nBW SLAM! Episode V

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."

CUT TO THE RING

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…

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

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!

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…

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…

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…

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!

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…

Moments Later

“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