No Brand Wrestling Presents: SLAM! Episode V on Hulu.Com!
Live from The Epic II Arena in St. Louis, Missouri
| The Announcement |
|---|
♯ Forse non sara una canzone
a cambiare le regole del gioco
ma voglio viverla cosi quest' avventura
senza frontiere e con il cuore in gola ♯
“Un Estate Italiana” by Gianna Nannini and Edoardo Bennato played all over the PA and Gino Di Maggio together with Don Toto Corleone made their way slowly to the ring. They received a mixed reaction from those in attendance. As they arrived in the ring, Gino Di Maggio grabbed the mic.
“Ladies and gentlemen tonight we will witness the beginning of a new era in no Brand
Wrestling. A couple of weeks back we have seen a great match or shall we call it fight
between Keegan and William Arthur Reagan in The Zone and it was followed by a brutal
fight in an empty apartment involving those two as well as Ali Amore and Spawned Terror
or better for you John C. Willis. The reaction for those two matches was simply brilliant. The
fans in attendance just loved them whilst the hits on youtube where the highest ever for an
nbW segment”; said Gino as he handed the mic to Don Toto.
“That momentum made us think. We had a meeting with Thaddeus Boyle and we discussed
the return of the legendary return of The Fighting Zone. Thaddeus knows good business
when he sees it, and he knows that what the Fighting Zone will achieve for no brand
Wrestling is definitely bigger than anything else. And after finalising all the details, last week
we announced the official return of The Fighting Zone”; said Don Toto as he handed the mic
back to Gino.
“And we are here to announce the first ever match of The Fighting Zone in no brand
Wrestling which will happen tonight and will be valid for The Championship. The current
Champion William Arthur Reagan after having spent the last couple of years defending the
Championship in different organisations including SHOW and no brand Wrestling, will have
the opportunity to defend The Championship back home in The Fighting Zone. And tonight
his opponent will be the first superstar whose contract is registered with tFz and now nbW …
Johannes Antonius de Castanovo”. With that “Un Estate Italiana” started playing and Gino Di
Maggio dropped the mic and walked back together with Don Toto Corleone, whilst the fans
started a tFz chant.
'T-F-Z'
'T-F-Z'
♯ Forse non sara una canzone
a cambiare le regole del gioco
ma voglio viverla cosi quest' avventura
senza frontiere e con il cuore in gola ♯
| A Monumental Night |
|---|
“Ladies and gentlemen welcome to the greatness that is no brand Wrestling for the Fifth edition of SLAM. We maybe only five shows in on this monumental series however one day soon we will look back at tonight as we celebrate our 100th show. Tonight it is all about survival. Tap and Submit. Every match except for those officially extradited from the rules by Mr. Boyle himself will adhere to these rules.” Spoke Trent McKnight as he stood next to a half-closed door.
“In just a few moments we will witness the official declaration of the new number one contenders for the Dynasty tag team championship. Later in the night we will also see the two former World Champions clash in the ring within the confines of the barbaric structure known as the steel cage. Plus the Champion from The Fighting Zone returns from the past and will be defended by William Arthur Reagan against a man whom just emerged in the focus of nbW. This is one match not to be missed. We will also see Proteus in action, and the rematch of Remy Leroux and Austin Advent with no time limits to expire this time.”
He slowly knocked on the door.
“Tonight we usher in a new age of in-ring competition, and what better way then with two technical sound wrestlers like Remy Leroux and my guest at this time, the Awesome One, Austin Advent.”
He knocked again and slowly pushed the door open: “Sorry to barge in Mr. Advent, I am here for our scheduled interview regarding tonight’s highly anticipated rem-“ He stopped two feet from the door way as his eyes rested across the floor. Advent was unmoving on the tile floor, small gashes pouring out blood as the back of his head seeped it regularly. “HELP! Someone get this man some help!”
McKnight rushed out of the room to get Advent some much needed assistance as the camera faded out.
Only to return to a nice close up of Thaddeus Boyle somewhere backstage.
Rather than smiling though he seemed in distress. With a pull back from the camera the reasoning became clearer. The monster Torment held him by the throat, peering through his mask at the owner of no brand.
“He who protects them, shall face the wrath of Torment.” He snarled as his hand clutched tighter and the face of Boyle slowly turned red.
“T-t-t-“ he tried to get the words out but his voice was failing from the pressure applied.
Torment shook his head and saw as Boyle waived his arms about in the air: “HEY! You!” hollered out a voice from behind.
Not bothering to remove his hand he turned and saw Michael O’Dell approaching from behind at breakneck speed. Torment shoved Boyle backwards and released his grip only to turn right into a diving forearm from the Definition of Perfection. The blow hardly dazed the monster but he stepped back and watched from above as O’Dell checked in on his boss.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” he stated as he glared at Torment, tempted to show him why he once held the moniker of The Executioner. Boyle however pushed aside Michael and struggled to stand back up.
“T-t-torment, you-“ cough He coughed and pushed on to get his balance. “You may believe I was protecting Harley from you. That is your choice. I however run this company and it is in my best interest to keep my Superstars healthy-“ he paused as another string of coughs broke his speech pattern. Cough cough “and Alive. As tempted as I am to let you and him rip each other to shreds, it will not happen. Your scheduled match with Harley Grimm has been canceled. O’Dell here will inform him of the change, and if you do not leave this arena I will be forced to-“ cough cough cough “FIRE YOU.”
Torment took a step towards the two men but just when O’Dell was ready to defend the monster turned and disappeared down the corridor away from sight. O’Dell helped to his feet to stand finally: “Come on sir, we need to get you to the nurse before-“
Boyle showed him away. “No, you have a job to do." cough "Go inform Grimm his match is off.”
“But sir-“ Boyle interrupted before he could continue. “GO!”
Michael shook his head and started to walk away with Boyle yelling after him to call him security.
| A Formidable Plan |
|---|
Dynasty Tag Champion Dark Ninja sat across from a monitor, calmly watching footage from the last edition of Slam, with Proteus rushing to the ring for a stand-off against Psycho while Dark Ninja watched helplessly from the sidelines. For a long while, the camera lingered on the eyes of Ninja, reliving this moment of trauma.
In a most dramatic fashion, Ninja threw the monitor the the ground, screaming, "NO!!" He began to huff and pace, frantically, banging dramatically on lockers and growling, "No, no, no!! NUHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!"
Ninja's tag partner Psycho came into frame licking a soft-serve ice cream cone. "Wha's wrong?"
Ninja, in his fury, smacked the cone to the ground and poked Psycho in the chest. "What's wrong?? I'll tell you what's wrong! What's the point of owning my own giant if he can't beat up my enemies for me?! Showtime beat you, and now he thinks he's in my head! he thinks he has the upper hand! He thinks he has the psychological advantage! Just because I don't have a plan to beat him and I can't focus on anything besides my intense, burning rage for him and I want nothing more than his complete and utter destruction, does not mean that he's in my head. You got that??"
Psycho blinked for a second then replied, "Sure?"
Ninja continued to rant. "That egotistical fool thinks this story is about him. Well it isn't! His time is over! He's not important anymore! But everywhere I turn, there he is, clawing his way back up. This. Is. NOT. HOW. THE. STORY. GOES!!!"
Psycho nodded slowly. "Okay."
"Tonight, three teams are competing for number one contendership. For the Win, The Creed Brothers, and that other team. D-T is nowhere to be found... for a reason! They're inferior! Right? Tell me I'm right."
"You're right."
Dark Ninja turned sharply and smacked Psycho. "Don't agree with me just because you know that's what I want to hear! That kind of pandering does me no good! Now tell me -- is D-T inferior?"
Psycho paused for a minute to think, then concluded, "Maybe not?"
Ninja turned sharply again and smacked his partner across the face once more. "How dare you contradict me! Wait, shut up. I'm getting a plan. Tonight is submission night... isn't it?"
"If my research is correct."
"Yes, yes, I think I've got an excellent, awesome, formidable plan..."
Stroking his chin intriguingly, Ninja walked off while Psycho stayed put. He looked down, and the camera tilted down to see his fallen ice cream cone. As he knelt down to attempt to salvage it, the camera cut away.
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| The Creede Bros | For The Win | Myth and Legend |
|---|---|---|
| Dynasty Tag Team Contendership Submission Match |
||
“Ladies and Gents, welcome to SLAM Five.” Screamed the main man himself, Marc Gordon.
“First match,” interrupted Terry Renton the evil broadcast partner. “right? Trent already gave the speil.”
“Right.”
The attention was set to the ring where For The Win, Myth and Legend, and The Creede Brothers stood patiently, and not so much while Thaddeus Boyle stood in front of them.
‘Your Briefcase’ he stated as the briefcase was handed over to him. He turned to the other team while rubbing at his throat before speaking, ‘Your Key.’ And routinely acquired the key from them. ‘Excellent.’
Turning towards the referee he signaled the bout could begin.
“And just like that folks, Thaddeus has put in the request to start the action. No words, just action.”
“Beautiful” remarked Renton.
In the ring. Not so much.
As your narrator I should mention to you the objective here. After weeks of bickering, and interference, this match was put in place by the Promoter. Also known as your God. Speaking of which, who knew he was a Greek?
Moving forward, this match is for the contendership. I.e. that means we will have a decisive decision on who is officially the challengers to those nasty Dream Warriors. Let’s hear a silent yay now.
Thank you. We can return to the match. And what a match it is. Triple threat rules, in the form that at all times one person from each team is legal. Odd huh?
“Did you just see that?” cried out Gordon.
Crap you just totally missed that double team DDT from Mercury and Noid. Best we pay attention now.
In the ring as I just mentioned Ace Creede was down for the count following the tremendous DDT by the aforementioned. Of course neither man was ready to help the other out and a slugfest ensued.
“Ace may be down but Noid is planning on capitalizing.”
“This is purely illegal and highly unethical.” Remarked Renton.
“What?” asked his broadcast partner in confusion.
Noid assaulted Mercury, only to get lambasted with a series of kicks and a jawlifting uppercut. Taken off his feet for the moment this allowed Mercury to tag in Miaate. The two quickly went to work on Noid, double teaming him in the corner followed by a lariat whip into a big boot by Miaate. Mercury was ordered out of the ring but Miaate went for the cover.
Two count achieved, if it was a pinfall match unfortunately as the referee was explaining they could only win by submission. However while he had Miaate distracted Ace Creede made the tag to his brother Spade, whom vaulted himself over the ropes into Miaate with a brainsmashing Bulldog.
“What action and excitement from all three of these teams.” Remarked the giddy Gordon.
With Miaate in their clutches, the Creede Bros initiated their plan of attack. Miaate was tossed into the opposite side and with a double lariat he was taken to the ground. Ace was forced to leave the ring but Spade already had the submission locked on. While Mercury hollered at the referee to admonish the hold due to his partners hand gripping the rope, this allowed Noid to come out of nowhere with a vicious kick to the back of Spade’s head. Objective complete, hold broke.
Noid picked up the scraps of Spade and with a furious roar he vaulted him into the air right back down smack on his knee for the atomic drop. Those balls may be withered but they still felt the impact. Noid followed with a boot to the chest of Miaate before dragging him to his partner. Tag to Spark.
It was time for the main event. At least the first match of the night’s main event. Look, whatever point is it is time. Noid held Miaate in his arms as Spark wailed at him with a few lefts and rights. Before ultimately executing a vicious neckbreaker. His neck didn’t break but it could have!
‘Bout that time?’ called out Spark to his partner as he delivered boot after boot to the abs of Miaate.
Dropping down he hooked the talent’s ankle and applied what looked like a halfcrab ankle lock. The pain was excruciating but Miaate was already at the ropes, go figure. Force to release, Spark was unaware that Spade was already back up to his feet. A chopblock sent him down, and Spade capitalized with the capital I. Intensity. He yanked his feet out from under him and put him in a full crab, however Miaate was far from out of it and grabbed Spade from behind locking in the deadly sleeper hold.
Deadly and sleeper, how do those even go together? Right now sure, but really? Anyhow the sleeper was locked in and Spade faded, however Spark was fading as well. The referee raised Spark’s arm, dropped it, raised Spade’s arm and dropped it. This happened twice in unison. Miaate probably had it won.
If not for the Ace in the hole.
Or in this case Ace Creede’s boot in the assh-you get the idea, to Miaate which immediately got the hold to release. Tony was still close to tapping and with renewed vigor Spade yanked back as hard as he could only to get walloped in the face by the boot of Chris Noid.
Noid returned to his corner, as did Ace. The three men were laid out, and Mercury was seemingly displeased at the turn around to the match.
“Such action. Such tribulations that these three teams are going for.” Spoke Gordon.
“They still have nothing on the likes of the Dream Warriors. Or dare I say it, TWO J. Leslie Voss’s.” remarked Renton.
“Seriously? You even consider that possible?”
Possible or not the action in the ring was different. Miaate rolled over to his corner and made the tag to Mercury whom was quick to assault Spade as he went to tag his brother; stopping him in the process.
But the cheers from the fans meant he had misjudged who to stop and Noid got the tag from Spark. Quickly scaling the turnbuckle he leaped off with a missile dropkick to Mercury, and rolling through he rebounded off the ropes with a body splash on Spade Creede.
“Oh my lord.” Called out Gordon as his attention was taken from the ring.
“Wha-“ he too was paused and diverted his attention. “Thank goodness we are not PG!” he called out with a whistle.
The fans and commentators turned their attention to the stage where a beautiful and buxom blonde bombshell was crawling her way around on the top of the ramp, dressed in nothing but a bikini, cat tail, whiskers, and a pair of cat ears.
In the ring however Spade had gotten the upperhand, leading many to believe it was his planned distraction. He made the tag to Ace and two double teamed Noid and then Mercury before ultimately taking both down in unison. Mercury was the first back up to his feet courtesy of Spade, and tossed into the open arms of Ace. ACE OF SPADES!
Their patented double team signature told the end of the tale of Mark Mercury. A spinning discus punch to Miaate sent him flying off the apron and Mercury was now being twisted into the figure four. Spade planned to follow suit with his own 52 CARD PICKUP, however Noid was saved by the interference of Spark.
Attention turned to the stage again where the blonde woman had started shrugging her way out of her top and twirled it around in the air as she covered herself with her other arm. Slowly strutting down to the ring.
“Marc, she is naked under that! This is awesome!”
While Renton was pleased, Mercury was reversing the figure four and flipped it into his favor. Spade screamed in pain and soon released. Noid made the tag to Spark and pointed to the heavens for the fans before THE LAST MAN! Right on Spade. Tick tock.
Noid rushed across the ring at Spade and with a diving clothesline over the top rope he took Ace off the apron, and fell on to the outside right along with him.
The woman continue to strut her way to the ring and once there she posed and gave a ‘come hither’ to the men in the ring before slowy walking up the ring steps. The referee was quick to make the distinction that she needed to be stopped.
“Aw come on. Let her stay. Or in fact get rough with her, pull that arm away.” Hooted Renton while Gordon seemed shocked at his partner’s behavior.
Outside the ring Noid had dived under the ring and retrieved something he was looking for. Those in attendance seemed to understand the significance but the others were confused. He raised it in the air and walked over to Miaate whom was already stirring. CLUNK!
The object clunked across his skull and sent him back to the ground. Noid raised it in the air and smiled as it was unharmed. Gotta love those Xbox 360’s. He then dove back to the ring skirt and pulled out the opponent, the PS3. Smiling he raised it in the air and wailed it down across the head of Ace Creede. This one shattering on impact. He raised the remains in the air and smiled again.
With the referee still distracted and “There it is Marcy! Look at those melons!” as Renton just exclaimed, the blond bombshell was strutting herstuff in full. Noid slid back into the ring and walked up to Mercury, pulling him to his feet he dropped his body slightly and with verbal course: “SHORYUKEN!” he delivered the infamous rising dragon fist to Mark Mercury.
The bombshell stepped across the ring apron and stood against the ropes her breasts resting between the top and middle. Spark pulled Spade Creede back to his feet, and lifted his shirt out of the way. He pointed towards his crotch, or rather his belt buckle which was the Nintendo pad. He started pressing the combination that most recognized straight away as the Ultimate Cheat Code. Tony roared and pounded his chest showing he was now invulnerable. Spade show a series of punches to him which were simply ignored. He then proceeded to hook his head only to get shoved backwards and pointed at.
Tony shook his finger and caught Spade incoming arm, whipped it around into a dragon arm wrench, kicked out his legs, falling with him to the mat and quickly maneuvered to pulled back on the arm and then the head of Spade with the modified crossface like hold.
The referee continued to ask him if he was going to submit, to each he denied.
“Ace and Miaate are out cold thanks to those modern day electronics, and Mercury as well after that rising dragon uppercut. It’s down to the three still standing, and it looks like Spade is about done.”
“Who cares. Look at her.” Renton eagerly watched as the bombshell leaned through the ropes. The referee called for her to leave while still checking on Spade’s condition however she ignored his pleases and jiggled in front of him. Slowly crawling through the ropes towards him like a cat. Her chest swinging about.
Swinging left.
Swinging right.
Left.
Right.
Left.
Right.
Hypnotic. Chris Noid held Mercury down to stop him from ending what was almost certain now. And finally Spade could hold out no more, be it from the pain or the delicious woman in front of him.
He tapped.
The referee called for the bell.
Ding ding ding.
Spark released and jumped to his feet. Noid and his partner rose their arms in the air and watched as the Blond rested her breast across Spades face with a knowing smile at the two. They both reached down and with one arm each pulled her to her feet, sandwiching her between then.
“This was For The Win’s plan all along,” called out Gordon somewhat displeased.
“A GREAT plan. And look at the pay off. The official is handing them the briefcase and the key, plus they have that naked tart. I call that a win-win for them.” Remarked Renton.
In the ring the three celebrated, as the blond held the briefcase over her chest and For The Win raised the key in the air together.
The two realized their opponents were stirring and quickly clamored out of the ring helping the blonde with them. And to the sadness of the fans they carried her back up the ramp and out of sight.
Either way you look at it, For The Win have the key and the briefcase. They now have the contract to cash in when they please. The Dream Warriors had better be ready.
And who was the stripping blonde that led to their victory?
Question for Another time folks.
Your Winners by way of Submission and the New Number One Contenders, For The Win!
| Getting Worried |
|---|
William Arthur Reagan was in his locker room with Gino Di Maggio and Don Toto
Corleone. WAR had a worried look on his face.
“What’s wrong William?”, asked him Gino
“I am worried about tonight’s match”, replied WAR.
“You don’t need to William. It will be just a formality for you”, tried to assure him Don Toto.
“I don’t know mate. My back is hurting a lot and even though lately I had two brutal matches,
one in The Zone and one in the empty apartment I am still convinced. After all they were in
the “wrestling” world and we both know really well the difference between the “wrestling”
world and the “fighting” world”; continued WAR.
“I know what you are getting to. But you have to remember that this guy is a rookie. He
never fought before in his life, and you are a season veteran. You are the best fighter ever in
the Fighting Zone and then you had the easiest of transitions from fighting to wrestling. So I
really can’t see why you are worrying about this”; told him Gino.
“I hope so Gino. The Championship is my greatest accomplishment and I really would hate to
lose it. But I have a bad feeling about tonight”; finished WAR.
| Off to Silva Dolla Citay |
|---|
BANG
“Woot, woot. Woot, woooooooooooooot.”
The outside door swung open as Chris Noid led the way with his partner and the buxom woman seen earlier in tow cheering and hooting about. Headed straight to their rides.
“Weeeeeeeeee are the champions…”
Yes, they were singing Queen and some other formation song. Hard to say with these fellas. Trent McKnight though? On the scene to solve that case.
“Noid, Spark. Surprising victory by you two.”
Noid stopped and slung the briefcase over his shoulder while Spark twirled the key on a chain.
“No surprise here don. We did it. Beat them completely. At long last.”
Spark pulled his partner in close and leaned in to the camera. “Three Rounds. We may have struck out in the first, but the second was flawless and tonight… The results speak better than words.”
“That may be guys however was it not underhanded to use that young woman there as a distraction?”
“Who, her?” they looked at the buxom blonde and shook their heads. “Cammy, nah. She was amazing.”
“And still is amazing, much like us.”
“Besides Trent, even if it was underhanded. We still came out on top. Who would have guessed those old fogies still had a sense of sexual desire?”
“They should thank us really. Thanks to Cammy tonight those Creedes learned that their blood still pumps to another organ, and not just their hearts.”
“Now Trent, don, can you please ask the question that we are waiting for?”
McKnight seemed confused: “That Question would be?”
“What are we going to do next now that we have the number one contendership in our hands.” Voiced Spark.
“For The Win, What are you going-“
“We are going to DISNEYLAND!” shouted Noid. Spark quickly elbowed his chest: “Branson. Going to Branson to SILVA DOLLA CITAY!”
“That is great guys. However with the Dynasty tag team contenderships in your sights, when do you plan to cash in on that opportunity?”
“Soon.” Spoke the two in unison. “But not until after we get back.”
“Now if you will excuse us don,” answered Tony. “We are heading back to the hotel for our victory celebration.”
“No invites tonight, sorry Don. Tonight we have another three-way to get to. With Cammy as our star attraction.” Spark pulled her in close and the two continued walking while Noid followed suit.
“Well, that was,” Trent shook his head, “really it was not at all inspiring or informative.”
Noid poked his head back into the shot: “By three-way, he means sex Trent-don.” He smiled and was out of sight once more.
Trent shook his head once more and continued walking back to the arena when he noticed something amis out of the corner of his eye. The door swung shut as he quickly rushed over to the garbage cans. “Oh god.”
He seemed to cover his mouth briefly at the sight before yelling out for help. Unfortunately being outside nobody was around to hear his calls so he quickly rushed back to the door and inside yelling for assistance.
The camera returned to where he had stood originally and saw the crumbled body of Remy Leroux laid out in the filled dumpster.
| A Wager |
|---|
“Okay Spiker, I will admit. I had fun the other night. RaVage is a tough son of a bitch and it felt good going to town on him. But surely you knew what would happen after he hit me in my tits man.”
“Yeah,” Saunders shrugged as Callie Urban and himself were walking down the corridor. “Gotta admit though, takes some precision though.”
“That was the final straw. I know Thaddeus agreed to my appearance and was disappointed with the match result but seriously. That fuckin’ hurt!”
She rubbed at her chest as if still feeling it.
“It just goes to show that women although athletic and a beauty to look at in the ring, should really not get over their heads. A few exceptions like yourself obviously.”
“You had better place me as an exception or I will change your gender to one that starts with a fee and ends with a male, fella.” She smirked, stopped and then stomped down with her left foot on the giant’s own.
“Hey!” he exclaimed. “What the hell-“
“Precision huh? Sayin I’ve got small breasts!” belated response.
How does one get out of that declaration?
“Hey Mr. Saunders.”
Suppose having two youngin’s stepping up to you helps. Decked out in 4CW training sweatsuit was the current reigning 4CW Champion Xiang, and next to him the lovely temptress and number one contender for the very same championship, Lexia Hart.
“Evening you two. Ya know, you may be able to help us. How would you like to perform out there tonight?”
“REALLY!” exclaimed the fiery red-headed woman as she pounced from her prone sitting position.
“Yeah, you see… Cal here and myself were having a discussion earlier regarding the lack of women competing with males in no brand any other organization, even those over seas. Not the complete lack mind you, just the lack in general.”
“Or in better words, women rule, guys drool.” Remarked Callie as she stepped into the room further. “Don’cha agree Lexia?” to which she got a nod and nervous smile.
Saunders chuckled: “Excellent. That makes this easier then. I just need to clear it with the boss, seeing how we’re two matches down tonight, consider yourself in action in 5min. Go out there and show us what you can do.” He pivoted and headed towards the door before stopping and looking back over his shoulder. “Goodluck out there guys. Lexia I will wait for you at the guerilla position.”
As he headed out Callie raced back out into the hallway to follow him: “Wait, so Xiang is my stake in this! I want the red-head man!”
And like that an unscheduled match was set to occur very soon on Slam Five.
| Close One |
|---|
Showtime was standing outside the building, leaning against the wall. Proteus walked up to greet him.
"Were you followed?" Showtime asked.
"No," Proteus asserted, "I told Gabriela that I had to get my anal fissure drained, which should buy us some time."
"O...kay."
"I've used that excuse like three times in the last month, though, so she may be getting suspicious."
"Uh... why would you tell your girlfriend you have an anal fissure that needs draining?"
"Oh, you know, in case I want to get away or something. A dude needs space, right?"
"Uh, right. You realize that the purpose of this meeting wasn't to discuss either your relationship or the status of your imaginary anal fissure."
"Oh. What, then?" Proteus asked inquisitively.
"Well, things are going well on the Dream Warriors front. You've got a match against Dark Ninja. A submission match. Proteus, I want you to re-ignite your old fire. I want you tod show him why you are to be feared. I want you to remind him why we are his arch-enemies to begin with. I want you to make him suffer."
"You want me to bring the suffering."
"Exactly."
"Provide a little suffrage."
"Not exactly."
"But... you do agree that women ought to have the right to vote, right?"
"Yes, Proteus," Showtime said, "But they've had that for a few years now, so we need to concern ourself with our own issues."
"Okay, good," Proteus said, "I just have a minor query."
Showtime took Proteus' question, "Yes, you in the back."
"The long-term goal here is to regain our Dynasty tag team championships, is it not?"
"Yes."
"What is being done to, uh, accomplish this objective?"
Showtime stared off into space for a minute, before responding, "I'm working on it. But until then, we have to remind everyone out there why are the most dominant tag team in all of wrestling."
"Gotcha."
The two tag partners shook on it, then walked through a nearby door into the building, where Proteus' girlfriend, nbW Makeup gal Gabriela Healy was waiting for them.
"Proteus!" she said, "Is it true what they said? That you're planning on wrestling Dark Ninja tonight?"
"Yes. That is true."
"But... what about your... condition?"
"My condition?"
"Your... illness."
"My what?"
"Your... infirmity."
"Excuse me?"
"Your... physical ailment."
"Beg pardon?"
"Ahem," Showtime nudged his partner, "She means your anal fissure."
"OH!" Proteus said. "Right, that. Um, see, the thing is, I don't actually have one... that's... that's just something I say... when I need an excuse to get away from you."
She glared at him for a moment before saying "I choose to believe you."
She kissed him on the cheek and went off. Showtime just stood there, looking at Proteus who said, "That was a close one."
| Derailed Plans |
|---|
The door swung open and Spike Saunders emerged to greet the promoter himself, Thaddeus Boyle.
“Evening,” he remarked while noticing the guards around him. “trouble with Torment and Grimm again? Listen, I heard about what happened with Remy and how Torment has been exiled from the arena. Callie's here tonight and we had an idea which we could use some help with. Seeing how you have a free spot now, could you book a 4CW Exhibition match next? You can even give Marc and Terry the time off while we take the reigns.”
“Tell you what, instead of running that From the Vault special on Lunatic and Max Hopper's where-a-bouts I will book the match. As it is not nbW contracted talent they are not subjected to the Submission theme of the night. However since you are here, I do need to speak to you.” He walked around the desk and pulled out a folder of documents which were spread across the desk. “You got your wish. That JLV fan or J. Leslie Voss if it really is him, will be in action tonight with Andrew Martin. Paper work is already signed.”
“Great! And thanks.” stated the giant with enthusiasm. “I can not wait to-“
“There-in lies the problem. Spike, you see I can not have you down there. In the distinct off-chance that this really is a Fan that signed these papers-“ he motions to the paperwork on his desk. “We can not risk injury or the lawsuit caused by such. Therefore, unfortunately… I have to bar you from ringside. And ensure you stay out of the match.”
“Boyle, listen. Voss thinks he is a god. He even re-christened that championship, one which has been held by some of no brand’s best. Guys like Rey Campbell, and Lunatic. Even William Arthur Reagan himself has been the Keystone champion in the past. Not to mention Lancett and Callie.”
The fans cheered at the familiar names as Boyle nodded.
“All great names of the past and present. However Mr. Saunders, in order to give these people their money worth and continue serving up a product that we have done for nearly SIX years as a company; we have to make self-sacrifices.”
“Boyle,” Saunders stepped forward up to the nearest guard whom seemed to balk at the size of the man before him. “you know you can not hold me back. These men have no hope of restraining me for the duration of the match. So, what choices are you left with?”
Boyle smiled and went back to his paper work and Saunders realized he was getting no where: “Very well Mr. Boyle. We will see where this goes. For now.” And took his leave from the office to head towards the ring for his other business of the night. The 4CW stars were all ready waiting in anticipation for their music to gear up.
| Who is Casanova |
|---|
♯ Look, if you had one shot, one opportunity
To seize everything you ever wanted…One moment
Would you capture it or just let it slip? ♯
“Lose Yourself” by Eminem played all over the arena and William Arthur Reagan walked
slowly to the ring. He had the tFz Championship in his hand. The tFz Championship is a
small trophy made of pure gold which have a rich history being fought for since the mid-
fifties. It is the greatest possession in the world of fighting. As he walked slowly to the ring
the majority booed him, but a small section, all wearing tFz shirts, started a tFz chant. As he
arrived to the ring WAR asked for a mic.
“Welcome to the Zone!”, shouted WAR.
“It’s good to be back home. I started in wrestling but I had so much trouble there that I
thought I would retire even before starting. It was then that I got in the fighting industry.
And from that day on the fighting industry especially The Fighting Zone became my home.
Unfortunately The Fighting Zone had to close down due to unrelated business and to continue
my legacy I had to get back into the wrestling world. I became part of no brand Wrestling. I
became a legend here where I won all the titles available as well as being inducted in the Hall
of Fame. But it still didn’t feel like home.
And that is cos The Fighting Zone is my home. And after the press conference last week, I
finally knew that I would be back home soon. And today we will see the official rebirth of
tFz. And today I will defend my biggest possession of all. The one thing that I would trade
for nothing. The Championship legacy is one that none of the wrestling business has.
And my opponent is an unknown guy by the name of Casanova. Who the hell is Casanova? He
is a newbie, and maybe good with the women since he is Casanova, but I am a Wrestling God
and a Fighting God.
And tonight Casanova will realise it when I put him down in The Zone for the 15 count and it
will be game over for him!”.
With that WAR threw the mic down and walked slowly to the back as “Lose Yourself”
played over the arena and the tFz chant started to increase.
♯ Look, if you had one shot, one opportunity
To seize everything you ever wanted…One moment
Would you capture it or just let it slip? ♯
 |
 |
 |
| Lexia Hart | Versus |
4CW Champion Xiang |
|---|---|---|
| 4CW Exhibition Match | ||
Up next was a match made just moments ago to showcase some of the talent from 4CW, as made by Spike Saunders and Callie Urban getting into a friendly wager. The 4CW theme song “Monsters” by Matchbook Romance began to play, cueing the official nbW debut of the 4CW champion, Xiang and the number one contender, Lexia Hart.
♯ We are
We are the shaken (Shaken)
We are the monsters (Monsters)
Underneath your bed
Yeah
Believe what you read ♯
Lexia made her entrance first, fist raised, excitement obvious on her face as she made her way to the ring.
♯ We are
We are mistaken (Staken)
We are the voices (Voices)
Inside your head
Yeah
Believe what you see ♯
Shortly after, Xiang came through the curtain, holding his arms above his head, pantomiming holding a title belt. He was the 4CW champion after all.
As both competitors checked in with the referee, the crowd really began to roar as Lady Gaga’s ‘Poker Face’ boomed out and Callie Urban strutted out, familiar designer shades on her face. On her way to the announcing booth, she stopped in Xiang’s corner, to give him a few words of advice.
As per the other part of the deal Spike made, Callie would be in Xiang’s mentor and Spike would be Lexia’s. Xiang nodded at the low-spoken advice and Callie clapped him on the shoulder.
“Lose and I’ll use your balls for a golf tee, kid.” Xiang’s face paled as he ducked back in the ring. There’s encouragement for you.
Again, the crowd roared as “Spike it UP” by KISS boomed and the Colossus himself lumbered out. Spike Saunders was in the building. He waved to the fans and plucked his size 30x sunglasses off his head and handed them to a lucky kid in the front row, shaking hands with a few nearby fans as he went.
He stopped in Lexia’s corner, gave her a thumbs up sign and said “Just do your best and show everyone here what you’ve got and why you’re the number one contender.” Lexia smiled and ducked back in, meeting Xiang in the middle of the ring.
Spike settling into one of the padded leather chairs at the announcing table, next to Callie and pulled the mic and headset over his head.
“We meet again, Callie. Ready to have my rookie wipe the floor with your rookie?”
Callie snorted as the referee signalled for the bell to ring and the match to start.
“Fat chance. Speaking of your rookie, gimme her number.”
Spike kept his eyes on the ring and the two people in it.
“Xiang and Lexia lock up, Xiang quickly overpowering her and driving her back into the turnbuckles, the ref breaks it up. What? No, I’m not giving you her number. Lexia kicks out and Xiang ducks, returning in kind with a corner flurry punch.”
“What? Why not? You won’t give your best friend a girl’s number? What’s wrong with you? Lexia fighting her way out of the corner, dodging a running yakuza kick that leaves Xiang caught on the ropes. Kick to the kidney from Lexia.”
“I know you Callie, and that’s precisely why I won’t give you her number. Lexia going for a hurricanrana, counter by Xiang into an electric chair drop.”
“Xiang hooks the leg and Lexia kicks out at two. Come on Spike, just gimme her number.”
“Xiang with an armdrag takedown, Lexia bounces back up and charges and Xiang is waiting again and repeat! Callie, there’s a match going on.”
“No sh**, Sherlock. Lexia up again, this time landing a rolling wheel kick on Xiang, knocking him off balance. All I’m asking for is a number, Spike. That’s all I want. Just gimme her cell number. Oooh, spinning headscissors from Lexia, Xiang’s on the mat.”
“Are you doing play by play now? Lexia drops for a cover by Xiang kicks out with authority at one. No way am I giving you her number.”
“I’ll do whatever I want, Xiang up on his feet again, grabs Lexia, Irish whip to the ropes and BIG RUNNING DROPKICK FROM XIANG. That’s my guy, Spike. Now gimme her number.”
“Absolutely not. Xiang drops for the cover again, another kickout at two. Now stop asking.”
“Come on, I’ll let you eat for free at my restaurant. Xiang goes for a running senton and Lexia rolls out of the way.”
“I already eat at your place for free anyway. Second rope legdrop onto Xiang and Lexia goes for the cover, kickout at two.”
“Not anymore you don’t. Springboard moonsault from Lexia connects and she drops for the cover again. Kickout again at two.”
“Hey! You’re gonna sell me out over a phone number?! That’s low, Callie. Lexia hits a beautiful standing moonsault on Xiang and drops for the cover, yet again.”
“Damn right I am. Gimme her number and you can eat for free again. Xiang kicks out before the three count, Lexia starting to show a little frustration she can’t put him away.”
“That’s so messed up. Lexia pacing the ring a little, she needs to stay focused here, and continue to wear Xiang down until she can get the pinfall. I can’t believe you’re going to let me starve.”
“Like you can’t afford your own damned food. It’s not my fault you’re addicted to my cook’s breakfasts. Cough the number up. Xiang is starting to stir, and Lexia with a big seated kick knocks him back down. She drops for the cover again and Xiang gets a leg on the ropes. Nice ring awareness there.”
“Oh, so it’s my fault that Mark makes the best Belgian waffles ever. Sure, blame me. Xiang and Lexia are making a good showing tonight, especially Lexia. Again, she needs to stay calm and be patient and keep up with her offense.”
“Number. Now.”
“See, this is why I said you were Xiang’s mentor. This is why I’m Lexia’s. You’d be too busy trying to get into her pants to teach her anything!”
The action continued in the ring as the two nbW superstars engaged in fisticuffs at the announce table, Callie slapped at Spike’s head, Spike trying to catch her arms to hold her still as she continued to hit him upside the head.
Lexia went up top again and this time landed a top rope moonsault. She wasted precious seconds though, pulling Xiang away from the ropes and raising a fist to the crowd. She dropped down for the cover and Xiang barely threw a shoulder up before the three.
“Hold that thought, I need to have a word with Xiang.” Callie took the headset off and went and stood in front the ring, waving her hands to catch Xiang’s attention. The embattled wrestler looked her way and Callie pantomimed swinging a golf club. Xiang’s eyes widened and he gulped, audibly.
Message sent, Callie went back and slipped her headset on again.
“What was that?”
“Just a friendly reminder.”
“What, are you taking him golfing if he wins?”
“Something like that.”
“Lexia goes for leg drop and Xiang rolls out of the way. Wait, something like that, I know you better, what did you tell him?”
“Xiang with a jumping DDT, connects and drives Lexia’s head into the mat, hard. That’s more like it! I just told him if he lost I’d use his nuts for a golf tee.”
“CALLIE! You can’t do that!”
“Already did, Spiker. Xiang lifting Lexia up, Asai DDT! No way she’s getting up after two DDT’s, finish her, Xiang, finish her!”
“Maybe this wasn’t my best idea ever...”
“Xiang going up to the top rope and MOONSAULT DOUBLE FOOTSTOMP! MOONSAULT DOUBLE FOOTSTOMP! That’s all she wrote folks.”
“Xiang drops down for the cover, one, two, three! Xiang wins in his first outing, but not after a great fight from Lexia.”
“You’re not gonna gimme her number, fine. I’ll ask her myself.”
“I don’t think now is a good time.”
A minute later, all of nbW witnessed Callie Urban being publicly shot down. She took it in stride though and clapped Xiang on the back as the scene cut to commercial.
Your Winner, Xiang!
| The. Third. Man. III |
|---|
"Arturro Benz."
It was business as usual for the super-agent Biron Sexton. Looking up from his folder, Biron leaned back in his leather chair and removed his horn-rimmed glasses, gently placing them on his table. Across the table, the man who was the current object of Biron's attention fidgeted in his seat.
"Si, Mr. Sexton. Is there anything I could assist you with?" Arturro queried, making sure to sound as polite as possible. After all, his future in NBW rested solely in the hands of Biron.
With the tiniest of smirks, Sexton nodded his head once while he scanned Arturro's face. "Indeed you can. You can begin by telling me how it felt to triumph in the Six-Person Elimination Match earlier in the day. I've heard nothing but rave reviews from the crew that were at ringside you watched. As a matter of fact, they told me that your efforts and eventual victory deserved to be televised as opposed to being held hours before the show and with nobody in the stands to appreciate it.
Nonetheless, I distinctly noticed how relieved and excited you were by the end of it all. It was as if a load had been lifted off your shoulders, and the victory meant a hell of a lot more than just a tick in the Win column. So, please, if you will -- indulge me with your feelings. I'm genuinely curious."
Arturro blinked. Somehow, Biron Sexton had managed to get inside his head.
Leaning forward ever so slightly, Arturro cleared his throat. "Si, Mr. Sexton, you are correct. I was extremely thrilled to have won. You see, I don't have much in my life except wrestling. It's not the career I chose, but I'm thirty five years old. This is all I know, and I don't think I can just transition into a different career just like that. Hence, I give it my all in every single match.
For twelve years, I've struggled. From one company to another. I've tried everything to rise to the top, but a combination of elements have kept me from doing anything worthwhile. Until you come along and offer me an opportunity for a mass audition. I am considered just one of many prospective talents here, and I accept that tag. You told us many weeks ago that all of us are here for a reason. To advance to the next stage of your careers.
Well, Mr. Sexton, this is the last roll of the dice for me. If I don't survive your trials, that is it for me. I am finished. And I, quite frankly, have no idea what to do after that. Which is why I took your question very seriously.
Am I good enough? I hope I've proven to be with what I've accomplished so far, Mr. Sexton."
Biron chuckled softly. It wasn't quite the response he was looking for, but Biron could read between the lines. He lowered his eyes and took a gander at Arturro's documentation. This was a man with relatively little to none prospects outside of the realm of professional wrestling. He needed desperately for this NBW experiment to work out for him.
It was then Sexton decided that Benz fit nicely into the big picture. "Yes, you certainly have. Arturro, you've survived the first round of cuts. You should feel honoured; to date, only one other person has advanced to the next stage. And with the utter dreck I have yet to fully evaluate, I can safely say that you stand a very good chance of lasting the distance.
Have the rest of the night off, Arturro. I'll be calling you tomorrow with more details."
A massive grin formed on the face of Arturro Benz. It would appear as if he was one step closer to becoming a full-fledged member of the NBW roster. Benz stood up and extended his hand out for a handshake, in gratitude for the good news.
Biron Sexton examined Benz's hand for a few seconds, before he too stood up. The super-agent figured it was only polite to return the gesture, and after a firm handshake, Arturro bounced out of Biron's office. He was, clearly, over the moon. On cloud nine. Sexton picked up his horn-rimmed glasses and gazed at the frame.
It hadn't been easy, but the issue of the third man had been settled at long last.
"Progress, finally."
| Are You Ready |
|---|
The scene cuts to the backstage area of the Epic II arena; a lone camera man zooms in on the image of a man who hasn’t been seen within the confines of the United States in nearly a year. Dressed in much more casual attire than he can usually be found in while being caught on camera; he didn’t seem to be trying to stay out of their view though. His black American Eagle button up shirt seemed to flow with the muscular tone of his body; the top two buttons opened exposing his chest.
And despite the fact that he is always the consummate professional when it comes to this business he was still decked out in a pair of vintage American Eagle stone washed jeans and brown Bed Stu casual dress shoes. His long flowing sandy blonde hair seemed a little more taken care of for a change, looking as though there wasn’t a hair out of place. The only thing that seemed character to his nature these days was the very unkempt bushy brown beard that rested upon his face.
It was becoming very evident just who this man was the closer the camera got to him, but another uncommon thing rested in his hands. He was packing around a clipboard, something that would be commonly packed around by a member of management. This man was “The Anti-Star” Jesse Ramey, and his eyes were deadlocked on the clipboard that rested in his right hand. That is until his glance shot up and briefly noticed the camera man coming closer to him. He shot a half smile at the camera and then turned his gaze back to the clipboard.
“At Ghosts,” Jesse started, “I told Spike Saunders that my purpose here in no brand Wrestling was on a scale much higher than that of stepping foot in the middle of that squared circle.
I’ve been romping around this business for the past nineteen years, and it’s about time someone has taken notice to the fact that my skills aren’t only limited to that of the ring.” Jesse glance shot back up to the camera as he left the clipboard fall to the wayside for the moment.
“There were talks of in the plans for the most charismatic, technically sound, and biggest spot monkey in this sport to step foot within that no brand Wrestling ring before Ghosts. But with heavy travel schedule I’ve had working for All-Star Championship Wrestling I had to decline, but I wasn’t fully against trying to get something else off the ground in this company.”
A smile sparked across Jesse’s face as he took a second glance at his clipboard, “Too many times are men like myself completely overlooked in this business. And with men like Spike Saunders towering over us, it isn’t farfetched that gigantic performers usually seem to get the spotlight.” Jesse shrugged his shoulders, “It’s an understandable concept though, but the idea that I set forward to Thaddeus Boyle was that someone needed to let the smaller competitors shine.
And being the innovative person that he is, Boyle agreed with me. This is a market that not many places are taking advantage of and if no brand Wrestling were to look into this venture they could acquire some of the greatest lightweights and cruiserweights the world has to offer.” Jesse brought the clipboard to his chest.
“It is my pleasure to announce that coming soon to a Slam near you,” Jesse pointed into the camera and winked, “no brand Wrestling will be bringing to you some of the most death defying, technically sound, bad assed brawlers, and submission experts in the two hundred and fifteen pound weight class and under.”
Jesse shot another smile toward the camera, “This much I can promise as during my travels with the All-Star Championship Wrestling company I have been scouting local promotions all over the world. I’ve never been the type disappoint in any venture I’ve set forth in this business and I can put my stamp of approval on the fact that not only will no brand Wrestling’s ratings benefit from this untapped genre of wrestling; but you, the fans, will also benefit from it when you see some of the greatest lightweight matches in the world taking place on this product week in and week out.”
Another half cocked smile crossed Jesse’s face, “Who knows, maybe the world’s greatest professional wrestling lightweight competitor may end up squaring off against some of these kids in the near future just to keep my title as the best.” Jesse lowered his clipboard once more, “But for the time being I can promise you that as long as Thaddeus Boyle keeps his faith in my ability to make this product work within this company that I will uphold the division in the best regards that I can. And I will make sure that YOU get to see some of the greatest matches you will ever see on a live, free, and streaming wrestling show.”
Jesse’s attention turned back to his clipboard, and as if it had been a signal to the camera man that he was done talking he slowly began backing away from the area. Jesse’s one free hand shot up to stroke his beard as the sound of a chuckle coming from his mouth was the last thing we heard before the scene faded.
 |
 |
|
| TFZ Champion William Arthur Reagan |
Versus |
Johannes Antonious de Castonovo |
|---|---|---|
| The Fighting Zone Championship Match | ||
It had been a long journey through time, but The Fighting Zone had been reborn.
And as The Zone was lowered down, trapping the two men that would usher in a brand new era of TFZ, the fans went completely ballistic. William Arthur Reagen surveyed his strapping opponent with nonchalance, and surely, in WAR's mind this was nothing more than a glorified title defense. For the unfancied Johannes Antonious de Castonovo, however, this was something else entirely different.
This was going to be a brutal fight for the historic Championship, and it would end with his hands raised at the end of the night. Johannes was not usually a believer in destiny, but the glint in his eyes just moments before the bell rang suggested he thoroughly believed he could pull of the biggest upset in NBW history.
Alas, the opening moments of the fight indicated business as usual for WAR. He may have only had an inch or two of a height advantage over Johannes, but WAR appeared larger than life to the man he mocking referred to as Casanova. Johannes found himself knocked around the confines of The Zone like he was a sack of potatoes. WAR's tactic was simple, as he constantly dropped elbows onto the spine of Johannes and delivered crushing kicks into the extremely sensitive kidney area; WAR's was obviously building up to a big submission move and considering his arsenal of said submission moves, it meant that Johannes was in a bad place early on. In fact, during the first three minutes of the fight, Johannes landed all of six punches to WAR's face. The last of which saw WAR retaliate with a headbutt. Which was promptly followed up by Johannes being flung into the steel structure with such ferocity, the fans were genuinely concerned that The Zone would be destroyed by the end of the fight.
Shockingly, Johannes did not stay down. Every single time WAR knocked him down to the canvas to trigger the standing 15-count, Johannes clawed his way back to his feet and motioned for WAR to hit harder. It got to the point that Johannes finally manage to land his first decisive blow on WAR after the latter attempted a running sidekick; Johannes ducked, drove his forearm into the side of WAR's neck and took him down with a spinning belly-to-back suplex. Both men were down, which was cause for concern for many fans. Thankfully, both warriors answered the count at 13... only to find that they had a visitor at ringside, watching on with great interest.
It was none other than new signing, Alexandre Michelle Pierre.
The Adriatic Gargoyle was thoroughly perplexed, but the reigning and defending TFZ Champion didn't seem to care all that match. In fact, WAR went right back to the business at hand; only problem was, Johannes was wise to the situation and evaded the incoming spear takedown, causing WAR to collide with the steel structure that he had grown so familiar with over the years. The result? Blood was drawn. The fans loved it, and even Alexandre smiled. His involvement was still a mystery, but Johannes had firmly re-diverted his attentions to WAR.
Until, of course, there was yet another visitor. It happened to be super-agent Biron Sexton, who joined Alexandre at ringside.
Johannes Antonious de Castonovo, revitalised by the in-ring developments of the last few minutes, had turned the tide of the fight and hammered away at WAR like a possessed maniac. Johannes was first and foremost a wrestler, but it appeared as if the Adriatic Gargoyle -- perhaps he looked very much like the winged creature -- was swiftly learning the tricks of the trade. On the outside, super-agent Biron Sexton and Alexandre Michelle Pierre watched as Johannes turned up the heat on WAR, going through a laundry list of suplexes in a bid to keep the reigning & defending TFZ Champion down.
But the problem with that was, WAR wouldn't stay down. Time after time, he answered the official's count. At one point, Johannes had placed WAR atop his very broad right shoulder and rammed him into the steel mesh of The Zone, prior to dropping William onto his head in an inverted piledriver. All that happened was WAR answering the count at the very death, his face caked in his own claret.
And as the two warriors went nose-to-nose yet again in the ring, with every single fan in the building going nearly hoarse with all their shouting and cheering, super-agent Biron Sexton took his leave. Alexandre Michelle Pierre, on the other hand, stayed. It would prove to be a wise decision; WAR and Johannes had, probably telephatically, reached a consensus. They would box each other until only one man was left standing. Right hooks, left cross punches, right uppercuts, left snap jabs; William and de Castonovo, exhausted as they were after nearly 20 minutes of fighting, simply would not yield. Each man had to contend with their vision impaired thanks to a mixture of blood and sweat. There was also the issue of bruised knuckles. Surely, something had to give.
Finally, it did. Johannes parried a swinging right hook from WAR and responded with a massive uppercut that sent WAR down to one knee. Realising he was on the brink of victory, de Castonovo struck with a bionic elbow right down onto WAR's head. Down WAR went, and the fight raced to its natural conclusion. Johannes had triumphed. Except, for that pesky matter of WAR answering the count at 14.
Johannes couldn't believe it. He thought he was looking at a ghost. Truth was, WAR was running on fumes. Yet he grinned at Johannes and demanded for one more punch to the face. Johannes did one better; he kicked WAR in the throat, sending the latter flying backwards and causing the back of WAR's head to make unprotected contact with the steel meshing. WAR fell flat on his face, his eyes already shut tightly. There was no last-ditch ressurection. WAR stayed down, and Johannes dropped to his knees once the bell rang. He had been the underdog going into the fight. He proved many a naysayer absolutely and completely wrong. A genuine shock upset.
That's right. The unfancied Johannes Antonious de Castonovo had become the new TFZ Champion.
Your Winner and NEW TFZ Champion, Johannes Antonious de Castonovo!
| The Joke's On... |
|---|
Somewhere backstage Keegan was rolling around on a sofa that night, hysterically laughing, unable to breath properly and gasping for air: "WAR... WAR... HA HA...WAR LOST TO A NOBODY. HA HA. Too funny. Best fighter ever...MY ARSE. WHAT A JOKE. He's a joke... HA HA
| Caging the Giant |
|---|
“Are you sure about this?” queried the elder guard.
The two security guards stood next to the door as they saw the giant walking towards them. Behind him was Thaddeus Boyle while noticeably absent was his friend Callie Urban.
“Orders are orders., Mike. He may be a big guy but all we have to do is watch that nobody messes up the match.” Spoke Paul, the younger of the two as he pulled the door open.
“Mr. Saunders, if you will.” Called Boyle as they reached their destination.
Spike stopped at the doorway and chuckled: “This is ridiculous but at least you hooked me up.” He ducked in and waited inside. "Just remember, you owe me."
“I appreciate your cooperation Spike. I will make sure these two let you out as soon as the match is complete.”
Boyle nodded towards Paul whom had started walking off. A moment later as the door swung shut, *beep beeeep beeeep*, the caution sound heard from heavy machinery backing up filled the arena.
Boyle and Mike stepped aside as a Forklift reversed up against the shutdoor. Paul hopped out of the seat and held the key in his hand before pocketing it.
“Good job. I will call you guys later when it is time to release him.” Boyle started off in the opposite direction he had came from, while Paul and Mike sat down at a table and laid out a deck of cards for the long night ahead.
 |
|
 |
| Andrew Martin | Versus |
The JLV Fan |
|---|---|---|
| Submission Match | ||
“You Know you’re Right” by Nirvana.
The roof lifted as the fans got behind the former World Champion, Andrew Martin, who came out from the back ready for his matchup. He knew it was going to be a tough match considering he didn’t know who this ‘JLV Fan’ was. Even though everyone speculated that ‘the fan’ was none other than JLV himself playing a very dangerous game with Spike and Boyle. The nbW faithful didn’t know who it was either and the nbW officials hoped it was J. Leslie Voss to avoid legal ramifications if it was really a fan in disguise. Martin made his way into the ring as Nirvana died down, pacing back and forth looking toward the stage.
Denis Leary's 'I'm an Asshole' proceeded to hit the arena as the jeers blasted throughout the arena waiting for JLV or the ‘JLV fan’ to appear. Boyle earlier in the night laid down the gauntlet for ‘the fan’ and the fans and Spike Saunders waited with baited breath to see if he would show up in an actual match against one of nbW’s mainstays. The music died down and no ‘JLV Fan’ arrived as Andrew Martin looked around confused. The fans jeered again as Denis Leary's 'I'm an Asshole' once again blasted over the PA system. Martin again looked to the entrance ramp for his opponent, however this time the ‘JLV Fan’ hoped the guardrail and slid into the ring right behind Martin. He proceeded to blast the former World Champion in the back of the head with a big forearm smash that got more jeers from the fans in attendance. The ‘JLV Fan’ continued with kicks and stomps to the head and shoulder area of the submission specialist.
The ‘JLV Fan’ bends down and slaps Martin in the back of the head trying to humiliate the man. He grabs Martin by the head and shoves him back to the corner. He looks around the arena before laying in a big knife edge chop into Martin’s chest. Of course that got an ever familiar reaction from the fans in St. Louis.
The ‘JLV Fan’ hooked Martin into a sleeper hold in the center of the ring but the fans erupted in cheers, not for the ‘JLV Fan’ but for who was coming down to the ring.
SPIKE SAUNDERS
The seven foot monster was making his way to the ring as the ‘JLV fan’ continued to have the sleeper hold on Martin. Spike finally got in the ring and knocked the ‘JLV Fan’ off of Martin. The ref was trying to break it up but Spike wanted to tear this fan (or is it Voss) apart. Spike nailed the ‘JLV Fan’ with a big right hand that sent the masked man to the mat. The seven-footer went to charge at the fan again but the fan quickly hit Spike with a dropkick to the knee. Saunders dropped to one knee as the fan went for a kick but Spike ducked and grabbed the fan by the throat. At this point the fans in the arena went ballistic thinking Spike was about to plant the ‘JLV Fan’ in through the mat.
However the fan nailed Spike with repeated elbows to break his grasp. The ‘JLV Fan’ fell to the mat and rolled out of the ring as the ref tried to hold Spike back. The ‘JLV Fan’ hoped the barricade and walked backwards through the crowd for a quick escape. He pointed to Spike in the ring who was seething.
Your Winner by Result of Interference, the JLV Fan!
| Z-Awesome |
|---|
“Ah just the man I was looking for,” called forth resident interviewer C.G. Gaines. Yes folks there is someone else besides Trent. Quite a few actually. “Do you have a moment?”
He rushed up to the masked man before him and waited as whilst he turned towards him: “A few.”
“Wonderful. Zed, I had hoped to gain a few words with William Arthur Reagan, but he is rather busy preparing for his tFZ fight, and Alexandre Michelle has not yet been seen in the arena. I am glad I found you however. You likely already realize this but the first question on my plate and those around the arena is what you and your fellow winners were awarded for that battle royal this past show.”
“I have been told that the award will come to pass at a later date. It also does not help that I won alongside William and Alexandre.”
Gaines chuckled. “This is true. I imagine the boss has to rework whatever method of recourse he had in mind, to situate the three of you.”
“Likely so my dear pal. The people out there remember me well from my first run in the nBW. Back when I was on a hot streak, winning each and every match against the various ensembles that Michael O’Dell could come up with. But, when it came to the big dawgs, I failed. I will honestly say that those failures turned my outlook around.”
“You obviously were not deterred for long.”
“Oh I was. Nearly a year, but the wrestling ring is a harsh mistress. You seek to leave it behind but a couple phone calls, knocks at the door and that missed alimony payment and you realize just what is you left.”
“To many you are an amazing athlete that has not yet gotten the push he deserves. So tell me Z, why-“
“Please, just Zed. I am not Z. I know people think I am or bore resemblance to the All-Star Championship Wrestling caped crusader Z, but I am not. I may however be a fan. But no I am simply a man beneath a mask for good reason. Could it be my looks? Maybe but doubtful. I chose to simply hide my identity much like a Mexican luchadore does.”
“My apologies Zed. Can we expect to see you make a run towards one of the champions anytime soon?”
Zed chuckled: “I would be lying if I said it were not an interest. However for now, No. I will take my shots when presented but I plan to work my way to the top. At my current level, I wouldn’t last fifteen minutes with the likes of J. Leslie Voss, Remy Leroux, Ali Amore, or even the giant. Not sure if I could handle Zatch Rollins on my own either honestly.”
“Honest words from an honest man. I thank you for your time Zed and look forward to seeing you back out in that ring.”
“Thank you.” Zed turned and continued on his way as Gaines gave the signal to cut the feed, visibly disappointed with the result of his interview. But hey at least nobody was knocked out around him like his fellow interviewer McKnight.
| Two Sides... |
|---|
RaVage was warming up backstage when he appeared on camera. The mere sight of the Human Steam engine provoked a round of boos from the live crowd to which Randy Viscel smirked. Overall, he wasn't too bothered by it though.
Terry Renton, nbW's color commentator, spoke to Randy from the broadcasting booth: "RaVage, it's Rents here. How you doing?"
RaVage nodded: "Yeah, I'm good Terry. Ready to be the world champion again that's for sure."
Rents smiled: "I'm with you. Now, Marc Gordon, my idiot of a broadcast partner and these fans aren't so sure RaVage. They think Ali's too young and too fast for you. I say you've got the experience, you're too strong for this kid and you've won the world title more times than him...
Viscel intervened: "And I never lost it."
Gordon piped up: "Yes, we know that."
Terry jumped in: "And he's right. He didn't..."
The delay finally carried over. RaVage butted in: "What's that supposed to mean Gordon? Did I or did I not lose the title OUTSIDE of the ring?"
Marc conceded that point: "You did..."
Rents moved swiftly on: "Case closed. Anyway, my previous question still stands. What do you say to the doubters like Gordon?"
"I say you're right Terry and if I were a betting man, well I am, but if any of you are, you should put your money on RaVage. This punk, Ali Amore, is a jumped-up junior who I've already beaten. This match shouldn't even be taking place and I blame Boyle that we're even here tonight in this position but it don't matter. I've done it once. Twice is no skin off my nose."
Gordon rolled his eyes while Rents resumed: "RaVage, you're in a steel cage tonight. The boss says it's to prevent outside interference. Will the cage alter the match in any way?"
With his arms folded, Randy spoke matter-of-factly and arrogantly: "It'll stop that limey Keegan from poking his nose into my business. Ali will have nowehere to run and nowhere to hide. No chance of running to his teacher. If anything, the only difference it has on the match in my eyes is it means Ali Amore will get an even bigger beating that he first thought he would."
"RaVage, you've been the world champion twice and tonight, you'll make it three. You're an nbW legend and one of my favourite wrestlers, certainly one of a select few with any character or class around here. Any final words before you beat Amore later on tonight?"
"It's my time again. The time has come for RaVage to be the man around here again. I never lost the world title when I was last champion and it's going to be the same again, I guarantee it. I will leave nbW as its champion and ride off into the sunset as the greatest wrestler in history. Tonight is step one. I'll go through Ali and ten other men if I have to. Why? To get back what I deserve, to get back what I never lost and to get back what I'll never lose again...
"My world title."
RaVage's image was replaced by Ali Amore on the EpiCenter and jeers were substituted by cheers. It was Marc Gordon's turn to talk to the other participant in tonight's main event: "Firstly, I'm going to ttell the fans that they won't hear the same garbage from me that came out of Terry Renton's mouth just moments ago. Secondly, I'd like to welcome Ali Amore. Ali, I'll dive straight in: You were the champion and now you aren't. You lost it but you didn't. Do you feel you should be champion right now?"
Ali listened attentitively: "Marc, it's hard to say. I lost the match but I didn't lose fairly. No one except the people here saw that. I can see why Mister Boyle has done what he has. I'm confident in my ability that, with the cage around us, I can beat RaVage once and for all."
Renton jumped in: "Ali, forget what Gordon said about the last interview. Anyway, what I want to know is what makes you think you can beat RaVage? If you ask me, he's had your number every time you've faced each other."
Amore nodded his head: "Yeah, he's had the advantage but he's also had the numerical advantage. He's had numbers on his side. I give RaVage credit, he's tough and experienced, he's not here by accident shall we say. But neither am I. I was champion for almost a year and I was champion this year... not four or five years ago. RaVage is a great competitor and deserves to be here but it's time he stopped living in the past. If he can beat me tonight, he can say whatever he wants but I'm younger, quicker, I hit harder, I'm fitter and, tonight, you're going to realise that I'm better."
Gordon took the reins again: "Ali, you've faced all kinds of styles as champion. There's no question that Spike Saunders has caused you the most problems but some say RaVage is second. Do you agree and if so, why do you think this is?"
Ali again seemed to be in agreement: "Well, Spike has caused me the most problems. That's because he's so big," Amore stated whilst laughing.
He continued: "RaVage is difficult because he's got a lot of power for someone who isn't the biggest guy but neither am I. Everyone says I rely on speed but nobody in nbW has a harder punch than me. I was a good boxer when I was younger so I can mix it up. Keegan told me that if anyone hits you, you hit them twice as hard. I'm going to do that tonight. Other things about RaVage... he's a good all-round wrestler. He has a lot of things in his game but I have more. That's why I think I'll win."
Rents chipped in: "I think you sound cocky."
People booed Terry Renton's assessment but Ali smiled: "It's called confidence. There is a small difference. You can call me cocky if I lose - but I won't lose. Then, you can call me confident."
The fans applauded Amore as Gordon wrapped things up: "Thanks for taking the time to talk to us Ali. Best of luck for tonight."
AA clenched his fist: "Thanks Marc and Terry. My pleasure."
 |
|
 |
| Proteus | Versus |
Dark Ninja |
|---|---|---|
| Submission Match | ||
"This match is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, from Niagara Falls, Ontario, Canada, weighing in at 210 Lbs... he is one half of D-T... Proteus!"
Draw the Line by Aerosmith played as Proteus made his way to the ring, with a focused gleam in his eyes.
"Proteus and Showtime have been proving themselves, week after week, against their rivals the Dream Warriors," Marc Gordon said.
"And yet," Terry Renton was quick to point out, "They weren't in tonight's triple-threat tag match for number-one contendership."
"Indeed," Gordon acknowledged, "Some might speculate that D-T has a long way to climb back to the top, but they did it once before, sharpening their skills against the best nbW had to offer, and I'm sure they remain capable of climbing back to the top all over again."
"Yeah, well, we'll see."
As Proteus stepped into the ring, the thundering strains of "Dream Warriors" by Dokken began to play as the lights dimmed and his opponent appeared at the entrance ramp, without his title belt. He began to timidly make his way to the ring, as though he were nervous about something.
"And his opponent, one half of the current nbW Dynasty Tag Champions the Dream Warriors... Dark Ninja!"
As Ninja stepped into the ring, Marc Gordon said, "Dark Ninja is beginning to see the true threat that lies in D-T. Though they may be far from the tag title contendership now, if DW manages to get through the other teams, they'll have a true challenge awaiting them in the former champions."
"If?" Rents replied incredulously, "IF they get through the other teams? Gordo, you're out of your mind. The Dream Warriors are the end-all be-all of tag team wrestling. They kindle a light of goodness in all mankind that proves them a shining example of tag team wrestlerhood!" The bell rang.
"Well, opinions may vary of that kindling light of goodness, but it can't be denied that DW got to their position by being ferocious competitors who are able to back up their claims in the ring. We'll see some of those skills on display as soon as these men stop circling each other."
Indeed, the two competitors had spent an inordinate amount of time circling one another, each seeming to dare the other to take the first shot. Dark Ninja in particular did not seem sure what to do with himself, while Proteus began to sense the hesitation on his opponent's part and began to goad Ninja into striking first.
Gordon reminded the viewers, "Remember, fans, the theme tonight is submissions... Proteus or Dark Ninja is going to have to force his opponent to tap out. Proteus is certainly capable of dealing and accepting an inhuman amount of punishment but Ninja has a knack for finding an opponent's secret weakness and exploiting it for all it's worth."
Just as he said this, Dark Ninja captured Proteus in the opening move of the match - a side headlock so prolonged that a network show would have to go to commercial for its duration.
"See this, Gordo? This is psychology," Rents proclaimed, "Dark Ninja has Proteus right where he wants him."
"Sure, Rents," Gordon said, "I'm sure this is all part of Ninja's formidable plan he was bragging about earlier."
"Everything is part of the plan, Gordo. That's why it's a plan."
Proteus shrugged off the headlock and whipped Dark Ninja against the ropes. Ninja ducked a clothesline attempt, but Proteus caught him with a back kick, stunning him and taking him down with an armdrag. Proteus wrung the arm and Ninja began to seem vulnerable and uncomfortable.
"Ninja, unable to keep control of this match," Gordon said.
"Just you wait, he's working the angles here."
Proteus lifted Ninja back to his feet and whipped him to the corner. Proteus charged in after him, but Ninja slipped through the ropes and caught Proteus with a springboard dropkick. Ninja began to work a long and excruciating-looking wristlock on Proteus.
"Do you see that? That's the submission expertise of Dark Ninja!" Rents exclaimed.
Gordon corrected him, "No, it's really more of a standard rest hold. He's more likely biding his time, trying to figure out his next move."
Rents objected, "You don't know what you're talking about, that's a devastating maneuver."
Proteus fought his way out of the wristlock with a legsweep. He dropped a leg on Ninja's torso, then rolled him over and began to stomp at his foe's back. He held Ninja up for a bow and arrow submission, which prompted the crowd to cheer. Ninja struggled frantically, but would not submit. Proteus released the hold and went back to working on Ninja's back. Ninja threw a feeble chop that Proteus easily dodged. Ninja, nonplussed, ran the ropes and rebounded with a cross body block, which Proteus caught and converted into a torture rack. The crowd cheered for Ninja to tap.
Gordon commented, "Proteus, showing some surprising strength in his ability to heave Dark Ninja around like that. Granted, these are some of our smaller competitors, but we rarely see Proteus manhandle an opponent in this way. He usually finds a more cunning strategy to overcoming physical discrepancies."
"Is that your way of saying he cheats?" Rents said.
"Of course not. It's my way of saying he's a smart wrestler."
"Whatever. His hubris will be his downfall."
"That all remains to be seen," Gordon said as Proteus whirled Dark Ninja around for a tilt-a-whirl backbreaker.
Proteus backed Ninja into the turnbuckle and rammed him with shoulder thrusts, then backed him up further onto the top rope... for a massive superplex! The crowd came unglued!
Proteus was worn out on the mat but Ninja was certainly in no better shape. The two men struggled to get to their feet. As ninja threw a feeble kick Proteus' way, Proteus spun him around and and threw him with a big German suplex! Ninja was tossed so hard he landed on his stomach. Proteus stepped over his downed body and applied a camel clutch.
Ninja writhed in pain for a minute or two, before finally screaming out, "I submit!"
The bell rang and Brent Williams announced "Here is your winner... Proteus!" but something rang hollow to the winner. He grabbed Dark Ninja by his mask and pulled... only to reveal the mask of El Avestruz del Relampago!
"What the--?!" Marc Gordon cried out in surprise and alarm. "I knew there was something off about Dark Ninja this match... he subbed out for El Avestruz!"
"Mwahaha, all part of the plan!" Rents cackled, as though he were in on the whole thing.
"Oh yeah? If this is such a brilliant plan, what happens next?"
"Something awesome, no doubt."
Proteus stood in the ring as the real Dark Ninja appeared on the entrance ramp, apparently to come down to the ring to fight Proteus.
Gordon wondered, "Wait, I'm confused. Was El Avestruz just out here to soften Proteus up? Was that the 'plan' Are we going to get a real match here?"
Ninja, however, stopped just outside the ring. Proteus attempted to command him into the ring, but he was so distracted by this endeavour that he didn't noticed Ace Creede slipping in the ring from behind, dropping Proteus with his finisher, the Ace up the Sleeve!
As Dark Ninja applauded this action, the camera cut backstage to reveal Spade Creede and Psycho teaming up to knock Showtime around. Psycho threw him into a vending machine, Spade stomped him, Psycho picked him up and Spade rammed him into the concrete wall. Psycho dragged him back to his feet and threw his head through a car's driver side window, pressing his forehead against the horn, making an obnoxious "honnnnnnk" sound. Spade smacked Showtime's head into the hood of the car and the two were separated by officials just as things were getting out of hand.
"Good lord," Gordon said with some disgust, "The Dream Warriors have recruited the Creedes as their assistant thugs! They've crossed the line! They claim not to care about D-T, but look at the lengths they're willing to go to take out the competition!"
"It's just business sense, Gordo!"
"The Creedes won't be facing DW for the titles, but they're doing the next best thing by becoming their allies! The battle lines are being drawn in nbW's tag division!"
Your Winner by way of Submission, Proteus!
| Smoking is Bad for the Health |
|---|
”Yes sir.” The outside door flung open as the next head trainer stepped outside for some fresh air. Kicking his heel against the frontside of the wall he leaned back and withdrew his pack of cigarettes. “Michael this, Michael that. Seriously. I was FIVE years clean. Five. Then I get promoted and everything has gone to hell.”
He let out a deep sigh as he the bud of his cigarette and held it at the base of his lips momentarily.
CLANG
O’Dell turned to the left where he had heard the noise but nothing was there aside from some thrown out cleaning equipment and broken ring ropes.
CLANK
This time he knew something was making that noise. He spun around and started walking towards the source to find a single washing pail for maintenance. “Why would-“
He stopped dead in his tracks as he had turned to walk away.
“Michael,” spoke the low creepy voice of the monster whose chest O’Dells head was now inches from.
Michael slowly backed away: “What do you want Torment? You heard Boyle. Are you willing to risk being fired?”
Torment cackled a small laugh: “Fired? From all around it is the outside seen. Torment is not within the confines of the arena.”
O’Dell’s face dropped to a ‘oh-shit’ recourse realizing that this was true.
“Dear, dear Michael. Why do you cower in place?”
“Cower?” he barked. “I do not cower. Are you forgetting the pain and suffering I put people through back in the WWR as The Executioner? I was their Xtreme Champion not due to skill alone but fear from the other competitors. The very fear that I do not have.”
Another cackling laugh. “You are but a vessel holding life within. A single cut and that life will ooze out. A deep cut and it will pour.” Torment stepped forward and leaned in closer towards O’Dell. “A severed limb, irreplaceable. And if Torment were to remove your head from your body. Death.”
Michael groaned. Sure he wasn’t afraid. Not of Torment. Death now, that is a separate story.
He had his attention.
“It would be in your best interest to talk with Torment.” Spoke the monster as he backed away. “For the sake of your fleshling followers Desiree and Tommy. Does Michael disagree?”
“LEAVE THEM ALONE!” yelled out O’Dell as he charged into Torment and found himself shoved into the concrete wall with one hand held roughly around his neck and the other at the base of his chest.
“Torment comes in all shapes and sizes. To all shapes and sizes. Be forewarned young Michael.” He pulled back his hand but still held him by the throat. “Torment however has no reason to harm you or them; should you talk.” He lowered him to the ground and backed off a few steps while O’Dell regained his composure.
“Fine, what do you want?” he asked angrily only to get no response off the monster. “Well, out with it?”
“I am afraid it is not Torment that wishes to talk with you, Mister O’Dell. I however would like to have a chat.”
Another masked figure approached from the parking lot, dressed in what looked like a business suit but with a complete mask over his head, divided down the middle.
Michael shoved aside and pushed himself to his feet: “And who the hell are you now?”
The figure stopped and waited in place as O’Dell walked up to him with a purpose in mind. “Start talking or I will-“
“I assure you Mister O’Dell, there will be plenty of talking. Unfortunately now is not the right time.” He shook his head. “If would be so kind Torment.”
CLANK
O’Dell fell face first into the concrete as Torment tossed the lead pipe to the side, picking him up and throwing him over his shoulder.
“Let us depart.” Spoke the figure as he lead the way to their destination amidst the car lot. O’Dell however still had some fight in him and struggled.
“Let me go,” he managed to fire off a sound knee to the side of the head of Torment causing him to drop him. He rushed at the other man only to be swept back up and with one swift move his back was slammed into the side of the production truck.
“What the hell,” called out a voice across the lot. “Hey you two, what are you doing to the truck.”
“Oh my. It appears our time is up.” Torment dropped O’Dell back into the truck with a second slam. “Till we meet again Michael. There are always two sides to every encounter. For this encounter, I am the Harbinger.”
As a group of security lead by the truck driver charge across the lot Torment and Harbinger walk off into the darkness.
It seems likely that Torment found himself an ally… or was he found?
 |
|
 |
| Ali Amore | Versus |
RaVage |
|---|---|---|
| Steel Cage Match For the World Heavyweight Championship |
||
Trent McKnightstroked his chin and looked into the camera: “Slam 5 will go down as a landmark in nbW history but it hasn’t finished just yet. On a night where every bout has been decided by a submission, you knew the main event just had to buck that trend, didn’t you?
“On Slam 3, Ali Amore had his title defence against RaVage wrapped up only for the live feed to go down. Thereafter, no one, except those lucky enough to be in the crowd, saw John C. Willis interfere and essentially hand RaVage his third world title reign.
(Various highlights of that contest are replayed to the viewers in a montage.)
Thaddeus Boyle failed to recognise that and stated that while RaVage had required help in his quest to win the belt, he could no longer view Ali Amore as his champion either.
(A freeze frame of Thaddeus’s segment on Slam 4 when he announced the world title was vacant is shown to the viewers.)
Which brings us to this.
Cage matches in the past were designed to keep the combatants INSIDE and nullify any intruders or outside interference. They were also decided by pinfall, not by climbing out over the top or simply by walking through the door.
(Close-ups of the roofs, outside and inside of the cage are all illustrated in black and white.)
For that reason, Ali Amore and RaVage will fight under these rules. They’ve been boxed in so that John C. Willis, WAR, Keegan, Tom, Dick and Harry can’t prove to be the decisive factor in deciding who will walk away with the most prized possession in the promotion.
(A picture of the nbW heavyweight championship belt.)
No, they’ll have to do it themselves.
Therefore, pinfall or submission will do.
No disqualification.
No time limit.
No climbing out or walking away.
No outside intereference."
Tentatively, the two superstars negotiated a regular tie-up which led to RaVage outsmarting Ali courtesy of a hammerlock. However, mere seconds later, Ali countered that and had a hammerlock of his own in place, forcing his opponent to the corner where the referee asked for a clean break. The Colombian obliged but RaVage, always the opportunist, tried a sneaky elbow but on this occasion, Ali did see it coming and his speed advantage allowed him to avoid contact.
Ali glared at RaVage and they came together again for another tie-up and this time Amore assumed the early initiative with a side headlock. Yet again, there was a quick counter to it as RaVage pushed the export off and into the ropes, kneeling down, allowing Amore to cris-cross, come back to which RaVage showed off with a lovely leapfrog. As Amore shot back towards him, Randy went to the well again but Ali anticipated it and caught Viscel with a wonderfully-executed atomic drop, embarrassing the former two-time titleholder and garnering approval and support from the audience in the process.
Pissed off, RaVage was back up straightaway only to be put down again as Ali’s pace came into play again and the renowned high-flyer took the veteran to ground with a headlock takedown. Soon enough, the South Dakota Dynamo jockeyed for position and inevitably countered with a headscissors but Amore re-countered by leaping to his feet.
While the gesture was appreciated by the fans, it wasn’t admired by RaVage, who also exploited the South American’s showmanship by getting himself into the position to punish Amore’s moment of arrogance with two chops that echoed around the arena. From there, RaVage whipped Ali into the opposite set of ropes, well tried to, but Amore was still too strong at this stage and reversed it. RaVage walked straight into a hurricanrana, which also led to the first fall attempt of the match, barely registering two.
Patiently, not that he had to wait too long, Ali was ready for RaVage to get back to a vertical base and knew he’d be seething. He was ready for that and went straight back to the headlock with a second takedown and the fans clapped in unison. On this occasion, Randy couldn’t utilise the headscissors and smacked the canvas in frustration as Amore effortlessly avoided his futile attempt and instead applied further pressure.
Eventually, Viscel was upright, though still trapped. He escaped the Colombian’s clutches by repeatedly firing in stern elbows to the breadbasket, four in total, before the Superstar of Bogotá could no longer hold him. RaVage ran the ropes, only for Ali to turn the tide and leapfrog him. His return to the middle of the ring was telegraphed and Amore, faster than lightning, voluntarily dropped down to the mat and met RaVage with a gorgeous monkey flip that virtually sent RaVage crashing into the cage, but at the last minute, he hit the ropes instead.
Viscel staggered to his feet and was breathing hard, seemingly not knowing where he was, barely able to stand and only being held up by the top rope. He resembled a drunk and Ali was keen to capitalise…
SMASH!
OOOOOH!
That was the sound of the South American, not the South Dakotan, hitting the steel-cage feet-first. In the nick of time, Viscel had elevated the youngster so high into the air that he needed his passport to take the bump.
Ali was on the apron, his legs visibly shaking, as he became the victim of steel. There wasn’t a lot of space between the squared circle and the structure, Amore lying there as if he’d just had his nightly snooze disturbed by a sleep-walking sumo.
RaVage stepped between the ropes and helped Ali up, though not out of the good of his own heart. No, he had evil intentions in mind and he showed them to the world as he used the cage as his tag team partner, lifting Ali into the air and smashing his knee into one of the lower bars. The impact could be heard clearly, even those in the back row cringed, as Ali winced and wailed. Not as much as he did the second time, when RaVage did it again, and then left Amore laying like he was in the gutter.
Viscel smiled. He had enjoyed that and his strategy was to clearly ground the usually airborne Amore. If he clipped his wings, otherwise known as his legs, then he couldn’t fly (or harm one) and most of his signature spots would essentially be nullified.
SaVage, and he was showing signs of being one, stepped back into the ring where he was admonished by the official, though he didn’t listen to it nor did he care, and brought the Bogota-born babyface back to his feet and set him up for a suplex. After an initial block, RaVage dropped two bombs on the back of Ali’s neck, which was susceptible too, and also weakened his left leg with a swift kick to the point of the knee and a second to the shin. Ali fell, his defences were now down too, and RaVage did another take. This time, he hauled Ali’s ass up into the air and held him there for six seconds or so. Before bringing him back down to earth, he bounced Ali’s leg off the top rope and then floated over to hook the same weakened pin…
1
2
That was all he got but there was no question that the two-time world champion was making inroads. The tempo of the match suited him, he was now dictating it and he had two parts of the body to decimate, a couple of targets he could zoom in on to achieve victory. V for Victory.
Ali was cruelly woken up by an elbow to the inside of the leg and howled in anguish as RaVage literally jumped on his leg, utilising his whole frame, and Ali’s grimace told the story. Another three kicks didn’t help matters either and they served as a precursor…
To the figure four.
RaVage looked Ali dead in the eye and got off in seeing Amore pull his own hair, desperately trying to ignore the excruciating pain but unable to do so. The 4th Emergency Service needed someone of that ilk himself as he started to fade; his shoulders slumped and enabled RaVage to record a two-count. RaVage slapped Ali and urged the official to ask Ali if he wanted to pack in but the South American answered every call with a defiant no.
1…
2…
Ali pulled himself up as if he’d just entered a boiling hot bath and was slowly easing himself in. He refused to look at RaVage, focusing on escape, but he still succumbed to another 2-count. Through gritted teeth and urged on by the crowd, Ali waved his fist to his fans, thanking them, telling them to believe and also encouraging them to give him that little bit extra. Randy shook his head in disbelief as Amore started the fightback, hurting himself with every turn, twist and wriggle. Slowly but surely, egged on, Ali turned RaVage and countered the extremely painful hold, one of the sport’s most tried and trusted, putting all of the pressure onto RaVage. After several seconds, much to the crowd’s chagrin, Randy was able to reach the ropes but Ali was also grateful if truth be told to get out with his limbs intact as the two men broke the hold by rolling underneath the apron.
RaVage pulled himself up as Ali rolled back in – though not for long. Randy repeatedly kicked him, alternating between head, neck and leg, totalling ten in total until Ali’s head was draped delicately between the two bottom ropes. At that point, RaVage took a run-up and deposited his foe to the floor again with a hard dropkick.
Not willing to give him a minute’s piece, Viscel followed suit and lifted Ali’s leg again into the air only to bring him crashing down again. He didn’t use the cage this time. No, he had to make do with the apron. Needless to say, it wasn’t any consolation for Amore, who was suffering a great deal.
Amore was hugging the apron, almost using it like it was a walking stick to remain upright. RaVage watched – and laughed – as the Colombian climbed up onto the apron. He couldn’t do anything, he couldn’t fly, and so what was the point? Plus, he was only putting himself through even more pain, needless pain, pain he could do without. Randy stopped laughing when the Colombian kicked him a couple of times. As he turned his smile upside down and into a frown, the Human Steam Engine, who had steam coming out of his ears, grabbed the cruiserweight and brutally slammed him to the floor below.
Boos ensued as RaVage flexed his muscles, posing and pointing to his biceps as if to reaffirm his superhuman strength. Meanwhile, Amore’s cause had been dealt two further blows, his neck and leg both connecting with the floor. The only comforting thought is that it was padded, rather than smacking cold, hard concrete. Not that I’d try telling him that right now.
RaVage was proud of his handiwork but the South Dakotan, noted for his strength in spite of his relatively small size, had a dynamic game that permitted him to punch far above his weight and hang with competitors of all levels. He wasn’t finished yet and neither was Ali, though there was a sense of scepticism in the air that Randy would prevail tonight, particularly if he kept this up.
He had every intention of doing so as he set Amore up for an Irish Whip…
SMASH!
Ali had hit the steel, knee-first.
Steps, not the cage.
RaVage pointed at Ali as if he was nothing, which provoked a negative response from the crowd, while some sections were silent. To be fair to Viscel, he had made Amore look like he wasn’t worthy of being in the same ring or steel cage as him on this performance.
With the steps Ali’s 212-frame had shifted, Randy picked them up and raised them above his head…
CRACK
CRACK
CRACK
CRACK
CRACK
Five times, he brought the steel steps down onto Ali’s injured left leg, which now had to be in bits and barely still attached to his body. The youngster’s yells increased with each strike and he must’ve been grateful at hearing RaVage toss them to one side, a signal that the punishment had ceased.
Or had it?
Ali was crawling and every time he appeared to be making progress, SaVage squashed him like a bug, kicking him in the head or nudging his neck with a boot. Eventually, RaVage dragged him up and hung him out to dry over the remaining steel stairs.
Viscel now stood on the same steps, and stood over Ali, dominant, showing his dominance with his outstretched arms. Further jeering was enough to tip him over the edge and he opted to take it out on the man they admired, the man that stood between Randy and an unprecedented third nbW title.
RaVage forced Ali’s head between his legs (no, not in that way) and everyone rose, not that they wanted to see Amore hurt, but in anticipation. Surely, Amore would reverse this with a backbody drop, ironically the move that led to his own downfall?
No, he wouldn’t…
PILEDRIVER!
ON THE STEEL STEPS!
The South American’s skull cracked and the fans gasped. That was the cherry on top of the carnage cake. That was the straw that broke the Colombian’s neck. That HAD TO be the move that would be the difference between two and three world title reigns.
Well, it definitely would’ve been in a falls-count-anywhere outing.
But the pinfall had to happen inside the ring, regardless of the cage around it.
And, Ali was out of it. He looked like he was drugged up to the eyeballs.
Frantically, desperately, Randy attempted to lift Ali up but he was dead weight. After several seconds of struggling, he managed to put the kid up on his shoulders, manoeuvre him to the apron and roll him underneath the bottom rope. After he’d completed that, he quickly followed and was barely five seconds behind his opposite number, leg hooked and waiting to be crowned champion…
ONE…
TWO…
NO!
NO!
NO!
Barely, but significantly, Ali had refused to love by raising a shoulder at 2 and nine tenths. RaVage couldn’t believe it but the crowd dared to believe… Ali was still in it to win it.
Frustrated, RaVage covered the Colombian again, only to be denied at two and a half. He then mounted him and rained in punches, scoring with seven or eight in total…
1…
2….
Kickout!
He then banged Ali’s head off the canvas, pulling his hair at the same time, half a dozen times…
1
2
3?
No.
RaVage, livid, decided to question the referee’s counts but the man in the middle was adamant that he’d been fair and consistent. Realising he wasn’t getting anywhere by arguing, he motioned to the crowd that it was over and climbed to the outside, taking his time and he could afford to given that Ali wasn’t moving a muscle.
Just as he had less than 2 minutes earlier, RaVage had both the fans and his championship destiny in the palm of his hands…
Or so he thought.
The high knee to end all high knees hadn’t ended the match as Amore had rolled out of the way and Randy, who had worked over Ali’s leg for several minutes, had now hurt his own, which didn’t exactly get off scot-free in the figure four exchange earlier either.
The referee started another count, though it wasn’t a pinfall attempt. It ended at six when Randy managed to get to his feet and he dragged Amore up, who had started to move of his own accord anyway but was too tired to complete the journey by himself.
RaVage swung with a right, only to be met by a response, which startled and excited fans in equal measure. Randy replied again, only for Amore to do exactly the same thing. By the third punch, there was a delay and RaVage continued his onslaught with another two, Ali’s fatigue clearly apparent, and prepares the young pretender with another Irish whip…
However, Ali exploded back into life by ruthlessly dropkicking RaVage to the knee. RaVage’s face was a picture as all of his weight fell from underneath him. Mind you, Ali, still struggling obviously, was determined to make him pay further and scrambled to his feet, the fans applauding him as he did so. He didn’t waste any more time, not this time, as he bounced off the ropes, dropkicking RaVage in the head and as Randy dared to sit up again, quicker than a heartbeat, Ali was rebounding off the opposite set to give him a third dropkick in quick succession to the face.
Three dropkicks led to a two-count but the South American had made massive strides.
Amore pointed to the top turnbuckle and the fans uttered their seal of approval. The consummate risk-taker wasn’t making any exceptions, not even today after taking a hell of a beating and with the stakes so high. Speaking of high, here he was, high on adrenaline and also on the top strand ready to deliver…
SOMERSAULT LEGDROP!
It landed. But was it the most sensible move?
Judging by the Colombian rolling around in the floor, clutching his leg and unable to execute a cover…
You’d have to say no.
Both men were down. The referee got up to seven before Ali summoned up enough strength to crawl over there like a slug and drape a hopeful arm over the beating chest of Randy Viscel…
Two and a half.
That’s all Ali could muster. The official counted again, and again, he got to 7. This time, it wasn’t only Amore who was up on his feet.
Ali struck first.
RaVage, not the emperor, struck back.
Ali scored with a second right.
So did RaVage.
Amore hit his hat-trick.
As did RaVage.
Ali nailed him with a 4th…
And a 5th and a 6th, even a 7th, until Randy fell flat on his back.
Round 2 went to Ali.
He made a gesture to the crowd that this would be it. He was keen to go back to basics, well his basics, and that meant flying first-class. Hopefully, he’d learned his lesson and wouldn’t further injure his pins this time.
Wouldn’t he?
Well…
We wouldn’t find out.
The volume increased, all boos by the way, and Ali was confused until he saw John C. Willis, Keegan’s uglier half-brother, trotting to ringside, presumably to get a better look because his view backstage watching it on a monitor hadn’t been up to the beast’s high standards.
Willis shook the cage but there was no way in. That was why the match had been booked in the first place, the purpose of this all-important championship affair was to keep intruders out. The cell was serving its purpose and everyone had heeded that, except the thick-skulled Willis.
He tried to open the cage at first, blissfully unaware that it was padlocked shut. Then, he banged the door, more style than substance, intimidating Amore as he did so.
Then, Special K, to no entrance music, except for the cheer from the crowd, ran out and chased Willis round the cell for two laps before the beast amazingly got out of harm’s away by scarpering halfway up the cage, taunting Keegan like he were a big cat to Willis’s ape. Quite fitting.
1…
2….
Out of nowhere, RaVage had rolled Amore up but it wasn’t to be. As RaVage was pushed off, Ali dashed to meet him again in the centre of the ring and almost beheaded him with a brilliant spinning heel kick.
He came out of the ring to speak to Special K through the mesh.
“Ali, focus on the match and do what you’ve got to do. John won’t be a factor. I’ll keep him up there.”
“How?”
Keegan hesitated but most people had picked up what he’d meant, Ali included: “I’m going up there.”
Ali was about to plead with his trainer: “Kee…”
The Englishman was quick to cut him off: “It’s the only way you’ll get a fair crack. The cage itself is almost enough, but he might get in here. I have to stop him.”
“Think about yourself.”
Ali’s last words fell on deaf ears. By the time, he’d finished his sentence, Special K already had his hands on the cage, looking only up in order to meet and greet his hideous half-brother on top of the 15 feet structure.
RaVage again capitalised on a temporary distraction, blindsiding Ali with a double axe smash to the back of the head, which was enough to send the South American sprawling through the middle ropes. From inside the ring, RaVage pulled Amore up by the hair and attempted three times to ram his opponent’s head into the mesh. Three times, Amore blocked. Then, he managed to do it himself, sending RaVage’s face straight into the steel, amid the fans’ noise.
Undeterred, though hurt, RaVage tried again but it was all in vain as he just couldn’t stop the Colombian from putting his hands on the steel and preventing the Human Steam Engine from busting him wide open like a water melon.
Finally, Amore did it a second time and RaVage was wobbly and groggy.
Ali’s ruthless streak, buried deep down in his stomach but there nevertheless, came out as his fanbase were able to interact with him…
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
12 + 2 = 14.
Fourteen times RaVage’s face had hit the steel and he flopped, falling to the mat face-first.
Up top, Keegan had arrived and Willis walked towards him but was met by a barrage of pent-up right hands. Nevertheless, not one afraid to take a shortcut, Willis extended a thumb to the Englishman’s eye and then started biting his forehead. The more Special K screamed, the more his half-brother seemed to enjoy it until he suddenly stopped. He stood like an eager quarterback ready to squash anything in his way as Keegan recuperated. When the Briton, who the fans tried to warn, looked up, he was merely a sitting duck as Willis mowed him down with a hard clothesline, virtually causing the cage to shake upon the 272-pound European import making impact with it.
Ali had rolled into the ring and covered RaVage following fourteen shots of steel…
1
2
NO!
It was a ridiculously near-fall, possibly even closer than RaVage after the sequence of moves that culminated in the almighty piledriver on the steps. Both men had proven they were made of stern stuff, scarily so, and weren’t going to lie down at all. They were going to have to be put down – once and for all.
The tide had turned upstairs… UP ON THE ROOF! WHEN THIS OLD WORLD STARTS GETTING ME DOWN…
Enough of that, Robson and Jerome.
On a serious note, Keegan was back to his brawling best and giving Willis what for, repeatedly rattling him with rights and lefts. With Willis stumbling and the crowd firmly behind him, the Newcastle native decided to knuckle-dust down the move he stopped using when John Cena and the WWE nicked the name for it, his famed discus punch otherwise known as…
The ORIGINAL Five Knuckle Shuffle.
Much more appropriate and potent, don’t you think?
That was enough to test the roof’s resolve too. However, with 600 pounds battling it out for supremacy up there, Ali, RaVage and the referee may have every reason to be concerned that the roof may cave in sooner or later.
Ali was on the top strand again and came off it with a majestic, breathtaking crossbody block…
POWERSLAM!
RaVage had used the kid’s momentum against him and hooked a leg…
1
2
NO!
Another near-fall as a claret-clad Human Steam Engine shook his head, no longer possessing the power to even smack the mat in frustration. He was losing blood and his character was questionable but what was undoubted and unwavering was his commitment, desire and hunger to regain the world title that – if he hasn’t already told you – he didn’t lose inside the squared circle.
The world title he almost regained a few seconds ago.
It rested on a knife-edge…
Speaking of them…
CHOP!
WHOO!
RaVage turned Ali’s chest the colour of Randy’s face with one swoop.
But Ali was also determined and fired back with a bodyshot, then a seond, and in the blink of an eye, he’d hit Viscel with seven punches and an uppercut.
Back to square one, the drawing board, basics, whatever cliché you want to use.
They were both down and subjected to the referee’s dreaded 10-count, which was a tough ask at this rate. They should have had a Last Man Standing match in hindsight but that’s another tale.
After taking a lot of punishment, Willis had to take even more as Keegan edged him towards, erm, the edge with each passing blow and Willis was getting more wobbly, understandably so, as the Briton dropped bomb after bomb (not the best choice of words there but sue me – that’s Western culture these days.)
Just as John was getting to the point of seriously worrying about being punched one too many times and falling off the 15 feet high cage, he caught Keegan off guard with a knee to the gut and after 5 seconds of heavy breathing, he forced his nemesis to retreat a bit by unloading some grenades of his own, all directed at the temple, all finding their mark and all hurting his half-brother.
The Indiana Buffalo was gaining confidence and momentum, hitting Keegan so hard with one shot that, despite amazingly not going to ground, the Englishman was forced back five or six paces. Willis ran towards his stepsibling, maybe looking for another lariat, which succeeded in putting him on his ass/arse earlier…
HOLY FUCK!
HOLY FUCK!
HOLY FUCK!
Indeed.
I swear the 15 feet cage moved, so much that Ali, who was in control on ground level after slamming RaVage and setting him up for what one would assume must be a frogsplash, looked up to see Willis spread-eagled on the roof above me.
Yes. If we rewind one moment, John shot towards the Geordie Genius, who used his half-brother’s momentum against him for a roof-moving, earth-shuddering, near ground-breaking…
Spinebuster.
How John’s back wasn’t broken was barely believable.
How the roof wasn’t broken is scarcely logical either.
Nobody gave a shit.
If you were wondering…
Ali missed his frogsplash attempt and he felt like he was going to puke his ribcage up after RaVage raised his legs at the last possible millisecond.
Now…
He was waiting patiently, well unable to contain himself internally, but coolly externally…
The V-sign pissed off the crowd…
Not because it told them to swivel or fuck off.
But because it meant V for Victory.
Ali was vulnerable…
V FOR VICTORY…
Not that vulnerable…
He slipped out of the back door and took RaVage’s legs out from underneath him.
Randy shook his head and held his hands up. Ali looked to the crowd who voiced their approval as Amore held his opponent’s pins – and fate – in his hands…
Ball shot.
That was an additional bonus.
Back to Plan A…
SLINGSHOT INTO THE CAGE!
RaVage was pissed and not in the angry sense. No, he looked like a man who’d drunk 2 bottles of wine, downed 10 shots of whisky, guzzled 8 pints of Guinness, sipped cider, gulped down rum and had finished it off with a fight in a kebab shop.
Stumbling around, Ali cleverly had a schoolboy (not literally) of his own up his sleeve and used it, putting his whole 212-pound frame behind this campaign to get elected, to pick up where he’d left off following his near year-long reign that had been terminated, recently and abruptly…
ONE…
TWO…
THREE…
HAD TO BE!
DIDN’T IT?
No.
The Colombian collapsed in agony and disbelief.
It was the nearest of near-falls. If it was any nearer, I could stop writing.
But I can’t. The Human Steam Engine was still going.
What next?
With the two combatants down, a certain person walked out.
No entrance music.
Blonde hair.
Massive muscles.
Serious face on.
Need any more clues, Sherlock?
Keegan was oblivious. In fact, he thought everything was taken care of as he had Willis on his knees, begging and teetering on the brink of elimination from the Rooftop Royal Rumble.
“I’m gonna take your fucken’ head off Willis. I’m gonna imagine I’m taking a penalty for England in the World Cup final. We’re playin’ the Germans.”
Willis was pleading: “Look. I’m sorry. Can’t we just be friends?”
Keegan chuckled: “Friends? Fucken’ friends? After what you’ve done to me? You’ve been a pile on my arse every single time you’ve been in my life, every time I’ve let you in, every time I’ve given you an inch you’ve taken a hundred miles.”
WAR was scaling the cage. Ali, who had just risen to his feet while RaVage remained folded up, looked up in time to see WAR virtually at the top of the cell. He looked afraid, scared, frightened and terrified. Any adjective connected to the concept of fear described young Amore’s feeling as he was powerless, a bystander, in watching William Arthur Reagan climb the cage like a big cat and mock his size, injuries and age with an agile ascent to the summit.
William was now on top of the cage. Willis was still worried when he saw Reagan out of the corner of the eye, who stared back at him. There was a telepathic understanding immediately. Willis hadn’t seen Reagan, not as far as Keegan knew, and he turned his attention back to the aggressor.
Keegan shouted: “This is it John.”
Special K made twelve baby steps, like he used to do as a kid back in England, when playing penalty shootouts with his friends. He counted to eight or nine in his head when he suddenly felt something behind him.
Flesh.
He’d walked into WAR’s chest.
SMACK!
When he turned round…
He’d walked into a clothesline as well.
Keegan’s head smacked the unforgiving steel and the pain was dull. He’d have a hell of a headache for days to come.
That was literally.
Figuratively, he had an even bigger one…
Two, in fact, in the shape of Willis and WAR.
Ali was pleading with the official to let him out of the cage, trying to find a way, some way, and any way, to get out of the cage and help his mentor, trainer and friend. But the referee didn’t have a key or a clue how to get out. Amore ordered him to get security out here instead but there was nothing no one, seemingly, could do to get Ali out of the cage or to help Keegan, who was now 15 feet in the air with two men who hated him more than anyone in the world.
WAR told Willis to pick Keegan up, which he did. He held his sibling’s arms behind his back as the hall of fame inductee added insult to injury by grabbing Special K by the hairs of his chin and talking down to him, which was inaudible.
Reagan waylaid Keegan with five ultra-stiff punches to the face and head. When he was down, he instructed Willis to ‘let him go’ and unattended, the Englishman fell over. He’d been hit hard, maybe harder than ever before.
Everyone’s eyes were on top of the cage.
Thankfully, Ali had some in the back of his head as RaVage was up and about to blindside him again when Amore turned around, hooked him up and hit him with a DDT.
No cover.
It merely bought him more minutes to watch what was going on above him. He wasn’t a fan by any means but he was just as interested as anyone to see what would happen, though if he had his way, he’d be up there helping his friend, like he had in the empty apartments epic on Slam 2, but he couldn’t despite constantly asking the referee if he could do anything. The only thing the official could do was shrug his shoulders and apologise.
WAR motioned for his cohort in crime to grab Keegan’s legs while he lifted the Englishman’s arms.
“Right. It’s simple. On the count of three…”
Swaying and swinging, it was clear what the evil couple had in mind…
One...
Ali closed his hands and put his hands together.
Two…
He prayed, a gesture repeated by many other members of the audience.
Two and a half…
Would they or wouldn’t they?
Three…
“FANS, RENTS, ARE WE ON? I CAN’T BELIEVE WHAT WE’VE JUST WITNESSED! KEEGAN HAS JUST BEEN PUT THROUGH OUR ANNOUNCER’S TABLE FROM OVER FIFTEEN FEET IN THE AIR! HIS CAREER COULD WELL BE OVER! WAR AND WILLIS HAVE BLOOD ON THEIR HANDS!”
Special K had just taken an extraordinary bump as fans gasped in horror at the sheer evilness of WAR and Willis and what they were prepared to do. Suddenly, the arena was quiet. Upon realising that the dastardly duo were going to go through with their heinous act, Ali slumped to his knees. He covered his eyes with his hands and a camera close-up confirmed that the Colombian was crying. Another camera shot showed that a handful of children were also teary-eyed.
“I’m asking someone backstage to come out… Security, first aid, doctors, can SOMEONE please come out here and help Keegan? He’s not moving, he’s losing a lot of blood and he has broken bones. Those two already have blood on their hands… let’s not join them.”
The official tried to console the Colombian, who was now sitting on the canvas, openly crying and in utter shock.
A team of medics came through the curtain with a stretcher. Thaddeus Boyle was behind them too with another referee. While the medics took the stretcher round to assist Keegan, the second official opened the door and waved his hands repeatedly. Boyle looked over at Ali, who was staring into space, and then whispered into the ring announcer’s ear.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I have just been informed that this match cannot continue. We regret to inform you of this and on behalf of Mister Boyle and No Brand Wrestling, this match has officially been ruled… A DRAW.”
Again, Ali Amore and RaVage hadn’t been able to resolve their issues one way or another.
This time, however, while controversy reigned supreme, no one could boo either Amore or RaVage, who like them or hate them, had given everything they possibly could to regain what they felt was rightfully theirs – the world championship.
Unfortunately, their classic confrontation for the gold has been relegated to secondary status following Keegan’s 15 feet ‘fall.’
After the announcement was made, the fans directed their hatred towards the two wicked men on top of the cage, and they raised their arms in triumph. Some fans even threw objects, such as bottles and coins, but WAR and Willis were safe up there and unwilling to come down until the incredible heat had died down.
The cage had succeeded in fencing Ali and RaVage in.
Criminally though, it failed Keegan and may well have proven to be the downfall of his career first and foremost, and the championship it aimed to settle as a by-product.
As Slam 5 went off air, Keegan was being lifted onto the stretcher. The 35-year-old, whose 36th birthday is just two months away, was about to leave with his 15-year career in tatters following a 15-feet high fall.
He was afforded a round of applause by everyone in the arena…
Except two.
The two bastards who’d done this to him.
Match Ruled a Draw!
CREDITS
The Announcement - Keith
Monumental Night - Dusty
Formidable Plan - Scott
Creede Bros vs FTW vs Myth Legend - Jake
Getting Worried - Keith
Off to Silva Dolla Citay - Jake
A Wager - Dusty
Close One - Scott
Derailed Plans - Dusty
Who is Casanova - Keith
4CW Exhibition: Lexia Hart Versus Xiang - Kori
The. Third. Man. III - K
Are you ready - Jesse
TFZ Championship: William Arthur Reagan Versus Johannes Antonious de Castonovo - K
The Joke's On - Keegan
Caging the Giant - Dusty
Andrew Martin Versus The JLV Fan - Vendetta
Z-Awesome - Dusty
Two Sides... - Keegan
Proteus Versus Dark Ninja - Scott
Smoking is Bad for the Health - Dusty
World Championship Caged: Ali Amore Versus RaVage - Keegan
The Keystone Championship was defended as a part of the NA Championship in an interpromotional match at F.A.T.E?
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