judas’s arm, throws his legs around Judas’s neck and locks in a deep, deep arm bar.
Marc: What goes around comes around!
But due to the pain in Hopper’ arm, he can’t hold on to the arm bar and is forced to release it to preserve his own strength. Some damage has been done, though, as Judas clutches at his right shoulder, backing away from Hopper and ending up seated in the corner. Hopper gives him no time to rest, however, as he charges in with a running knee that knocks Judas senseless. Lifting Judas back to his feet, Hopper spins Judas around and pushes him chest-first into the turnbuckle. As Judas comes back out, backwards, Hopper locks him up for a suplex and hoists him up, but in mid-air turns the move into a brainbuster, crashing Judas down into the mat hard.
Marc: Insane! He goes for the cover!
One!
Two!
Thre~!
Crowd: BOOOOOOOs!
Judas kicks out at the very last second, his senses having returned to him just in time to notice the referee’s hand coming down towards the mat for the third time. Now staggering, barely staying on his feet, Judas rises and immediately takes a hard forearm to the jaw, back-pedaling into the corner. Hopper rushes at him and lifts him up to the top turnbuckle, seating him there, before climbing up after him. Face-to-face at the top of the ropes, Hopper and Judas stare each other down; with the crowd reacting like their team just won the Super bowl.
Marc: Is Hopper setting him up for a Superplex?
Terry: Or is it the other way around?
Hopper hooks Judas’s arms and gets ready to suplex him off the top rope, but Judas blocks it by hooking his leg around Hopper’ calf. Judas’s head comes up and he head butts Hopper right on the nose, busting him open and sending him falling, back-first, a squirt of blood spiraling from Hopper’ face as he tumbles. Hopper lands hard and rolls onto his belly, holding a hand to the small of his back while grimacing and groaning. Blood pours from his busted nose down his face, into his gritted teeth, to drop onto the canvas and form a pool beneath his face. Meanwhile, Judas has perched himself atop the turnbuckles and looks uncertain for the first time since anyone can remember.
Marc: Wait; is Judas going high risk?
Terry: Surely not…he’s not foolish enough to do so or maybe he is.
With Hopper writhing belly-down on the canvas, Judas hesitates for only a second and then leaps off, landing a body splash across Hopper’ back smashing Hopper’s injured ribs into the mat. The poster boy of nBW screams in pain and rolls to his front, clutching at his back and ribs. Judas flinches at the pain in his abdomen, but regains his composure quickly and moves over to Hopper, sits down on Hopper’ back and before the larger man can prevent it, he chicken wing’s Hopper’s left arm up on his back. All he can do is kick his legs as he tries to break free, but he’s got no chance. He does, however, resolutely refuse to tap out. Judas applies even more pressure by leaning backwards, causing as much suffering as he can with the breaking point of Hopper surely fast approaching. The referee checks on the bleeding Hopper, who still refuses to tap out. Judas roars in frustration and to further aggravate the hold, he sticks a finger in each of Hopper’ busted nostrils and proceeds to pull back with all his might. The referee is furious and Hopper cries out in such agony.
Marc: Start counting ref that is an illegal hold now!
As if on cue, the referee starts the five-count.
One!
Two!
Three!
Four!
Fiv--
Judas suddenly releases the submission maneuver all-together and leaves Hopper in a crumbled heap in the center of the ring. Standing over the nBW’s resident hero, Judas snorts and glares at the referee Judas looks up, meeting the eyes of the senior official, and the referee takes a step back involuntarily as Judas again approaches Max Hopper. Judas stomps Hopper in the back as Hopper turns to only to be stomped in his ribs and Hopper groans along with the crowd, whose concern for Hopper is obvious; they’ve gone almost silent. Judas stomps at Hopper again and frowns at the prone man. Then he looks back to the corner. With a sudden burst of activity, Judas pulls Hopper over to the corner by the arm and then leaps to the second rope, climbing all the way to the top of the turnbuckles, before turning around and looking down at the prone Hopper.
Marc: Judas again goes to the top…
This time he doesn’t hesitate; Judas looks to Hopper and then leaps up into a beautiful frog splash, but digging down so deep he is probably about to strike oil, Hopper rolls out of the way and Judas comes crashing down on the mat belly-first. Hopper climbs to his feet, nose bleeding copiously and his back killing him. Judas struggles back up, coughing and holding on to his abdomen even as Hopper grabs his face and, looking Judas deep into the eyes, Hopper spits a mix of blood and saliva in Judas’s face, then quickly wraps his arm around Judas’s neck and, kicking Judas’s knees out from under him, plants Judas with a thunderously resonating DDT. But the fight has taken so much out of Hopper. He lies beside Judas, clearly exhausted. Wit all his energy Hopper quickly crawl over to the turnbuckle and mounted it.
Marc: Is Hopper going for what I think he is.
Terry: Judas get up God damnit, come on.
Judasbleek finally staggers to his feet only to be brought right back down.
Marc: HOPPER CAN RANA!
Crowd: This Is Awesome!… This Is Awesome!… This Is Awesome!
The crowd pops as Judasbleek is turn inside out as he flops to the canvas. Hopper clearly still exhausted can’t seem to take advantage of Judasbleek being sprawl across the mat.
Marc: I think Hopper use the last of the little gas he had left by using his signature move. He needs to at least get a arm across Judas’s chest for a pin.
Terry: Not going to happen Marc he’s given it all he’s got. Hopper has lasted long enough it’s time for him to be put away.
Both men slowly stand in face each other as Judasbleek went to kick Hopper in the ribs Hopper caught it and spent Judasbleek around. Trend Setter, NO! Judasbleek countered grabbed the wrist of Hopper and place five vicious boots to the injured ribs of Max Hopper. Max Hopper buckles to his knees as Judas strong Irish whip him into the ropes. As Hopper returns to the center of the ring Judasbleek ally-oops Max Hopper into the air, Judasbleek turns around and in mid air catches him with a Stunner, (Eleventh Plunder) Max Hopper is out cold.
Judasbleek go’s for the pin
1
2
THREE!
DING
DING
We Need a Hero!
Judasbleek calmly still on his knees started to slightly smack Hopper across the face to check if he was still alive. Judas stood up as the- boo’s poured in as Judas ignored the ref’s gesture to raise his hand. Judasbleek aggressively picked Hopper off the mat and threw him over the top ropes. Judasbleek mocks the crowd as he made his way out of the ring.
Marc: What is this? There’s no need for all this. Ref don’t just stand there do something.
Terry: Well it’s looking to get a little graphic. Time to send all the small ones to there room.
The Genetic Entity dropped Max Hopper, ribs first, into the barricade!
The ref called for the bell- Ding.Ding.Ding.Ding.
Judasbleek grabbed Hopper by the hair and dragged him back over to the far barricade nearest to him. The official exited the ring pleading with The Forgotten Son to stop the assault on Hopper but Judas with his free hand muffed the ref in the face as the ref stumble away Judasbleek strong Irish whip Hopper to the other far side ring barricade. Hopper smack into the barricade with such force he dropped down to his butt. Judasbleek squatted waiting for his fallen victim to stand.
Terry 'Rents' Renton: Hopper bloody and disoriented still is managing to stand up.
Marc Gordon: What is Judasbleek doing? He’s plotting something.
Like a bat straight out of hell Judas bounce up and ran toward Hopper at full throttle speed.
BAM! Judasbleek Spears Max Hopper thru the barricade.
Marc Gordon: Oh my God not Hopper no!
Terry 'Rents' Renton: Holy Shit! Anther one has fallen victim to The Forgotten Son.
nBW crowd is humbled by the actions that just happen but a sick few chant nBW as Max Hopper is motionless as he is unconscious blood still leaking from he’s noise.
Marc: Get some EMT’s down here right now.
Terry: I guess the fans have gotten to Judasbleek as it’s seems he has taken his frustration out on poor Hopper. Can we get someone down here to clean up this mess?
Marc: So your telling me that the actions of this sick man is to blame in the results of the fans? That’s bull Terry and you no it.
Terry: You call it bull I call it poetic justice.
The Epicenter double doors fly open as the EMT’s rushes down the ramp to aid Max Hopper who hasn’t moved a muscle since Judasbleek hit that sickish spear thru the barricade. Judasbleek stands up and snatches the microphone from Brent Williams and slowly walks along the ring tapping his head with his index finger then pointing to the camera while bringing his thumb across his throat. Judasbleek makes his way into the ring mocking Max Hopper by blowing kisses and striking poses for the nBW crowd. Judasbleek with his hands on his hips looks out to the nBW as they surround him with boos. As if something snaps inside Judasbleek he lunges at the ropes.
Judasbleek- “This is what you get when you try to deny The Forgotten Son his rightful place among the legends of nBW!”
Judasbleek- “That’s right monkeys rejoice at you’re so call savoir Chris Wilson because I told you time after time that there’s no denying my legacy here on Slam. You miscreants feel that you have won when really you have sparked a fuse in me. What I’ve just shown you is nothing compared to what I will show you when I get my hands around the next inferior wrestler who chooses to get in the ring with me. Foolish thoughts of victory will only accumulate you heart ache when you find out that you’re heroes are as feeble minded as you all are here tonight.”
nBW chants {“Boos”}
Judasbleek- “Me losing per say has done more for my career then it will ever do for the likes of Chris Wilson. The will that was shown by Chris irritates me like a flee does a dog. But my task at hand is to leave behind the most violent path of destruction and a simple bump in road won’t stop me.”
Judasbleek walks alongside the ring ropes as he endures the fans boos and negative comments. He stops momentarily to mock the nBW fans as he’s pleading with them that he is still the everlasting sea whom everyone will drown in.
Judasbleek- “Chris Wilson will not deter me from reaching my goals. Really I want to thank Chris for reminding me of what my true purpose is. The history of The Forgotten Son will not be base on a perfect record but the actions of a man that has tasted the sourness of defeat and has still overcome his surroundings to become true greatness. I warned all of you that change was coming all it needed was a spark and that change is the Upper Echelon. The first thing on the Upper Echelon's to do list is to cast away all of you inferior wrestlers. What happen to Remy, Ali, and Hopper is just a taste, please believe there will be more to come. Spike you got lucky last week that we didn't end your feeble ass career right there and then, but your time will come very soon as well, you can count on it.”
Judasbleek-Do you monkeys recall the last time you wanted to do something so intensely but fear got in your way? We all have those moments when we are enthralled with an idea only to have fear prevent us from moving forward. What can we do to overcome fear from paralyzing us from moving forward with our dreams and desires?... Confidence in your self in whatever you choose to do in life. Unfortunate Max hopper had to be my stepping stone but don't worry your favorite illegal immigrant will be back hopping around and what not,maybe there's no telling. Any of you guys seen Rath Sammarino lately? Mah ha ha ha ha...............
{nBW continues to boo the hell out of Judasbleek}
Marc: The Forgotten Son is pure evil. there's no doubt about it.
Judas watches proudly as Hopper is being wheeled out on a stretcher by the EMT’s.
Marc: Hopper not looking to good here and Judas just adding insult to injury. He needs to be stop, this mad man has no feelings he is out of control.
Terry: Judasbleek is not out of control he’s in control. Since Judasbleek lost against Chris Wilson these fans have been jabbing at Judas in his match with Hopper and he snap. Max Hopper was just the wrong opponent at the wrong time, hope he has health insurance.
Marc: Jackass! You'd hate to see one of nBW's prime superstars taken out in this matter.
nBW chants {“Boos”}
Marc: The crowd is one step removed from littering the ring with debris and chairs and I wouldn't blame them.
Terry: You see that Marc? The rest of the Upper Echelon didn't have to show up, Judas is his on wrecking crew.
Judasbleek-“Listen monkeys and listen good you will embrace me or all your heroes will fall one by one and when I'm done destroying your best all of you well know I am the vine and you are the branch without me you and nBW will be…."
Before Judasbleek can continue he is suddenly interrupted as the lights go out. The rowdiness of the nBW crowd is quickly silent’s as the Epic II Arena is cast into darkness. A few camera flashes are seen as the nBW crowd starts to rumble with anticipation.
Terry: What the hell is going on!
Marc: Ladies and gentlemen we seem to be suffering a power outage.
A distorted sound echoed throughout the arena as you could hear the microphone that Judas was holding hit the canvas. All of a sudden the lights pop on! The nBW fans in a attendance pop like they hadn’t pop in a very long time as they witness the unbelievable.
Terry: Who in the…..
Marc: Oh My God! Brock… Metzer
The audience stood tall as they witness Brock Metzer in his street cloths holding The Forgotten Son toward the rafters in a move that hasn’t been seen around nBW in a very long time. Brock executed his Delayed Brainbuster Suplex also known as the "Independent Clash" with tremendous force that the ring it self trembled under the impact. Brock Metzer popped back toward his feet as he left Judasbleek sprawl across canvas. Metzer blood was flowing as he hadn’t felt the warm embrace from the nBW fanatics in some time. Brock stood over a slain beast with a smile across his face. Brock slowly exited the ring between the top and middle rope. Brock Metzer back paddled up the ramp as he shouted out “Embrace that!” as he stop at the double sliding doors he pounded his chest with his fist. Brock stood there for just a bit to admire the fact he just took down The Forgotten Son. The crowd pops once more as he raises his fist in the air before exiting through the double sliding doors.
Marc: I can’t believe my eyes; Brock Metzer has return to nBW.
Terry: Judasbleek is still knock out. What in the hell is Metzer doing here?
Marc: Making a wonderful comeback, business is about to pick up that’s for sure. Let's send it to the back where Trent McKnight is waiting with tonight's Dynasty Challengers.
Pretty Good
Backstage, Trent McKnight was standing by with tonight's challengers for the nbW Dynasty Tag Championships, The Myth & Legend, Mark Mercury and Mane Miaate.
"Guys, you are mere moments away from doing battle with D-T for the tag titels that, in my unbiased opinion, are rightfully yours. You've also got a history with the champions, going back to the early days of their reign. Do you think those foolish chumps will underestimate you tonight?"
"They defs will, Trent," Mane answered.
"Y'know sumpthin'," Mark added, "When you're young and stuff, you might overestimate yourself, you rush in without thinking, without worrying much about consequences. The nbW fans have seen everything from D-T, but M&L is just getting started. We're learning every day, and as you can see, we're already a force to be reckoned with. We're not the same team D-T is expecting to face. Just ask FTW, and all the ribs we cracked, all the bruises we left 'em with. We ain't in the business of making the same mistake twice, and with D-T being distracted by the Dream Warriors, they might not realize the real threat is comin' up fast. Get ready world, 'cause here we come."
"Woah," Mark said, "That was pretty good."
"I know, right?"
With that, the two challengers walked off.
Dynasty Championship: D-T Versus 4CW's Myth and Legend
Out at ringside, the opening strains of Paradise City by Guns n Roses hit. The crowd began to boo as the 4CW chosen Myth and Legend, the challengers, appeared and made their way to the ring.
"Ladies and gentlemen, this match is scheduled for one fall and is for the nbW Dynasty Tag Championships. Introducing first, the challengers... Representing 4CW, Mark Mercury and Mane Miaate, The Myth & Legend!"
Marc Gordon informed the fans at home, "The Myth & Legend have had run-ins with D-T in the past, but it's been a while since they got a crack at the title belts. As we've seen in recent weeks, M&L have really been on a roll lately, defeating three other teams to get to this match this week!"
"Keep in mind," Terry "Rents" Renton added, "The Dream Warriors were handicapped because Dark Ninja had a cold. But yeah, Myth & Legend are great, and I expect them to win."
"Well it may not be as simple as that, Terry," Gordon replied, "After all their partners are two of the most determined and, above all, skilled competitors to ever appear in that ring."
Draw the Line by Aerosmith hit, and the crowd erupted in cheers as Proteus and Showtime appeared at the stage brandishing their shiny gold belts.
"Their opponents, the nbW Dynasty Tag Champions, Showtime and Proteus... D-T!"
D-T played the crowd, letting fans pat their backs and gaze at their reflections on those gorgeous belts. But before they could get in the ring, the music cut off and someone appeared on the nbW's video screen.
With a caption reading "LIVE! Via Sattelite," the nbWTron displayed an image of former nbW Dynasty Tag Champion Dark Ninja on bedrest.
"Hello everyone," Ninja said in a raspy, sickened voice, "I want to apologize for not being there in person... both to the many, many fans who only buy tickets to see DW on its vengeance streak, but also... to our good friends Showtime and Proteus. You see..." he wheezed, "In case you haven't noticed, D-T has developed a complex about performing in the nbW ring. They only do well when Psycho and I are around to watch. Something about our presence motivates them. Sadly, I am forbidden from actually seeing D-T compete tonight, so they will have to imagine I'm there... cheering them on. Good luck... you'll need it."
With that, Dark Ninja disappeared from the video screen and the match got underway.
Showtime controlled the match early, getting Mane Miaate in a headlock andwhipping him across the ropes. On the rebound, Miaate knocked him down, but Showtime ducked down as he ran again and surprised him with a back body drop. Showtime backed Miaate into the neutral corner and began a series of kicks to the sternum, then tagged in Proteus, whom he whipped in for a monkey flip.
Proteus kept up the domination, and Gordon remarked how in-form D-T looked to be. After taking Miaate down with a side suplex, Proteus climbed the top rope for a flying knee drop, but Mane got up quickly, and Proteus landed badly on his knee. Miaate began to stomp him repeatedly there, picking him up and tossing him with a leg screw. He covered.
ONE...
No, nothing but that. He tagged in Mercury and the two began to double team Proteus in their corner. They snuck in a choke but mainly cornered him with strikes. They tried to whip him, but he knocked them down with a 2x clothesline. Unfortuantely, he tried to lunge over for a tag, but fell on his bad knee and got caught and dragged back to M&L corner. Mercury tagged Mane back in and they gave Proteus a double suplex. Mane covered again...
ONE...
TWO...
No, no, Proteus kicked out. He tried to scramble back to tag in Showtime, but Mane caught him with a german suplex.
ONE...
TWO...
No, Proteus got the shoulder up. Mane stomped him again and tagged in Mercury. Mercury locked in a spinning toe hold on Proteus to wear him down, then pulled him up to his feet. He picked him up and got him with a shin breaker. He picked him up again and bodyslammed him. He picked him up and bodyslammed him again, but with more force. He picked him up one more time and hung him upside down in the tree of woe. Using the ropes for leverage, he stood on Proteus' throat for a choke! The ref counted...
ONE...
TWO...
THREE...
FOUR...
FIVE! "Break it up!"
Mercury did so, and tagged in Mane, who proceeded to execute the same choke.
ONE...
TWO...
THREE...
Showtime launched himself into the ring and began firing forearms at the challengers!
The ref sent Showtime back to his corner while Miaate and Mercury started double teaming Proteus even more heavily. Proteus even yelled out "HEY I'M BEING DOUBLE-TEAMED!!" but of course the ref did not hear. They executed a double suplex, a powerbomb-neckbreaker combo, and Mane held Proteus in place while Mercury executed a huge guillotine let drop off the top rope...
But no, Proteus got to his feet and Mercury hit nothing but the mat!
With Mercury stunned, Proteus began firing hard fists at Mane the legal man, dumping him over the rope and tagging in Showtime.
Showtime gave Proteus an alley-oop over the top rope to dive onto Mane as the ref counted.
ONE...
TWO...
THREE...
Mark Mercury crept into the ring and Showtime back him into a corner, hitting an enzuigiri to stun him, then executing a standing moonsault. Realizing he did not have the leading man, he began stomping him while looking around for Mane. What he didn't see was Mane dumping Proteus over the guard rail and grabbing a steel chair.
SEVEN...
EIGHT...
Mane got in the ring and...
CRACK!
Showtime hit Mane with the STANDING OVATION SUPERKICK!
Ding ding!
"Here are your winners by disqualification... Mane Miaate and Mark Mercury... The Myth & Legend!"
"The kick sent the steel chair directly into the Mane Miaate's face!" Marc Gordon announced.
"Thanks for the recap," grumbled Renton.
The fans booed and the Mark Mercury staggered to his feet in triumph. Proteus ran into the ring to respond with a Switch-Press DDT to Mark Mercury, followed by Showtime climbing to the top rope to execute the Final Curtain. The champs grabbed their belt and walked bitterly to the back.
Crying over Spilled Water...
Earlier, Keegan and John C. Willis exchanged a few words and the latter threw a glass of water at the Geordie Genius serving things to heat up rather than cooling Special K down. However, they’ve had time since then to do so and Trent McKnight decided to gauge the opinions of both fighters, heading into their aptly-dubbed clash, Brotherly Hate.
Keegan spoke: “He threw a glass of water at me, which I think is disrespectful…”
McKnight butted in: “Have you finally cooled off?”
Special K smiled: “Yes, it took a while though. It bugs me, I can’t deny that. What bothers me is that he’s disrespected me so many times in the past and never shown any remorse for the acts of betrayal, despite the number of chances I’ve given him to prove himself to be a decent brother. It’s all irrelevant now, we’re past the point of no return and I’m going to use every little insult, every gesture like throwing glasses of water at me and, above all, trying to end my career to fuel my fire and burning desire to beat him and WAR and after that, hopefully, regain The Fighting Zone title. That would be some comeback, wouldn’t it?”
Trent nodded in agreement: “It would. Would it be fair to say you’re looking past Willis? Some have said you need to focus on him first. You’re already talking about WAR and now the championship. Are you getting ahead of yourself?”
Keegan pondered: “I can see why people think that and I shouldn’t have spoken about other things but I can honestly say I’m not taking Willis lightly. I’ve been in a fight with him three times head-to-head, this is not our third fight as it’s been advertised. It’s true we’re one-one but we also fought to a draw in Palermo. So it’s still the decider.
“The plan was always to whack both of them in whichever order. WAR is my ultimate objective from a fighter’s standpoint because we’ve never actually faced each other and yet there’s so much bad blood there. Personally, I hate them both, maybe Willis even more and I will say this: Anyone who didn’t think John had my attention, well he does now after throwing that glass of water at me. Call that my wake-up call. There won’t be one for him, I’m afraid. He’s going to get knocked out and it’ll happen quickly. This fight won’t last long, Trent.”
“What’s your prediction?”
“I won’t be specific and give a number but it’ll be over and done within ten minutes. Our fights in the past have gone a lot longer. Sometimes, seeing what I do now, I can’t believe they did but to be fair to him, and I haven’t got many nice things to say about John, he was a beast – a very powerful individual. We were both better back then, yet there’s a significant difference: I’ve aged better. Even taking into account my recent injuries, I’m in better shape than him and he hasn’t won since he returned. I may have lost to Judas, which was dubious in itself. I’m not going to cry about it though and it did me the world of good. My back stood up to that kind of pain and punishment now no one, not Willis, not War…NO ONE… can hurt me. I’m ready to go and Willis’ lights will go out ten minutes into the fight.”
Special K shook hands with the interviewer as he wandered off signing some autographs for eager fans nearby and then waving, issuing a clenched fist of defiance upon leaving the conference room.
In the next shot, McKnight was stood next to John C. Willis, the toothless monster and an impressive specimen to say the least. Trent began his intro: “We’ve heard from Keegan and now I’m standing with his half-brother, John C. Willis. John, Keegan got all worked up at the press conference and that increased ten-fold when you threw a glass of water at him. He thinks it was the latest in a long line of disrespectful acts and you’re going to pay for all of them come fight time.”
Willis shrugged his shoulders: “He’s always talked a good fight, hasn’t he? I didn’t get the chance to voice my opinion in that press conference as Keegan took the spotlight, just like he always has and always will. He may think I want it, yeah, whatever. I’ve never been interested in the fame or fortune for that matter. For me, it’s always been about competition, winning and hurting people. I don’t know about competition but I’m definitely going to win this fight and hurt him badly while I’m at it. ”
“You’re one and one. You seem to be closely matched and you know each other better than anyone else, certainly inside the cell. What makes you so sure that it will be your night and you who wins this series?”
John smirked sarcastically: “Just look at me. I’m bigger, stronger, nastier and better. I know how bad he wants WAR. I’ll take enormous pleasure in ending that dream too, just like I did when I beat him for the trophy eight years ago. Nothing’s changed.”
Thereafter, the Kokomo Dragon wandered off, deciding not to sign any autographs as he left with Michael D’Alessandro by his side.
Not a lot has changed in eight years.
I’ve got a feeling it will at Pinnacle though.
In Mono
Showtime and Proteus were in the back after the match.
"What the hell happened?" Proteus asked, "I mean literally, I was getting my ass kicked at the time. How did we lose?"
"It was my fault," Showtime grumbled bitterly, "I was so hopped up on adrenaline that I didn't see Mane's chair, I just... kicked. I couldn't stop myself. I fucked up."
"Yeah," Proteus said. "You kinda did. I'm starting to wonder if maybe..."
"Dark Ninja was right?" said a voice from off screen.
The camera panned over and there was Dark Ninja, looking fit as a fiddle, with Psycho, looking well, psycho.
"Ninja, you son of a bitch," Showtime scowled, "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be sick."
"Hm, guess the video lied, huh," Ninja smirked, "I just wanted to see what would happen if you guys really thought I wasn't in the building. You didn't disappoint. I thought you'd collapse, and I totally called it. I was really hoping you'd drop the titles, but you still proved you just couldn't pull it off. You had to resort to a cheap DQ win. I can almost feel the fans turning on you."
"That was a fluke," Showtime said determinedly, "Mane was giong to cheat anyway, he probably would have been disqualified if I hadn't moved a muscle."
"But you did," Ninja said, "You claim you didn't know, but I know better. I'm thinking maybe you know you're just waiting to hand those belts back over to me. You sabotaged yourself"
"Wait a minute..." Proteus was confused, "Are you really not sick?"
"Oh sure, I was sick. I had a mild case of mono, but I'm better now. But it's funny... I wonder where I got it from. I can't think of anyone else who's been sick for a period of time recently, except maybe... that make-up chick. Hmm. Food for thought, no?"
With that, Ninja walked off cockily, while the camera turned to Proteus, who contemplated the implications of what Ninja had just said.
"Fans up next we have our Keystone Championship match between the Challenger Frank Silver and the Double champion-" announced Gordon.
"Your GOD!" broke in Renton.
"'Superstar Vince Jacobs. But first one last advertisement break so we can bring you the Main Event without breaking out."
Keystone Championship: Frank Silver Versus 'Superstar' Vince Jacobs
"I'm rich, biatch!”
"The Shit” by DJ Danger Mouse and Jemini
The screen comes to life with the theme, accompanied by pyrotechnics, silver and gold lighting, and the video package of "The Baron of Ballistics” Frank Silver. Silver strolled out of the back to an ovation from some of the crowd, to which he replied with the raise of Ye Olde Royale Pinky, before jogging down towards the ring.
Silver acknowledged the fans at ringside and played to the crowd before sliding into the ring and jumping up to each turnbuckle to give the crowd show off the same Royale pinky. He then leapt from the last turnbuckle and removed his coat prior to stretching before the bout began.
The ever-familiar voice of the Icon echoed throughout the arena.
A little Anxious
Vince Jacobs stood in the ring watching the UE attack Frank Silver. Judasbleek and Warren Spade looked down at the fallen Silver. SoM picked Frank up and feed him to the two monsters of the Upper Echelon. Both men wrapped their hands around Silver’s throat. Looked like Silver was about to do for a ride. That was until Brock Metzer, Shawn Hart, Ravage, Zed, Matt Haddon, D-T and a few others from the nbW lockerroom to stop this attack.
What these men didn’t realize was that the UE wasn’t leaving the ring. Jacobs dropped his titles on the mat and was begging the nbW faithful to come into his ring. Metzer, Haddon, Hart and D-T slid into the ring and the chaos ensued as the nbW wrestlers were fighting the UE members. Judasbleek and Brock Metzer had spilled to the floor as Haddon came over to help Brock with Judasbleek. Warren Spade and Ravage went toe to toe in the ring. Shawn Hart made a beeline to the World Champion himself. D-T got into the fight by taking on WAR and SoM.
The fans erupted to see these men battling for nbW. Judasbleek drove Metzer into the guardrail. Haddon came at the Forgotten Son and was met with a big boot to the face. Spade and Ravage was trading blows until Judasbleek came back into the ring and nailed Ravage in the back of the head. Both members of the UE picked up Ravage and chokeslammed him to the floor. The two big men attacked the tag team champions from behind knocking them throw the ropes to the floor.
Jacobs and Hart were in the corner as Hart was getting the upper hand on the double champion. However Hart was grabbed from behind by SoM and WAR. The two men held Hart’s arms as the Phenom was kicking at Jacobs who was behind helped up by Spade. Vince smiled as he looked at Shawn Hart.
“You don’t disrespect me Hart. I run this fucking place, not Boyle.” Jacobs said right before he nailed Hart with a Superstar Kick.
Hart dropped to the mat as the Upper Echelon stood tall in the middle of the ring to a loud chorus of jeers from the fans. The jeers suddenly stopped as a voice was overheard on the microphone.
“Vince… Vince… I see you still don’t realize that I am the one in charge of this place. But after Slam fourteen you will realize it. I see you are on cloud nine right now after what went down tonight. But I have a little surprise for you.” Thaddeus said
Jacobs was in the ring with the UE mouthing the words. “What.”
“See your opponent for Slam fourteen that you have decided to defend your World Heavyweight title against couldn’t wait to see you. So he’s not going to wait until Slam fourteen, he’s here tonight.” Boyle said.
'War Zone' by Rob Zombie.
And the EpicCenter BLEW THE FUGG UP. Lights scattered across the arena, as the crowd jumped to their feet in excitement. The lights scattered, and the lights dimmed – the hype was in session. Jacobs stood in the middle of the ring looking surprised as Graphic Violence came out and stood on the stage. This was incredible as Jacobs was beside himself and the UE looked on yelling at Boyle as he smiled.
CUTIN: “What a shocker. Graphic Violence will be taking on Vince Jacobs at Slam fourteen for the World Title.” said Marc Gordon
CUTIN: “This was a setup by Boyle.” Renton chimes in, “How can Boyle do this to the Ratings Grabber.”
Graphic Violence cocked his head toward Vince with a slight smile. These two men were not strangers and it looked to be an explosive night at Slam fourteen. Renton's ranting continued while the NBW logo faded into view.
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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