Fresh! Results6th September 2005
End Of The Line
FEATURING: PADDY O'SHEA
AUTHOR: MICHAEL DOHERTY
The scene opens backstage beside a closed door. The show has not properly started and so things are at their most hectic. Non-wrestling staff are running around frantically in their black and orange coloured t-shirts. The staff however soon scatters leaving only the hint of a presence by the distant murmur of the crowd. Suddenly the sound of casual footsteps is heard and this is soon accompanied by a black shadow creeping from the floor to vertically up the wall.
Paddy O'Shea: Noooow, they tell me aye’m no’ booked. Feckin’ pinheads.
The familiar specimen that is “The Unrepentant Fenian Bastard” suddenly appears from around the first corner of the zigzagged corridor. Wearing a tight white vest with a suspect black leather jacket over the top, he lumbers towards the door, taking a second to frown at the cameraman.
Paddy O'Shea: Feck off would ye?
The camera however stays where it is. Paddy ignores it now instead yet grumbles as he places his left hand on the door handle (with his right one being occupied by a plain sports bag). Paddy walks in and out of view. The lights from the room suddenly flick and Paddy’s shadow can once again be seen on the wall opposite the locker room’s door. After a split second the sound of screaming from inside is heard.
Paddy O'Shea: ARGH! Wha’ the!… Hate!… Ye bastard!… Aye’ll kill ye, ye swine!
Paddy storms out of the room and half jogs down the corridor and past the cameraman. The endings of a shocked face disappear as it finishes being covered by blind rage. The camera swivels back around to the door and moves inside. Nailed onto the wall is a dead pig, its blood splattered everywhere. However, there seems to be a message painted on the wall with the blood just above the pig’s head. A single word… REPENT.
Introduction
FEATURING: DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!, MIGUEL "THE MIDGET" RODRIGUEZ, HANS HEINEMANN
AUTHORS: PIERRE HYDE, DAVE LARKIN AND DAVID HEDLEY
The screen goes to black then fizzles to life suddenly, the letters “AWC” flashing across in a brilliant white light. A moment of silence dominates, then, backed by “Way Away” by Yellowcard, images of AWC's superstars appear, one after the other. The guitar plays softly first, then goes straight into a strong, powerful riff.
I think I'm breaking out
I'm gonna leave you now
There's nothing for me here
It's all the same
Pierce Lavelle is shown delivering his Whiplash finisher on Paddy O’Shea last week on Fresh!, and then holding aloft the Transatlantic title which he has gained for the second time. A pulsating white light continually lights up the screen, with shots of many AWC superstars in action being shown: The Illustrious Face-Eater, Adalia Delorian, Juri Hyobanshi.
And even though I know
That everything might go
Go downhill from here
I'm not afraid
A quick collection of highlights from recent events flash across the screen as the song moves into its chorus. A haystack tumbling onto Steven Xandrous at The Battle Of Britain; the Topman Tackle securing a first win for the T.T.S.; Tim Shipley encountering a cardboard cut-out of Tony Aliso in his locker room.
Way away, away from here I'll be
Away, away, away, so you can see
How it feels to be alone and not believe
Feels to be alone and not believe
Anything
Fireworks, cheering, more fireworks, more cheering, and we’re live in too many countries to count.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Freshers’ fayre on the air!
Miguel Rodriguez: I got the neeeed, the neeeed for speeeed...
Hans Heinemann: David and Miguel are hyped, and that can only be good news! Six matches tonight, including the second bout of AWC versus UWF in the form of Pierce Lavelle vs James Varga... for two title belts.
Miguel Rodriguez: Both the AWC Transatlantic title and the UWF Insert – what?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Whatever. Some UWF belt is on the line too.
Hans Heinemann: We’ll also be taking you back to UWF’s show this Sunday so you can see highlights of the first official AWC versus UWF encounter. Could The Academy work together for the common good against High Society?
Miguel Rodriguez: What else is there, Dooby?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Ooh, lots of mouthrinsing prospects. How about a rematch of Best Of British, eh?
Hans Heinemann: Yes, the foursome of Mike Wade, Andy Murray, The British Bomber and the, er, Welshman who won last time, Adalia Delorian, meet once more in the ring. Can Delorian prove that he’s the best, and grab himself a jump up the card?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I'm backing the Frontier champion, the Scottish King of Cool, here.
Hans Heinemann: And if those two big matches aren’t enough, they’ll be supported tonight by AWC’s first ever Table match! Liam Martin, of The Furious Fists Of God, fights John Kross, who lost to Juri Hyobanshi last week.
Miguel Rodriguez: No, Hans, they change that. It’s not a Table match. They forgot to buy a table.
Hans Heinemann: Seriously…?!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Hyobanshi’s in action too, against Jason Locke, who beat Grady –
Miguel Rodriguez: Who’s gone, gone, gone!
Hans Heinemann: Steven Xandrous, The Farmer and Chris Metal will contest a Three Way Fury as they attempt to settle their differences of recent weeks, and Hate jerks the curtain again – but this time against a somewhat unexpected opponent.
Miguel Rodriguez: THE EDUCATOR!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Damn straight Miggy. This could shape up well indeed... can you believe this is our last night on commentary?
Miguel Rodriguez: We’ll be back!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Someday.
Hans Heinemann: Maybe.
Hate vs The Educator
STIPULATION: SINGLES
REFEREE: MICHAEL RYAN
AUTHOR: DAVID HEDLEY
Hans Heinemann: So, tonight's action will open with Hate, who destroyed Void last week, taking on the now completely dethroned triple crown champion The Educator.
Miguel Rodriguez: And these two have history, as does my beeeeg boy. In the Streets of London match at the Battle of Britain, we all thought Hate had won before The Educator emerged from the wreckage to win the Transatlantic title, his third of the night.
Hans Heinemann: Indeed, and this is his first chance to get reven..
Without any warning, Agoraphobic Nosebleed's "North American Corpse Desecration" begins to grind away at the speakers, filling the audio system with utter aural chaos and interrupting Hans Heinemann. Hate appears in the entranceway, with a black gas mask covering his head, wearing his usual long, black trenchcoat. Alongside him is his head minion, Azagtoth.
Hans Heinemann: ..I hate his entrance music. So loud and inappropriate.
Miguel Rodriguez: Shut up, old man. I bet you watch gardening programmes in your spare time, in a rocking chair, with a pipe and..
Hans Heinemann: (interrupting) Yes, well, let's not get into that. Hate will, however, want to get revenge for his recent loss to the former teacher.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: POTATOES! The Educator has lost a lot recently, and looked very weak last week. This may be more GUINNESS.. one-sided than you might think.
As he walks to the ringside, Hate shouts verbal abuse at the fans through his mask before removing it at the ringside, revealing his painted head. Hate slides into the ring and takes off his trenchcoat before putting both the coat and the mask away, utterly concentrated on the match ahead.
James Brunt: This match is a singles match. Entering first and weighing in at 225 pounds, HATE!
The crowd boo at the mention of Hate, which he simply ignores, leaning on the ropes and awaiting his opponent.
Miguel Rodriguez: If this was a couple of weeks ago, me and my beeeeg boy might of been more excited about this match, with this being the most hated two in AWC.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: But, it isn't, so your beeeeg boy isn't. I hope. Unless you're gay.
Miguel Rodriguez: ...my beeeeg boy has suddenly halved in size.
The lights dim and focus on the big screen. One circle of light stays focused on the big screen as POD's "School Of Hard Knocks" begins to play over the PA System. The immaculate Educator walks through the black veil from the back to a chorus of boos and holds his arms up to the audience, enjoying what he believes to be praise from the audience as he smiles and beams with pride whilst getting pelted with AWC merchandise from the fans.
Hans Heinemann: And here he is, a man who I think could still be a valuable asset to the federation.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: His ego and reputation have taken a bashing lately, though. It took only a minute for him to lose his Transatlantic title.
Educator makes his way to the ring as Hate looks him up and down, appearing to be disgusted with the former Transatlantic champion. Educator rolls into the ring, only to be met by a quickly attacking Hate. The bell rings immediately for the beginning of the match. As Educator tries to get his feet after rolling to the ring, he is met by a quick and powerful boot to his chin, which sends him into the ropes.
Miguel Rodriguez: This match is underway with a sudden attack from the Fifth Horseman.
Hate steps back, allowing the Educator to regain his composure. After he does so, Hate steps back a little more. Educator appears to of had enough of Hate's waiting, and goes to attack him, only for Hate to move. Educator bounces off the ropes, attempting to come back with an elbow to the face, only for Hate to catch him and lift him for a quick Samoan drop.
Hans Heinemann: Samoan drop from Hate, and you can hear the pain he's going through.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: No you can't.
Hans Heinemann: ..What?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: You said that you could hear the pain.. And, that's technically not possible, as pain is a feeling..
Hans Heinemann: Ok, ok, I get the point.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: POTATOES!
Educator makes his way to his feet, and is met by a sudden kick to the face. He just manages to stay up, but after Hate hits him with another straight to the chin, he ends up being knocked onto the rope. Sensing his weakness, Hate charges at Educator, hitting him with a strong elbow to the face, which knocks him straight over the top rope. Aaron Davies begins to make his count, but Educator quickly re-enters the ring, picking himself up and straightening himself down. He makes his way over to the hate, and the two lock up in grappling fashion. Hate wins the grapple and snapmares Educator down, quickly hitting him with a leg drop across his face.
Miguel Rodriguez: My beeeeg boy and I wouldn't like that across our face.
Educator remains down as Hate stomps on him a few times, showing no sign of letting off. He picks up Educator to his feet, whipping him into the turnbuckle, and charging at him. He big boots Masters, making him fall forward a little. Hate gets him into a head scissors, stepping back a little and powerbombing him into the turnbuckle. He turns, scanning the arena, before picking up the fallen Educator again and whipping him off the ropes. As he comes back he meets him with a DDT, driving his face into the floor.
Hans Heinemann: Adam Masters hasn't been able to get off the mark here, and appears to be on his way to another loss, unless he can come back.
Miguel Rodriguez: This all seems a bit suspicious. He was struggling with two less-than-fantastic wrestlers in Jonny Sake and Kris Krimzon, and then two weeks later wins three titles in one night? And then, soon after, he loses them... It doesn't seem right.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Maybe he cheated? GUINNESS!
Hans Heinemann: Oh, and how could he do that?
Miguel Rodriguez: Maybe he took drugs? To try and go a beeeeg boy?
Hans Heinemann: (sighing) I doubt it.
After waiting for a few moments and watching Educator struggling to his feet, Hate moves in again, taking him by the hair and throwing him across the ring with ease. The crowd cheers this a little, and begins a quiet "Educator sucks" chant. Hate ignores the cheers for Educator's losing, probably knowing the fans still hate him, and lifts Educator into an electric chair drop. Upon executing it he appears to have a good chance for the three count, but instead of trying it, he lifts Educator again, and whips him to the ropes. He meets Educator with a superkick, which sends him over the ropes, and onto the ground outside.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Educator is getting completely annihilated here!
Hans Heinemann: Annihilated? When did you learn that word?
Miguel Rodriguez: ..you can talk, he pwned you once tonight already?
Hans Heinemann: Er.. when?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: (imitating Heinemann) "I could hear the pain".
Hans Heinemann: (quietly) ....scheizerkopf.
Aaron Davies, near to the ropes, begins to reach the higher end of his ten count as Educator gets up. What he doesn't notice is Azagtoth behind him with a chair, swinging it, and connecting with the young referee. Davies falls forward, knocked out, as Azagtoth steps back. Hate rolls out of the ring to where Educator is.
Hans Heinemann: What was that for? Azagtoth just stopped a likely winning countout for Hate!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Something gives me the feeling that Hate wants some revenge with the former school teacher.
Hate begins to scour the outside of the ring for weapons as Educator begins to recover. Standing behind Educator, Hate folds up a steel chair, holding it in position behind you. The crowd, enjoying Educator's being completely killed thus far, shout a pantomine-style "Behind you!". Educator, still slightly dazed, turns and is met with a steel chair to the face. The crowd cheers and begins the "Educator sucks" chant again.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Hate is taking the Educator to school here.
The two commentators look at each other, with Heinemann between them, and suddenly fall off their chairs laughing. Hate, near to the commentary table, grabs Rodriguez' chair, folding it and driving it into Educator's rib cage several times. Heinemann fails to laugh.
Hans Heinemann: That wasn't even remotely funny.
Miguel Rodriguez: To school.. ha, ha, h.. uh, where's my chair?
Hans Heinemann: Over there you fool.
Hate continues to slam the chair into Educator, and getting bored, lifts him to his feet. He elbows Educator in the face before whipping him into the crowd. The crowd around the two screams, some booing both, and others shouting profanities at Hate and The Educator. A geeky fan with ginger hair and glasses at the front is holding two heavy-looking books, which Hate notices. He takes the two books off him and pushes him away, which the crowd boos passionately, before proceeding to smash both of them over Educator's head, knocking him down. He tosses the books away toward the commentators.
Miguel Rodriguez: Wha... what's this?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: These books... "A Living Nightmare (Cirque du Freak, Book 1)" "A Question Of Attraction"... what the POTATOES is this?
Hans Heinemann: Sounds like the kind of thing that Educator would read, actually.
Hate continues to stomp on Educator angrily, attempting to get the annoyance of losing the title he assumed he had won to him. Realising that Aaron Davies had begun to recover in the ring, Hate lifts Educator, choke tossing him over the wall and back to ringside. Noticing that Davies hadn't quite come round yet he lifts Educator onto an unused table at ringside.
Miguel Rodriguez: Could he... will he...?
Hans Heinemann: This man is a nutcase. He nearly killed Danny O'Shea. Of course he will.
Hate turns Educator upside down. By now Masters is pretty much completely knocked out. With Azagtoth and the entire arena looking on, he lifts the slightly lighter Brit even higher, so that he is some way from the table. Azagtoth makes his way over with two folded chairs, sliding them onto the table, just under Educator's head.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: He is going to... put him through two chairs, and a table? It could kill him on a bad day?
Miguel Rodriguez: And I'd hardly say his day has been good. Unlike me beeeeg boy.
Hate suddenly drives him down with his finisher, the Eleventh Commandment. The double underhook piledriver sends Educator crashing through the two chairs and the table, Hate unaffected by the slight fall. Educator lies motionless as Hate brushes his ring attire off, looking at Davies who still hasn't fully came around.
Hans Heinemann: Eleventh Commandment! This man is insane... he isn't moving!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Last week he destroyed Void, and now this.. you have to wonder who'll be next on The Fifth Horseman's list.
Hate lifts The Educator, dragging his motionless body into the ring. He leaves it in the middle of the ring as he claps his hands in Davies' face, who appears to be awake enough to figure out what he's doing. The young Welsh referee makes his way over to Educator's body as Hate kneels, cockily putting just one hand over his body to pin him.
ONE..
TWO..
THREE!
Hate stands, kicking Educator's head to simply add the exclamation mark to his sixth federation loss. He looks to Azagtoth, who is at the side of the ring, and simply nods.
Hans Heinemann: You know, I think this might be the past catching up with Educator. You have to remember what he done to the young Kris Krimzon – his career could be over, and now it’s The Educator who isn’t in good shape.
Miguel Rodriguez: I think Paddy O'Shea will be watching this, as my beeeeg boy suggests... now can I have a chair?
The Challenge Is Set
FEATURING: HATE, THE EDUCATOR, AZAGTOTH, PADDY O'SHEA, MINIONS, GYPSIES
AUTHOR: MICHAEL DOHERTY
Despite the match being over, the goliath that is Hate remains in the ring while the battered body of The Educator is being stretchered from ringside. He calls for a mic, which Azagtoth snatches from a stagehand and passes to him. He then turns to face the masses with his red painted face snarling at all onlookers.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Looks like Hate has something to say.
Miguel Rodriguez: It’s getting him to shut up is the problem.
Hate: Look at him…
Hate looks towards the body of The Educator now disappearing from sight from the top of the ramp.
Hate: Look at him… the invincible Educator… the triple champion Educator. The man who ‘defeated’ me at The Battle Of Britain. Robbed me of my rightful title in only the manner a yellow-bellied pig could do.
Hans Heinemann: That is right… Hate completely dominated the Streets Of London match and if there was any justice, he’d be Transatlantic champion.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: He kidnaps people! We can’t somebody like that for a champ. Anyway, he might not have won if Educator had fought…
Hans Heinemann: Are you looking at the same person as me?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Don’t count your sheep before they hatch…
Hans Heinemann: CHICKEN!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: No, you are!
Miguel Rodriguez: I no follow, guys…
Hate now looks around at the crowd as The Educator completely vanishes.
Hate: The other swine Harber thought he could punish me for disciplining him. Void, now Educator… how many more have to be punished for your sin though Harber? Cut the shit Harber and book me in my rightful place, or you’ll be the next one being stretchered off.
Hans Heinemann: He doesn’t often resort to such crude swear words.
Hate drops the mic and moves for the ropes however he stops before he reaches them as Paddy O’Shea suddenly appears from the top of the ramp to a huge pop. He is obviously fuming and chooses to neglect the crowd’s chants for the time being. Instead he raises the mic in his hand to his lips.
Paddy O'Shea: Think yer funny do ye?
Hate stares at Paddy blankly then smiles slightly to irritate him.
Hans Heinemann: What’s his game?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Paddy O’Shea, extraordinaire, here to kick some foreign ass!
Hans Heinemann: TAXI!
Paddy O'Shea: Ye thought ye were funny nailing a pig t’ me wall… one of yer sick kicks is it? Thought ye’d get a reaction out o’ me? Well Hate, well done, ye did…
Hate leans over the top ropes and beckons for Paddy to come down to the ring as he snarls profanities at him. Instead Paddy presses on.
Paddy O'Shea: Me and you in a match t’ end this… t’ end this shite tha’ aye have t’ put up wi every week. It’ll be a proper one-on-one t’ end it. No matter wha’ the outcome, it’ll be finished… so wha’ ye say big man?
Hate looks once again blankly at Paddy then spits on the ground. However he refuses to give any other indication of any answer.
Paddy O'Shea: ANSWER ME YE BASTARD!
Once again Hate remains silent.
Miguel Rodriguez: Hate backing away from a match with Paddy? Is he afraid of the popular Irishman?
Hans Heinemann: Of course not, he’s trying to bait Paddy down to the ring, just wait and see. That idiot will fall for anything.
Paddy O'Shea: So… ye won’t answer me? Fine, aye’ll have t’ beat one from ye.
Paddy suddenly drops the mic and runs to the ring where Hate stands waiting. Paddy slides into the ring and is met with a stern kick to the spine which is followed by another two. However Paddy swipes Hate’s legs on the fourth attempt and he falls to the mat. The two men bounce to their feet and throw quick punches to each other. Each punch from each man is followed up by the other. Suddenly Hate’s minions appear from the top of the ramp and they rush to the ring.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Get out o’ there Paddy!
Hans Heinemann: No, stay awhile! It’s a party, haha…
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Shut the feck up!
Just as the minions approach the ring, Paddy’s family members begin to dive form all angles form the crowd and a brawl begins outside the ring leaving Paddy and Hate to brawl inside the ring. Seconds later and a horde of security appears. They rush to the large crowd with four or five sliding into the ring to split Hate and O’Shea up. However there seems to be great difficulties in this task.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: They seem to be having problems. Folks, we’re going to cut… somewhere… and hopefully when we come back, this mess will be cleared up.
Sunday Afternoon Supremacy
THE ACADEMY VS HIGH SOCIETY (UWF)
AUTHORS: JAMES VARGA AND PIERRE HYDE
Hans Heinemann: We’re in for –
Heinemann starts coughing vigorously.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Ooh, Hans needs help. Miggy, jerk him out while I intro.
Silence.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Right... well, on Sunday, UWF held their regular Sunday Afternoon Supremacy, but this Supremacy was ANYTHING BUT regular as The Academy reformed under Pearl’s orders for one match representing the AWC against UWF’s High Society! Let’s take you back a couple of days. Could they pull out the win?
*poof*
DING! DING! DING!
Rick: AWC wrestlers just poofed into the ring~!
Larson: Wow. Cool effects.
[Shipley starts off with Face-Eater, who is now dressed as Moore complete with wig. Brooks looks a little confused about his partner but then simply shrugs his shoulders and decides to go it with Face-Eater as his partner.]
Rick: I wonder if we'll actually have two wrestlers in the ring at once this time?
[Brooks attacks Shipley from behind but Lavelle comes over and clotheslines him down to the mat.]
Larson: Nope.
Rick: Is Face-Eater UWF in this match?
Larson: I guess...
[Lavelle grabs Brooks into a Inverted Suplex. Face-Eater, trying to out do Lavelle, does the same to Shipley.]
Rick: What is this? Inflict more pain than your opponent night or something?
Larson: Nah. Just trying to get the highlight of the night award.
[Lavelle and Face-Eater look at each other and then tie-up. Lavelle grabs Face-Eater and Gorilla Press Suplexes him across the ring!]
Larson: Feel the rather of Lavelle~! RAR!
[Shipley and Brooks back up and they start brawling. Shipley quickly turns it into a wrestling match and nails a Belly to Belly Suplex on Brooks.]
Rick: Nice move there by Shipley.
Larson: He doesn't normally do that, but I think this match is time to show off something different to throw your opponents off their game.
Rick: That's true.
[Shipley back to his feet and grabs Brooks into a Camel Clutch.]
Rick: Shipley going for it all early!
Larson: I love this. I really do.
[Face-Eater back up and Lavelle tries to grab him but Face-Eater does a standing side switch and goes behind Lavelle. He then German Suplexes Lavelle to the mat.]
Rick: Nice wrestling in this match thus far.
Larson: We haven't seen much of that in the UWF here lately.
[Face-Eater back up and he saves Brooks from Shipley just as Brooks is almost ready to tap out.]
Rick: Face-Eater making the save for his partner.
Larson: Just in the nick of time too. Face-Eater turning into a good partner for Brooks.
[Face-Eater and Brooks grab Shipley and perform a double stomach buster on him.]
Rick: What a move by High Society mach Deux!
Larson: This match is getting good.
[As High Society gets up to celebrate, they turn around into a double clothesline from Lavelle.]
Rick: Well, that didn't last long, did it?
Larson: COME ON UWF! KICK THE AWC'S ASS!
Rick: Can't you be an unbiased announcer?
Larson: There's unbiased announcers?
[Lavelle pulls Brooks to his feet and hits a piledriver. Shipley gets up and nails an elbow drop to the back of Face-Eater's head.]
Rick: This looks like the beginning of the end for High Society mach Deux.
Larson: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO~!
[Lavelle pulls Moore to his feet and pushes him to Shipley. The Academy then hits The Momentum Killer on Moore! Lavelle covers.]
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
DING! DING! DING!
Tommy Waters: Your winners...THE ACADEMY OF THE AWC!
Rick: An impressive win by the Academy.
Larson: The AWC's pwned both them and Varga this week.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: ...That was the whole match?
Hans Heinemann: It seems so.
Miguel Rodriguez: I thought we were just getting highlights?
Hans Heinemann: I don’t think that match had one.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: They totally no-sold Face-Eater’s clever ploy? (In case you didn’t know, he disguised himself as a High Society member earlier in the show.)
Hans Heinemann: That’s right.
Miguel Rodriguez: They use square brackets?
Hans Heinemann: Correct.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Their commentators don’t have full names?
Hans Heinemann: Apparently not.
Miguel Rodriguez: They put capital letters on the beginning of wrestling moves?
Hans Heinemann: Sickening, isn’t it.
Heroes And Villains
FEATURING: SARAH KENNEDY, MADDY ESTELLE, DAVID "PEARL" HARBER, PIERCE LAVELLE
AUTHOR: LARA CLARKE
We open inside the Odyssey Arena, Belfast. The crowd are on their feet, chanting, booing, cheering and in-between these usual jobs; they order drinks, food and the occasional popcorn from the vendor on feet. They are seated patiently and have enjoyed copious amounts of fun-filled action from the previous matches. Doooooblin Dave, Miguel Rodriguez and Hans Heinemann are seated comfortably, idling the surrounding fans and the glory of being part of something this big.
The camera focus, blurs, just ever so slightly and we know get a glimpse at the inside of the backstage area. Many are busy at work, with cabling, lighting, sound-effects, pyrotechnics and which coffee to order. Sarah Kennedy, Maddy Estelle and some other staff members sit patiently around the place, watching the show unfold. David "Pearl" Harber is strolling the halls, dressed in his usual suits, dressed to play the part.
Pierce Lavelle comes around the corner, dressed in his ring attire, holding his transatlantic championship over his shoulder. He spots David "Pearl" Harber and makes a quick-paced dash to catch up with the boss! Maddy Estelle and Sarah Kennedy barely get a glimpse of the champion, before he is gone again.
Maddy Estelle: I swear, sometimes these men could be superheroes. Flash Gordon or Superman, they sprint so quickly just to avoid interviews.
Sarah Kennedy: I think most of them would be villains, but in the heroes department, I'd like mine to look like Batman, it’s just something about the cape and suit.
Maddy Estelle looks at the other staff members, who seem to be joking around about her previous comment.
Maddy Estelle: Well, then you'd have to worry about Joker, Penguin and Catwoman. I still think Pierce Lavelle would play a great Superman, I hear they're bringing a new movie out.
Sarah Kennedy: Nah, he'd look better in the Batman outfit.
Maddy Estelle: Yeah, perhaps.
Moving on, Pierce Lavelle has finally caught up with the boss, David Harber, and stops him in his tracks.
Pearl: Ah, Pierce, what can I do for you?
Pierce Lavelle: I just had one question about my match tonight, against Varga. Just as long as I am not interrupting you.
Pearl, puts his hands into his coat pockets and takes a breath.
Pearl: Northern Ireland, Belfast and we get to be in the Odyssey Arena. We're living the high life now Pierce Lavelle. Tickets sold out, fans raving, chanting, cheering and booing and all the while having a blast. It reminds me of a couple of movie premieres...
Pierce Lavelle: I see, sir.
Pearl: Please, don't call me sir. Just leave it at Pearl. Now, you wanted to ask me a question in regards to your match tonight.
Pierce Lavelle: Yes –
Harber waves his hand a little, Lavelle just looks at it and fills in the blanks.
Pierce Lavelle: ...Pearl. I was a little confused about the whole outcome of the match and the title without a name.
Pearl: Ah, yes, I see. If you win your match tonight against Varga and therefore win the belt, then you name it whatever you want. It could be anything, from the Fresh! belt, to the… er… Harrisburg title –
Lavelle smiles as Harber has just referred to his hometown.
Pearl: – to the Lavelle title; it is purely up to you. You also get to choose the rules for title defences. But if Varga wins, of course, he gets our title. So don’t let him win. I hope that clears up your question.
Pearl grins.
Pierce Lavelle: Yeah, thanks.
Pearl: Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some work to attend to. Good luck tonight, Pierce Lavelle.
Lavelle just nods and watches Pearl head down the corridor and into his large VIP room. Lavelle turns around and is greeted by both Maddy Estelle and Sarah Kennedy.
Pierce Lavelle: Ladies!
Maddy Estelle: Hey, how are you?
Pierce Lavelle: Em, fine. Do you want something?
Both the women giggle at this comment and Lavelle just shrugs his shoulders and continues walking, with both Estelle and Kennedy either side of him.
Sarah Kennedy: You looking forward to your match tonight?
Pierce Lavelle: Yeah, I am. Almost a month ago, Varga said some things about me; till now I haven't had the chance to do anything about it, but now, I do. So, yes, I look forward to facing Varga and hopefully winning my match.
Maddy Estelle: What about you and Tim Shipley?
Pierce Lavelle: What about us?
Maddy Estelle: Have you mended the broken bridges?
Pierce Lavelle: Yeah, I guess we have. It was good seeing him, and fighting with him...
Pierce Lavelle turns to leave the two ladies, but before he has a chance to get away, both women pull him by the arms.
Sarah Kennedy: One more question.
Pierce Lavelle: Okay, shoot.
Maddy Estelle: It’ll seem a little weird.
Pierce Lavelle: A lot of things are weird lately.
Sarah Kennedy: Okay, if you had to choose, which hero would you be, Superman or Batman?
Pierce Lavelle: (laughs) Oh, you’re serious. Well, let’s see, Superman always gets Lois Lane, and she’s always somebody good looking; he has super-strength, super-speed, heat vision and all the other powers you could think of. Batman, the dark night, the man that saves Gotham, such a dull and depressing place, but he gets the feisty Catwoman. I guess in context of outfits, Batman’s is cooler. Does that make anything clearer?
Maddy Estelle: Yeah, thanks for your time.
She smiles seductively. Lavelle just nods and leaves; the fans continually cheer in the background.
Maddy Estelle: I am so dressing up like Catwoman next Halloween.
Sarah Kennedy: Michelle Pfeiffer was nothing in comparison to Teri Hatcher’s Lois Lane, or Eric Durance’s for that matter.
Maddy Estelle: We’ll see.
Watching The Door
FEATURING: THE ILLUSTRIOUS FACE-EATER
AUTHOR: JOE SCHMIDT
Miguel Rodriguez: Why are we watching the door!?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: It’s called ‘foreshadowing,’ Miggy.
Sure enough, the generic doorway that the scene is focusing on suddenly swings open. It’s a big steel door, so it takes time to open to its greatest extent. The car park is shown behind the frame, but that’s not what catches people’s eyes. What is, is the massively huge grin that sits stupidly across the face of The Illustrious Face-Eater as he walks through, and slams the door shut as he does so.
Miguel Rodriguez: I wonder how early Facey prepares for these events, since he arrives dressed and all.
Hans Heinemann: He probably gets dressed in the car. Well, he doesn’t have a match tonight, so I have one question—what’s in the bag?
In a somewhat odd scene, the Face-Eater wears a Coheed & Cambria shirt and a pair of jeans, not forgetting the mask, but also totes a black bag. This particular black bag, is the same bag in Hans’ question.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I have a question of my own. We don’t usually commentate over “big screen” segs…
Miguel Rodriguez: Ya, must be some eediot’s fault.
Hans Heinemann: The bag, people! Focus!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Well, whatever he has in there, it’s obviously making him very happy.
Miguel Rodriguez: Maybe he play pocket pool.
Facey just continues down the hall and ignores the cameras that follow so tentatively. As he passes the camera, the scene halts in movement but continues observing The Illustrious Face-Eater, whose path never falters.
Face-Eater: I’ve got a big surprise for Tim Shipley.
The Face-Eater pats the bag at his hip as he says this, and then disappears into another corridor.
Hans Heinemann: I wonder what that fool is up to...
Liam Martin vs John Kross
STIPULATION: SINGLES
REFEREE: LARS LARSSON
AUTHOR: ANDY MURRAY
Hans Heinemann: Up next we’ve got John Kross taking on Liam Martin of The Furious Fists Of God…
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Mr. Kross picked up a debut loss against Juri Hyobanshi last week, he’ll no doubt be looking to give his AWC career a much-needed kick up the arse this week.
Miguel Rodriguez: Ohhh Juri, she makes my beeeg boy tingle in my trousers…
“Only The Strong” by Flaw begins to play out across the arena and a small portion of the fans in attendance give John Kross a warm reception. Liam Martin, who is already in the ring, watches as Kross steps through the curtains and pauses to soak up the atmosphere, before heading down to the ring.
James Brunt: The following is a singles match. In the ring, from Boston, Massachusetts, weighing in at 306 pounds... LIAM MARTIN! And his opponent, from St. Louis, Missouri, weighing in at 326 pounds... “The Enforcer” JOHN KROSS!
The 6’11” Kross sizes up his smaller – but still pretty big – opponent as his music begins to fade.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Could be in interesting clash here…
Hans Heinemann: Yeah, the 7’ tall BEAST versus the Holy Joe, great.
The bell soon rings and Kross attempts to jab Martin in the jaw, only to have the punch countered into a hammerlock. Liam wrenches the arm of Kross, before landing a couple of punishing blows to the back of Kross’s neck with his free hand. With Kross hurting somewhat, Liam releases him and Irish whips him against the ropes. On the rebound, Martin catches his monstrous opponent and slams him down with a massive spinebuster.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Jaysus Murphy! Did you feel that!?! That shook the fecking ring!
Hans Heinemann: That’ll surely blow the cobwebs away.
Martin pulls his opponent to his feet; only to be shot in the gut from Kross’ right hand. The move had obviously hardly affected the Enforcer, who leaps to his feet and begins to exchange blows with his smaller opponent. After a couple of shots, Kross ducks a clothesline attempt from the Furious Fists of God member, before knocking Martin’s face off with a big boot. Liam immediately hits the mat, as Kross makes the cover attempt.
ONE!
TWO!
Shoulder up!
Hans Heinemann: And Kross makes the first cover of the match… Martin hit the ground like a sack of spuds there!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: POTATOES~!
Hans Heinemann: You guys and your damn catchphrases…
Wasting no time, John Kross pulls Martin up to his feet, and slams his knee into his gut a couple of times. He then forces Martin into the corner and delivers some body shots like a rabid animal. Kross backs off a little, and Liam hunches forward, clearly winded. John soon pulls his opponent closer towards him, and hangs him up high in the air, ready for a stalling suplex.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Martin’s gonna get dropped…
And that he does. Kross stands tall over his downed opponent and roars out to the crowd in celebration, drawing some cheers back.
Miguel Rodriguez: ‘Ey man, Liam Martin is getting squashed like a bug.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Ahhh don’t worry, the Jesus freaks will probably cast a spell on Kross, or something like that.
Hans Heinemann: You, my friend, are an idiot.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: GUINNESS~!
Hans Heinemann: I rest my case.
Kross pulls his hurting opponent back up by the neck and backs him up against the ropes, choking him. After a three count, Lars Larsson orders Kross to back off and break the hold, which he does. Martin staggers forward, holding his neck in pain, only to be hoisted up above Kross’ head.
Miguel Rodriguez: He’s one strong dude… although, he still doesn’t stimulate my beeeeg boy.
After a couple of military presses, Kross slams Liam down and makes the cover.
ONE!
TWO!
Kick out!
Without hesitation, John leaps back up and begins to stomp away on Martin, who doesn’t even get a chance to get up to his own two feet. Kross finishes off with a rather stiff stomp to the back of Martin’s head, imprinting his face in the mat.
Hans Heinemann: Heh, that ought to make Liam look a little prettier.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: T’was a stiff one!
Miguel Rodriguez: Kross is really making amends tonight, Martin has hardly been able to get a shot in!
With the crowd now behind him, Kross again grabs Martin, and hoists him up in a Canadian backbreaker.
Hans Heinemann: Kross is looking to put his lights out here…
WHAM! Martin comes crashing down onto the mat with a sit-out Face Slam. Kross hooks the leg, and Lars begins the count…
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
Hans Heinemann: Kross with the Kross Shot for his first win here in the AWC!
“Only The Strong” begins to play again, as Larsson raises Kross’ hand in victory.
James Brunt: The winner... JOHN KROSS!
Miguel Rodriguez: That’s what Kross needed, could this kickstart his young AWC career?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: POTATOES!
Face In The Static
FEATURING: JOHN KROSS
AUTHOR: ???
Kross’s music stops abruptly as the lights lower. All that can be seen on the screen is static, the digital snow hissing through the arena. It dissipates slowly, so each and every person can gauge at their own perception the image coming on the screen. Kross stands in the ring looking with a confused look on his face.
Hans Heinemann: What’s with this? Malfunction?
Miguel Rodriguez: I don’t think so. There’s a face or something in that snow.
Hans Heinemann: I don’t see anything. What are you talking about?
Miguel Rodriguez: Look!
Sure enough as the static breaks away an image of a face can be seen, though the face is masked. The mask itself is ivory, the only tell tale features are the eyes, onyx slots that seem to stare evilly into all who see them. But they stare more into the heart and soul of John Kross, who seems shaken by the visage.
Hans Heinemann: What’s it mean?
The lights return as the static suddenly cuts away, and Kross leaves the ring, rushing backstage with urgency.
What Will It Be: UWF Or AWC?
FEATURING: RED ROCK, PADDY O'SHEA, SLEDGE (UWF), JAMES VARGA (UWF)
AUTHOR: JOSH YOUNG
We find ourselves outside White's in Belfast, not that far away from the Odyssey. The building looks very presentable with racing green woodwork and some classy looking metal tables. Sat around one of the tables are two AWC wrestlers: Paddy O'Shea and Red Rock. Paddy O'Shea is sat down with a pint and Red Rock sat down with a half pint of coke.
Paddy O’Shea: Aw c'mon Red g't ye self a point don' be such a lady!
Red Rock: I'm not really a big drinker... in fact I don't reeeeally drink at all.
Paddy bursts out laughing and slaps his thigh.
Paddy O’Shea: You be pullin' me chain?
Red Rock: No really I used to but I can't be bothered with all the vomiting and headaches…
Paddy O’Shea: Ye woman!
Red Rock sips some of his coke and scourers.
Paddy O’Shea: Don' get ya panties in a twis' Red Rose I'm jus' takin' t'e piss!
Red Rock: Yeah, yeah.
Red Rock places his coke on the tables and looks around at the scenery.
Red Rock: This is a nice place, but not really the typical image of an Irish pub.
Paddy O’Shea: Wha'd you expect? Leprechauns runnin' 'round hidin' their pot o gold an' a bloke playin' t'e fiddle?
Red Rock: Well... yeah something like that.
Paddy roles his eyes at Red Rock's generalization of the Irish.
Paddy O’Shea: I'm go'n to get another' pint ye sure ye don' want one?
Red Rock: I'm very sure. Thanks.
Paddy shifts his seat back and heads back towards the pub but in the distance Red Rock notices two familiar faces. He turns pale as one of the two men is holding a club! Paddy continues, not noticing the two.
Red Rock: PADDY LOOK OUT IT'S VARGA AND SLEDGE!
Paddy O’Shea: Wha' are ye talkin' 'about mate?
Varga clouts Paddy round the back of the head with the club and Paddy falls to the floor clutching his head, but with his fighting spirit he swings the empty pint glass in his hand over the head of James Varga. Red Rock looks on in shock and freezes.
James Varga: ARGH!
Varga clutches his head and Paddy stands up to fight but Sledge plants a vicious fist in to Paddy's face before picking up a random patron's beer and downing it. Sledge smashes the empty glass over Paddy's head and Paddy goes down.
Red Rock: WHAT THE FUCK?! What are you two doing?
James Varga:: Come on Red! Join in and help us finish this AWC bastard! He thinks he can come on to our show and attack me?
Sledge: Yeah come on Red Rock show who you’re loyal to.
Sledge grabs gets Paddy in a full nelson and leaves him open for Red Rock to take some shots at him.
Paddy O’Shea: Don' jus' stand there ye fool! Help me!
James Varga:: Go on Red give him a few shots for them team!
Red Rock begins to sweat under the pressure; he begins to develop a sickening sensation in his stomach.
Red Rock: Ohh... err…
Sledge fastens the hold as Varga lands a few more punches on Paddy.
James Varga:: Do it Red! Do it or you're just as bad as this AWC scum – remember UWF MADE YOU!
Paddy O’Shea: Don' be stupid, Red I'm ye mate!
Red Rock begins to tremble as he turns paler and beads of sweat run down his forehead.
Red Rock: I... I... can't deal with this!
Red Rock hastily backs away nearly tripping over his own feet and runs off down the street with Varga and Paddy both yelling “coward!” at him.
Steven Xandrous vs The Farmer vs Chris Metal
STIPULATION: THREE WAY FURY
REFEREE: WHO KNOWS?
AUTHOR: RYAN KEANEY
“Not Far Away” by Pennywise hits the speakers as the crowd the entrance of the Irishman.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: POTATOES!
Hans Heinemann: It’s our last night working... Can’t you please be quiet?
The usual appearance by The Farmer doesn’t kick in as the drums hit the airways and the crowd begin to question the entrance.
Hans Heinemann: Where is he?
Miguel Rodriguez: Dead?!
Hans Heinemann: Hopefully...
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: NOOO!!!
“Not Far Away” continues to play but there is no sign of Mickey Fitzpatrick-McCarthy and the crowd grow restless.
Hans Heinemann: Seriously... Where is Mickey???
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: This is his homecoming... He will be here...
Miguel Rodriguez: Maybe he’s bottled it...
Just then, The Farmer tumbles out of the entranceway.
Hans Heinemann: Interesting...
The Farmer hits the steel stage face first and doesn’t move.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: POTATOES!!!
Hans Heinemann: At least he’s here...
Miguel Rodriguez: But he’s not moving!
The Farmer doesn’t move despite some encouragement from the crowd and then the crowd’s response turns to jeers as Steven Xandrous and Chris Metal follow him out of the entrance way.
Hans Heinemann: I think the whole situation just explained itself...
As The Farmer struggles onto all fours, Metal’s right foot crashes down on his spine. Needless to say, Mickey is back on the steel stage unable to move.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: POTATOES! POTATOES! PPPPPPOTTTTTTATTTTTOEEEEESSSS!
Hans Heinemann: Where are you screaming that?
Miguel Rodriguez: Maybe it’s an Irish mating call?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Encouragement...
Xandrous plants his left boot on Mickey’s head and drives it into the steel floor. Metal continues with his assault on Mickey’s spine as Xandrous stands on Mickey’s head.
Hans Heinemann: This is wrong...
Miguel Rodriguez: How so?
Finally removing his boot, Xandrous pulls Mickey up by his ginger hair and shows the fans his bloodied face. The hometown crowd do not react well to the actions and jeer the two attackers. Xandrous gets down to his hands and knees and taunts the lifeless Eire Og member.
Hans Heinemann: Disgusting...
Pulling Mickey to his feet, Xandrous and Metal drag him towards the ring. They throw him into the barricades on the way down and follow it up with more stomps.
Finally reaching the ring, Mickey is pushed under the bottom rope as Xandrous and Chris Metal climbs through the ropes and the bell rings.
Hans Heinemann: Well this Three Way Fury is officially underway...
Pulling The Farmer to his feet, Steven Xandrous toosed him to the ground with a sweetly executed German Suplex.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Potatoes...?
Hans Heinemann: The Farmer is looking in bad shape...
With no time to rest, Chris Metal pulls Mickey to his feet and hit a diamond cutter. This is followed up as Steven Xandrous plants a leg drop across the neck of the Eire Og member.
Hans Heinemann: I don’t think anyone knows what the rules are meant to be here.
Miguel Rodriguez: Who cares? The Farmer requested this match...
As Xandrous and Metal resort to stomping The Farmer, a cheer erupts from the crowd and the attention is thrown to the entranceway. Exiting it at pace heading down towards the ring runs...
MIKE WADE!
Hans Heinemann: Uh-oh...
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: POTATOES!
It appears Wade is a crowd favourite as he slides into the ring, a steel chair in hand. Turning around at the crowd cheers, Xandrous is the first to receive a whole lot of chair in the head. Chris Metal soon follows his “partner” to the mat as the referee calls for the bell.
Hans Heinemann: We have a no contest!
Miguel Rodriguez: Hold on... Is Wade part of Eire Og?
Safe in the knowledge that Steven Xandrous and Chris Metal aren’t getting up, Mike Wade helps The Farmer to his feet. As The Farmer begins to come round, he pushes Mike Wade away.
Hans Heinemann: What?
The Farmer struggles to stay up but as he uses the ropes to keep his balance, The Farmer makes it clear that he does not want Mike Wade in the ring. Wade protests, but Fitz-McCarthy shoves him harder and Wade falls to the canvas. Looking angry, Wade storms over to The Farmer, but, remembering himself, changes his mind and turns away.
Hans Heinemann: How... interesting.
The Debut
FEATURING: PATRICK MAPLELEAF
AUTHOR: PATRICK
The arena turns an odd shade of red and white. A large Canadian flag is shown on the big screen, and the fans are perplexed. “Oh, Canada,” the Canadian national anthem, starts to play. There is a buzz of applause from the audience as the entrance way begins to fill with a thin layer of smoke. A figure emerges from the smoke. He is wearing tight blue jeans, a black t-shirt with a Canadian flag in the middle of it, and a Toronto Blue Jays hat. His long, dirty blonde hair is put back into a ponytail and hangs loosely down his back. To complete the look, he is wearing red and white converse sneakers, the same shade of red as the Canadian flag.
Miguel Rodriguez: I think this may be new signing Patrick Mapleleaf!
Hans Heinemann: What gives you that impression?
The man makes his way down the ring, ignoring the fans that are holding their hands out to be slapped. He climbs up the stairs in the corner of the ring. He gets into the center of the ring and grabs a microphone. There is a lukewarm reception for the new guest.
Man: Stand up and show some respect, bitches! This is the Canadian national anthem!
The fans start to boo. The man smiles, pulls a pair of black sunglasses out of his pants pocket, and puts them on his face.
Man: My name is Patrick Mapleleaf… but my friends call me Patrick for short. I’m from a place called Canada. Most of you have probably never heard of it because you can’t read about it on a bar place mat or at the potato stand. Now, you all may be wondering… what brings a strapping young Canadian buck like myself over across the Atlantic to a country like Ireland anyway? For Heaven’s sake, everyone and their mother knows that this country is like Canada’s crush!
The fans boo in response, and an “arsehole!” chant is started.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Hey!
Patrick Mapleleaf: That’s right. When I think of the country of Ireland, I think of a lonely, pathetic single guy, short, stumpy, and most likely losing his hideous Irish blonde hair. You could probably play connect the dots on his face with all those ungodly freckles! Nevertheless, Canada is like a tall, beautiful woman. Crisp, clean, and sensual. Everything beautiful Canada does, dumpy Ireland tries to do it too! Let’s take beer for instance!
The fans roar in approval.
Patrick Mapleleaf: Keep it in your pants! Now, everyone knows that if you want the world’s best beer, you gotta go to Canada.
The fans boo in disagreement.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Er, no...
Patrick Mapleleaf: Oh please, we know the truth. I actually went to an Irish pub here the other night. I tried one sip of the lager and almost threw up. For God’s sakes, if I want my own Irish beer, I can drink a gallon of water, get a mug at the ready, and let my bladder do the rest of the work! Let us see… what else? Oh yes, movie stars. Canada has produced some of the finest movie stars in the entire world. What has Ireland produced? Colin Farrell? Geez, everyone knows that Colin Farrell is just trying to be a poor man’s imitation of the late, great John Candy! They both have boyish good looks, swarms of women fans, and they both act in movies! What else could I say?
The fans boo as debris flies into the ring.
Hans Heinemann: Hmm, I don’t think the fans are taking to him.
Patrick Mapleleaf: Why, our garbage is even better than yours! I bet we Canadians could use our trash as currency over here! But listen, I’m not here to bash Ireland. I think this suckhole country does a good enough job of that itself. What I’m here for tonight is to make a suitable debut. The suits here in AWC told me that I could do whatever I wanted. I can stand up here and suck up to the fans, I can make balloon animals, and I can even make monkeys fly out of my ass! But I don’t feel much like doing any of those things. I’ve come here tonight to make a point. I want all of you people here to know that…
A really generic, 80’s sounding rap beat comes on. Mapleleaf starts to do moves and gyrations that make him resemble a half dead fish out of water. He takes off his Blue Jays hat and turns it around so that it is backwards and at an add angle. He begins to rap.
Patrick Mapleleaf: Yo my name’s Pat Mapleleaf
I’m here to say
That I’m gonna beat some ass
In the UK
It sucks over here
Smells like rotten cheese
The girls are all ugly
And got some type of disease
I tried some of your beer
It made me sick
So you Irish people
Can suck my TOE
Hans Heinemann: Somebody save us...
Patrick Mapleleaf: Ooo…Mapleleaf
He’s got the power
Ooo…Mapleleaf
You want him in the shower
Miguel Rodriguez: Beeg boy not impressed.
Patrick Mapleleaf: Second verse, ya’ll
Second verse, ya’ll
So let’s out the way
And have a ball
I flew over here
Flew first class
Got off the plane
Felt like an ass
Why am I here
In this putrid nation?
When I go back home
It’ll be elation
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I officially hate this guy.
Patrick Mapleleaf: Ooo… Mapleleaf
He’s the stuff
Ooo… Mapleleaf
He’s super buff!
Ooo… Mapleleaf
Stole your lunch money
Ooo…Mapleleaf
Will also steal your honey
BREAK IT DOWN!!!
The rap music starts to drown out. The fans boo and stand to their feet, throwing more trash in the ring. Mapleleaf turns his hat back the way it should be and smoothes down his ponytail.
Patrick Mapleleaf: Thank you, thank you. I guess I really am here to bash your country. But remember this: I am here in the AWC, whether you like it or not. So like it, love it, accept it!
“Oh, Canada” starts to play once more. Mapleleaf exits the ring with his arms in the air, smiling a little smirk towards the crowd as they usher him away with boos.
Miguel Rodriguez: ...What a debut...!
Exposure And Closure
FEATURING: THE ILLUSTRIOUS FACE-EATER, TIM SHIPLEY
AUTHORS: JOE SCHMIDT AND PIERRE HYDE
"Welcome Home" by Coheed & Cambria. By now, we all know the drill.
The Illustrious Face-Eater is in the house, motherfuckers. Once again, he has a microphone in tow.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Well maybe we'll be able to see what's in the bag!
Hans Heinemann: I think that's the very reason he came out here tonight.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Why do you say that?
Hans Heinemann: Because this is pro-wrestling and it's predictable as shit!
James Brunt jumps out of the ring, and Facey seems to ignore him. Their tension is apparent, but apparently they'll leave their war for another day.
Withdrawing from the bag, Facey grabs a mic and switches it on, igniting a large amount of feedback for the audience's displeasure.
Face-Eater: HEYA FUCK-O'S!
And cue their general displeasure.
Face-Eater: Stop moaning you assholes 'cause you've got me for the next five minutes until Tim Shipley interrupts me, and you're going to like it!
They cheer for the mention of Summer's Son.
Face-Eater: But first, let me tell you why! Introducing to you all…
Facey withdraws a laptop computer from the bag.
Face-Eater: …straight from the possession of Tim Shipley himself; HIS LAPTOP COMPUTER!
Miguel Rodriguez: PR0N!!!!!!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Why does he have that?
Hans Heinemann: For personal information, idiot!
The Illustrious Face-Eater powers on the computer and continues talking.
Face-Eater: Here I have for you the source of your least-favorite AWC superstar's gripes! Oh the trash that this man has on here! And it isn't the normal trash you'd expect him to have; like porn and cooking recipes. Shit no, this is some weird shit. Some Charley Manson type shit and I'm telling ya that it is scary shit.
Face-Eater faces the screen so everyone can see, showing a word processor.
Face-Eater: Here, we have a text file labeled: Sammie Log.doc and it states: September third, 2005. I haven't talked to her much lately, so I called her earlier just to hear her answer. I didn't have a reason to call, so I'd made sure to block my number so she couldn't call me back. When she answered, I didn't bother saying hello. Just hearing her speak, for the first time in weeks, was enough. I can’t wait for college to start again so I can see her – you guys get the point!
Miguel Rodriguez: That was a little gross.
Face-Eater: August twenty-sixth, 2005. I think I made a terrible mistake! I knew I should have given her an extra shake to see if she was awake, but I swear to God I thought she wanted to sleep with me when she rolled over on me – Wait! I forgot! This one's takes place AFTER the best one! Here, let me find it.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Regardless of whether Shipley even wrote this, which I highly doubt, it is not fair to read it out on live TV.
Hans Heinemann: Damn good idea, though!
The crowd isn't sure what to think of all this. Face-Eater continues, not even looking at the laptop now, clearly making it up as he goes along.
Face-Eater: And here's another: August twenty-second, 2005. Today we were having a social gathering at her friend Lauren's house. We slept over. Sammie had had a little too much to drink, and began to lay real close to me. As I started to rub her back, she moaned, but her eyes were closed. I whispered something in her ear, but for a moment wondered if she heard it. The brashness of my question was more than enough to wake her if she were sleeping, but at first she did not respond. And then she laid over on my now... aroused state, and that was all I needed for consent – YOU KNOW WHAT, I THINK WE'RE FINISHED!
Miguel Rodriguez: NO! I WAS ALMOST FINISHED!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Miggy!
All the arena lighting goes out, and the crowd explodes into cheering.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: COME GET HIM SHIPPERS!
The Odyssey Arena reacts with electrically charged joy as Please welcome: Tim Shipley. Does not compute. Does not compute… introduces Ash’s frenzied thrash at futurism that is “Astral Conversations With Toulouse Lautrec”. Shipley bursts through the curtain, not even noticing the cheers raining down on him as he strides to the ring.
Hans Heinemann: Tim Shipley’s popularity has taken a huge jump.
Miguel Rodriguez: He look not happy at all.
Shipley takes a microphone from Brunt as he rolls into the ring and reaches his feet, defiantly glaring at The Illustrious Face-Eater.
Tim Shipley: What the hell is the matter with you? Are you a real human being?
Face-Eater: I AM EVOLUTION EVOLVED, BITCH!
Tim Shipley: I mean, do you have a soul? What do you get out of making up… complete crap, and then trying to justify it by parading my laptop around in the air – you know how much what is on that computer means to me –everything is there – what do you get out of it? You know what, don't answer that. Hell will freeze over before anyone gets a straight answer out of you… the man too afraid of his own identity to even acknowledge it.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Wow, did he really just say that?
Face-Eater: I don't know even know why you're here, Tim!
Tim Shipley: YOU DON'T KNOW WHY I'M HERE?! YOU STOLE MY BLOODY LAPTOP AND BEGAN BROADCASTING MY PERSONAL LIFE! – or a feeble attempt at inventing one, anyway.
Face-Eater: I also deleted ALL of your school work!
Tim Shipley: YOU WHAT?!
The crowd unifies behind Shipley, everyone aware that he is about to go into his second year at Harbrook College.
Face-Eater: I was looking for Solitaire! I'm sorry, dude!
Shipley sucks in a deep breath, trembling with rage as he stares at the man who may have wrecked his personal life and education in one uncaring blow.
Tim Shipley: You know what? ENOUGH! This has gone on far enough. For too long, you've messed me around and you think that by wearing this mask I'm just going to let you attack me?! Well I've had it! I want to know WHO THE HELL YOU ARE, and I want to see you, IN THE RING! NOW!
This… is not very Shipley. Not very Shipley at all.
But it’s also very “omfg ch33r me!”
The fans cheer.
Face-Eater: Whoa whoa whoa, Shitley, good things come to those who wait! You have to EARN your way under my skin. And as for your match, well, Pearl HARB's already ahead of you! He already signed a match for next week's Fresh!; Tim Shipley vs. THE KICKER OF YOUR FUCKING ASS! THE ILLUSTRIOUS FACE-EATER!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: A match next week! Finally, maybe we can get some closure to this!
The crowd reacts majorly to Facey’s announcement – after all, only last week he predicted an upcoming match correctly.
Face-Eater: But do you know what, maybe a week is a little too long for me. Sure, I‘ll fight you again next week, but I‘m sorta bored... tonight.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: What’s this? Another match tonight?
Face-Eater: Okay, Tim, I’ll tangle with you tonight. Tell you what, I’ll make it even sweeter for you. If you can pin me, which you fucking know damn well that you CANNOT! Ahem, if you can pin me anywhere in this arena, then I will take off my mask, TONIGHT!
Shipley, who has been waiting for his chance to get at Face-Eater in a one on one encounter, is stunned as he stares right into the mask, willing his eyes to penetrate beyond.
Miguel Rodriguez: He is serious? His MASK? Ohh boy… ohh beeg boy…
Face-Eater: What do you say?
What does Tim Shipley say? He says “Headbutt!”
Tim Shipley vs The Illustrious Face-Eater
STIPULATION: IMPROMPTU SINGLES
REFEREE: AARON DAVIES
AUTHOR: JOE SCHMIDT
Ok, he doesn’t necessarily say “headbutt”, he actually does it. And the blow stuns Shipley almost as much as it knocks the Face-Eater off guard. After adjusting the bridge on his mask, Facey merely stares Shipley down with a blood thirst in his eyes.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: It looks like we ARE going to have this match, and we’re going to have it right now! This is a treat for the fans of Belfast, more than likely looking to see Shipley gain an ounce of revenge.
Hans Heinemann: Yes, but I doubt Shipley will be able to best the Face-Eater, given the circumstances. There will be no de-masking tonight.
Before Shipley can even recover from his own offensive strike, Face-Eater is on the offensive with a disgusting lariat that connects right with Shipper’s neck. The blow hits so hard, that Facey actually goes down with Shipley. The assault does not stop with the clothesline, as Facey slams fist after fist after fist in to Shipley’s head. An official – the eager Aaron Davies – finally sprints down to the ring to officiate the match, and quickly makes an effort in taking the Face-Eater off his relentless assault.
The Illustrious Face-Eater releases his grip on Tim Shipley’s shirt, and looks at the referee who begins to spout off bullshit of warnings. Facey shows his appreciation of the referee by striking him across the face as if it were a bear-claw, dropping Davies instantly.
Miguel Rodriguez: That’s no nice!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I don’t think the Face-Eater really cares.
As Shipley still lay on the mat, he checks his face for blood or breakage. Finding his situation suitable, he stands up but not quick enough as the Face-Eater once again grabs Shipley by his own shirt and tosses him to the outside.
Tim rolls in to the barricade on the outside, and immediately fans begin to slap at him over the fence. For a second, Tim is annoyed at the tiny hands swarming him, all vying for their chance to touch a celebrity. When he turns around to voice his displeasure, he learns that they were not just trying cop a feel of the former AWC Frontier champion.
They were trying to warn him.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: SLINGSHOT BODY SPLASH! Holy WOW! The Illustrious Face-Eater just spring-boarded to the outside and sacrificed his own body in attempt at taking down Summer’s Son.
Miguel Rodriguez: That was no attempt; he annihilated Shipley.
It is clear that Shipley did not expect this amount of offense to be staged so quickly. He takes less time getting to his feet this time, despite the severity of the impact he felt. Facey stands quickly as well, and when he comes toe-to-toe with Shipley, the Face-Eater reaches back in an effort to strike him.
Shipley, however, quickly dodges the situation by sending a boot in to Face-Eater’s stomach. Shipley keeps up by whipping Face to the barricade, leaving a nasty mark on his back with the odd-shaped fence. Tim begins to charge at Facey, who holds his finger up in attempt to hold the coming beating.
Face-Eater: Wait one second!
Confused, Tim obliges while Facey takes off his Coheed T-shirt. Sweat already soaking the dark shirt, Facey twirls it overhead before finally launching it out in the crowd, then turns back to Tim.
Face-Eater: Okay.
Miguel Rodriguez: Shipper should not be letting The Illustrious take the charge!
Tim approaches Face with a series of jabs, knocking him in the chest and stomach while keeping his opponent against the fence. Between the strikes, Facey manages to sneak an eye-poke which temporarily gives him a moment to capitalize.
Stepping from between the fence, Face-Eater grips Shipley by his long hair and drives him face-first in to the edge of the barricade. The strikes are swift but fierce, each hit affecting the severity of how swollen Tim’s face will be. Tim finally uses his grip on the bars to stop the head movement, which also puts him in great position to drive an elbow in to the Face-Eater’s stomach.
Miguel Rodriguez: He’s fighting back!
Tim Shipley continues with his attack, lifting the Face-Eater up in a back body drop and driving him right in to the fence.
Hans Heinemann: Oooh, that back body drop is more than enough to keep the Face-Eater on the ground for a moment. Tim better use this time to catch a breath.
But much to Hans’ chagrin, Tim continues in assaulting the Face-Eater. While lifting the man to his feet, he persists in driving forearm after forearm in to Facey’s back. The Face-Eater tries to block the blows, but it is of no use. The way the strikes push Facey back, forcing Tim to follow, the fight begins to spill up towards the entryway.
The referee is quick to follow, watching Tim continue securing domination of this match as he bulldogs a fleeing Face-Eater to the ground before he can reach the black curtain.
In a seemingly early attempt, Tim covers the Face-Eater by hooking both legs. Facey kicks out at the first count.
Miguel Rodriguez: Come on! Win for Amélia!
Shipley maintains his position in the match as he lifts Facey to his feet, strikes him on the head for good measure, then plants him back to the stage with a body slam. Shipley stands over Facey’s head, and falls elbow first right in to his head. But this assault does not end, no. Shipley grips Face-Eater by his arm, flipping him over on his stomach, then wrenches his arm behind his back.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Is he going to give up?
Face-Eater: AGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!
The Illustrious Face-Eater tapping?! HA! Instead, he somersaults over his head, un-wrenching his arm, then somersaults again, switching the hold on Shipley. Now it is the former Frontier champion who stays toward the ground.
Tim Shipley: You squirmy son of a bitch!
Face-Eater: Isn’t that a little out of character?
Facey wrenches Tim’s arm higher, more than likely tearing the muscle. Tim screams in agony and resorts to his last measures; brutally driving his elbow in to the Face-Eater’s stomach. Facey hunches over Tim, as if he were begging to get this move performed on him.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Snapmare takeover!
Hans Heinemann: People still actually do that?
Tim does not let Facey have a single moment to recuperate, as he drives elbow after elbow in to the base of the masked superstar’s neck.
Until, that is, something else catches his eye.
Tim Shipley: MY LAPTOP!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: For some reason, I don’t think Shipley should be worrying about his computer at this point in time.
Hans Heinemann: Didn’t you just hear how nerdy this guy is?
Tim runs down the ramp and back by the ring, seeing his laptop sitting on the black bag in the corner where The Illustrious Face-Eater had left it. He carefully shuts the screen, and places it in the bag, before turning to James Brunt.
Miguel Rodriguez: Give it here! ME LIKE PR0N!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: You can cook shell-fish, Miggy?
Miguel Rodriguez: NO, you idiot! PR0N!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Prawns aren't shell-fish?
Tim hands his computer to James Brunt, who pledges to keep it safe until the match is finished. This wasn’t exactly the smartest precaution to take, as Tim Shipley finds out in turning his focus back to his opponent.
Hans Heinemann: Holy shit, this is gonna be good.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: What do you mean?
Hans Heinemann: Look up, you buffoon!
As Hans points out to the announce team, the Illustrious Face-Eater leaps from his preying position at the top of the turnbuckle inside the ring, and instantly slams into Shipley in a corkscrew body splash. Tim falls like a sack of kittens in a sand trap.*
*Note: David Hedley masturbates over this notion.
The impact has taken almost as much out of the Face-Eater as much as it took out of Tim Shipley. But the former Core superstar is not going to give up against his now-standing rival, as he too pushes to his feet.
Facey strikes Tim across his chest with a series of knife edge chops, before whipping him back in to the ring. Shipley is forced to maintain his balance with the ring ropes as Facey and Davies follow him in.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Well it seems like we're getting back to a regular match, again.
When the Face-Eater approaches his opponent, Shipley attempts at thwarting his offensive attack with knife-edged chops of his own. But these are nothing in stunning the Face-Eater, who merely slaps Tim Shipley for his tiring efforts.
Face-Eater: Take it like the bitch that you are!
Before Facey knows what hit him, Shipley has flipped the masked superstar over his back and back on to the outside, squashing whatever hopes our Irish commentary-man had at retaining a normal match.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: NOOOOO!!!
At least, Shipley thought he had flipped him over the outside. Seeing the Face-Eater go overhead is enough to convince Shipley, as he thinks he has a moment to breathe before Facey can return from that blow.
Instead, he gets a tap on the shoulder. It turns out, Facey was holding on to that top rope as he flipped over and stayed on the curtain. When Tim turns around, he's given a neckbreaker via the top-rope to boot.
Hans Heinemann: Wow! What a wonderful display of athletics from the Face-Eater tonight. He seems to be giving Shipley all he has.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Yeah and he isn't going to stop right there! He's already back on the apron, and I think he's going up top again!
Tim Shipley squirms on the mat, rolling to his stomach, and conveniently cannot see Face-Eater who now sits perched. Quickly, he leaps in to the air and twists his body in an aerial spin, a move he often refers to as the Twilight Press.
As you all would guess, Tim Shipley rolls at the last second, displaying perfect fisherman skills.
Miguel Rodriguez: TRICKERY!
Tim still takes a moment in getting to his fee, but is still a considerable moment ahead of his masked foe. In a rather uncharacteristic move, with Face-Eater on his knees, Tim takes a step back. In a quick burst, he jumps forward and quickly rams his knee in to Facey's... face.
Tim Shipley: You… cunt!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Whoa! What got into him?
Hans Heinemann: Probably a summer's worth of torture, David.
Tim spits on Facey's fallen body, then points up to the sky in an effort to get the crowd behind him… or perhaps, even, an effort to get someone else behind him. Staring up at the arena roof, intensity in his eyes, he breathes. Hard.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I think he's calling for the support of Tony Aliso, another victim in The Illustrious Face-Eater's plot.
Miguel Rodriguez: Why, that motherfucker is dead?
Hans Heinemann: You're disgustingly stupid.
So Tim Shipley bends over, grabbing Face-Eater by the arms...
...and begins to lock in the BREAKING POINT!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: YES! Tim Shipley's gonna take it to Facey for both of his former partners; Pierce Lavelle as a victim of this move, and Tony Aliso as its performer.
Tim Shipley locks in the hold, exerting more pressure than he should in an effort of ending this as soon as possible. He doesn't fear of breaking any bones the Face-Eater has, he just wants to end the match and find out his tormentor's identity. And right now, it looks as if he is about to, with the crowd going absolutely wild. They know this is special. They know this is the Breaking Point. They know this is Tim Shipley’s tribute to Tony Aliso. And they know, above all, how devastating this is for the man on the receiving end.
So, why is the Illustrious Face-Eater laughing, in midst of getting his arm cracked?
If Tim Shipley would quit paying attention to Facey's laughing and look to the referee who taps him on the shoulder, he may actually find out.
Tim Shipley: What the hell is your problem?
Face-Eater: HAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!!!AHHHHHHHHHGGGGAHAH!
It’s a mix of crying and laughing. He does it so well!
Tim Shipley: (desperately) TAP! OUT!
Aaron Davies: There's no taps!
Tim Shipley: What?
Aaron Davies: Pre-match stipulation clearly states that you must pin him in order to win.
Duh, Tim. No wonder the Face-Eater thought this was hilarious.
Tim releases the hold almost immediately, which gives the Face-Eater his moment to squirm out of the hold and trip Shipley to the mat by tangling his body. Shipley pulls towards the ropes, but Facey grabs his t-shirt to pull him back. Tim kicks the mask of Facey, releasing the hold, causing more drastic measures. Before Tim can gain his balance, with his hands on the middle rope, he feels someone quickly grip him by his ankles, and sling him in the air with momentum and the spring of the ropes.
Miguel Rodriguez: Whoa!
Tim Shipley lands face-first on the mat, half-way hanging off the corner of the apron.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: He’ll have a swollen lip in the morning, that isn't debatable.
Facey rolls out of the ring, again bringing chaos to this match. But instead of keeping his attack on the now-fallen Tim Shipley, Face-Eater approaches a different foe in the arena: James Brunt.
Face-Eater: I'll take that. (pointing at Tim's laptop)
Facey smiles. Bloody, sweaty, extremely unattractive, and guised by a hideous mask. It isn't very convincing. Brunt grips Tim Shipley's computer even tighter.
James Brunt: Fuck off.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: That’s the spirit Brunty!
Hans Heinemann: You know you’re risqué when your ring announcer swears on air.
Facey kicks James Brunt very hard in the thigh with his toe, most definitely causing a bruise.
James Brunt: Shit! Fine, take it, you jerk!
Quickly ripping the computer from the bag, Facey unfolds the computer and powers it up whilst walking towards the still-fallen Tim Shipley. He waits a few moments for the computer to start up.
Face-Eater: You know, Tim, I lied earlier. I'm sorry.
Shipley's head raises from hanging over the corner of the ring, as he looks at Facey confused.
Face-Eater: I didn't really delete all your schoolwork. It’s all still in here.
Tim doesn't register the computer in front of him, but with the programs loading, Facey found it suitable to shut the small screen back up. He then grips it by the sides.
Face-Eater: But that doesn't really matter.
CRACK, Facey cracks the laptop in one sick swing over Tim Shipley's dome, sending pieces of the screen and motherboard and random plastic flying everywhere.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Tim's computer! It's DESTROYED!
Miguel Rodriguez: I tell you so. You should given to me! THE PR0N WOULD BE SAFE!
Shipley is undeniably unconscious, and Facey doesn't really seem to mind. The referee's jaw, as well as most of everyone in attendance, is hung wide open as Facey rolls in the ring, and begins to pick up his lifeless body.
Immediately, he positions him for the pumphandle suplex.
Hans Heinemann: Oh, this is a true showman!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: This is sadistic! He's actually going to deliver his finisher after that sick move? He's practically dead!
Face-Eater smiles, and swiftly delivers the Eaterplex '05, and jumps to his feet in excitement. With glee, he places one foot on Shipley's chest, and Davies is forced to count.
Face-Eater: I don't pay you to delay, this fucker's a Satan spawn and can jerk up at any Exorcist-Given moment!
The ref counts.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
And it's over.
Face-Eater: Justice is served!
Presents From Andy
FEATURING: ADALIA DELORIAN, ANDY MURRAY
AUTHOR: ANDY MURRAY
We find Adalia Delorian hanging around in his locker room backstage. Already in his ring-attire, the young AWC wrestler is doing a couple of stretches, preparing himself for his match later on in the evening. Suddenly, the sound of music begins to seep through the opened locker-room door, drawing closer and closer.
Sex bomb, sex bomb! You’re a sex bomb! You can give it to me when I need to come along!
Delorian, somewhat confused, ceases stretching as the sounds of “Sex Bomb” by Tom Jones draw ever closer.
Adalia Delorian: Huh? What’s this?
Bewildered, the AWC rookie heads to investigate the situation…
Andy Murray: Huzzah!
Adalia nearly leaps out of his skin as the Scottish King of Cool appears in the doorway, grinning as ever from ear to ear. Murray has a portable CD player in one hand, Tom Jones booming from the speakers, and Snowball’s leash in the other. Snowball, oddly enough, is wearing four tiny little wooden clogs on her paws, while Andy has the Welsh flag draped around his Welsh football t-shirt. Andy mercifully reaches down and stops the music to the collective sigh of everyone in attendance who’d just been subjected to such aural filth.
Andy Murray: What’s up, my Celtic homeboy!?!
Adalia Delorian: Eh, I’m okay I suppose… why’d you jump out on me like that?
Andy Murray: Sorry buddy, no harm meant.
The Scottish King of Cool leans down, placing the CD player on the ground.
Andy Murray: Anyway, old chap, I figured that seeing as how we have the Battle of Britain rematch thingy later on tonight, I’d pop along and show you that I harbour no hard feelings over your victory at the pay-per-view.
Adalia Delorian: Okay…
Andy Murray: Tough break for the Welsh team the other day, losing to those filthy, nasty Englishmen, don’t you think? Hmmm… also, what is your opinion on Ryan Giggs? Do you feel that his ageing legs can continue to cope in the fast-paced environment of the modern game?
Adalia screws up his face, obviously the “Welshman” has no idea what Andy is nattering on about.
Adalia Delorian: What are you taking about exactly?
Andy Murray: Hmmm… I guess you haven’t had the time to check up on the football results yet then, Welshy! Anyway, I brought you some gifts that you’re going to love!
First, Andy removes the Welsh flag from around his shoulders, and drapes it over Adalia.
Adalia Delorian: Wait, Murray, this is all very nice, but there’s something I have to tell you…
Andy Murray: Oh never mind that! Look what I got you…
From the pocket of his beige cargo trousers Andy pulls a copy of long-forgotten craptastic Welsh band Catatonia’s greatest hits and thrusts it into Adalia’s hands.
Andy Murray: Its Catatonia’s greatest hits!
Andy glances at the confused look across Delorian’s face.
Andy Murray: I knew you’d love that one pal! But check this it, it gets even better!
This time Andy produces a long, rounded, leafy vegetable from his back pocket. He hands that to Delorian as well.
Adalia Delorian: What the HELL is this!?!
Andy Murray: It’s a leek, buddy! The definitive Welsh vegetable! Mmmm, tasty! Every Welshman must possess at least one leek at any one time, it’s the law.
Adalia Delorian: But Andy, I’m not-
Before Delorian can finish, Andy is off again. This time, Andy kneels down, pointing to the clogs on his fire-breathing badger’s paws.
Andy Murray: Look, I ever dressed Snowball up in traditional Welsh attire, just to make you feel a little more at home!
Adalia Delorian: Clogs are Dutch, dude…
Andy Murray: Oh, no shit? Damn… oh well…
Adalia Delorian: Besides, I’m not even Wel-
Andy Murray: You’re not welcome!?! What would make you say such a stupid thing, young Adalia!?! Of course you’re welcome here! Don’t worry, my young Welsh homeboy, us Celtic badasses constantly watch each other’s backs, feel? Anyway taffy, I’m gonna go get ready for the match and stuff like that, catch you later, you Tom Jones loving motherclucker!
With that, Andy waves goodbye to the bewildered Delorian. Adalia can’t help but chuckle and shake his head as Andy leaves the room.
Jason Locke vs Juri Hyobanshi
STIPULATION: SINGLES
REFEREE: JOSEPH REID
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
We return to the commentary desk at ringside, where DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!, Hans Heinemann and Miguel “The Midget” Rodriguez are preparing for the upcoming match.
Hans Heinemann: Ladies and gentlemen, up next we have Jason Locke and Juri Hyobanshi... two promising newcomers who won their first matches, against Grady and John Kross respectively.
Miguel Rodriguez: Juri SCARES me. She looks... young...
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Sixteen?
Miguel Rodriguez: Yeah, but she have so IMMENSE power in her at some times.
Hans Heinemann: There’s definitely something mysterious about Juri Hyobanshi, who is in the ring right now awaiting her opponent.
The shot cuts to the 5’3” Hyobanshi. The girl known as the Masonna stands coolly, her waist-length black hair gleaming, as James Brunt, in tonight’s gleaming suit, begins to introduce her.
James Brunt: The following is a singles match. In the ring, from the Shibuya of Tokyo, Japan, weighing in at 121 pounds... JURI HYOBANSHI!
There are some boos for the enigmatic female.
Miguel Rodriguez: She is not skinny, you know; she slim but with wide hips...
Hans Heinemann: Is this going anywhere, Miguel?
Miguel Rodriguez: ...muscular, and nice hair...
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Hippy hair!
"Short Fuse Burning" by Less Than Jake plays as Jason Locke makes his way to the ring.
Miguel Rodriguez: ...pierced belly, and very attractive...
There are no special pyrotechnics or lighting for Locke's entrance. He slaps a few fans' hands on the way to the ring and he receives a small pop. He confidently walks up the ring steps and into the ring.
James Brunt: And her opponent, from New York, New York, weighing in at 230 pounds... JASON LOCKE!
Locke stares bullets into his opponent as he waits for the match to begin.
Hans Heinemann: Normally, I’d call this a mismatch, but with Hyobanshi’s unpredictable nature anything could happen.
Joseph Reid calls for the bell and Locke makes only a tentative approach, perhaps due to the fragile-looking nature of what seems to be a young girl before him. This is a clear mistake. Juri Hyobanshi stares into his eyes and suddenly leaps into a shuffle leg lariat, knocking Locke down.
Hans Heinemann: Hyobanshi gets the start with that high kick.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: She’s picked the Locke! Sorry, I had to say it.
Not losing a moment, Hyobanshi runs herself into the ropes and hits the rising Jason Locke with a jumping kick to the chin. He slumps back to the mat and pushes his body up angrily, only to see Hyobanshi springboarding at him off the middle rope, leading with the left foot. Acting on instinct, Locke manages to catch her in a reversed pumphandle position and throws her messily overhead; Hyobanshi rolls to her feet and glares out at the fans.
Hans Heinemann: Locke finally getting to grips with the fast-kicking Hyobanshi.
Miguel Rodriguez: She has NOTHING on Amélia!
Locke now rises to a vertical position and Hyobanshi looks for a straight kick, but this time the New Yorker blocks and knocks her right leg down to his own right. Curling her lip, Hyobanshi reverses the momentum to swivel into a rising kick to the jaw, jumping with the swing of the leg and landing just to the right of her previous position. With Jason Locke stunned, she bounces off the ropes and catches him with a low dropkick, both feet connecting in the back of the knee. Unable to resist this focused attack, Locke’s left leg collapses and he goes to the mat.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Impressive stuff. What’s the Juri verdict? Ahahahaha. Ahaha. Aha.
Miguel Rodriguez: (seriously) She good... for a girl who not Amélia.
Hyobanshi pounces quickly and hooks that same leg for the cover.
ONE!
TW-
Locke kicks out at Reid’s second count.
Miguel Rodriguez: Seemple two.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Jason Locke at least wants the chance to get in some of his own offence.
Hans Heinemann: I'm a little worried he’ll resort to brawling if he gets too frustrated though; I’ve seen him in training. That will not get him anywhere.
Hyobanshi takes a couple of steps back and Locke resumes a vertical position. Hyobanshi swings a rainbow kick; however, Locke, now getting used to this kick-dominated offence, dodges back and lets Hyobanshi fall off-balance before swooping in with an armdrag. He follows up by going low and grabbing the shin of his disoriented opponent to lift her and score a kneebreaker.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: An armdrag, followed by a kneebreaker, and finally Jason Locke gets down to business.
Looking a little angry, Hyobanshi struggles to her feet. Locke tries to lock up but Hyobanshi throws a vicious elbow into his face and he staggers back a few steps, bending low and clutching his nose.
Hans Heinemann: Locke was intelligent to use the kneebreaker; he needs to work on eliminating the threat from those martial arts kicks. Unfortunately, Juri Hyobanshi didn’t take too kindly to it and just whipped him across the face with her arm.
Hyobanshi’s upward-thrusting forearm is next on the agenda, and Locke takes it dramatically, kicking his feet back and reeling with the strike. Aligning her arms in front of her, Hyobanshi bends and runs Locke into the turnbuckle with a spear-like move. She then steps back into a high dropkick, backflipping on the light impact with his forehead and landing gracefully on her feet.
Miguel Rodriguez: Wonderful! Extreme athleti – athletey – athleteness.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Like a salmon moving upstream.
Hans Heinemann: ...How does that work?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Salmon? Salmon works with POTATOES!
Hyobanshi now skips away to the opposite corner before steeling herself to run full-pelt at the 230-pounder. However, just as she is about to reach him, Locke brings up a leg to catch her in the head, and Hyobanshi staggers away, swivelling round.
Hans Heinemann: Boot to the head, and Hyobanshi stopped in her tracks.
Jason Locke grabs hold of her and hits a back suplex.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Powerful impact there. Locke clearly has the upper hand in terms of strength. It’s all about whether he has the opportunity to use it, with Hyobanshi way faster.
Joseph Reid counts Locke’s pinfall:
ONE!
TW-
Hyobanshi kicks out right before two.
Hans Heinemann: One cover attempt each, and this match is still up for grabs.
Miguel Rodriguez: I grab my beeg boy now!
Locke gets to his feet, pulling Juri with him, and slings her into the ropes. Looking for a back body drop, he lowers his head, but the Masonna easily spins around his body and takes out a standing leg with a harsh kick to the calf. Unbalanced, Locke staggers, but before he can fall to the mat Hyobanshi sprints to the turnbuckle ahead of him and flips off in a corkscrew moonsault, catching Locke on the way down with an axe kick!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: THE ONE WINGED ANGEL!
Hans Heinemann: A trademark move from Juri Hyobanshi and this one may be done and dusted!
Hyobanshi pushes Locke onto his back and covers.
ONE!
TWO!
THR-
Kickout!
Miguel Rodriguez: OOH! Jason Locke JUST kicking out!
The crowd respond well to the strong kickout by the 19-year-old athlete, with some nice cheers for the man on the receiving end of much of the damage dished out in this match.
Hans Heinemann: I wonder if he can do anything from here, or whether the victory for Hyobanshi is now certain.
”LOCKE! LOCKE! LOCKE!” echoes around the arena as Jason slowly rises to his feet, taking all the time he needs as Hyobanshi stands off. Finally, he is ready, and Hyobanshi runs at him to drive a knee into the abdomen.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Harsh rushing knee attack.
Miguel Rodriguez: She has bony knees.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: How do you figure that?
Miguel Rodriguez: Look at Locke’s reaction!
Hyobanshi stares at Locke before swinging an elbow at the back of his skull. Aware of what was coming, though, Locke ducks the move and grabs Hyobanshi around her muscular waist to launch her overhead with a belly-to-belly suplex!
Hans Heinemann: That’s an overhead belly-to-belly out of the blue from Locke!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Pin her!
”LOCKE! LOCKE! LOCKE!” sounds louder and louder as the man grins and pins.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: This’d be a nice early birthday present. He’s 20 this Saturday.
ONE!
TWO!
To the disappointment of the crowd, Hyobanshi kicks out.
Hans Heinemann: She escapes!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Ah well.
Miguel Rodriguez: The fans have been excellent tonight!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Damn straight; WHAT’S UP, BELFAST?
The Irish crowd roars. Meanwhile, Hyobanshi gets back up and Locke ties up, using his strength to hold the upper hand as he works her into a hammerlock.
Hans Heinemann: Hammer... Locke.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: An authentic Heinemann original right there. POTATOES!
Locke wrenches away at her wrist, as ”LOCKE! LOCKE! LOCKE!” chants get ever stronger.
Miguel Rodriguez: He’s finally controlling her!
Not quite, Miggy. It’s the Rapture Eternal – the kill switch. She spins easily out of the weak wristlock, grabs his throat with her left hand and shoves her right into his mouth and applies her unique combination of a Tongan death grip and a mandible claw. His eyes wide, Locke instantly taps, gurgling something incoherently as he waves frantically at the air. Joseph Reid sees this and immediately calls for the bell, and Hyobanshi shoves Locke to the floor, sneering as James Brunt enters the ring.
Hans Heinemann: ...It’s over.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Rapture Eternal, and Locke tapped inside a second!
Hans Heinemann: Well, no way can ANYONE withstand that for much longer. The immediate damage done by that dual grip to the mouth and throat is so severe that people know not to risk the possibility of serious damage. Once that hold is on... the match is over.
Miguel Rodriguez: And that just the way it is!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Du-du-dum. Du-du-dum, du-du-dum. Things will nevaaar be the saaaame.
Locke rolls out of the ring and just lies on the floor for a short while as Brunt raises Hyobanshi’s unwilling hand.
James Brunt: The winner... JURI HYOBANSHI!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: An impressive showing with her martial arts, and then as soon as Jason Locke appeared to be getting a foothold –
Hans Heinemann: Or a hammerlock –
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: She turned on him in a flash.
Apologies
FEATURING: RED ROCK, DR. STEVEN BURNS, PADDY O'SHEA
AUTHORS: JOSH YOUNG AND MICHAEL DOHERTY
We now find ourselves in the medical area of the Odyssey Arena where Paddy O'Shea is sat down on the black medical bed. He is holding a cold ice pack against his head and Dr. Steven Burns is checking him over.
Dr. Steven Burns: Well there’s no bleeding but a bit of bruising, that will almost certainly come up with a nice lump in the morning.
Just after Dr. Steven Burns finishes his examination Red Rock enters looking rather sheepish.
Red Rock: Hey Pad –
Paddy raises his hand in Red Rock's direction.
Paddy O’Shea: I don' want t' hear it Red. I don' hav' anytin' t' say t' ye!
Red Rock: I'm really sorry I panicked!
Paddy O’Shea: Wit' this whol' UWF AWC t'ing I've stood by ye an' helped ye out an' not a lot o' people 'round here like you b'cause of it. I been you're friend an' t'is is how you repay me by stabbin' me in the back!
Red Rock hangs his head in shame
Paddy O’Shea: Get out o' me sight ye make me sick!
Red Rock backs out of the door with his tail between his legs and closed the door behind him.
In Relentless Pursuit
FEATURING: DAVID "PEARL" HARBER
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
It’s Pearl, at his desk, on the phone. What more can I say?
Pearl: Hello, I'm calling from – hello? Ah, hello. I'm calling from –
David Harber exhales loudly.
Pearl: Hello?
Silence, as the Entertainment Manager’s face tenses.
Pearl: Are you th – oh, you are, I'm sorry; hello, I'm P – I don’t believe this.
His eyes flash. The person on the other end of the line seems to be giving him just a little bit of aggravation.
Pearl: Listen, I know you can hear me, so NO SHUT UP I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME, just put me through to someone, OK?
Pearl purses his lips hopefully.
Pearl: OK? Good.
There is a pause as the person on the other end speaks. Harber nods, and tells the person who he wants.
Pearl: He’s known is Ian English, and – hey!
Harber slams the phone down.
Pearl: Looks like we’re not getting that title back just yet.
Best Of British Rematch
ANDY MURRAY VS THE BRITISH BOMBER VS MIKE WADE VS ADALIA DELORIAN
STIPULATION: FOUR WAY FURY
REFEREE: AARON DAVIES
AUTHOR: DAVE LARKIN (ENDING BY PIERRE HYDE)
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I’m sensing a little bit of déjà vu here. Oh yes, that’s right. This match is a repeat of the Best Of British match at…
Hans Heinemann: The Battle Of Britain. Indeed. And what a match it could be in prospect. Here we have four of AWC’s hottest talents all in the one ring. Different nationalities, true, but tonight’s match has nothing to do with your country. It’s all about pride.
Miguel Rodriguez: Oh, not to mention winning. Arguably “The Scottish King of Cool” Andy Murray has been in the best form lately. Can we keep it up tonight?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Hey, did you guys know that Adalia Delorian is actually a man? Can you believe that, Miggy?
Miguel Rodriguez: Aww, and I was all ready to show her my beeeg boy. Well, to me, he’s always going to be a girl.
Hans Heinemann: To me, you’re always going to be a brainless twit. You’d fit in nicely with these Northern Irish people.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Oooh! Low blow at the North! Let’s hope Big Gerry Adams isn’t watching this broadcast.
Miguel Rodriguez: I’ve just been told on my headset that Mr. Adams is appalled by Hans’ comments and would like to circumcise him after the show.
Hans Heinemann: (in a whisper) Did he say that?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: NORTH! SECTARIAN STRIFE!
Miguel Rodriguez: Dave, control yourself. And no, he didn’t. Twit.
Hans Heinemann: Grrr…
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Whoa, watch the sexual gestures. Geez, control yourself, Hans.
Hans Heinemann: I was - I only meant… oh, forget it.
The only thing that's wrong with me…
The only thing that's wrong with me…
Is everything that's wrong with you!
“Unfolds” by Strength In Numbers blasts onto the PA system, and this marks the entrance of Adalia Delorian as he appears atop the rampway for the crowd to see, highlighted by the lights fading to a single blue spotlight on the twenty-one year old. The fans give him a bit of a face pop as he looks out at them, before his attention immediately turns to the ring ahead and he walks down the ramp towards it. He slides in underneath the bottom rope and hops right to his feet, pacing around the ring a bit and testing out the ropes before he slinks back into his corner, taking off his jacket and discarding it outside of the ring.
Hans Heinemann: Well, here’s your chance to show off your big boy.
Miguel Rodriguez: Nah, not in the mood. Now I know he’s a man. It just wouldn’t feel right.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Suuure…
Hans Heinemann: Delorian’s impressed lately in AWC; can he add to his undefeated streak?
The arena is filled with red, white and blue lights. "Enter Sandman" by Metallica begins to play and fill out the arena as the crowd starts to cheer. The main beat kicks in; out from behind the curtain comes The British Bomber, body jigging to the music. He raises his arms at the entrance to the fans' delight. He starts to make his way towards the ring and climbs in, again raising his arms as the music begins to go off.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Well, well, well… if it isn’t my British friend. It’s the British Bomber, everyone.
Hans Heinemann: What’s up with you tonight? Did he hurt you in some way?
Miguel Rodriguez: I heard Bomber stole Dave’s spotlight backstage when he was trying to chat up Maddy Estelle. You wouldn’t have scored, Dave.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: You don’t know that! I’m trying it again later.
Hans Heinemann: I think I might give it a go, too. She seems like easy prey, and it’s been a long time for me.
Miguel Rodriguez: Ugh…
He who makes a beast out of himself, gets rid of the pain of being a man…
The lights in the arena dim as the intro to Avenged Sevenfold’s “Bat Country” begins to play out across the arena. With a burst of pyro at the top of the ramp, the song kicks in and the lights flash on, as Andy Murray steps out from the back, lapping up the crowd’s cheers. He pauses at the top of the ramp, takes a good look around the arena, and lifts an arm in the air in jubilance, before making his way down the ramp.
Caught here in a fiery blaze, won't lose my will to stay
These eyes won't see the same, after I flip today
James Brunt: Making his way to the ring, from Aberdeen, Scotland, weighing in at 270 pounds... the “Scottish King of Cool”, ANDY MURRAY!
On his way down to the ring, Andy Murray slaps hands with a couple of the fans, before finally reaching the bottom of the ramp, and leaping up onto the outside of the ring. Facing the entrance, he raises an arm up in the air once again, as white pyros ignite from the ring posts behind him.
I tried to drive all through the night, the heart stroke ridden weather
The barren empty sights…
No oasis here to see, the sand is singing deathless words to me
As the fireworks die down a little, Murrr enters the ring between the middle and top ropes and paces across the ring, throwing both arms into the air for the fans at the other side.
Can’t you help me as I’m startin’ to burn?
Too many doses and I’m startin’ to get an attraction
My confidence is leavin’ me on my own
Too late to save me and you know I don’t want the attention
Finally, the music begins to die down, as Murray stands in the centre of the ring, ready to go.
Hans Heinemann: The tension in the ring is just… wow.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: It’s all about national pride tonight! …Again.
Miguel Rodriguez: I thought we made it clear at the start of the match that this match had nothing to do with nationality. It’s all about winning.
Hans Heinemann: Exactly. Don’t be stupid, David.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I meant it was a matter of national pride for me!
“Jump Around” by House of Pain begins to play all around the arena, and the crowd goes into a frenzy. Not because of Mike Wade walking through the curtains coupled with fantastic lighting effects, but because of his theme song. Mistaking this for a reaction for himself, Wade takes it all in and does a couple of twirls on the ramp way. He makes his way down to the ring and enters under the bottom rope, surveying his opponents. As he scales the top turnbuckle, the boos reign down on him.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Not the most popular figure here tonight, then.
Miguel Rodriguez: Wade’s nothing but a piece of poop to these people.
Hans Heinemann: He actually looks a little like Gerry Adams, just without the beard.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Enough of the politician references already!
Referee Aaron Davies calls for the bell on this four way fury match, and all hell breaks loose in the ring. Delorian hammers Murray with chops and blows to the head, while Wade pounces on Bomber. The crowd are loving the frenzy of kicks, punches and any form of offense fathomable going on in the ring. Delorian whips Murray off the ropes, but Murray latches onto them. Murray baits Delorian towards him, and Murray flips Delorian over the top rope. Meanwhile, Wade is laying into Bomber with stomps in the corner.
Hans Heinemann: I think I can safely say that this match is mental!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: You don’t even believe this is just a little tiny bit about national pride? I mean, look at the chaos.
Miguel Rodriguez: Si, this is getting personal!
Murray baseball slides Delorian on the outside, and heads out there himself to deliver some vicious right hands to Delorian. Wade picks Bomber up to his feet and suplexes him into the middle of the ring, then going into the first cover.
ONE!
Bomber quickly shoots the shoulder off the canvas. Wade continues beating his man down. Bomber is pulled to his feet, but Bomber’s counter is a spectacular one, as he knocks the hell out of Wade with a super kick to the chin. Wade collapses onto his back just as Murray re-enters the ring, having floored Delorian with a neck breaker on the protective mats outside.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Nobody could’ve predicted this! Everything is out of order in this match. Oh, and by out of order, I don’t mean the toilet kind. It’s mother-funkin’ crazy!
Hans Heinemann: Don’t look now, but Delorian’s up and coming after Murray.
Miguel Rodriguez: Andy, let my beeeg boy guide you!
Murray is taken completely by surprise by Delorian, who nails him with a DDT. Delorian asserts himself in the match now, taking down Bomber with a clothesline, and following that up with a leg drop on Wade. Delorian stands in the middle of the ring alone, as all around him are down on the mat. This doesn’t last long, though, as Murray looks for revenge. Delorian scouts Murray’s attack, though, and leg sweeps him down to the mat. Delorian scales the top rope and dives off with a shocking senton bomb right onto Murray’s chest. Murray coughs after the move, and Delorian covers his man without delay.
ONE!
TWO!
Murray manages to get his shoulder up, but the cover is interrupted by Wade, who is now up and ready to go. Before Wade can work on Delorian, Bomber catches him from behind and delivers a beautiful brain buster. Delorian, finding himself free to attack Murray once more, does so. However, Murray thinks fast and pulls Delorian into a small package.
ONE!
Delorian kicks out quite comfortably, but a look of bewilderment takes over his face as he recovers from the pin attempt.
Miguel Rodriguez: Too many pin attempts here! Murray and Delorian seem to have paired off, If you notice. Maybe they… like each other.
Hans Heinemann: Oh yeah, I can completely feel the chemistry.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: These Northern Ireland fans sure can. They’re already making signs saying “Murray and Delorian 4ever”.
Hans Heinemann: Slightly premature there, I’d say.
Bomber stacks Wade up for a shoulder breaker, but Wade shifts the weight of the situation and lands on his feet. Wade then ducks a clothesline attempt from Bomber and delivers a diving cross body to Bomber. Wade heads right for the high risk zone a.k.a. the top rope. Before he can execute any move, though, Murray interrupts, nailing him with blows to the head. Delorian comes up from behind Murray and delivers a german suplex. Wade finally has his chance and explodes onto the prone Bomber with a 450 splash.
Hans Heinemann: What a dazzling move by Mike Wade! Is he still breathing?
Miguel Rodriguez: Yeah, they’re all breathing. It’s really a question of how long each of them will last in this one.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: About as long as my girlfriend does every night pleading me not to have sex with her - a few seconds.
It is absolute carnage in the ring. Wade, after hitting the 450 splash on Bomber, lies beside Bomber. Both men are out of energy completely. Meanwhile, Delorian has tripped Murray up and is going for the sharpshooter. The fans are screaming for Delorian to lock the submission hold in, but Murray resists it well, and manages to kick Delorian off. Delorian charges back at Murray, only to take a big boot to the face.
Hans Heinemann: Murray liked that. He’ll want that in his career highlights package.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I’ll want everything I’ve ever said and done in my highlights package at the end of my career. It’s all good with me, you see.
Miguel Rodriguez: Even the time you - ?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Shut up! My family are watching this…
Murray, now the only one standing, takes advantage. Picking up the dazed Wade, Murray delivers some petty slaps to his face. Wade can’t retaliate, such is his current state. Murray body slams Wade to the mat and follows up with a couple of knee drops to the head. Murray illegally chokes Wade for three seconds, showing how vicious he can be. Murray then makes the cover.
Hans Heinemann: Totally uncharacteristic...
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Boo. You don’t need to resort to that, Andy...
ONE!
TWO!
Delorian somehow recovers, breaking up the pin cover. Murray reacts in anger, throwing himself wildly at Delorian, who cleverly avoids any onslaught from Murray. Delorian pounds on Murray’s back and lifts him up for a full nelson slam. Murray’s body smacks the canvas in an unforgiving way. Wade rolls out of harm’s way, as Bomber starts to recover from the 450 splash.
Hans Heinemann: Finally, The British Bomber is rising to his feet.
Miguel Rodriguez: He mega wimp!
Delorian intercepts Bomber and throws a punch at him. Bomber retaliates angrily, whipping him into the ropes, but Delorian grabs the top rope and halts himself from rebounding. Not missing a trick, Bomber runs at him and clotheslines him over the top, only for Wade to grab TBB from behind and throw him over too!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: There go Delorian and Bomber!
Miguel Rodriguez: Bomber landing right on top of Adalia Delorian.
Andy Murray advances from behind Mike Wade and knees him in the small of the back. Wade turns round, hampered by the knee attack, and Murray paws at his face before setting him up in a high suplex. Holding Wade up in the air, the Scotsman slowly smiles...
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: OH! Here we are! Highland Hangover... NOW!
Wade crashes to the mat, head first, and Murray immediately hooks his leg for the cover following his Highland Hangover finisher.
Hans Heinemann: He delivers the brainbuster...
ONE!
Hans Heinemann: And...
TWO!
THREE!
Hans Heinemann: The win! The win... for Murray... already...
Miguel Rodriguez: Wow! What a... short match.
Hans Heinemann: Anticlimax.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Ah come on, it was fast-paced, adrenaline-fuelled stuff.
Hans Heinemann: I was looking forward to this, but I feel a little let down...
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: How CAN you? Andy Murray proving his dominance in AWC!
Bomber and Delorian both slide back into the ring looking angry. Delorian engages Murray in a brawl and TBB heads for the downed Wade.
Hans Heinemann: Uh-oh...
Miguel Rodriguez: Things are getting hot.
James Brunt, the ring announcer, decides it’s safer to make his announcement from ringside:
James Brunt: The winner... ANDY MURRAY!
Hans Heinemann: I think, for the second time in the evening, we are going to cut elsewhere and just hope this clears itself up...
Deliverance To The AWC
FEATURING: DELIVERANCE, SARAH KENNEDY
AUTHOR: MIKE STATON
The scene is the main entrance of Odyssey Arena as the doors swing open and two men – rather late tonight – barge through as if owning the place. The bigger of the two men has his face covered with a ghoulish mask and is dressed in all black while his companion dawns a unbuttoned dress shirt displaying a gothic cross tattoo engulfing his chest. The men continue down the hallway swinging their heads left to right, searching for something or someone. Passing the corridor lounge in the arena, AWC's interviewer spots them and begins a pursuit.
Sarah Kennedy: Excuse me, you two seem lost. Is there something I can help you find?
The man hiding behind the ghoulish mask stand quite as the other steps forward pulling his black hair away from his face.
Man: I go by the name of Crucifix, this behemoth behind me is my brother Ghost. As you can see he isn't much of a talker.
Sarah Kennedy: So you’re wrestlers I presume? Or just some lost rockstars with weird stage names?
Crucifix: Heh, that's funny. Yeah we’re the newest and soon to be most prestiged duo in AWC, Deliverance. Who might you be, if you don't mind me asking?
Sarah Kennedy: How rude of me, I'm Sarah Kennedy.
Crucifix: Ah, the AWC reporter in the flesh. It's a pleasure.
Sarah Kennedy: (blushing) So you’re here at tonight's event… does that mean we get to see the new duo in action? Although… it’s a little late…
Crucifix: That's a big negative, were just here to discuss some of our contract stipulations with Pearl and make everything final.
Ghost grunts from behind Crucifix and Sarah Kennedy jumps back a couple steps. Gathering herself she steps forward again.
Sarah Kennedy: What was that all about?
Crucifix: Oh nothing he is just hungry.
Sarah Kennedy: You can understand his groans and moans?
Crucifix: He's my brother what do you expect?
Crucifix shrugs as he turns around to continue down the hallway, Ghost following like a lumbering ghoul. Suddenly stopping Crucifix is plowed over by Ghost.
Crucifix: Ouch! Dang it Ghost, watch where your going!
Ghost: Herregrhre!
Crucifix: I know, I know. Hey Ms. Sarah... could you possibly point us in the direction of Pearls office?
Sarah Kennedy turns around quickly as Crucifix's charming voice pierces her ear drum. She holds her arm up and extends the pointer finger aiming down the hall.
Sarah Kennedy: Just keep going that way and make the first left then it's the third door on the right. Should say "DAVID HARBER" on the door.
Crucifix: Thanks Ms. Sarah, I appreciate the help.
Sarah Kennedy: No problem.
Ghost: Jehrgerad!
Crucifix: No I was right! You said to go right over there and that's the food area… oh wait your hungry aren’t you?
Ghost: Kragdkjjhua!
Crucifix: Sorry bout that bro, lets grab a snack before we head to Pearl’s office.
Sarah Kennedy turns and heads back to the lounge area while Deliverance enjoy a couple salted pretzels.
The Challenge... Is On
FEATURING: PADDY O'SHEA, SARAH KENNEDY, HATE
AUTHOR: JAAKKO OKSA
Miguel Rodriguez: What a night we have so far, but I think eet’s time for me beeeeeg boy to get some sleep…
Hans Heinemann: Well, isn’t that jolly and well. You do go on and take a nap.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I could use a nap too. Especially a nap after a bottle of GUINNESS.
Hans Heinemann: You sleep with beer? This has to be the most ridiculous thing I have…
The video screen of the arena suddenly lights up, interrupting Heinemann (once again). The view shows Paddy O’Shea walking in the parking lot, with a pack of ice held against his head. O’Shea is cursing under his breath as he makes his way towards his motor home that is parked on the far side of the parking lot, far away from the other cars. However, O’Shea is stopped by the always-lovely Sarah Kennedy who runs after him.
Sarah Kennedy: Paddy! Paddy O’Shea! Please wait!
O’Shea turns around, staring at Kennedy like he was going to punch her out right there and then.
Paddy O’Shea: Look, aye hav’ had a rotten bastard of a day. So if ye’ll excuse me, aye’m going to get some rest right now…
Sarah Kennedy: Yes, yes, I understand, but there is something I have to ask you about. After all, asking questions IS a part of my job. Pretty please?
O’Shea curses loudly, throwing “fecks” and “sonsofbitches” around like Terry Funk on his worst days. Then, he bites his lip and nods at Kennedy, even trying to smile a bit.
Paddy O’Shea: Ah, feck it. Ask yer questions.
Sarah Kennedy: Has Hate answered your challenge yet?
Paddy O’Shea suddenly grows cold again, and his eyes light up with rage. O’Shea’s other hand, which isn’t holding an ice pack, tightens into a fist as he leans closer to Kennedy, genuinely scaring her as he speaks with a voice that is nearly crazy with anger.
Paddy O’Shea: Ye know what? NO! HE HASN’T! That bastard ain’t given me a yes or a no for me challenge! Well, since he doesn’t wan’ to face me, I say FECK ‘EM! He don’t want to fight me, that’s fine ‘n dandy by me. You hear that, Hate? FECK YOU.
Paddy O’Shea pushes Sarah Kennedy away from himself, which is actually a pretty wise move, as the motor home suddenly lights up in a huge explosion, throwing both O’Shea and Kennedy on the ground. When O’Shea gets up, he turns around to see a huge fireball engulfing his home, quickly burning it to a crisp. O’Shea’s mouth falls open, and after a while he falls onto his knees, just staring at the burning wreckage. AWC staff and relatives of Paddy start running to the scene, calling for fire extinguishers and water hoses, as well as for the fire brigade. The view on the video screen suddenly cuts to a dark room, with Hate being the only thing visible. He has some fresh bruises on his chest from his little brawl with O’Shea earlier on the show, but otherwise he is smiling, a sick, sadistic grin that shows how much he is enjoying the pain caused to Paddy O’Shea.
Hate: Very well, you filthy rat… I accept your challenge. We WILL end this. One on one, Paddy. I will do to you what I should have done to your father. Consider this a fair warning…
The view cuts back to the burning O’Shea motor home for a moment before the video screen dies, leaving the arena crowd gasping and booing at Hate’s latest vile deed.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: HOOOLY SHIT! Did Hate just…
Miguel Rodriguez: I think he did. That is seriously fooked up.
Hans Heinemann: Well, that… certainly… was… INTERESTING.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: And you wanted that man to be our champion, Hans. POTATOES on you!
Hans Heinemann: … just shut up.
Testimony
FEATURING: n/a
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
A book.
The pages turn: thin, yellow, creased, having stood the test of time.
But – empty. Devoid of words, of creativity, of inspiration.
A match strikes.
The book burns.
The last page turns.
And on it, scrawled in thick black ink, smudged and dirty, the words:
“THE END”.
AWC presents Testimony.
30th September 2005.
Prepare to be judged.
Pierce Lavelle (C) vs James Varga (UWF)
STIPULATION: INTERPROMOTIONAL SINGLES
REFEREE: WHO KNOWS?
AUTHOR: MARQUETTE
James Brunt: The following interpromotional match is scheduled for one fall, and is for the AWC Transatlantic championship!
The drum roll begins, as the lights around the arena synchronise with the beat. “Stockholm Syndrome” by Muse begins to play, as Lavelle stands on the top ramp. He runs to either side of the top stage, and yells something to his fans. Half way down to the ring, he raises his hands as pyros explode into the air. Lavelle enters the ring - fully dressed in his in-ring attire; and awaits his opponent.
James Brunt: Introducing first, from Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, weighing in at 245 pounds… the Transatlantic champion, PIERCE LAVELLE!
Hans Heinemann: Me thinks UWF is a bit afraid of taking on Lavelle, or else they’ll lose their championship to another company!
James Brunt: And his opponent, weighing in at 235 pounds… the UWF North American champion, the Evil Genius of Professional Wrestling… JAMES VARGA!
An eerie scene appears on the screen as the lights fade out. A dead forest somewhere back east is shown. The trees are leafless and the entire scene is covered by the eerie shadows of clouds. A shadowy figure then appears. The figure then takes a few steps and then hears something. The figure looks around and something runs at it. The scene on the tron fades out as the eerie theme music to the movie 'Halloween II' begins playing and a pumpkin with a candle in the middle appears on the Universal Tron now. The crowd erupts in loud boos as James Varga comes out wearing the UWF North American championship belt.
As Varga slides into the ring Lavelle goes to work immediately, putting the boots to the back of his head fiercely!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: He’s putting a world of hurt on Varga!
Hans Heinemann: Probably because he’s angry about the UWF NA title not being on the line, where his title is!
Miguel Rodriguez: That’s a good reason to go loco, I say.
Lavelle grabs Varga by the waistband and hefts him up to his feet before whipping him across the ring. Varga bounces back and gets a huge clothesline that nearly sends him flipping back onto his stomach. Landing on the back of his head, Lavelle grabs his dangling legs to hook them for a pin.
ONE!
TWO!
THR-
Varga kicks out at the last second!
Hans Heinemann: Yeah, that’s the best of UWF there! Nearly losing 5 seconds into the match!
Lavelle picks him up again and whips him into the ropes, going for another clothesline. Varga wises up quickly and ducks underneath, bouncing off the ropes to duck a second clothesline. On the third bounce back Varga plows into Lavelle with a spear!
Miguel Rodriguez: He could be coming back here!
But suddenly Lavelle grabs Varga’s head and spikes him back with a DDT!
Hans Heinemann: Whoa! He didn’t see that coming!
The DDT sends Varga rolling over onto his back, arms and legs kicking up as he tries to stand back up, but is dazed from Lavelle’s force. The fans are going wild seeing the villainous Varga on the hard receiving end of things… but not the homosexual way he would get a hard receiving like in UWF. Getting back to the match, Lavelle goes again for another pin, thinking the win is in his grasp.
ONE!
TWO!
Kickout by the man known as Dark Helmet!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Rick Moranis kicks out!
Hans Heinemann: You’re a moronis.
Miguel Rodriguez: Que es moronis?
Hans Heinemann: You speak English!
On his way up, Varga sneaks in a shin kick to the knee that causes Lavelle to buckle some. A little goes a long way as Varga now has the opening and the advantage. With so many options he doesn’t know what to do first; a T-bone suplex would be nice now, or a classic eye gouge would keep his momentum going, and even a springboard dropkick could lead things into the finish. With so many successful options on his table he takes the best one he sees.
He leaves the ring.
Hans Heinemann: Where’s he going?
Lavelle recovers from the shot to see Varga heading back up the ramp, grabbing the UWF title from the ring keeper and shoving him away. The fans are booing him, others cheering him leaving the building so their wrestling experience could not be blackened anymore by UWF’s (lack of) talent. But Lavelle isn’t done exercising his ability, nor his pride of AWC. Sliding out of the ring, Varga has no idea that Lavelle’s on chase until a hand lands on his shoulder. Varga jumps, Lavelle going with the flow and atomic dropping him from behind! Varga staggers forward holding his tailbone before falling face forward overdramatically Flair style.
Miguel Rodriguez: Now get him back in the ring and finish things!
Lavelle grabs Varga by the ankle and drags him back to the ring. Clawing at the ground, Varga has no choice as he’s picked up and shoved back into the ring. Lavelle clims in, and immediately he’s knocked down by a falling knee to the back of the head! Varga was in waiting, and now he’s got the larger AWC champion in a prone position. He grabs him by the head and starts to lead him towards the corner.
Hans Heinemann: He’s going to get PWNED~!
He runs up the turnbuckle and turns around for a spike tornado DDT, but Lavelle throws him away and Varga lands right on his tailbone again!
Miguel Rodriguez: Man, Lavelle’s whipping his culo, holmes.
Hans Heinemann: An atomic drop and then that toss, his tailbone’s gonna get shattered if they keep this up.
Miguel Rodriguez: Well, at least Jamie Shock won’t be shattering it during any other activities.
Hans Heinemann: Yeah… wait, what?
Lavelle takes his chance with James on the mat and locks in a figure four! James squirms in the hold, Lavelle wrenching hard on James with all he has trying to lock it in.
Miguel Rodriguez: Lavelle can’t win if he can’t lock that on!
Hans Heinemann: He’s wearing him down! That’s called smart wrestling!
James breaks free of the hold and rolls Lavelle onto his back! Then with a few knees dropped into Lavelle’s back, Varga gets up and locks in a figure four on Lavelle!
Hans Heinemann: Now Varga is working on the legs of Lavelle.
Lavelle tries to block the figure four though! James’s leg is on the brink of locking in, but Lavelle’s hand keeps it back!
Miguel Rodriguez: Stop being a chump and take the figure four!
James leans up and cold-cocks Lavelle from out of nowhere! Lavelle falls back, thus allowing Varga to continue with the figure four! Lavelle yells out in pain as Varga leans back, putting the pain hard into the submission move.
Hans Heinemann: These two are more worried about making the other hurt than winning!
Miguel Rodriguez: That’s how it’s supposed to be!
The ref watches as Lavelle reaches up and grabs Varga’s head! He tries to roll him over, but James releases the figure four and ends up on Lavelle’s back instead!
Before Pierce can do anything, James Varga locks him into an STF! James notices his position in front of the ropes and hops onto the second, releasing half of the STF and leaping over for a bulldog!
Miguel Rodriguez: That’s the excellent ring presence of James Varga!
But suddenly Lavelle holds James up and runs for the ropes with him in the air!
DOOOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I gotta say this won’t be too good for Varga.
Lavelle throws James face first into the ropes, backing up to catch him right into a chestberaker! Lavelle picks Varga up and whips him into the corner as the crowd cheers on his comeback. Varga hits the turnbuckle hard, but it’s nothing compared to the tankle Lavelle spears into his lower back! Then Lavelle locks in a full nelson from James, sweeping his legs out from in front of him and driving his head forward into the top turnbuckle!
Hans Heinemann: Another innovative move from Lavelle!
James staggers out of the corner holding his head, but Lavelle’s not done with him yet! He grabs him in a waistlock and shoves him chest first into the corner.
Miguel Rodriguez: Varga’s getting taken to school here in AWC by Lavelle!
Lavelle keeps the waistlock locked on…the crowd getting behind him, as they know what’s coming next.
Hans Heinemann: DEUTSCH! DAS DEUTSCH!
Lavelle explodes out of the corner with the German suplex! Rolling back, he pulls Varga back to his feet and hits him with a second!
Hans Heinemann: ZWEI DEUTSCH! ZWEI DEUTSCH!
Miguel Rodriguez: Hey, don’t start getting all Third Reich on me now!
James goes hard into the mat with the third German, and both he and Lavelle go bouncing off the canvas as Lavelle nails a release German, Varga sailing across the ring. Lavelle rolls to his feet and trash talks Varga as the crowd pops for the suplexes! He picks Varga up and puts him in a standing headscissors.
Hans Heinemann: He’s going to finish it here!
Lavelle hoists him up for a powerbomb and heaves him towards the turnbuckle. Varga suddenly lands on the top and springs back with a missile dropkick that levels Lavelle!
Miguel Rodriguez: Hi Low Down! This could change the course of AWC history here!
Varga holds his arms up, jeering on the booing fans. Then he grabs Lavelle and goes for the corner, twisting around for the spike tornado DDT.
Miguel Rodriguez: U GOT PWNED~!
Varga spins Lavelle around and leans back with the DDT, but Lavelle grabs him and keeps spinning, turning right back around to the corner! He plows Varga into the corner and locks on the camel clutch quickly!
Hans Heinemann: He’s got it locked in!
Varga takes the hold like a man initially, but it proves too much even for him as he begins to tap madly.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: VARGA TAPS! AWC WINS!
Tester's Report
FEATURING: ???, DAVID "PEARL" HARBER
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
There’s a man we don’t know wearing a snazzy navy suit, and he’s holding a clipboard and looking very serious. His slicked back hair betrays the nature of his visit as “strictly business but I know it’s on TV”, and he looks very self-important as he raps three times on the door marked “DAVID HARBER”.
It opens almost at once, and the Entertainment Manager meets the new arrival with a grin.
Pearl: Come in, I’ve been expecting you.
The two shake hands, and the navy-suited man progresses into the room. Pearl shuts the door and they both sit.
Man: Glad we could meet again so quickly, Mr. Harber.
Pearl: Oh, really, it’s me who’s glad, that you turned this around so quickly. So... good news?
The man purses his lips.
Man: The majority of the roster is all clear, but we did find something on one...
Pearl raises his eyebrows.
Pearl: Who?
Navy suit twists his face into an expression of regret.
Man: Adam Masters.
Pearl: You’re serious?
Pearl remains calm, but his wide eyes betray his doubly-fast heartbeat at this moment. The man considers, then nods.
Man: The only problem is... we don’t know what it is.
Pearl: What do you mean?
Man: I’ve never come across this before – well, perhaps I have. I'm not sure – you see, it seems identical to a strain we found in one body a while back, but we were under the impression that this substance of his was unique.
Pearl: Clearly you were wrong. What substance is this?
Man: I must reiterate that it’s very unlikely that this is possible, and we’re going to need to conduct further tests and research into what it could –
Pearl: What is it?
A deep breath.
Man: The Prometheus Serum.