Fresh! Results6th December 2005
Catching Up: Point A
FEATURING: DAVID "PEARL" HARBER, PIERCE LAVELLE, ADAM DICK
AUTHOR: JOE SCHMIDT
Pierce Lavelle would never be able to recall, in perfect sequence, the events that brought him forth to this position.
Being called into the Entertainment Manager's office (the guy one, not the chick), it was a process he'd gone through time and time again. He'd shared words on so many occasions, that Pierce happened to consider David "Pearl" Harber a really close friend.
That was before the lies. Before the game that took its toll on his personal life.
Looking back on when Harber first asked Pierce to play the detective game for him, the Transatlantic Champion never expected arriving to the situations and conclusions he came to. The Prometheus Serum, Promecil, Goone, Omnikon and everything in between; all of it attributed to the bags that now hang under his eyes and the pain that rests between his shoulderblades.
The truth was, Pierce hadn't really slept much lately. He didn't like to. It always ended an eternity too early, just to give way to another series of unwanted circumstances.
Enough was almost enough.
Pierce Lavelle: You wanted to see..... me?
At first it was a question, but it turned into a statement upon the sight that caught his eye. Walking in to Pearl's office unannounced was never a problem before. This time, however, he couldn't help but feel as if he were interrupting something.
Pearl: Sit down, Pierce.
Adam Dick: Yeah; sit down, Pierce.
Pearl: It's time we have a long overdue chat.
Pierce Lavelle's stomach turned itself inside out. HIs insides decayed. His heart split in two. Somewhere, was the distinct vein of betrayal lingering around him. Pearl would insist he was the one betrayed.
Pearl: So, tell me about Omnikon.
Introduction
FEATURING: DAVE KERN, JEFF MARX, STEVEN SMITH
AUTHOR: PIERRE
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 to gain the Transatlantic title, which he then lifts in the following shot to introduce his second reign on top of AWC. A pulsating white light continually lights up the screen, with shots of many AWC superstars in action being shown: The Furious Fists Of God, Red Rock, Ellis Nash.
And even though I know
That everything might go
Go downhill from here
I'm not afraid
A quick collection of highlights from last week flash across the screen as the song moves into its chorus. Alexa Kendericks smashing Chainz’ head against a car window; Mike Wade’s Majistral Cradle on Owen O’Shea to win the Alliance titles for The Unfuckables; Aimz’ Dead Aim splash putting Andy Murray through a table to subsequently pin him for victory.
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
There are no fireworks this week as the camera rapidly pans away from the big video screen to show the whole arena – but things look different.
Steven Smith: This is more like a prison camp than a wrestling show...
Sasha Volkyeva’s first night as Entertainment Co-Manager is marked by her influence: six feet of wire mesh on top of the usual security wall separates the thousands of fans from the action. The commentators are seated on a desk to the side of the stage rather than in the now barren looking ringside area.
Jeff Marx: I'm still waiting for the pyro before we can start talking...
Dave Kern: No pyro anymore, Jeff. Safety.
Jeff Marx: Volky?
Dave Kern: Yes, part of Ms Volkyeva’s new regime.
Dave sighs.
Jeff Marx: And they’ve EVEN turned the music down.
Dave Kern: I was wondering why I wasn’t in capital letters!
Steven Smith: How are we supposed to sound excited about the upcoming show now?
Dave Kern: (taking role) By just LOOKING at the four HUGE MATCHES on offer tonight! We’ll kick off with a mouthwatering Weapons match between Relentless champion Mike W... what?
He trails off at the look from his partners.
Steven Smith: It’s just not the same. We’re meant to be over there.
Jeff Marx: What say we boycott the night?
Dave Kern: (agitated) No Jeff, we can’t do that... we’ll just go and see Ms Volkyeva after the show and tell her that –
Jeff Marx: Oh, yeah, like she’s gonna just change things back. LIKELY.
Steven Smith: But... we can’t go on like THIS?
Pause.
Dave Kern: Times change, Steven. Times change.
The fans aren’t even screaming.
Catching Up: From A to B
FEATURING: DAVID "PEARL" HARBER, PIERCE LAVELLE, ADAM DICK
AUTHOR: JOE SCHMIDT
Pearl: First of all, I don't know where to begin.
Lavelle should have expected Pearl to give such an answer. Instead, he expected to see Adam Dick grinning like a school girl. Too bad it went as the opposite; the man known as the Face seemed to be more somber than Pearl and Pierce combined.
Pierce Lavelle: I'm sorry, Pearl-
Pearl: Don't.
Pierce Lavelle: I've told you everything.
Pearl: Hah, maybe. Seeing that, I know everything that you do, and then some. You may be telling me everything you know, but it still doesn't amount to the other information I've acquired. Did you really think I wouldn't find out about this? Were you trying to protect me?
Pierce Lavelle: Come on Pearl-
Pearl: I said don't.
Lavelle had no clue what his boss was referring to. He looked behind him, where Adam leant against the wall for some sort of answer or sign or relief. He found neither.
Pierce Lavelle: Dave, please.
Pearl: My friends call me 'Dave,' Lavelle. You call me Mr. Harber.
Oh, snap. As if Pierce wasn't frozen dead in his tracks and thrown in a vat of cement and then cryogenically suspended from Pearl's dig, the Entertainment Manager (the cool one) decided to make it clear that he should be.
Pearl: Now be quiet and listen for a second, because I've heard enough. I've heard everything, and it is enough to send me into cardiac arrest. About Promecil, even more-so about its' ties with Alex Strider and the Educator, and the ingredient of the Prometheus Serum. About John McGrady, your grandfather's investigator who sold your family out and tortured you.
The mention of said situation brought a tingle up Adam's spine. This situation never sat well with him.
Pearl: Stay calm, Dick. I also know about how you saw James Lawler die, and the men that you've had to hurt in self-defense. You've tangled yourself in a dangerous game by playing far too reckless, Pierce; running around like a chicken without a head, and under my influence? You've played it coy far too long.
Lavelle was still speechless.
Pearl: I should have known you'd stay quiet like the coward you've been. You can't even defend yourself! And how could you? There is not enough room for you to stand on, much less breathe. Is this how our Champion asks? Is this how a friend treats the man he asked to do a favor? You never should have got in that situation, Pierce. You should have talked to me. I would have gotten you out of there and this thing would be in the hands of the professionals; not some clumsy wrestler. Instead you stayed quiet, like you are now.
Deep breath, Pierce. It's time to focus on the matters at hand. Blow up, blow out; it's all the same routine. Work on winning the boss back later. Let this silence linger for a little bit longer; it helps you think.
Adam Dick: I sort of have something to say! Actually, it's more of a question.
Damn you, Face-Eater!
Adam Dick: Can you tell me why a guy like Pierce Lavelle is held to a higher standard than a scumbag like the Educator, when they're clearly breaking the same forbidden rules of competition that everyone seems to consider so holy?
Pierce's mind was racing over and over again, trying to mull over a certain concept and never coming out with a clear and logical answer. HOW COULD THESE PEOPLE KNOW SO MUCH ABOUT WHAT'S HAPPENED WHEN I'VE NAUGHT TO TELL ANYONE?!
The answer sat right in front of him. Pierce just had to fucking pay attention and get the balls to say something.
The Arrival
FEATURING: CHAINZ, TRACEY, MADDY ESTELLE
AUTHOR: MIKE S.
We cut to the parking lot, where a few crew hands scatter about. The parking lot is fairly empty save for a few cars sitting in a few spots. Most of the people who have arrived have already done so. Suddenly a car pulls into the parking lot and parks in a handicapped space. The front doors open and Chainz and Tracy step out of the car.
Chainz is wearing a nice black suit and looks very profession save the sunglasses that cover his eyes. His face is riddled with welts, bruises, cuts, stitches, and bandages from the brutal attack suffered at the hands of Alexa Kendericks and a steel chain. Although in some pain and discomfort, Chainz has a sick smile on his face and walks with a cocky confidence.
Tracy is looking like her normal sexy self, with clothes that are two sizes too small. Her mini skirt resembles more of a long belt than skirt. Her high heels are insanely long, making her stand nearly as tall as Chainz who is normally ten inches taller. Her tight “I like it when they say no” Chainz shirt is extremely tight, especially about the breast area where the words have been stretches so far that it’s hard to read them. She has a smile on her face as well and doesn’t seem worried about the events that transpired last week.
The two walk into the arena, hand in hand, with the crew hands looking at them. Most want to show their sympathy towards the couple, but no one forgets what Chainz has done and what he is all about.
Chainz and Tracy walk into the arena and start heading down a hallway. Without warning Maddy Estelle runs up to the two from behind.
Maddy Estelle: Chainz. Tracy.
Chainz and Tracy stop in their steps, Tracy looking a bit happy to hear from her friend. Chainz looking annoyed.
Chainz: What do you want?
Tracy Oh don’t mind him Maddy, he’s a bit sore from last week. How are you?
Maddy Estelle: I’m good, I just wanted to say hi and to offer my sympathy for what that bitch did to you last week.
Tracy Thank you, that assault was totally uncalled for.
Chainz: It’s no big deal, first time I really felt alive here in the AWC.
Maddy Estelle: What do you mean?
Chainz: What would you say if I told you that I found that little assault, if you call it that, a breathe of fresh air?
Maddy Estelle: You actually enjoyed that, what are you crazy?
Chainz takes off his sunglasses to reveal two heavily blackened eyes. He just stares at Maddy Estelle’s eyes, his eyes are cold and still. Chainz continues to stare at Maddy for awhile, never blinking, showing no emotion what-so-ever.
Chainz: What do you think?
Maddy Estelle looks scared to answer.
Tracy Uh, come on honey. Lets go take care of that thing you wanted to take
care of. Tracy grabs Chainz’s hand.
Tracy Have a good night Maddy.
Tracy pulls Chainz by the arm away from the frightened interviewer.
Maddy Estelle: Yeah, you too.
Tracy pulls Chainz down the hall, but Chainz never turns around, he continues to stare at Maddy. The glare he is casting her way is one that we haven’t seen before. His eyes are unblinking, unemotional, and intense. His gaze is so fierce that Maddy shudders a bit. Chainz finally blows her a kiss and turns around leaving Maddy shaking like a leaf.
Catching Up: From B to C
FEATURING: DAVID "PEARL" HARBER, PIERCE LAVELLE, ADAM DICK
AUTHOR: JOE SCHMIDT
Pierce Lavelle: Look, I’m sorry. I was being tortured! There was no way I could have stopped John McGrady from doing what he wanted.
Pierce was pleading to his boss. His case wasn’t exactly plausible, he knew, but one thing he also knew was that he never wanted to be a cause of harm for Pearl.
Pierce Lavelle: When he injected that stuff in me, I felt sick. That raw power was coursing through me, I could feel it. The Prometheus Serum made me feel like a God.
Adam Dick: hmm, no wonder you did so SWIMMINGLY at Triangles, eh Pierce?
This made Pierce turn an eyebrow. Adam never called him by his real name.
Pierce Lavelle: No, I took precautious. I couldn’t look at myself the same if I went through with what I did. I had the drug extracted! I took the piss-tests before the match. I was clean, Pearl; I have the papers to prove it.
Before Pearl can answer, Adam steps in between.
Adam Dick: I don’t think you get it, Pierce. You see, you’re paving the road with good intentions when there’s still pot-holes to drive over. You’re telling me that medics began extracting a drug that they had no idea exists? A drug they’ve had no interaction with before and have no procedures in terms of caring for the drug? I call bullshit on you, Pierce Lavelle.
Pierce Lavelle: I WAS CLEAN, Dick. Don’t you get it? Get off your fucking high horse because you lost fair and square. You don’t deserve this.
Pierce holds up the Transatlantic Title.
Pierce Lavelle: And you never will.
Adam Dick: Coming from you, Pierce, that means nothing. Not anymore.
The Face slides back behind Pearl, who still looks largely unpleasant at the entire situation.
Pearl: You say you were clean?
Pierce nods.
Pearl: I take it that YOU didn’t see this memo, the one from James Lawler to Omnikon execs?
Pierce, again, has no idea what they are discussing anymore.
Pearl: “I’m having trouble admistering the right dosage to certain patients. With this liquid strand, there is no way to measure how much his system currently holds or how much it can handle. Everytime we test our test subjects, they come out clean. Was this intentional?” James Lawler wrote that.
Adam Dick: In case you don’t get it, Promecil is a CLEAN steroid. It doesn’t show up in a simple piss test, Pierce.
Pearl: I’ve given a sample of the serum to my own personal physician. He has friends in the medical industry who are deciphering the mysteries of this serum as we speak.
Adam Dick: Tell me, Pierce, how come you never came clean?
Lavelle just sat still in his seat. He thought he was a good person. He thought he did the right thing. Too bad he could only convince himself.
Adam Dick: Is that what a Champion does? Tells themselves that they’re above the standard that we associate to thieves? Come on, Pierce, I thought you were better than that.
Pierce Lavelle: Pearl, I-
Pearl: Mr. Harber, Pierce. And I’m done talking to you. Leave my sight, now, so I can figure out how to handle this situation. We don’t want another Educator debacle on our hands, do we?
Pierce and Adam nod. For the first time, Adam smiles.
But none of this was relevant to the Transatlantic Champ anymore.
Pierce Lavelle was shunned.
What was questionable was his ability as a Champion. Is this the man that should be leading our company into the new year?
Immobilised
FEATURING: JOHNNY NOBLE
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
Backstage, the corridor is empty –
Until the camera pans down and we see Johnny Noble, unmoving, in a pile of his own blood.
Not cool.
Vets Don't Need it
FEATURING: THE BRITISH BOMBER, TIM SHIPLEY
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
Bomber: Who are YOU?
Not quite the reaction that Tim Shipley had hoped to provoke, and a few weeks ago his lip might have curled at such a reception from the man with the worst match record in AWC. But the forced realisation of how deadly serious Tony Aliso’s hate for the young Frontier champion is has effected a regression to the caught-in-the-headlights state of the Shipley of old.
Tim Shipley: Er – I’m Tim Shipley… Frontier champion…
Shipley awkwardly offers his hand over the threshold separating locker room from corridor. Bomber looks him up and down, and with a sigh, swings the half-open door back and moves away to allow the young man to come in.
Bomber: What do you want…
Tim Shipley: I –
He stops, put off by the sight of the veteran’s back turned towards him as he resumes a hold on his free weights. Clutch – snatch – sigh – clutch – snatch – sigh – and finally TBB realises that He Ain’t Talking.
He turns around with a glare.
Bomber: Spit it out, mate, I haven’t got all night.
Tim Shipley: You’ve got a 10-Count match –
Blurt and falter. Bomber, with a wide smile, looks at the 20-year-old as he would an idiot.
Bomber: Well spotted… what animal does chicken come from?
Tim Shipley: I – oh, never mind…
Shipley turns to go, but suddenly Bomber shoots out an arm to stop him.
Bomber: Wait, you were in one of these matches before, weren’t you?
Shipley slowly turns back around and nods coolly.
Tim Shipley: Yeah, the only one. Which, by the way, I won. Now since you quite obviously don’t need any advice from a fellow Englishman, from the ONLY person to ever win a 10-Count match, from someone with ten times as many wins in AWC as you, I think I’ll take my leave, thanks.
There’s that sarcasm, there’s that tone. Forgetting the fear he’s living in, Shipley muscles his way out of Bomber’s blank grasp and storms down the corridor.
Two Losses Of Patience
FEATURING: DAVID "PEARL" HARBER, RACE ALEXANDER, CONNIE
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
Pearl: What the hell, Race?
Race Alexander: I warned you. I warned you to watch your step with Noble, and it looks like I just lost my patience.
The two are stood in the office of Entertainment Co-Manager David “Pearl” Harber, whose face is red and livid from the furious exchange. Race Alexander, standing calmly on the other side of his desk, looks far more assured. His valet Connie stands just behind him, watching timidly.
Pearl: What the hell do you mean? Noble’s been fast-tracked to the nearest hospital to test out the grand facilities of the British NHS and you’re just standing here telling me you “lost your patience”?
Race Alexander: That is correct.
Pearl: What kind of game are you playing? Well I’ll tell you, it’s a dangerous one. Unlucky for you, Race, you caught me on a bad day.
Race Alexander: Worried about Sasha Volkyeva’s intrusion on your job?
Pearl: As a matter of fact, yes I am! And I'm ALSO worried about the fact that I have to CANCEL one of the four huge matches booked for tonight due to your IDIOCY!
Race Alexander: Oho, you’re gonna have to cancel more than that. Johnny might be out for a while. I didn’t hold back.
Pearl: Then you’ve lost me one of my top stars Race! I don’t have time for this! You’re fired!
Connie gasps. Alexander laughs.
Race Alexander: You have got to be kidding me. You run an operation this lax and then you try and FIRE me?
Pearl: I think I just did.
He leans round to Connie.
Pearl: Connie, you’re welcome to stick with your contract –
Connie: (grasping the arm of Race Alexander) I go wherever my man goes.
Race Alexander: Oh, we aren’t going anywhere honey...
Pearl: Try out of that door.
Race Alexander: Fine! Sasha’ll reinstate me anyway! We have an understanding!
Now it’s Pearl’s turn to grin.
Pearl: Oh no you don’t. Read the smallprint, Race. Me and her... we can’t overrule each other. One of the main conditions of our coexistence. Now go.
Alexander stares at Harber.
Race Alexander: This joker cannot be serious. Let’s go see Sasha, Connie.
Alexander walks firmly out of the office, a worried looking Connie at his side. Harber sighs wearily and picks up the phone.
Untitled Mike Wade Segment
FEATURING: SARAH KENNEDY, MIKE WADE
AUTHOR: MIKE WADE
Sarah Kennedy is backstage for a pre-match interview with AWC Relentless Champion Mike Wade, who up next defends his title against Hate. Sarah and Mike are standing in front of an AWC banner backstage. Mike is wearing a new t-shirt which reads "Dr Shelley+Dr Sherman help Mike". The determined look on Mikes face says it all, tonight all eyes are on retaining the title. Around his waist sits comfertably the Relentless title. It has gotten some 68 odd days to get accustomed to it's position. Over his right shoulder sits his newly won half of the Alliance titles which he holds with his Unfuckble partner, Adam Dick.
Sarah Kennedy: Mike tonight you face Hate for your Relentless title.....
Mike Wade: Very good Sarah. Good opening generic interviewer line. The fact of the matter is you aren't exactly needed here. But because you have a nice rack I will allow you to be here.
Sarah Kennedy: Um.....thanks.
Mike Wade: Um....you're welcome! Tonight I make yet another defence of my Relentless title. This one must make me the most fightingest champion in AWC history. That will onyl add to my list of compliments here. Along with being the first PURE double champion in AWC history.
Sarah Kennedy: Yes but Mike how do you feel about your opponent being Hate tonight? A lot of people saying you're the underdog tonight.
Mike Wade: Of course they are. Why wouldn't they? Nobody gives Mike Wade credit. And that's just how I like it. I said last week the silent pig eats the most. Tonight the pig again raises his voice and feasts. Only tonight I feast on Hate. Everyone says that it will be an upset if I retain tonight but they're wrong. Me winning tonight is simply run of the mill and should be expected.
Sarah Kennedy: What about the prospect of Paddy O Shea hanging over you?
Mike Wade: The only thing Paddy O Shea hangs over is the side of his bed while his brother pumps him up the arse! I beat him and his brother last week for the Alliance titles, but trust me that's not nearly enough revenge to take for that fucking trip to Mexico! Paddy O Shea will pay.....you'll see.....OH LOOK!
As coincidence would have it Paddy O Sheas main squeeze as of late and AWC stagehand "Shelley" walks just past the shot. Mike Wade places his arm firmly in front of Shelleys path creating a Mike Wade barrier. Shelley stops and tries her best to get past. However Mike simply blocks her path.
Mike Wade: Hi Shelley.
No response. Shelley stares straight ahead not looking at Mike.
Mike Wade: I was thinking about you all week Shell you know that?
That breaks the trance.
Shelley: Why don't you get away from me you sicko?
Mike Wade: Sicko? Shelley no I'm a double champ. A respectable Unfuckable individual.
Shelley: You're Unfuckable?
Mike Wade: Yes Shelley but for you I'll make an exception. Turn around there let me get a look at that tight little arse.......
Mike peeks round the outside of Shelley as Sarah Kennedy almost pukes into her mic and Shelley quivers in her shoes, wishing for Paddy to arrive.
Mike Wade: Tell Paddy I was askin' for him eh? I'll catch you two ladies later. I've got a title to retain, and to compete in the hottest opener of all time......Oh and Shelley?
Shelley: What??
Mike Wade: You've heard the expression, if you wanna get laid join the Parade right?
Shelley: Yeah.
Mike Wade: For you I'll make an exception!
Mike Wade (c) vs Hate
STIPULATION: WEAPONS MATCH
REFEREE: LARS LARSSON
AUTHOR: JAAKKO OKSA
Dave Kern: And what a match we have to open up Fresh! this week, folks! A WEAPONS match, between Hate and Mike Wade for Wade's Relentless title!
Jeff Marx: A Weapons match? Well, that's sure to make that Sasha get her panties in a knot.
Steven Smith: I wouldn't giving a knot in Hate's panties myself.
Dave Kern: You two, seriously... How did you land these jobs? We're supposed to be professional sports announcers!
Jeff Marx: Speak for yourself, I have "sarcastic prick" on my resumé!
While the commentators are arguing, James Brunt slides into the ring. The fans are booing the six-feet high wire mesh that extends up from the regular guard rail, but Brunt can only shrug apologetically at the fans before starting his routine.
James Brunt: The following match is a Weapons match, and is for the Atlantic Wrestling Club Relentless Championship! Introducing first, the challenger, weighing in at 225 pounds and hailing from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania...
Marduk's "Dracul Va Domni Din Nou In Transilvania" fires up on the speaker system, and the fans begin to boo almost automatically. James Brunt waits for the audio onslaugh to lessen down a bit, giving Hate plenty time to stride out with his jacket and gasmask on.
James Brunt: THE "FIFTH HORSEMAN", HATE!
Hate walks down the aisle, running his hand along the wire mesh screen before pulling his mask off and grimacing. His expression changes into a smile, however, as he notices the several steel chairs and other various objects stacked at ringside to be used in the match. Marduk's brutality begins to quiet down as Hate pulls off his jacket and throws both it and the mask to the floor, sliding into the ring without much fanfare.
Dave Kern: Hate was the victim of a nefarious prank by The Unfuckables last week, ending with Hate being crowned the "Glitter Man" of the year by a...
Jeff Marx: A pair of Steven Smith clones, and make no mistakes about it. I could feel the gayness of the place increase by at least a tenfold!
Steven Smith: Come on, it's a great honor to be chosen the Glitter Man of the Year! Do you know what kind of success previous winners such as Fabio, Ben Affleck and Billy Joel have gone on to achieve?
Jeff Marx: Not interested, you queer. Shut up.
Dave Kern: Jeff, we've been getting some complaints about your language as of lately, so you might want to...
Jeff Marx: Please, bitch! This is Europe, they don't care.
James Brunt: And introducing next, weighing in at 209 and 3/4 pounds, hailing from Waterford, Ireland... He is the reigning AWC Relentless Champion, "His Swerviness"... MIKE WADE!
"Jump Around" by House Of Pain flares up on the speakers, inciting the crowd into even greater boos than what Hate received. Mike Wade walks out in a cocky manner, wearing a wide grin on his face and holding the Relentless title in his hands. Wade waves at the booing crowd as if they were his greatest fans and walks to the aisle, before suddenly launching into a verbal tirade at a rather obese man sitting near the ringside. The man gets out of his chair... But then Wade points at the wire mesh separating at the two and laughs even harder, prompting the fans to boo him.
Jeff Marx: I got to say, this new protective feature seems to work excellently in also keeping the riffraff out of our business. Plus, no more ambushes from the crowd!
Dave Kern: Yeah, but in a similar vein we can no longer see the action live, instead we have to see through these small monitors. Wish they could get some new ones.
Steven Smith: It's tighter than my boyfriend's asshole! Can barely see anything on this thing.
Dave Kern & Jeff Marx: ...
Mike Wade demands that Lars Larsson move Hate to the other side of the ring, which Larsson does after some reluctance from Hate. Mike Wade slides into the ring and raises the Relentless title high above his head for all the people to see. The fans boo Wade as Larsson comes to him and takes the belt away. Wade spits on his hands and looks across the ring to the eyes of Hate, which seem to be positively burning with anger tonight.
Dave Kern: I can't really imagine what is going through the mind of Hate right now. He is standing less than twenty feet away from the man who made him a laughingstock on national TV last week, PLUS he has the chance to take home his first-ever AWC title!
Jeff Marx: What, the big retard hasn't gotten any gold around his waist yet?
Dave Kern: Not in the AWC, no.
Jeff Marx: PATHETIC! I bet I could become champion faster than that goon!
Lars Larsson has the bell rung, knowing full well that he only needs to be there to pick up the pinfall or the submission. Mike Wade steps forwards and takes up the classic boxing stance, getting a bunch of "What the fuck"-chants from the crowd. Hate shrugs his shoulders and steps forwards to hit Mike Wade, who suddenly drops down and rolls out of the ring. Wade slips onto his feet and points at his forehead to show how smart he is, but turns around quickly to see Hate sliding out of the ring after him.
Dave Kern: Mike Wade figuring out that he can avoid facing Hate by running away. Not the greatest of tactics ever invented, I'd say.
Jeff Marx: Well, I wouldn't let Red Skull touch me either. I think this is a job for Captain America!
Steven Smith: Oooh, costume playing! I want to be Robin!
Jeff Marx: ... Stop breathing my air, you sick freak.
Mike Wade takes off running, rounding the corner of the ring with relative quickness with Hate hot on his heels. Wade rounds the next corner and slides into the ring, followed quickly by Hate. Wade, however, is already up, and as Hate's head comes into his range, he plants a boot into the neck of the Nondivine Juggernaut. Hate tries to stand up, but Mike Wade keeps the boots on and forces Hate to stay down.
Dave Kern: A classic strategy employed by Mike Wade, duping Hate into his clutches.
Jeff Marx: Seriously, how retarded can that man be? He calls himself Hate, wears more makeup than Steven here and DIDN'T see that trap coming a mile away, what else is there to make it worse?
Mike Wade presses his boot down on the neck of Hate, grinding his face to the mat. Wade poses up for the crowd, but not for long as Hate suddenly grabs Wade's leg with one arm and sends His Swerviness to the mat with a quick trip. Mike Wade, surprised, barely has enough time to scamper up as Hate floors him with a rough shoulderblock before landing a series of boots on Mike Wade. Wade, still being of sound mind, wisely rolls out of the ring to regroup.
Dave Kern: The almost inhuman strength of Hate coming into play here, as he uses just one arm to floor his opponent. It's been a while since Hate has had the clear physical advance, really, although with that frame he can easily match up to even bigger opponents as we have seen.
Jeff Marx: What, you mean like Tim Martin last week? Yeah, Hate did a GREAT job of matching up to Tim Martin, he did.
Dave Kern: Why do you always have to be such a sarcastic prick, Jeff?
Jeff Marx: Hey, I can't help it. I have to do this gig with you, after all. I'm surprised I haven't gone sosiopathic yet!
Hate doesn't follow Mike Wade immediately, but instead waits for Wade to get up. Wade, concerned with his hurt head, doesn't see Hate sprint across the ring to the opposing ropes and then running towards Wade like a freight train. At the last moment, Wade turns around, just as Hate jumps through the second and third rope with a suicide dive, crashing into Mike Wade and flinging him into the guardrail/wire mesh wall.
Dave Kern: A SUICIDE DIVE! THAT was impressive! A full 225 pounds of flying Hate right there!
Jeff Marx: Haha, and Mike Wade took it like a freaking sledgehammer to the head! Look at him, he's almost out and this match has barely started!
Steven Smith: I wish someone speared ME like that from behind.
Jeff Marx: Yeah, I wish that too. No, wait, let me correct myself...
Hate picks himself up from the floor and dusts off his pants before looking at Mike Wade, who is slumping against the guard rail and trying to catch his breath. Hate walks over to Wade and picks him up before throwing him full speed at the guardrail and the wire mesh above it. The mesh bends but doesn't break, and Wade flops onto the floor, with Hate looking on with certain disappointment. Hate grabs Wade by the neck and drags him up, leading the Relentless champ towards the ring while the crowd, oddly enough, cheers for the cultist.
Dave Kern: Looks like our co-entertainment manager made sure that her security measures weren't going to be torn down in the first match of the night...
Jeff Marx: I'm pretty sure the mesh is there to prevent that lunatic from going into the crowd and eating babies or whatever the hell he does.
Dave Kern: Which one, Hate or Mike Wade?
Jeff Marx: Both, really.
Back in the ring, Hate lifts Mike Wade up and then springs off the ropes, planting his elbow squarely in the middle of Wade's forehead. Wade falls to the ring like a sack of bricks, letting out a loud thud from the hard ring as he falls. Hate goes down next to Wade and starts grinding his elbow into Mike Wade's forehead, as the Relentless champion screams out in pain. Hate ignores the pleas from the champ and instead stands up, landing a hard elbow drop to the face of Mike Wade. Hate rests his arm across the chest of Mike Wade as Lars Larsson starts the count for the first time in the match.
ONE!
Mike Wade lifts his shoulder up in a not-a-big-surprise moment. Hate stands up and pulls Wade up with him, and the Relentless champion tries to fight back by firing off some shots to the midsection of Hate. The punches are ignored by the Fifth Horseman, who grabs Wade by the ears and pulls him straight into a hard headbutt that floors the champ once again.
Jeff Marx: You know... No matter WHO he is fighting, this man Hate doesn't alter his style at all. A small opponent, a big opponent, it makes no difference to him! All he does is just punch and kick until the opponent can't move any longer.
Dave Kern: That... That was actually an actue observation from you, Dave. What have you been smoking?
Jeff Marx: Well, since we're heading to Amsterdam shortly... Something that I probably shouldn't have.
Steven Smith: BUTT crack?
Jeff Marx: Dear God, strike me down NOW...
Hate places his boot on the throat of Mike Wade and applies pressure, making the champion convulse as he tries to get free of the blatant choke. Lars Larsson just looks on, powerless to stop Hate from making Wade black out if he wishes so. Hate doesn't, however, as he soon stops and pulls Mike Wade onto his knees... Which turns out to be a bad idea, as Wade does a desperate spring and nails an elbow into the face of Hate, sending the Nondivine Juggernaut staggering backwards. Hate tries to re-estabilish control with a kick to the face, but Mike Wade ducks it and instead gives Hate a good, hard dropkick to the back. Hate staggers over to the ropes and Mike Wade is on it, nailing a running dropkick that sends Hate tumbling over the ropes and to the floor.
Dave Kern: The action is moving on over to the ringside area, where we can see what's happening once the CAMERAMEN RUN OVER THERE AND SHOW US!
Jeff Marx: Sheesh, Dave, relax. Have a Martini, it's on me.
Dave Kern: Where'd you get a Martini?
Jeff Marx: I'm making them as we speak.
Dave Kern: THAT is highly unprofessional and furthermore...
Steven Smith: Ooh, I'll have one!
Jeff Marx: Sorry, I don't want AIDS in my kitchenware.
Mike Wade doesn't waste any time, and neither does Hate. As Hate gets up, Wade is already on the move, and when the Fifth Horseman has enough time to get his bearings, Mike Wade comes bearing down onto him with a flipping suicide dive through the ropes, knocking Hate prone on the floor. The fans give a moderate pop for the high-flying move, but quickly turn over to boos as Mike Wade gets up and does a bow towards them. Wade then turns his back towards the downed Hate and nails a standing moonsault, impacting the back of Hate and forcing the larger man to yell in pain.
Dave Kern: Mike Wade showing off his considerable high flying talent and ability there, nailing a picture-perfect Tope Con Hiló through the ring ropes.
Jeff Marx: Chili Con Carne?
Dave Kern: No, Tope Con Hiló. That's the lucha libre name for the move that Wade just performed.
Jeff Marx: Those smelly Mexicans. You'd think Wade would want NOTHING to do with Mexicans, even if it was a wrestling move invented by them.
Mike Wade, noting that Hate is going to be down for a little while, goes on to gather some goodies. He throws two chairs into the ring and then grabs a small black bag from under the ring, containing something heavy by the looks of it. Wade tossess the bag into the ring as well, where it lands with a hard slam, before picking Hate up and sliding him into the ring. Hate immediately begins to regroup, but Mike Wade grabs a steel chair and waits for him, a crooked smile overcoming his face.
Dave Kern: Mike Wade armed with a steel chair now, the weapons finally coming into play in this match.
Hate staggers up to his feet and looks towards Mike Wade in defiance. Wade steps in and lifts the chair as if to hit Hate, and Hate raises his hands to receive the blow... when Wade suddenly boots Hate in the groin! The crowd lets out a symphatetic OOOH, and even Lars Larsson winces at the blow. But Hate seems to be unaffected, unnerving Mike Wade. Wade stares into the smiling face of Hate and then decides it's time for action, punting Hate in the genitals once more... But once again the behemoth that is Hate refuses to acknowledge the blow!
Jeff Marx: What the hell is that!? Is that man a eunuch or something? Because OUCH! Has he got any BALLS?
Steven Smith: NOOO! MISTER GLITTER! NOOO! Damn you, Mike Wade, damn you to HELL for touching the Glitter Man of the Year like that! I WANTED TO BE THE FIRST ONE!
Dave Kern: Certainly an, errr, unorthodox strategy and, uhhh, an unusual response...
Mike Wade now stares in horror at Hate, who stretches his neck and takes a step towards Mike Wade. Wade involuntarily takes a step backwards, but then toughens up and goes to kick Hate again. This time, Hate grabs the leg and pulls Wade closer, smiling horribly. Whatever move Hate has in mind, however, is broken apart by Mike Wade who swings the steel chair edge-first into the crotch of Hate, finally forcing the Nondivine Juggernaut off of his feet. Hate, however, only falls on one knee, and despite the obvious pain he is in, he begins to stagger up. Wade will have none of it as he runs and nails a flying forearm to the face of Hate, sending him into the corner, where he slumps down into a sitting position and seems to be out of the game for a while, finally.
Dave Kern: The amount of scrotal violence in this match is making me a bit squeamish, to tell you the truth...
Steven Smith: I think this promotes some ugly stereotypes and ways of action against the male genitalia. They should be caressed gently, not manhandled like that! Although manhandling them feels pretty good too, not that I don't mind...
Jeff Marx: STEVEN. SHUT. THE. FUCK. UP.
Mike Wade stares at Hate, who seems to be working through the pain as best as he can, holding on to the ropes in preparation for the effort of pulling himself up. Wade drops the chair he is holding and then goes back to his small black bag, opening the zipper quickly. Slowly and smiling evilly, Mike Wade pulls out a bowling ball, and the fans start making some noise as some sense what is to come. Wade stands up and turns towards Hate, who is sitting in a pretty dangerous position right now.
Jeff Marx: Oh my God, he's gonna...
Dave Kern: There is no way... I mean, there is NO WAY that even Mike Wade would do something like that! That's just... Too...
Steven Smith: I CAN'T WATCH THIS!
Wade reels back, takes a few mocking bowling steps and then hurls the ball across the ring, nailing the sitting Hate right between the legs. Hate's eyes flare open with sudden pain and the Fifth Horseman releases his hold on the ropes, grabbing his mangled crotch as Lars Larsson shuts his eyes and looks about ready to dry heave, as does every other male member of the audience. Even Mike Wade grimaces a bit and protects his family jewels before grabbing a steel chair and banging it against the ring.
Dave Kern: OH MY DEAR SWEET GOD! THAT IS INHUMAN!
Jeff Marx: Haha! SSTTTTRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRIKE!
Steven Smith: I'm going to cry now...
With Steven Smith sobbing on the commentary, Mike Wade plays to the booing crowd, posing up with the steel chair in his hand, when suddenly some of the boos turn to cheers and cries of amazement. Wade turns around, fearing the worst, and sure thing it's Hate trying to get up. Wade stares in wide-eyed amazament as Hate pulls himself up into a standing position, pulling on the ropes with one hand to get enough leverage. Hate stands in a hunched position, obviously dazed but still upright. Wade doesn't waste any time as he runs in and gives Hate a hard chairshot across the back, but no luck as Hate straightens up suddenly. Wade hits him in the back again, but Hate only hunches over for a moment before straightening up and bellowing out a great roar of defiance.
Dave Kern: To Hate's credit, he is still fighting after taking some SERIOUS damage right there... Seriously, this man needs a doctor after the match, and FAST!
Jeff Marx: Nah, he's a big boy, he knew what he was going to get into with "His Swerviness" Mike Wade.
Dave Kern: But still, A BOWLING BALL TO THE NUTS!
Jeff Marx: Well, at least it made Steven shut up, so that's good in my books.
Mike Wade, irritated at Hate for ignoring his offense, slams the chair into the back of Hate's head, finally forcing the red-headed cultist to bend over. Wade teases another low blow, but instead goes to the apron behind Hate with the chair. Mike Wade issues out an audible "Watch THIS, faggots!" and then jumps from the apron to the top rope, springboarding high into the air. Wade keeps the chair close to himself and comes crashing down onto Hate, splashing the chair into the back of the prone Hate's head! Hate goes down HARD and Mike Wade rolls him up, despite hurting himself with the high-flying stunt.
Dave Kern: A CHAIR-ASSISTED BACK SPLASH FROM MIKE WADE! This match might as well be over here, folks! No man was built for this kind of punishment!
ONE!
TWO!
THR...
Hate kicks out at the last possible moment, sending the crowd into a fit as well as Mike Wade. Wade gets up holding his ribs and immediately goes up to face Lars Larsson, cussing out the Swede like there was no tomorrow. Wade backs Larsson into one of the corners and keeps up with his verbal tirade as Hate rolls out of the ring, holding the back of his head in pain.
Jeff Marx: Jesus Christ, ref, that was clearly a three! Count faster you meatball-addicted pig!
Dave Kern: I didn't know you had become such a staunch Mike Wade-supporter, and frankly, I am disappointed in you, Jef.
Jeff Marx: Well, better Mike Wade than any of the faggots you endorse, Dave. Besides, I just want this match to END. The closer we get to the credits, the closer I get to my paycheck.
Steven Smith: I think we should all endorse faggots! I know I do!
Jeff Marx: And why the hell couldn't YOU stay under the table?
Steven Smith: Well, unzip and I'll go back.
Jeff Marx: ...
Lars Larsson is about to pop a vein in his shouting contest with Mike Wade, as His Swerviness refuses to accept that he didn't win. Meanwhile on the ringside, Hate has gathered enough of his senses to lift up the ring apron and search underneath for weapons. He quickly pulls out some items that make the crowd extremely happy, as he now holds a spool of barbwire in one hand and a pair of lighttubes in the other. Hate sets the barbwire down on the apron and then slides into the ring while holding the lighttubes, stalking Mike Wade who has his back turned to him.
Dave Kern: Hate is back in the match, and he now has some weapons of his own... This is going to end badly, I can tell it right now.
Wade, too occupied with throwing insults at Lars Larsson, suddenly hears a whistle behind his back. Wade has seen enough movies to know what is to come, and ducks, leaving Lars Larsson in the line of fire. However, as no punch is to come, Wade stands up and turns around... Straight to the face of the smiling Hate. This time, it's Lars Larsson who ducks as Hate lifts the lighttube in his right hand to the level of Mike Wade's forehead and headbutts through it, sending broken glass into Mike Wade's face. Wade screams and falls back against the turnbuckles, allowing Hate to place the tube in his left hand across Wade's chest and nail a mighty overhand chop, shattering the glass against Wade's chest as well. Mike Wade slumps to the ground, screaming and trying to decide which part of his bleeding body to hold as Hate merely picks out the shards of glass from his hand and looks around, his face a mask of rage as he scans the audience and the frightened face of Lars Larsson.
Dave Kern: WHAT FEROCITY! WHAT BRUTALITY! Hate willing to suffer broken glass if it means that Mike Wade will suffer as well!
Jeff Marx: That man is just dumb as a pile of shit, I can tell you. No sane man would hit GLASS with their BARE HANDS!
Mike Wade struggles to the ropes, holding his bleeding forehead while his chest oozes some red as well. Hate picks up a piece of broken lighttube and follows Wade, apparently in no hurry. As Wade reaches the ropes, Hate lunges forwards, planting his knee into the spine of Mike Wade. Wade lets out a bloodcurling scream, but Hate shuts him up by placing him throat-first on the second rope and then pressing his knee against the back of Wade's head. Wade begins to choke and his arms flail around, but not as much as when Hate suddenly reaches over the ropes and digs the sharp, jagged edge of the broken glass tube into the forehead of Mike Wade! Wade begins to bleed profusely as Hate opens up new nicks and cuts, quickly coloring Wade's face completely crimson.
Dave Kern: THAT IS JUST INHUMANE! LOOK AT WHAT HATE IS DOING!
Jeff Marx: If I was Mike Wade AND smart, I'd sue for aggravated assault. Since I am only the latter, I will not, however.
Hate steps off of Mike Wade's back and throws him back to the center of the ring, where the Relentless Champion lies in a heap and bleeds on the canvas. Lars Larsson checks on Mike Wade, but Hate pushes him off and pulls Mike Wade up into a standing positon. wade, on shaky legs, is in no position to counter as Hate plants a mighty slap across his face, sending him down onto his knees. Hate looks at his hand, which is now covered with the blood of Mike Wade, and smiles in an evil way. He smears Wade's blood across his chest before he picks Wade up, plants his head between his legs and then nails a quick and dirty piledriver, snapping Wade's unprotected head into the hard old-school canvas. Hate covers, and the crowd is unsure of what kind of a reaction to give except a "HOLY SHIT!"-chant.
Dave Kern: What a piledriver from Hate! And look, the ring has NO give WHAT SO EVER!
Jeff Marx: Of worthy note is also the fact that Hate now has a Mike Wade-sized handprint on his chest.
Dave Kern: THANK YOU, I was trying to draw attention away from that gruesome display, thank you very much...
Jeff Marx: Any time, Dave.
ONE!
TWO!
THRE
Mike Wade shoots his shoulder up just in the nick of time, and neither the audience or Hate can believe it. Hate slams his fist on the mat, as Mike Wade holds his neck in pain, slowly bleeding a pool on the canvas.
Dave Kern: You know, Mike Wade will definitively look a bit worse for the wear after all this...
Steven Smith: As long as Mr. Glitter doesn't get scarred any further, I'm A-OK!
Jeff Marx: You do realize that man is a walking ad for the positive effects of skin grafting, don't you?
Hate stands up without further delays and pulls Mike Wade up as well, putting his head between his legs again. Wade collapses onto his knees, but Hate pulls him up and hooks the arms behind Wade's back, calling for the 11th Commandment. Hate picks Mike Wade up in the air, but the groggy Wade manages to maneuver his legs around Hate's head and pull him over in an improvised Hurricanrana, smashing Hate forehead-first to the canvas due to a lack of speed. Hate kneels down and holds his head, as Mike Wade crawls across the ring and grabs the barbwire in his hands. Wade stands up on shaky legs and turns around to face Hate, who has his back to Wade and is trying to clear his head.
Dave Kern: There might be some permanent brain damage from these repeated blows to the head, you know.
Jeff Marx: Please, like brain damage would hinder any of THESE guys.
Wade moves in behind Hate and suddenly pulls the barbwire against Hate's forehead, making the cultist scream. Wade works quickly, pulling and rolling the barbwire around Hate's head, until he has a crown of barbwire wrapped around Hate's head. Hate tries to work the crown off, but the angry Mike Wade grabs his head and forces his face down towards the mat. Then, Wade kicks Hate three times straight into his forehead, driving the barbwire into Hate's skull. Hate screams, but Wade isn't done. He pulls Hate up and facebusters the crowned man across his knee. Hate stands up, dazed, and Wade quickly delivers another facebuster, laying Hate out. A steady trickle of blood flows down from Hate's red face onto his chest and onto the mat, adding to the random pools and stains already covering the mat from Wade's head.
Dave Kern: This primitive level these men are willing to sink to just makes me sick. I can't... I really can't watch this.
Jeff Marx: Pussy! At Super Series Hate went flying off of a motor home, and you could watch that with ease!
Dave Kern: Yeah, but at least that was wrestling. This isn't wrestling, this is mutilation!
Mike Wade slumps to the ropes as Hate moves around on the mat, spreading a nice blood stain on the canvas as he drags himself forwards with his arms. Hate gets onto his knees but slumps back down, while Mike Wade wipes some of the blood away from his face. The grin has died a long time ago, and Mike Wade now has a determined expression on his face. Hate finally manages to get on his knees, pulling off some of the barbwire and wiping away some of the blood streaming down his face to see what's happening before him. Mike Wade springs forwards, intending to finish the match, but Hate catches him by surprise with the Hatebred, sending Wade spinning in the air and landing onto his head!
Jeff Marx: NAST-EE!
Dave Kern: How much are these men going to take, seriously? This is borderline madness here!
Hate takes a few breathers and then fetches the second chair originally brought to the ring by Mike Wade. He stumbles over to the unmoving Mike Wade, who seems to be out for good. Hate unfolds the chair and then grabs Wade by the neck, forcing his head through the gap left between the seat and the back part of the chair. Hate then puts the chair down on the mat in front of the turnbuckles, so that Wade's head is guillotined in the gap and laying on the seat, bleeding quite nicely onto the chair. Hate, woozy and wobbly, begins to climb up to the top rope, and the crowd begins to buzz in excitement.
Dave Kern: He seriously isn't... He is going to kill Mike Wade with this! Is that what he's trying to do?
Jeff Marx: You know, if I had been fucked around like Hate, I would want to kill some people.
Steven Smith: I like fucking around, you know? You really don't need to restrict yourself to one single partner, I've always said.
Jeff Marx: ... Starting with him, of course.
Hate reaches the top rope and turns around, eyeing the scene beneath him. Hate makes a slow cut-throat taunt with his right hand, dragging his thumb across his neck. Hate then crouches and springs off the top rope, as high as he can in his weakened state. Even beaten he gets some good air, and it serves to deliver a hellish blow as Hate lands feet-first on top of Mike Wade's head... Or would land if Mike Wade was still there. Wade rolls to the side at the last second, and Hate smashes his feet against the hard canvas. With no give, the blow to Hate's knee is severe, as the Fifth Horseman screams in pain and rolls onto his back, holding his knees in terrible agony.
Dave Kern: A miss! Hate misses with the Death From Above, which would have surely KILLED Mike Wade had he stayed in the way!
Jeff Marx: What a shame he moved, then.
Dave Kern: That is just cold.
Mike Wade, working on pure adrenaline, rips the chair off of his neck and runs towards the prone Hate, slamming the chair against his head and opening up a new wound as a chair leg glances Hate in the corner of his eye. Wade plants the chair in the middle of the ring and pulls the unresisting Hate up, hooking his arms and putting his head between his legs. Mike Wade takes a few moments to catch his breath, and in the process bleeds all over Hate's back, before he straightens up and screams out loud.
Jeff Marx: What the hell is that monkey doing NOW?
Steven Smith: Attracting mates, I presume!
Dave Kern: You presume wrong, because this is the...
Mike Wade grimaces and puts all of his remaining power into the move. Slowly, Hate rises into the air, held aloft by Mike Wade. Wade suddenly releases the tension and kneels out, sending Hate head-first on top of the steel chair. Hate's neck bends like an accordion and he bounces off of the chair, laying motionless on the canvas. The crowd starts a "HOLY SHIT!"-chant as Mike Wade slumps on top of Hate, utterly exhausted.
Dave Kern: THE TFW! ONTO A STEEL CHAIR! HATE IS DEAD! I'M OUT OF BREATH!
Jeff Marx: YEE-OUCH what a move! STRAIGHT onto his head!
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
Mike Wade rolls onto his back as the bell rings, holding his bloody face. The crowd is still chanting "HOLY SHIT!" as Lars Larsson gets the Relentless title and hands it to Mike Wade, who hugs the title hard and then rolls out of the ring. Wade collapses onto his knees on the ringside while Larson calls for EMT's to check on Hate, who isn't moving on the mat.
Dave Kern: Well, Mike Wade retains his Relentless title against the monster Hate, in what might go down as one of the most VIOLENT matches in AWC history!
Jeff Marx: Well, call it what you will, we came this close to actually losing one of these men here tonight. And for that, I salute them.
Dave Kern: You are a freaking prick, aren't you?
Jeff Marx: And damn proud of it.
When You Gotta Get Away
FEATURING: PADDY O'SHEA, SHELLY CLARKE
AUTHOR: MICHAEL DOHERTY
The scene opens outside. The exact location is a bench, just beside a bus stop sign on busy road. As the camera pans around, we learn why – this road is being overlooked by the arena AWC is being staged at tonight.
Sitting alone on the bench is Paddy O’Shea. He looks worried and tired, very much reminiscent of the time spent battling Hate all those months ago. He’s studying the graining of his hands now, just trying to catch five minutes away form the blinding lights to straighten his mind out.
Into the picture, hurries Shelly Clarke, the ying to Paddy’s yang. News this week tells us the two are now a steady item. The AWC Wrestler, the AWC stagehand. Wearing the custom uniform of the Atlantic Wrestling Club (a simple black T-Shirt, logoed AWC, and a pair of jeans), she now sits beside Paddy and puts her hand in his.
Shelley: I seen you hurry off…you got me a little worried there Patrick.
Paddy perks up his head and forces a dry smile, something Shelly picks up on.
Shelley: But you.re not alright…are you?
Paddy sighs.
Paddy O'Shea: Aye’m…just a little worried ye kno’? All aye wanted when aye came t’ this federation was peace t’ do me trade and go home at the end o’ the day t’ leave it all behind. Tonight, when aye seen Mike Wade doin’-…when aye seen Mike Wade…aye realised aye haven’t had any respite from people since aye came here…Hate, Mike Wade, Adam Dick…do aye have a target on me back or somethin’…before, aye wasn’ so worried…aye was, but at least aye didn’ have the responsibility o’ another…Shelly…aye’m worried he’s goin’ t’ use any opportunity t’ get at me through you…at the show or not…and…aye don’ know if aye can go on frettin’ about how far he’ll take it next.
Shelly watched Paddy’s head drop, her bottom lip trembling…
Shelley: W-what are you s-saying?
Paddy didn’t hesitate
Paddy O'Shea: Aye’m thinkin’ maybe we shouldn’ get any closer…no’ until aye don’ habe him t’ contend with anymore. Aye don’ want t’, no’ even sure aye have t’. But aye need a little time to think about it…
Shelly stood up slowly and pulled away from Paddy’s grasp. She didn’t seem upset, just calm, a face of reason.
Shelley: I…understand. If you need some time, you know you can call me. But. Just think. It doesn’t matter what happens with Mike Wade, someone is always going to be gunning for you, for your family and if I’m with you, me as well. And just remember…I won’t shy away from it. Not if it comes at me…
Shelly then turned on her heels and walked away, leaving a very confused Paddy to deal with what was said.
A Hint of Weakness
FEATURING: SASHA VOLKYEVA, JACK MURPHY
AUTHOR: FERGUS
Sasha Volkyeva: Come in.
We join mid event it seems as whomever has decided to grace the new Entertainment Co-Manager's presence has just been let in. The room in which Ms. Volkyeva has situated herself is spartan but has everything she desires, fulfilling her every wish and nothing seems to be out of place. Sasha is wearing a similar dress to the one that she wore last week on Fresh!, but tailored differently enough to make sure that it is a change. Currently she is standing over her desk, slightly bent over to allow just the faintest glimpse of some cleavage.
Jeff Marx: Eww. Dirty middle-aged titties.
Dave Kern: Come on, she’s pretty damn fine for a fortysomething.
Jeff Marx: …And there I was thinking you were sticking to the topic.
Steven Smith: Eww! Why do we have to see that? I want to see Boca~! and his fabulous chest!
Dave Kern: Steven we watch for the most part topless men wrestling! You get it all night!
Steven Smith: I wish...
Steven begins to try and caress Dave who pulls back and tries to use Jeff as a shield from the slithering arms of Steven.
Jeff Marx: Get off!
Dave Kern: That's not what I meant Steven!
Kern and Marx gag whilst Steven drools all over the announce table. Meanwhile the camera pans across to reveal that it is none other than Jack 'The Bull' Murphy, much to the displeasure of the crowd. Sasha Volkyeva looks at him coldly, unsure how to approach the man while Murphy is similarly guarded. He stands proudly, the Platinum title held over his left shoulder for all to see. The conversation is strained, certainly to begin with.
Jack Murphy: (impassively) Ms. Volkyeva.
She regards him with emotionless eyes.
Sasha Volkyeva: Mr. Murphy, it is good to finally meet your...acquaintance, no?
Jack Murphy: Indeed.
There is a silence between the two then.
Dave Kern: Well... this is awkward.
Jeff Marx: Our saviour speechless? This cannot be!
Dave Kern: Certainly looks like it.
Jeff Marx: This won't happen, this will not happen.
Murphy seems to be studying Sasha who is making no attempt to hide herself. She stands strongly behind the desk and has her hands planted against the desk, waiting for Murphy to speak. You can hear her foot tapping, the click of her stiletto heel echoing in the cold room that she is currently housed.
Dave Kern: The tension is unbearable in this one... or... I don't know, they're really doing nothing.
Jack Murphy: There's something... I want to talk to you about.
Jeff Marx: Phew! He returns! Praise him!
Steven Smith: (licking lips) Love him....
Jeff Marx: (gags)
Sasha Volkyeva: (amused) Oh? You feel you are ready to talk now?
Jack Murphy: Hmmmph. Don't think you can play tough with me...woman. You may be in charge like Harber but don't forget that I've got his number and there's no stopping me in doing exactly the same thing to you.
Volkyeva stares at him, perhaps shocked that she is being addressed in this manner, but then a small smile creeps across the Russian’s face. She moves forward from the desk and now reveals the entirety of her dress. It is low cut at the top (which we've already seen) but it follows all the way down and is a very tight, body hugging piece. This seems to have one hell of an effect as Murphy, not far off her age himself, is taken aback slightly.
Sasha Volkyeva: (breathy) Oh, really?
She moves round behind Murphy now, bringing her hands up towards his shoulders while Murphy swallows and stares straight ahead. Holding her fingertips just an inch from his bare back, Sasha slowly ducks her head in to breathe the air alongside Murphy’s cheek, again bringing her face within touching distance of his. But any actual contact between them is not on the agenda as Volkyeva sniffs and slowly withdraws, Murphy visibly uncomfortable. As the Entertainment Co-Manager moves back to her position facing The Bull from an angle and sits gently on her desk, Murphy blurts out his answer, refusing to give up that easily.
Jack Murphy: Really... although that wasn't the proposition I came here for.
Sasha Volkyeva: Oh?
Jack Murphy: I was going to suggest that... you could use someone like me here. It's clear from your arrival that there aren't going to be many on your side but my brief encounters with Harber have already painted me as totally anti-Harber. I can help you cement yourself here.
Sasha Volkyeva: I'm listening Jack...
Murphy gulps a little but seems more settled after his speech and looks to relax, turning to face her straight. Again he is taken aback by her looks, just something about her that is piquing Jack's interest.
Jeff Marx: To be fair, I bet she was smokin', say, fifteen years back.
Dave Kern: (coughs)
Jeff Marx: Cat got your tongue Dave?
Steven Smith: I'll help you get your tongue back Dave!
Dave Kern: Please don't Steven. No not caught, just intrigued. What exactly are the two getting at?
Jack Murphy: I'm just saying, Ms. Volkyeva, that I can be of immense service to you... in many ways.
Volkyeva frowns, flexing her slender fingers. Murphy determinedly looks at the floor.
Sasha Volkyeva: (crisply) One step at a time, Mr. Murphy. Sit down, please.
Has he gone too far? The Bull awkwardly sits on the chair facing the desk as Sasha motions to the cameraman to turn off his equipment, and the feed ends.
Jeff Marx: Aww crap!
Dave Kern: Guess we won't know what's taking place. We're just going to have to wait for that one to develop.
The New Turk
FEATURING: CAPTAIN SULEIMON
AUTHOR: TOM HOLZERMAN
The restless crowd at the Hallam FM Arena turned in unison in sudden shock to the entranceway of the arena as Mozart’s “Turkish March” cues up over the PA.
Jeff Marx: What in the hell is that music? I don’t recognize it.
Dave Kern:That must be AWC’s newest signee, Captain Suleimon.
Sure enough, two men come out from the back down the aisle. The lead man, an older looking Turkish man with a thick, graying Iron Sheik-esque moustache, wearing a jeweled turban and full general’s regalia from the Ottoman Empire, circa World War I, is waving the colors of said Ottoman Empire. The also-mustachioed man following him is wearing a burgundy fez, khaki pants and jacket, with full decorations, a burgundy puffy shirt underneath, knee high leather military boots. He is marching. The older man drops the Ottoman colors and enters the ring, screaming out epithets in Turkish. The younger man follows. The fans are confused as how to react. About a quarter of the fans are booing, some because he looks Arab (obviously the Brummies :p), some because he’s flying colors other than the Union Jack, some because they recognize him, he looks somewhat familiar to a guy who used to wrestle in a promotion known as A1E. Some of them are cheering, the Pakistani/Arab/Turkish descended fans. Most of them are in silence, not knowing how to react.
Steven Smith: Oh, he’s a bit scrawny for my tastes. I was kinda hoping he’d be all big and burly like something out of Arabian nights.
Jeff Marx: From the looks of it, I would think he’d frown upon your lifestyle.
The younger man receives a microphone from the ring announcer, taps on it and speaks into it.
Younger Man: I know what you all are thinking. You see me, a man with brown skin, wearing a fez, and my comrade wearing a turban, and most of you automatically think that I am here to engage you in jihad. Fear not, I am not here to call upon you the wrath of Allah.
No, I will not do that, because that’s all what you expect! That’s what has been drilled into your minds, that the brown man, the one who you see plastered all across the news as the enemy and in your convenience stores and gas stations, that we are all fanatical Muslims who wish nothing than to kill you because you are infidels. Well, I don’t come here to berate you because you are not Muslim, no.
Dave Kern:Well, he doesn’t seem like such a bad guy.
Younger Man: No, I am here to berate you because you are all lazy, decadent, immoral slime!
The crowd begins to boo him lustily.
Jeff Marx: You were saying, Dave?
Younger Man: All of you who sit here, drinking your alcoholic beverages, eating your kebabs and other greasy foods while you live vicariously through degenerates like Red Rock and his reliance on the occult to contact a soul he thought was dead. You cheer for weak-minded and wishy-washy scum like Pierce Lavelle and Paddy O’Shea, yet you boo those like Chainz, a man who truly knows a woman’s place is at ringside and not in the ring. Your priorities are not straight, even if your hearts are in the right place.
Younger Man:You see, you all cheer the displays of violence perpetrated by the AWC superstars week in and week out. You call it wrestling, except in the case of a hardcore match, but really, is that not what wrestling is at its core? Violence?
Younger Man:Well, you haven’t seen violence until you’ve seen it unleashed in the manner of which I know best. However, I feel your stomachs will not be strong enough to bear the kind of violence I have, nor to bear the targets of this violence… that is to say, your heroes. And those heroes are the epitome of Western decadence and complacence.
Younger Man:This world has become a world of decadence and complacence. And you know why? Because of countries like England and the United States! Centuries, there was no decadence. There was no complacence. There was only violence, domination. And that was because the Ottoman Empire was the power in the world! The Pasha dynasty, a family whose blood flows through my veins, seized Balkan Europe and tormented all who didn’t fall into line with our Empire!
Younger Man:Because of subversion and betrayal, we lost our power. Although politically, my home country of Turkey has been held captive by the West, I will help regain our power, in the wrestling ring! I will make an example by dominating the AWC, and I will show that the spirit of the Ottoman Empire is still strong within the heart of every Turk.
Younger Man:I am Captain Suleimon, and this is my mission.
Captain Suleimon:And now, before I give you leave, my mentor, General Rahman, will say a few words.
Suleimon hands the mic off to the older man.
General Rahman: (goes off on a diatribe in Turkish that no one can understand)
Dave Kern:Does he know that we’re not in Turkey?
Steven Smith: Probably not, but it’s hot in a foreign kind of way.
Jeff Marx: That’s just… gross.
Rahman hands the mic back off to Suleimon.
Captain Suleimon: Ahh, such beautiful words, you heathens would be well off to heed this advice.
Suleimon throws the mic as the “Turkish March” cues back up.
We Want An Apology!
FEATURING: THE FURIOUS FISTS OF GOD
AUTHOR: SAM LANDRY
The scene opens in the arena when, over the loud speakers, the song “Hallelujah” blasts. Soon after, Tim and Liam Martin strut out from out back. Instead of their clean selves, though, they are beaten and bruised after last weeks pummeling from the three main security guards. Liam’s left eye is black and Tim’s whole abdomen area is bandaged. Those are the most notable blemishes. Dave Kern: Well, here they are, our favorite converters…what vile thing will they do this week?
Jeff Marx: David…
Dave Kern: It’s Dave.
Jeff Marx: David, they didn’t do one vile thing…they just tried to convert people to their beliefs!
Dave Kern: Um, excuse me? Their horribly RACISTS and OFENSIVE beliefs!
Jeff Marx: Hey! Steven over here has a love for anal plugs, but nobody prosecutes him!
Steven Smith: Except you, Jeff! Jeff Marx: SHUT UP, HOMO!
The two brothers finally make their way to the ring, climbing into it to the sound of a thousand boos. Liam stands off from the center while Tim is planted there, microphone in hand.
Tim Martin: Last week, on Fresh, you witnessed a religious crusade. You witnessed the greatest ever attempt to turn you non-believers towards the right road!
Audience: BOOOOOOOOOOO!
Tim Martin: But that’s not why we’re out here. Oh, no-sir-ee God no! Last week, while we were PEACEFULLY leaving, those heathens Bruno, Butch, and Taz came and attacked us.
Tim pauses for a moment, letting the crowd continue its booing.
Tim Martin: Now, I know some of you think that they had a reason. You believe that Liam, the Eagles, and I did something two weeks ago to provoke this! But, to show you what ACTUALLY happened, we re-enacted the scene. Roll it!
On the jumbo tron, a film reel begins. The scene starts out with Liam and Tim sitting on a patio somewhere, drinking tea. They are dressed in suits and both have on fake moustaches, which are finely trimmed. They look like they were both straight out of the early 20th century.
Liam Martin: I do say, Timothy, that orphanage we visited earlier was quite enjoyable! Do you agree?
Tim Martin: Certainly, Liam…all those little boys and girls had their days made by us, because we are so good and wouldn’t cause any problems.
Liam Martin: Timothy, I can’t agree more. You could say we are the model human beings, and that anyone who had anything against us would be insane.
Tim Martin: Agreed.
Tim sneezes, not too loudly.
Liam Martin: God Bless you, Timothy.
Tim Martin: Why, thank you!
Three men who obviously aren’t Taz, Bruno, or Butch burst into the scene. They are wearing ragged clothes and look incredibly dirty. They are hovering over Tim and Liam.
Tim Martin: Hello, gentlemen! May we help you?
“Butch”: GIVE US YOUR MONEY, YOU UGLY FUCKING FUCK FUCK McFUCK!
Tim Martin: That is no way to speak to a fellow human being, but since I am a loyal God-lover, I forgive you!
Tim lifts his tea cup in cheers, but Butch slaps it to the ground, breaking it.
“Butch”: I SAID GIVE ME YOUR MONEY OR WE’RE GOING TO POUND YOU!
Liam Martin: Oh, the Lord have mercy on your souls! Here is all we can spare.
The jumbo tron goes dark, and the camera goes back to Liam and Tim in the ring. Liam is shaking his head in disgust.
Tim Martin: Despicable.
The crowd boos, knowing what really happened.
Tim Martin: Oh, come on! Now do we have to show you what happened at the end of Fresh! last week?
The crowd cheers, also knowing that Tim and Liam got their asses rightfully stomped.
Tim Martin: Allright, then, roll it!
The jumbo tron starts rolling, and the scene starts in an old-fashioned locker room, with the same type of Liam and Martin appearance wise, except in old-fashioned wrestling tights. Their tattoos are also air brushed out.
Liam Martin: Timothy, where do we plan on going after the show?
Tim Martin: I suspect that we could always go help the homeless, Liam. Would that satisfy me?
Liam Martin: It always does!
The two are smiling when, abruptly, the same three actors playing Butch, Bruno, and Taz burst in. Taz has a chain saw.
Tim Martin: Oh, hello, my friends! Do you need more donations? We’re happy to oblige!
“Butch”: NO! WE’RE JUST GOING TO BEAT YOU UP NOW!
Tim Martin: What the…?
As the scene on the jumbo tron fades to black, the sounds of two people getting beaten up and a chain saw ripping through something is heard. The camera cuts back to the ring, where Tim is consoling a crying Liam.
Liam Martin: *sniffle* WHY IS THERE SO MUCH VIOLENCE?! WE’RE JUST WHITE, GOD LOVING INDIVIDUALS, TRYING TO MAKE A LIVING! *sniffle*
Tim Martin: I know, Liam, I know! These fools will never understand!
Dave Kern: He should be careful of who he calls a fool!
Jeff Marx: Well, he nailed it right on the head with you, Dave.
Dave Kern: Sigh…
Tim Martin: So, because of all these events…we request formal apologies from Butch, Bruno, and Taz. Since we know they’re all illiterate buffoons…we’ll give them till next week to reply. Until then…may God have mercy on all your souls!
The scene ends with the two men walking out of the arena to a deafening amount of boos.
Even a Hare Would Insult a Dead Lion - 1
FEATURING: COSMIC LION FUJITA, SUSAN THE MASSEUSE, ???
AUTHOR: TASO
Inside the dressing room of Tozen Fujita, a masseuse is rubbing down the wrestler's neck as he prepares for his match with Jack "The Bull" Murphy later that night.
Masseuse: Will that be all, Mr. Fujita?
Looking up from the massage table Fujita rolls his shoulder a few times and winces with a playful smile.
Fujita: Could you please put shoulder back in socket before leaving, Susan-san?
Masseuse: Hardy har, Mr. Fujita. You're a real comedian. Just relax and I'll be back in a few minutes for my table. The Martin brothers asked for a massage before the show, and I forgot to get my mace from my purse. I'll be right back.
The masseuse leaves, the door swinging quietly behind her. Fujita groans as he settles back down on the table, taking in his last few moments of relaxation before getting ready for his debut match in AWC tonight. A moment later and the door swings open again, but this time it is not the masseuse. A pair of black wrestling boots walk over to where Tozen is laying and then a pair of womens hands begin massaging the wrestler's neck.
Fujita: Ow! Take it easy please, Susan-san. My neck is fine anyway. Don't forget my shoulder needs just a little loosening up.
The slender figure moved its' hands over to Tozen's shoulder but at the same time quickly reached into a sleeve and pulled out a small object. Grabbing Tozen's left trapezoid the item was pressed down hard into the flesh.
A faint hiss filled the room. Fujita's body stiffened and his eyes flew open. He tried to get up from his laying position but his head was thrust down hard back onto the massage table with incredible force. Grabbing the man around the waist, the assailant held his flailing and convulsing body to the table. Fujita fought to get the attacker off of him and was able to get his head back up and tilted to the side where a long mirror stood up against the wall. His eyes flashed with recognition, and then his lips started to mouth familiar words. But finally, Fujita's eyes rolled up into his head and his body stopped jerking. The mystery attacker then grabbed him by the hair on the back of his head and lifted him up. Then with one sharp twist and a loud crack, dropped the lifeless body back onto the table.
Walking down the hallway, the masseuse pulls a number of towels off of a nearby cart and then walks into a door marked 'Cosmic Lion' Fujita.
Masseuse: Mr. Fujita, I have some fresh towels for you. I thi-- hey. I didn't notice this tattoo on your shoulder before. What is... CYDONIA? Sounds Japanese, I guess. Mr. Fujita? Mr. Fujita?
Outside in the hallway, there came a scream.
The Meeting
FEATURING: CHAINZ, TRACEY, DAVID "PEARL" HARBER, SACHA VOLKYEVA
AUTHOR: MIKE S.
The camera cuts backstage to a hallway where we see Chainz and Tracy walking. They suddenly stop in front of a door. Peering over their shoulders we see that the office belongs to David “Pearl” Harber. Chainz is about to push the door open, but before he can Tracy grabs his arm.
Tracy: Now remember, let me handle the talking. You’re not in the right state of mind right now. Okay honey?
Chainz glares at Tracy, but after a few seconds warms up to her.
Chainz: Okay sure babe.
Tracy smiles and opens the door. The two walk in and stand in front of Pearl’s desk. Pearl doesn’t look up. Tracy hops onto the side of the table and cross her long legs over. This immediately draws Pearl up from his papers.
Pearl: Tracy, how nice to see you again. What can I do for you?
Tracy: Well I’d like to talk to you about a few things. First of all why is Chainz not booked for the second week in a row.
Pearl: There’s been some time conflicts so I’ve left him off for now.
Tracy: Are you sure that’s wise? Mike’s a big draw nowadays.
Pearl: I’ll agree with you there.
Tracy beams.
Pearl: Only problem, people come to see him for the wrong reasons.
Chainz: What the fuck you getting at Harber?
Chainz seems irritated, but Tracy casts him a glance that causes him to lighten up.
Pearl: People come to see how low you’ll sink and to what depths of depravity you’ll go to. They don’t come to see… you.
Pearl looks over towards Tracy who is smiling at him and sticking her tits out.
Pearl: I’m sure they love watching you sweetheart.
Tracy giggles, but Chainz isn’t amused.
Chainz: Get down honey.
He pulls Tracy down off of the desk.
Chainz: Now Pearl you listen and you listen good. This is the second week in a row you’ve chosen not to book me. I don’t know what your game is, but it’s going to end. I know you don’t want to see my undefeated streak continue. I know you don’t want to see me destroy your so called superstars, but I’m a monopoly of greatness and I demand to have my air time.
Pearl: You demand, who are you to demand anything. You’ll do as I say and you’ll like it.
Chainz: Careful Harber, I’m not a tool like the rest of the roster. You can’t just run all over me.
Pearl: I can and I will. It’s no secret, I don’t like you. You’re vulgar, you’re sick and depraved, your attitude towards women is comprehensible, and like you’ve mentioned before a sick, sadistic sociopath.
This draws a smile from Chainz.
Chainz: Can’t argue with you there, but I expect to have a match next week. It’s not healthy to build up all this anger and rage.
Pearl: I’ll see about it.
Chainz: Good, see ya.
Chainz turns to back out, but Pearl stands from his desk.
Pearl: Well since you’re here, I might as well add that you’re in no way to seek retribution against Alexa Kendericks.
Chainz stops in mid step.
Pearl: I saw the beating that she gave you and I was glad to see it. You deserved a beating like that, in fact you needed it. Unfortunately it turns out you get off on that sort of thing. I still figured you’d seek revenge so I’m here to squash that.
Chainz: And what makes you think I give a flying fuck about what you have to say.
Pearl sits down in his chair with a cocky grin on his face.
Pearl: There will be repercussions for every act of aggression I see from you.
Chainz: You know what Pearl, I’m gonna get that little girl sooner or later and when I do I’m gonna do to her what I did to all the other little girls that crossed my path. I’m the best damn wrestler in AWC and I’m gonna run through the competition like a knife through butter, or even better, like a rock hard cock through a virgin girls ass.
Pearl looks up at Chainz with disgust.
Chainz: Don’t look at me like that, I swear there’s no better feeling than to ram it up there and hear it rip. Ahh the screams and cries, the pain and agony, ooo drives chills down my body. When you finally finish and ram it in her mouth and see her tears its heaven. When she finally submits to you it’s as if her soul is yours.
Pearl: What the fuck is wrong with you?
Chainz: I’m just saying, you shouldn’t piss me off. I like my girls young, but unless they’re ancient I’ll still hit it up. Say, Rachel’s looking pretty good nowadays.
Pearl’s complexion goes pale and a look of fear invades his eyes.
Pearl: You stay away from my sister you sick bastard.
Chainz reaches in his pants and pulls out a photograph, which is clearly of Pearl’s sister Rachel. Chainz stares the picture, rubbing his finger against it.
Chainz: So pretty, so innocent; be a shame if someone was to come along and spoil her.
Pearl: You lay a finger on her and I swear to God…
Chainz: Relax, there’s no need for any of this to become a problem. You just remember who the main man in AWC is going to be and you keep me happy and Rachel will never have to know who I am.
Chainz walks over to Pearl and leans in close to his ear.
Chainz: You know I’ve been in jail.
Chainz leans back and looks at Pearl’s ass.
Chainz: And in prison you develop a taste for the taboo.
Pearl turns in horror and faces Chainz who is starring intently at him.
Chainz: Don’t fuck with me boy, or I’ll pay you and your sister a visit and kill two birds with one stone.
Pearl is dumb founded and can’t say a word.
Chainz: Come on baby.
Chainz takes Tracy by the hand and leads her out of the office. She seems just as stunned as Pearl is. As Chainz and Tracy exit the office they run into the new co-GM Sasha Volkyeva. Chainz looks up over.
Chainz: Sorry, you’re a bit too old for my tastes. I like my women young.
Chainz and Tracy start to leave.
Chainz: Real young.
Chainz laughs a sick laugh and he and Tracy leave down the hallway. Sasha watches him go thinking about something.
Sasha Volkyeva: I like him, I like him a lot.
Sasha and her bodyguard turn around and go into Pearl’s office.
Authority Clash
FEATURING: DAVID "PEARL" HARBER, SASHA VOLKYEVA
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
Pearl: Do you want something?
His words are bitter and his face white, having had things taken to a whole new level with renegade wrestler Michael “Chainz” Sloan.
Sasha Volkyeva: Would I really be here without reason? I see no point in spending time in such a...
She casts her eyes about the room.
Sasha Volkyeva: Dingy environment.
Pearl: (coolly) You are aware your extra perks are coming out of your salary?
Sasha Volkyeva: Have you heard of my husband, Mr Harber?
Harber shakes his head.
Sasha Volkyeva: Nor have I, not for three years!
She laughs, throwing her head back as the shrill peals emanate from her mouth. Harber stares blankly.
Pearl: Russian humour.
Volkyeva’s expression darkens.
Sasha Volkyeva: Our sense of patriotism in my homeland is not how it is with you Americans, Mr Harber. Russia is divided. And when you divide a large country into parts themselves bigger in size than the puny country we are in tonight, allegiances are developed towards regions and not the country as a whole. Russia is a mess. My heritage is forgotten. My heritage does not exist. Except to my village. I came from a small village, Mr Harber – perhaps it’s safer not to say where. The village is in danger. The village has been in danger for many, many years. The men come. Sometimes twice in a week, sometimes twice in a year. And when the men come...
Volkyeva’s voice deserts her. She swallows and shakes her head impatiently.
Sasha Volkyeva: (snapping) But why do I tell you this?
Pearl shrugs. His voice is triumphant but his face remains respectfully impassive.
Pearl: I guess you need to tell somebody. I know a shrink; do you want –
Sasha Volkyeva: That will not be necessary!
Harber stops, halfway to his top drawer, presumably about to root through it for a business card.
Sasha Volkyeva: Mr Harber, you have been very... sneaky?
Pearl nods.
Pearl: Yeah, I guess sneaky’s the word you’re looking for.
Sasha Volkyeva: You have organised... destructive matches! Danger for our employees!
Harber strokes his chin, considering.
Pearl: I’d say so, yes.
Sasha Volkyeva: This time, you have your way. I will not stop the matches tonight –
Pearl: That’s because you can’t.
Sasha stares, seething.
Sasha Volkyeva: Correct.
Pearl: Ya. I know.
Sasha Volkyeva: But, er, I must let you know that I am going to make some bookings for next week!
Pearl waits.
Pearl: Go on...
This is where Volkyeva struggles. She doesn’t have the faintest idea about wrestling.
Sasha Volkyeva: I will not tolerate the stupid rules you put on your matches, Mr Harber! So first, I will choose a normal match between, er, Ellis Nash...
Pearl: Good pick.
Volkyeva stares coldly at him.
Sasha Volkyeva: Kindly shut up.
It sounds even better in her accent, and certainly has its effect on Pearl.
Sasha Volkyeva: Ellis Nash, yes... she will fight against...
Pearl: Might I suggest Mike Wade?
Sasha Volkyeva: A man?
Pearl: Why, certainly. We don’t have a separate women’s division, so there’s no reason for any special treatment. Besides, he’s a cruiserweight. It shouldn’t be a problem.
Volkyeva beams. Perhaps she and Harber are going to get along after all?
Sasha Volkyeva: Excellent! Ellis Nash against Mike Wa – hold on, hold on...
She regards Pearl suspiciously.
Sasha Volkyeva: Why do you say Mike Wade?
Pearl: Oh, it’s just ‘cause I haven’t booked him yet.
Sasha Volkyeva: What?!
Volkyeva looks positively furious.
Pearl: Ah, I tend to book the next week’s show during the course of the night, you see... here’s what I have already.
With twinkling eyes, Harber passes a sheet of paper across the desk. Volkyeva bends to read it (still not having been offered a seat), and her expression changes from fury to... more fury.
Sasha Volkyeva: A... “Battle Royal”? What a preposterous suggestion!
Pearl: You know what it is?
Sasha Volkyeva: (abashed) I confess I do not...
Pearl: All six of them start in the ring; you win by tossing all your opponents out.
Jaw: drops.
Pearl: Over the top rope.
More.
Sasha Volkyeva: Ridiculous!
Harber grins, then chuckles.
Sasha Volkyeva: I... I'm sorry?
Pearl: No no, say “ridiculous” again, I like the accent...
Without hesitation, Ms Volkyeva slaps Harber full across the face, shattering the light-hearted atmosphere into pieces. A chilling voice of dread accompanies the ringing in his ears as Harber slowly moves his head back to centre.
Sasha Volkyeva: You will respect me... you will listen to what I say... and above all, you will learn to STEP ASIDE for the inevitabilities that await you! You may think you can get the better of me, Mr Harber, and for now, that may be true... but what awaits... you are not going to like. One. Little. Bit.
Pearl: (thickly) I could go straight to the shareholders about this... assaulting a colleague...
Sasha Volkyeva: But you will not. Perhaps out of honour? But if your gentlemanliness deserts you, Mr Harber, there are many other things that will prevent you from making what could be a very... costly decision...
Harber watches, speechless, as she ghosts out of the room, long white coat held six inches up to avoid dragging on the floor far too dirty to even consider looking at this picture of elegance. We leave the scene, seeing last the handprint of Sasha Volkyeva on David Harber’s face.
Not Exactly to Plan
FEATURING: DAVID "PEARL" HARBER, JACK MURPHY
AUTHOR: FERGUS
'Seven Faces' by Slayer.
The boos are littering the arena already... and one man couldn't be happier.
Jeff Marx: WOO! Bring on OUR Platinum champion!
Dave Kern: Oh dear...
Without any hesitation the Platinum champion as Jeff has just stated makes his entrance into the packed arena. 'The Bull' walks steadily into view as the crowd begin to chant violently against him. He has a wicked grin on his face, something that worries everyone. As he wanders past the announce table, newly located on the stage for this week, he gives a wink to Jeff, saying nothing but everything already told by such a move.
Jeff Marx: Damn right!
Steven Smith: Ooh! Maybe he got my invitation!
Jeff Marx: No he didn't! He was winking at me!
Steven Smith: Me!
Jeff Marx: Me!
Steven Smith: Me!
As Dave sighs the other two begin to fight over the affection of a wrestler who clearly couldn't care less. He walks down to the ringside area and ventures close to the new barricades that have been put in place surrounding the ringside area. He moves right up to them, taunting the fans and gesturing to which they can't do a whit. He laughs right in their face and even spits at them, proudly shining his Platinum belt which is over his left shoulder. With a flick of his ponytail he moves into the ring, being careful not to knock his precious title off the ropes and sully it.
Dave Kern: What a despicable man. He's lost all my respect.
Jeff Marx: What did he do? OW!
Dave Kern: Steven please! He just spat on the crowd!
Jeff Marx: (knowledgeably) Ah, no, he can’t have – those new barriers prevent any… ah… undesirable contact between fans and wrestlers…?
Dave Kern: I hate this regime. It feels so… different being this far away from the action.
Steven Smith: Change can be good…
Jeff Marx: Now we know what it feels like for those fans in the nosebleed seats!
Dave Kern: I suppose. Not really. Not at all.
Meanwhile in the ring Jack Murphy is staring a hole right through James Brunt who has made no move to announce him. 'The Bull' storms over to him and violently instructs him to do so.
James Brunt: (rushed) Now in the ring... the Livewire –
Another bark from Murphy halts Brunt's announcement and he huffs audibly on the microphone.
James Brunt: The PLATINUM champion... JACK MURPHY!
With another chorus of boos heralding the name, Murphy displays the belt for all to see, showing it off and grinning like a Cheshire cat in the process. He picks the microphone right from Brunt's hands and looks around the crowd slowly, grinning at each side in turn.
Dave Kern: Murphy of course dropped the Livewire championship last week in favour of his self-styled Platinum title.
Jack Murphy: Finally... a little bit of protection from you rabid seals!
He smiles wickedly then as the fans angrily begin to shake the barricades at the mention of them.
Dave Kern: Now mentioning one of the many changes our new Entertainment Co-Manager Ms. Volkyeva has imposed since she became a part of AWC.
Jack Murphy: But fear not my seals, I am still close enough that you can intake the same breath as me, you won't have to worry about not having your fix of the wrestling god's air.
Further boos whilst Jeff laps it all up and Steven.... well the less said the better.
Jack Murphy: But I don't have time to parlay back and forth with you seals, it would be inconsequential and a waste of our new Entertainment Manager's time.
Dave Kern: CO-Manager...
Jeff Marx: It's just a matter of time Kern.
Jack Murphy: What I have come here for is to make my first official act as the Platinum champion. As I already explained last week, this belt allows me the power to enforce and sanction matches of my own devising for this belt. So... without any further –
Murphy is interrupted unexpectedly as 'Bohemian Like You' crackles over the PA and the crowd is exultant as David 'Pearl' Harber is here and ready to do some business. 'The Bull' is incensed by this interruption but it is soon masked by the same grin as he had earlier. Murphy laughs it up as Harber stands on the stage.
Jack Murphy: Looking for some last bit of humiliation Pearl? Or was last week enough?
Pearl: SHUT UP!
This gets the loudest pop of the crowd yet as Murphy is left stunned in the middle of the ring, mouth gaping open at the last, stern comment from Harber.
Dave Kern: Now this is more like it!
Pearl: You wanna know why I'm here Jack? Well... I think a bit of footage needs to be rolled from last week first before I start. Guys, it's up to you.
Fresh! 29/11/05
With that 'Seven Faces' hits the PA again, the crowd still violently voicing their discontent of what has transpired. Pearl Harber is standing in the aisle, staring a hole at Jack Murphy, who is totally content to smile wickedly back at him, the Platinum title over his right shoulder.
Dave Kern: I don't believe this, he's got complete control of the destiny of the belt... and there's nothing Harber can do to stop him!
Jeff Marx: I love it!
Steven Smith: I love him. (licks lips)
Dave Kern: (shuddering) Did not need to know that! Folks we'll let these two leave the arena and then we'll be right back with our women's three-way match!
Kern finishes his announcing and the camera is just in time to see Murphy walk past Harber, dropping the Livewire championship at his feet. Harber looks enraged but can do nothing as Murphy waves goodbye, patting the Platinum title on his shoulder.
Murphy is laughing again, getting a second chance to watch the face of Harber from last week.
Jack Murphy: Oh Pearl, that look is priceless!
Pearl: Enjoy it Jack... because it's the last time. You see, there's one thing you didn't count on when you did that last week.
Jack Murphy: (uninterested) Yeah?... (yawns)
Pearl Harber: Yeah... when you dropped that Livewire belt... you vacated.
The smile drips off of Murphy's face.
Pearl Harber: Oh yes Jack, that's exactly what you did. Now, as for that belt you've got... I'll admit it does look nice and pretty and all... but it isn't AWC sanctioned. No matches for your shiny Platinum title on AWC shows… no credit for being a champion. I could even have the damn thing banned from the arena! So, not only have you vacated the Livewire title... as far as AWC is concerned, you've got nothing at all. So... Jack?
'The Bull' is red-faced.
Pearl: You should see your face. (smiles)
On cue 'Bohemian Like You' hits the PA again and Pearl takes a standing ovation from the crowd as he leaves the arena. Murphy is standing in the centre of the ring, all alone with nothing to go on.
Jeff Marx: NOOO!
Dave Kern: Wow! Wow is all I can say!
Untitled Aimz Segment
FEATURING: AIMZ
AUTHOR: KATIE
'May I have your attention, please?'
''Rock Shit'', by Hush.
Amelia.
AIMZ
Campbell.
With the cockiest possible smirk, the little redhead was greeted by boos... and the occasional horny chant from longtime internet fans, probably already hacking into their PSPs to get her latest photos on any number of message boards. Not even the meanest of fans, wearing PCW shirts and spitting in her direction, can visibly phase her as she steps between the ropes...
This isn't a match with Andy Murray, or anyone for that matter. Aimz is standing in the proverbial center stage with a megawatt smile, studded belt, jeans and an almost abnormally casual - even for wrestling - tanktop that left too much to the imagination, according to the few fans who weren't shouting profanities at her. She cracks her knuckles and motions for the ring announcer to hand her a microphone. With any other wrestler, that's not an unusual sight... but Amy Campbell was hardly known for her public speaking, though some first-time AWC and longtime PCW viewers would be inclined to argue otherwise.
Aimz: Oh, right... like none of you expected a victory speech.
Drowned in more booing, the redhead cringes only momentarily - dodging a drink cup that was flying her way - and wags her index finger mockingly at the audience.
Aimz: This line's a little cliche, but didn't your mothers teach you not to throw things? And if you can't say anything nice - for example, phrases that don't start with the words "bitch", "ass" or "megaslut" - don't say anything at all? Then again, your mothers probably would've warned against wasting your money on something as simple and idiotic as pro wrestling... oh, and I don't think they'd approve of your little midnight habits on carpetmunchers.org, but that's beside the point, right guys? Yes, no, maybe? I know it's also cliche to insult 'the fans', and probably even moreso - pardon if I use any words you can't spell - to walk out into an arena full of people with the single intention to gloat about last week's stunning performance... but, guess what? First guess is a given, and it's that I don't give a shit. Second would be... well... why the hell shouldn't I do everything that's already completely overdone, stale and basically a scab on the surface of culture? After all, it seems like everybody ELSE is trying to turn this into PCW 2, why shouldn't I join in on it?
A candy bar narrowly misses her right ear, and Aimz charges slightly toward the ropes in a veiled threat against whichever so-called 'fan' was targeting his carbs in her general direction.
Aimz: The fact is, I'm actually NOT going to join in on any of this PCW garbage because, quite frankly, the pay sucks and it's just not worth pretending - not even for a second - that anything good should, could or would come out of PCW. First, we've got their 'superstars' coming into this humble PTC upstart of a federation, then we get their two-bit announce team... what's next, Phantom Booker decides to try starting a new fed? 'C'mon, guys... I promise I'll stay this time!'. His return speech would sound worse than any message an ex-boyfriend's left on my cell phone and THAT, friends, is what we dictionary-readers call a feat. And, just for a moment, let's review the current status of old PCW talent; There's Jeremy Howard or, as I prefer to call him, AWOL. Ivan Stani--sorry, I forgot a little Asian girl beat me to the punch by whipping the fight right outta that guy. Well, how about Tim Walden, or Miyagawhere?
More bo-
Aimz: THROW SOFTER THINGS, OKAY?!
She clears her throat, raising an arm to stave off the glare of the ring lights and camera flashes.
Aimz: As I was saying... PCW's got nobody. Nobodies, and their only current representation are a bunch of jerkoffs you can file in the 'Never-Was' category. Oh, unless we count this stunning announce team... One can't say anything even remotely interesting, the other spends most of the time staring at my tits, and the third stooge would probably die if he ever had to look at anything that wasn't remotely phallic...
Steven Smith flicks his wrist in an upward motion, raising his middle finger into Amy's line of sight. She smiles with mocking sweetness and turns her back to the announcers she perceives to be hacks.
Aimz: So, yeah... they're glaring. Next topic! Aaaaaaaaaaandy Murray. For that matter, Red Rock and Paddy O'Shea... I'm sure you fan types remember my debut, it's hard not to read about it on the internet these days. I tanked Red Rock and Paddy O'shitherecomesamywithabaseballbat both in my opening night, talked a nice game that nobody thought I'd follow up aaaaaaaaaaaand proceeded to beat Andy Murray and his entourage within an inch of their imaginary lives. Guess I followed through, didn't I? And you fuckwits couldn't do a damned thing about it. Hell, you don't even have the brains to save your overpriced consession snacks and throw something more insulting at me. Tampons are only a quarter in the ladies' bathroom, you know, and one of those would really suck to get stuck in the ol' ear. But while you toss your money away at me, stop to look at just who the hell is IN this ring, and then think about all of your Primetime dreams. Where're the leaders of 2002? Gone. Where are the guys who were jobbing back then? Right here in AWC... somewhere, but not out here. Knowing them, they probably saw the bat I dragged in behind me and ran scared. Now how's that for cheesy trash-talk? If ya SMEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELLLL...
Amy grimaces and stops mid-catchphrase.
Aimz: ...ELLLLL. Actually, forget about it - that line was last used... well... probably around the last time Phantom Booker or any of the PCW alumni ran anything even remotely entertaining.
In that split second, she's whacked in the forehead with a water bottle... and shrugs it off.
Aimz: Drive safe! ... in your minimum wage budget Hondas, and don't forget to buckle up on the way home - otherwise it's too easy to escape from suffocating on the airbag!
With that, she throws the microphone squarely at the head of a bemused Jeff Marx and steps out of the ring, turning her back to the crowd and the security that's keeping some of them from beating her half to death, smiling all the while. Fresh! fades elsewhere as the stand-up performer and former fan favorite known as Aimz flips off her less-than-adoring audience, seemingly tired of putting on a glad face for the sake of t-shirt sales.
Even a Hare Would Insult a Dead Lion - 2
FEATURING: BUTTERFLY HAMADA, JACK MURPHY, BUTCH RADDER, JIN OSAKA
AUTHOR: TASO
The backstage entrance to the arena is suddenly filled with a commotion as an ambulance pulls up with sirens blaring and lights flashing. A crowd of ACW staff and wrestlers has gathered already, and it is growing by the minute.
Dave Kern: An ambulance has arrived on the scene here and paramedics are loading someone onto a stretcher! What the heck is going on?
Jeff Marx: Someone tried the shepherd's pie from the arena commissary?
Dave Kern: I don't think this is a joke here, Jeff.
Steven Smith: OK, I'll come back later then.
Dave Kern: They're putting Cosmic Lion Fujita in that ambulance! What the heck is going on here!? We need some freaking answers right away!
Butch Radder and the AWC security is holding everyone back. Then suddenly Butterfly Hamada bursts out from the crowd followed by nurse Jin Osaka. Radder immediately grabs Butterfly before she can get too close and disturb or delay the paramedics.
Butterfly: Tozen! Tozen! What happened?!
Butch Radder: Relax girl, take it easy. You can't help him. Let them take him to the hospital.
Jin Osaka: What happened? Why wasn't I contacted right away?
Butch Radder: Masseuse found him, said she left him alone for less then five minutes. She found him where she left him, but someone had broken his neck. Cracked vertebrae, nasty job. She called the ambulance right quick.
Butterfly: Broken neck? How? TOZEN!
The doors to the ambulance close.
Butterfly: Who...? Why...? I don't understand. Broken neck? How coul--- YOU!
Standing in with the rest of the crowd is Jack "The Bull" Murphy. He looks quizzically at Hamada when she points a finger at him.
Jack Murphy: Huh? You talkin' to me? You blamin' me?
Butterfly: WHAT DID YOU DO!?
Security grabs Butterfly before she can go after Jack. She screams at them to let her go, clawing at their arms.
Jack Murphy: Crazy wench! I didn't do nothin'! This bird is plumb crazy! I never touched the guy!
Butterfly: WHAT DID YOU DO!?
The mob starts to get a little rowdy as people start yelling and pushing each other. The ambulance sirens start clamoring and it drives away. Butch Radder and security pull a screaming and angry Butterfly Hamada off to the side as a group of wrestlers and staff walk Jack Murphy the other way. He keeps looking back at Hamada and yelling at her.
Jack Murphy: That chick is crazy, man! I am telling you, these slags need to be carted off, the lot of 'em! Bugger me backwards, I didn't have anything to do with it!
Jeff Marx: Well, it is official, and you heard it from Jeff Marx first. Jack Murphy killed a Japanese guy today!
Dave Kern: He didn't kill anyone! Don't get sensationalistic here, Marx! The bottom line is Cosmic Lion Fujita was attacked by someone! Fujita is going to the hospital and we don't know his condition at all! And his girlfriend, Butterfly Hamada, is furious and she is blaming Jack Murphy!
Jeff Marx: Ummm, don't be sensationalistic? What do you call what you just said!? And now Jack Murphy's opponent is out of action! He must have done it!
Dave Kern: I don't know WHAT is going on, but we gotta keep the show going! More on Cosmic Lion Fujita when we found out!
Jack Murphy vs Cosmic Lion Fujita
STIPULATION: CHALLENGE MATCH
REFEREE: RICHIE TRAVIS
AUTHOR: TASO
Jeff Marx: Do you see what the next match is going to be? This is kinda awkward if you're "The Bull". You don;t know who you're up against!
A sudden jolt of guitar riff is met around the arena by a litany of boos as 'Seven Faces' by Slayer hits. There is no mass of explosions or spectacular strobe effects, just a simple spotlight on the entrance to the ring arena as all around fades to darkness. In silhouette 'The Bull' Jack Murphy is displayed, his arms stretched out in a circle above his head. Without another moment, the screen is removed and Murphy breaks the circle, moving straight ahead with purpose.
James Brunt: The following is a challenge match! Introducing first, weighing in at 278 pounds, from Kildare, Ireland, the "PLATINUM" Champion, JACK "THE BULL" MURPHY!
The spotlight follows him and as he reaches the ring the house lights fade up until he is left in the ring on his own, looking around and basking in his own self-importance. He hands his Livew- Platinum Title to a woman at ringside.
Dave Kern: Jeff Marx, I find it hard to believe but I AGREE with you. It must be very difficult to go into a match without knowing your opponent. Earlier this evening his challenger, Cosmic Lion Fujita, was attacked and sent to the hospital. We have word right now that the man is in CRITICAL condition. WOW! Our hearst and prayers go out to him and his family and especially to his girlfrie--
The explosive rock beat to the start of Foo Fighters' "Times Like These" causes everyone to jump to their feet as Butterfly Hamada bursts out from curtain and heads toward the ring.
Dave Kern: BUTTERFLY HAMADA!? This is one strange twist and turn of events! Hamada has been looking for a match with Jack Murphy since she arrived in AWC! Her boyfriend got the match, and now she is replacing him because he's out with a broken neck!
The energetic young girl wears white trunks and a white top with the same color boots and knee pads, all trimmed with royal blue. Sequins of silver create patterns of flowers on her gear, and a great big butterfly in dark blue and aqua jewls rests on her blouse. She slaps hands as she heads to the ring, but her attention focused on Jack Murphy. She climbs the steel steps up to the apron quickly, slightly bowing before entering the ring. She exudes a seriousness and a traditional attitude with a healthy respect for her sport, as she wipes her feet on the apron before entering the ring.
James Brunt: And the challenger, from Tokyo, Japan, weighing in at 160 pounds... MEGUMI "BUTTERFLY" HAMADA!
Butterfly walks to the center of the ring and strikes a taunting pose as she flexes her biceps. Japanese-style streamers in blue and white drape over her as they are thrown in from the crowd.
Steven Smith: Her beau gets hurt and SHE takes his place? Very "Days of Our Lives".
Jeff Marx: I smell a rat!
Dave Kern: You mean you think Hamada sent her own boyfriend to the hospital in order to replace him in this match!? That's crazy!
Jeff Marx: Japanese people are real weird, man!
The bell sounds as Jack Murphy complains to the referee that it wasn't his fault, or something to that effect. When Hamada starts to circle around him, preparing for a lock-up, Murphy starts to laugh in her face.
Jeff Marx: Murphy doesn't wanna wrestle no dames!
Dave Kern: "Dames"? Who the hell are you supposed to be, James Cagney?
Murphy continues to mouth off to Hamada, trotting around the ring in readiness for her first move. Hamada drops her guard and starts to jaw-jack right back at Murphy and he obliges by getting in her face. SLAP! Hamada lays one right across Murphy's face, but he laughs it off. A moment later his smile turns to a sneer as he DRIVES Butterfly with a push right to the mat. Then he starts to laugh again as Hamada gets to her feet.
Jeff Marx: No chance, no chance in heck! Murphy has this woman's number. She can play all the mind games, go "Fatal Attraction" on her boyfriend to get a match, it doesn't matter. She can't beat "The Bull".
Steven Smith: Glenn Close was SO good in that flick.
Dave Kern: I do not believe you are accusing Butterfly Hamada of hurting her own boyfriend to get a damn wrestling match! That's absurd!
Hamada and Murphy circle one more time and then they tie up in the middle of the ring. Murphy immediately slaps on a headlock. He laughs as he puts on the pressure. Hamada tries to move the 280 pound big man but to no avail, he is too strong for her. he laughs some more and squeezes the headlock tighter. Megumi works her arm in a little and suddenly slips out and slides on a hammerlock. Right away Murphy reverses it but Butterfly is able to get close enough to the ropes to break the hold. Murphy breaks the hold on three, then pushes Hamada hard in the back. She goes ballistic and connects with an elbow to the chest. Murphy smiles and clocks her with a European uppercut that sends Hamada flying to the ropes. She grabs them for leverage. Murphy moves right in with another nasty European uppercut and Hamada crashes to the mat.
Dave Kern: WHOA! He cleaned her clock! That uppercut shattered her reality!
Jeff Marx: There is a huge difference here in size and weight and strength. Hamada is crazy to go up against this guy!
Steven Smith: You know, I really like that tattoo of hers. It's like a bunch of patterns and pictures, it's very nice.
Dave Kern: Butterfly's entire 'sleeve' is a traditional Japanese tattoo. It is very impressive and very intricate. She says her mother was adept in the artform and would work on her in between training to learn how to wrestle.
Murphy picks up Hamada and whips her across the ring. He uses her momentum to lift her up in a press slam, and shows off to the fans by keeping her up there for a good ten seconds. Then Jack drops her like a bad habit, right across his knee. Hamada rolls around the mat clutching her stomach.
Dave Kern: Press slam gutbuster drop! He may have injured her ribs there, her midsection! Now Murphy grabs her by the hair and picks her up and is ready for more punishment. Slips her arm between her legs, whips herup on his shoulders... STRETCH GUTBUSTER DROP! Now he's just playing games with her!
Steven Smith: I liked the "between the legs" part, the rest I missed.
Dave Kern: Hamada in a ton of trouble... Irish whip... Tilt-a-Whirl SLAM! Using his size and strength to his advantage is Jack Murphy!
Murphy goes for a cover but pulls Hamada up on two. The ref gives him grief as do the fans but Murphy is in his element. He whips Hamada to the ropes again and goes for a clothesline but Hamada ducks. She recoils off the ropes and hits Murphy with a running knee to the chest. Murphy is stunned for a second and Hamada takes to the ropes again. Murphy puts out an arm for a clothesline but Hamada wraps around him and suddenly Jack is in the clutches of an abdominal stretch. Hamada can keep it on him for just a few seconds as he hip tosses her off, but she flips and lands on her feet. Jack moves in but she hits a Mexican arm drag and Jack flies across the ring.
Dave Kern: Holy crap! Murphy is suddenly on the defensive! He's after Hamada but she catches him with a snap kick to the gut... DDT! Hamada is on a roll here! Elbow drop! Elbow drop! Trifecta! Cover!
ONE! TW--
Jeff Marx: Kick out at one and a half! Murphy just got caught with his pants down for a second. This woman wouldn't be in AWC if she couldn't go, people! She can wrestle a little bit.
Dave Kern: Right. Let's see. Aimz, Ellis Nash, Alexa Kendericks, Butterfly.... we don't have any women in AWC that can wrestle. Thank you very much. Why don't you sign Jack Murphy's petition while you're at it!
Steven Smith: Pants down what? Where?
Dave Kern: Hamada puts an arm twister on Jack Murphy.... now she pulls him in for a short arm kick... CAUGHT! Overhead capture suplex by Jack Murphy! Just like that the tide has turned!
Murphy stomps on Hamada a few times, then grabs her legs and holds them up, splitting them apart. He smiles to the fans and gets some cheers from some of the men, then kicks Hamada in the midsection. Jeers follow his cheap attack. Murphy seems to feed on it, and climbs the second rope. He jumps off and connects with a double stomp on Hamada's stomach. She rolls around the mat in tremendous pain.
Dave Kern: This woman will have to get herself taped and sticthed after this match. Her ribs MUST be broken! Jack has focused in on her midsection from the get go. His strength and his weight have played out perfecttly for him. Imagine 280 pounds coming down on your stomach! Not once, but about seven times in this match.
Steven Smith: Going down what? Who?
Jack picks up Hamada by her hair, but the woman won't take his disrespect lightly and she slaps him in the face even as tears well-up in her eyes. Jack doesn;t flinch, just grabs her and spins her around and slips on a full nelson. He rears back and sweeps her legs out rolling forward and slams her face right into the mat!
Jeff Marx: FULL NELSON FORWARD RUSSIAN LEG SWEEP! Jack Murphy showing these people who has the STROKE here in AWC!
Dave Kern: Jack with the hook of the leg...
ONE! TWO!
Dave Kern: Hamada kicks out! Murphy complains, he says it was too slow a count!
Murphy keeps complaining as he picks Hamada up off the mat. he whips her across the ring but she ducks under his big boot. Springboard elbow smash connects for Butterfly on the way back! Murphy gets up quick but Hamada is there for a dropkick right to the kisser. Now Jack is a little stunned and fumbles on his way to his feet. Hamada takes the advantage and drops a rolling koppou kick right to the back Murphy's head.
Dave Kern: Murphy is reeling! Hamada with the momentum... flying roundhouse kick to the face! That caught Jack right in the nose! Butterfly with a cover!
ONE! TWO!
Steven Smith: Oh my! She almost had him! If I was her, I WOULD have him, too!
Dave Kern: Thank you, no, stop! Hamada is now climbing the ropes as Jack gets to his feet... hurricanrana... POWERBOMB! Jack caught her in mid-air and planted her!
Jeff Marx: The beginning of the end, baby!
Steven Smith: Jack could have pinned her but he's picking her up... Oh my stars and garters! Cage of Torment!
Dave Kern: CAGE OF TORMENT! CAGE OF TORMENT! Reverse full nelson and he has it locked on! After that powerbomb I don't think she's got enough in the tank to break this hold!
Jeff Marx: In that position she can't do anything! She can barely move! She can wiggle her toes, that's about it! Ha ha ha!
Dave Kern: No! Wait a minute! She's wiggling more then her toes! She's flexible as they come! She trained in Japan where the girls learn how to stretch... if anyone can get out of this it's Hamada! NO! Jack slaps it on even tighter! There IS no escape! There is no way ou-- WHOA! Hamada gets her knees under her... she flips OVER! Jack Murphy's shoulders are on the mat now!
ONE! TWO!
Steven Smith: He broke the hold! Merciful Minerva!
Dave Kern: He had to or else she would have won! I can't believe this plucky underdog was able to get a reversal on the Cage of Torment! She is still suffering the effects of the submission hold as Murphy is up and she is not.
Murphy grabs Butterfly by the hair and pulls her up. He looks out to the crowd as if to say that the end is here. he whips her across the ropes and rushes at her with the Bull Charge but Hamada rolls under it and keeps going. She recoils off the ropes again and the fans think she is going to reverse the momentum but out of nowhere Murphy hits the big shoulder block and Hamada goes flying.
Jeff Marx: BULL CHARGE! BULL CHARGE! Jack is seeing red and Hamada is seeing stars!
Dave Kern: That's it! Jack has seen enough of Butterfly Hamada and he hit the Bull Charge to end this here and now. He is calling for the big piledriver. He is calling for the Fall from Grace. He picks up a demolished Butterfly to her feet... still she won;t give up! Unbelievable! She is taking swings at Murphy but he is keeping her at arms length and she can't reach. Jack is trying to make a fool out of her, when he could end this right now! He has her in his clutche--- HOLY SHIITE! THE LIGHTS!
The entire arena goes pitch black in an instant. The fans erupt in cheers. Suddenly, inside the ring there is a bluish glow. The whole place is pitch black except for this glowing blue obscure light. It is small, about the size of a football, and it is moving around too quickly to identify.
Jeff Marx: What happened to the lights!? What's that blue thing!? It's in the ring!
Dave Kern: A sinister blackness has surrounded us here in the arena, we can't see a thing except for--- LOOK! THE BIG SCREEN!
The giant screen suddenly comes to life and a symbol of a blue monarch butterfly enlarges on the screen until it has filled it completely. Then, with a clamorous BONG, it flashes and blips away. On the screen the same blue butterfly is now the unknown blue light that was shining inside the ring. It is moving but just slightly, and it is flapping its' wings.
Dave Kern: THE LIGHTS ARE BACK ON!
The fans cheer as the arena lights glow bright again. They cheer even louder when they see Hamada is looking at her left arm in horror, as is Jack Murphy. Maybe it is an illusion or a figment of the imagination, or perhaps it was the lights playing tricks with people's eyes. But it seems for a second that there is a giant glowing blue butterfly resting on Hamada's arm. And just like that...
Dave Kern: IT'S GONE!
Jeff Marx: What the hell was that!?
Dave Kern: I don't know! Neither does Hamada! Neither does The Bull! But they realize they are still in a match! Jack Murphy charges Hamada and she is a sitting duck.... NO! Flying crucifix cradle by Butterfly!
ONE! TWO! THREE!
Dave Kern: I don't believe it! What lightning fast reflexes! The fans are going nuts! It's an upset! Jack Murphy is pissed!
Steve Smith: She wrapped him up like a sushi roll and pinned him!
James Brunt: The winner of the match... BUTTERFLY HAMADA!
Jeff Marx: There are some serious questions that need to be asked about this whole thing here tonight! This guy gets hurt, that girl gets a match, the lights go out, the UFO's, the whole shibang! It stinks!
Dave Kern: Butterfly Hamada has upset the reigning Platinum Champion! This could mean a title match against Jack Murphy for Butterfly! What a match! We could have a rematch!
Jeff Marx: She wasn't supposed to even be in THIS match, you jackass!
Dave Kern: But she was, and she won! In your ear, Mr. Belvedere! What a night! It is mind-blowing!
Catching Up: Point/Counter Point
FEATURING: AIMZ, THE UNFUCKABLES, DAVID "PEARL" HARBER
AUTHOR: JOE SCHMIDT
Perhaps she was waiting for Andy Murray, in a hopes to get under his skin by way of ridiculous scare attempts.
Perhaps she was waiting for Alexa Kendricks to shoot the shit with another female who doesn’t exactly take shit.
Perhaps she was just waiting to share a few kind words with anyone who happened to pass.
The truth is, Amy Campbell hasn’t been known to be the pleasant one of our federation. Her time spent in AWC has been anything but tame; the Red Raver cannot find a reason to keep her mouth shut.
The Unfuckables were just another reason.
Aimz: Too low on the radar for the PRIME Superstar and the Former PRIME Superstar?
She leaned against the brick wall as the Unfuckables pass, flanked by their own security squad, with David “Pearl” Harber leading the pack.
Mike Wade: Excuse me, wench?
Pearl grabbed Wade by the arm.
Pearl: Not now, Wade. Not with her. Let’s go.
Mike Wade: Hold on, boss, for just a second! Someone must have let their hair in the deep fryer a little too long. What’s a matter, lady; upset because you got your household skills mixed up?
Aimz: I’m upset that two people with frames comparable to toothpicks are able to hold this entire federation so close to their whims. That wouldn’t have anything to do with you, Mr. Harber, would it?
Pearl: Amy, I’m telling you. Just leave before this gets out of hand.
Adam puts his arm on Pearl’s shoulder.
Adam Dick: Don’t worry, boss. Lady wants to play, we’ll play nice. I think she’s just a little bitter, wondering what SUCCESS looks like from this close up.
Mike Wade: Yeah, she’s been too busy creating whirlwinds of drama wherever else she goes, that she’s never taken the time to see what results with a little hard work!
Aimz: You call what you guys do hard work? Like being a Double Champion in this fed means anything? Sorry, “Funuckables” but that went out of style with the Educator. And for your information, you don’t even know what success is until you’re the one standing in the final bout for Jewel in the Crown.
Adam Dick: BUT YOU DIDN’T WIN, DID YOU? You got beat by that newwwwwwb. And now, you’re stuck at the bottom in AWC; OUR TURF.
Adam holds up his Super Fucking Duper Championship, as well as his half of the Alliance Championships. Mike Wade takes the clue, holding both his Relentless and Alliance titles.
Adam Dick: You think past accomplishments mean anything here? Talk about FWO and PRIME and RPW all you want; you’re STILL. A FUCKING. WOMAN.
Mike Wade: And we all know a woman can’t stand up to the Unfuckables. Get in line, Maddy Estelle and Sarah Kennedy would be happy to have another one in their ranks.
The Unfuckables begin walking, the security staff and Pearl in the way of the retreating party and the still-standing Amy Campbell.
Pearl: Leave it be, Amy. Or else.
Aimz: Oh, I see. Okay, fellas. Keep the owner around your finger and hide from me, but you all know that my rise is inevitable. No one’s been able to keep me down yet, and if you think you two’re going to be the ones to do it—well, I’ll show you the true meaning of ‘Unfuckable.’
As they walk away, Adam Dick glares at Amy and makes his final call.
Adam Dick: You remind me of this Dr. Dre song; how does it go? Oh yeah! I KNOW YOUR TYPE; SO MUCH BITCH IN YOU, IF IT WAS SLIGHTLY DARKER, LIGHTS LITTLE DIMMER MY DICK WOULD BE STUCK UP IN YOUR WIND PIPE.
The Unfuckables laugh as they exit with Pearl, leaving Amy with a bitter taste in her mouth.
Where the Idea Came From
FEATURING: THE BRITISH BOMBER
AUTHOR: NEIL PETERS
We go to the car park outside the Sheffield arena where we see The British Bomber stood next to a car, he is stood at the driver’s side, in his wrestling gear, wiping the paint work of the car.
The British Bomber: Cars are a work of art aren’t they? Take this for example, a Vauxhall Corsa, 1.6, in a nice racing green colour. It’s amazing what people can do with cars today, I mean take my stunt last month for example, nobody would have thought I was crazy enough to do something like that but you see, the idea came from a few years ago.
Bomber started to slowly walk away from the car and make his way back into the arena.
The British Bomber: See, a few years ago, my ex-fiancée pulled the same sort of stunt, a chase round the mountains, she flipped the car and I thought she had died, but she did exactly the same, all because she wanted me out of her life. Needless to say, she lived, and her we are today, but why did I pull this off on Red Rock? Let me put it this way, I didn’t want him out my life, I wanted to give him a comfort zone.
Bomber took a look at the arena, security at the rear entrance for where the wrestlers entered, as well as the backstage crew.
The British Bomber: So why did I want to give him a comfort zone? Re Rock was getting too comfortable, I needed to give him something to think about, make him think I was off the trail, and last week was a perfect chance to jump him and make him panic, Red Rock didn’t have a clue what was happening. Nobody did, the element of surprise is a great thing, and now this week I have a 10-count match against him, a fight that will signal the survival of the fittest. There was no real reason behind me wanting to pull such an insane stunt, I just thought what the hell, I need to do something big to catch peoples attention, to grab the attention of everybody and I did, which brings me to the next little happening…
Bomber enters the rear of the arena, making his way back to the locker room area down the hall, passing backstage crew members, as well as a few other AWC guys.
The British Bomber: And that brings me to Mike Wade and Adam Dick, the Unfuckables. After watching the touching memorial service on TV done by my daughter and my ex, I was horrified to see Mike Wade and Adam Dick interrupt the service and wreck it to be quite honest. Mike, Adam, let me tell you this….. you have balls. That was a touch of genius! Nobody in their right mind would have had the balls to do what you did, but I was sat on the sofa, laughing so hard I nearly fell off the sofa! Guys, you are total legends, and man, big up respect to you both. Your both brave, and I like that.
Bomber continues walking, the cameraman doing his best to keep up with him, but in shock at what Bomber had just said.
The British Bomber: I bet everyone expected me to want to kick their asses, kill them, hell do anything but praise them for what they did. But like I said, genius, loved every minute of that, the service was crap, if that’s all they could do for me, I dread to think what it will be like when I die properly. So, thankyou Mike Wade and Adam Dick, for brightening up, what was literally, a shit service.
Bomber enters a room, and immediately shuts the door behind, leaving the cameraman outside.
Teasing
FEATURING: CHAINZ, TRACEY, ALEXA KENDERICKS
AUTHOR: MIKE S.
The scene cuts to the backstage area where Chainz is standing by a vending machine. He puts in a dollar and pushes the button for a bottle of water. The machine makes some noise, but no water comes out. Chainz shakes the machine a bit, before he begins punching it. After a few seconds he rears back and super kicks the vending machine leaving a dent in it. Chainz goes to the side and tips the machine over, sending it to the ground. Someone places a hand on Chainz’s shoulder. Chainz turns around and sees Alexa Kendericks standing behind him.
Alexa Kendericks: Hey, how’s it going.
Chainz looks like he is about to throw a punch, but than he remembers what Pearl said earlier.
Chainz: What do you want, here to toy with me.
Alexa Kendericks: No, actually I can’t stop thinking about you.
Chainz can’t believe what he’s heard.
Chainz: You’re fucking with my mind.
Alexa Kendericks: No actually, ever since you attacked me I can’t stop thinking about you. You make me all hot and wet.
She leans in and licks Chainz’s cheek.
Chainz: So, let’s me and you go have a little bit of fun?
Alexa Kendericks: Oh, not yet. You see I never mix business with pleasure and me and you will have a match sometime in the near future. So we’ll have to refrain from any sort of fun activities until after the match, but afterwards me and you can go wild.
Chainz: I knew you were a dirty girl.
Alexa Kendericks: Oh you have no idea.
She spins, showing off her body. Chainz goes to grab at her ass, but she stops him.
Alexa Kendericks: Not yet, but after our match you can do anything you want to me. I guess it turns out I need a big, strong, man to take me a ravage me. I need someone to plow my ass and pound me like an animal. I need someone to be my master and to fuck me silly and I think you’re just the man for the job.
Chainz: You know I am, I’m as rough as a sheet of sandpaper.
Alexa Kendericks: I know, and I think that’s what turns me on about you. Now close your eyes and open your mouth because I have a big surprise for you.
Chainz thinks about it and finally closes his eyes and opens his mouth. Alexa unhooks her own bra and pulls it out of her sleeve. She bundles it up and puts in Chainz’s mouth. Chainz opens his mouth and sees what a great gift he got. Alexa touches Chainz on the face before turning and leaving. Chainz takes the bra out of his mouth and smells it, shivering out of ecstasy. His joy is short lived as he turns and sees Tracy standing behind him, her arms folded across her chest, though her hands are way in front of her making he look less scary.
Tracy: So you found a new girl huh?
Chainz: Oh don’t be like that, she’s just a piece of meat.
Tracy: You used to say that about me.
Chainz: No, you’re so much more than that. You’re my girl and you’ll always be.
Tracy smiles and gives Chainz a peck on the cheek. Chainz wraps his arm around Tracy and leads her back to the locker room. Chainz grabs Tracy’s ass and plays with it a bit, getting in the mood. He leads her to the locker room.
Chainz: Why don’t you go in and get out of those clothes. I’ll be right in.
Tracy: Boy, you know how to sweet talk a girl.
Chainz gives Tracy a slap on the butt and see goes in the locker room and shuts the door. When sure that Tracy is inside, Chainz takes Alexa’s bra and smells it a bit more, rubbing his privates at the same time. He gets some sort of euphoria out of it and some sort of pleasure. He licks it, trying to get Alexa’s taste out of it. Finally, he enters the locker room and after a few seconds all we hear is the sound of flesh smacking against flesh as the camera fades out to a commercial.
The Dark Messiah
FEATURING: PADDY O'SHEA, MIKE WADE, ???
AUTHOR: MICHAEL DOHERTY AND MIKE WADE
The scene opens out in the cold December air. On a bridge.
Like I said, it’s cold, breathe condensing momentarily in front of the face. The cold is cutting the skin like a knife, the wind that carries it making it come more and more frequently. It’s not a pleasant night and only for the strong of heart. Tonight the strong of heart cluster on this bridge. A cluster that may soon decrease in number.
The bridge is made up of four lanes, two in each direction. Parked half on the road and half on the pathway that runs the length of it, is a Transit van. Two men stand outside of it, another is inside the van. A swing away shot reveals the man clearly to be Adam Dick.
One man is instantly recognisable as Mike Wade. He looks different than usual. He’s not in one of his funny hurt people moods. He’s almost in a fit of laughter, an insane grin on his face, nothing short of sadism in his eyes.
The other man, who Wade is kicking every so often, is Paddy O’Shea, but he looks different too. He’s face down and knocked out so his face can’t be seen clearly but his hair is encrusted through in red-black blood, some of it dry and hardening. Some of it still oozing from a dangerous gash on his head.
Wade turns to the camera now. He’s not laughing anymore. He’s completely focused.
Mike Wade: I warned him! I FUCKING WARNED HIM! I told him not to fuck with me! AND HE FUCKED WITH ME!
Wade now turns back to Paddy, smiling again. He kicks Paddy square on the side of his head which spins him around onto his back. That kick would turn into a swelling almost the size of an egg in only a few minutes.
Mike Wade: I FECKING WARNED YOU! MEXICO! FUCKING MEXICO! THAT’S WHERE YOU SENT ME. FECKING SMELLY TACO EATING MEXICO.
He falls scarily silent, only talking in whispers.
Mike Wade: We’ll have to remedy that now…won’t we?
Wade now scoops the much lighter Paddy off the ground, cradling him almost like a baby. He brings him other to the side of the bridge and rests him on the railings, a flimsy shield against what lies below. Paddy is merely balancing now on it, even the wind against him now, urging him over. Wade looks directly at Paddy’s blank face and cooes into his ear.
Mike Wade: They say it’s so cold on a night like this; you could die of hypothermia in only a few minutes. Of course, the river isn’t very wide here…so you should be able to swim over in time…
Now Mike smiles again. Those crazy eyes and that unnaturally wide grin is unnerving, only millimetres from Paddy’s face.
Mike Wade: But you’re going to have to wake up to swim. Wake up sleepy head…Wake up.
Wade now lifts Paddy up. The weight causes him to stumble back somewhat but he regains his stance and makes his way forward to make the plunge. It never comes to that. A crash from behind him allows Paddy to slip from his grip out of surprise. Paddy hits the concrete of the pathway hard.
Wade turns around to see three panels of the transit completely folded inwards. There have been cars passing at random intervals. However this van had neglected to do so and instead had ploughed on into the Unfuckable van. Wade begins to run over as Dick gets out of the van, both with the intent of knocking whoever was driving seven shades of blue. Then the door slides open and literally ten men, all dressed in black and masked, pile out and begin to make a beeline for whichever Unfuckable is closest.
Adam Dick is already in the van. He only was a foot out of it when the men got out. Mike Wade on the other hand is at least twenty feet away. He runs as fast as he can, the passenger side popping open as Dick opens it from the inside. The van is already driving away as Wade hangs onto the door, inches away form the masked men’s reach. A few seconds later and they’re out of sight.
The camera now switches back to Paddy O’Shea. The four of the men gently lift Paddy up and carry him to the van. They slide him in, clamber in themselves, and then close the door. The van pulls away and in the driver side wing mirror something unexpected is seen.
We didn’t know before who was actually in the front of the van…not before.
But as that van pulled away, in that wing mirror, all that could be seen, was a face painted red the cold intensity of those eyes even more demoralizing than Mike Wade’s psychotic smile…
Winter Warfare
FEATURING: N/A
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
Yes, it’s time for one of those ridiculously majestic pay-per-view hypes.
Bleak. Desolate. The flatlands of the tundra spread for miles on either side, with no more than a mound or a dip to upset the relief balance.
Empty permafrost, not a tree nor a shrub nor a weed, but for the occasional sprigs of lichen daring to peek through the dirty glass holding them down.
And then, there’s a yell.
A yell so stirring it ripples the sea. A yell so disturbing the lichen withdraws. A yell so destructive that on the mountain, a rock shakes. Just a little bit.
And then the whole lot comes down.
Rocks, ice, snow, the lot, cascading to the ground in a thunderous shower of nature, cracking and breaking and denting.
We zoom closer, sprinting across the tundra with our impossible panorama, into the heart of the avalanche and through –
To a permafrost similar in all respects bar one: it’s littered with bodies. Both alive and dead, both fighting and fought, the shouts of soldiers and clashes of axes and splinters of bones create an aura so bloodcurdling that not even the lichens dare to protrude from the inhospitable ground. A sword slices a body clean in two. A shield shot to the head stuns the enemy. A moustachioed fighter falls for the last time, an ice dagger protruding from between his shoulderblades.
This is war.
And once more we rush into the centre of the action, coming closer and closer to a gleaming sword until we are right through it –
Onto another tundra on another day. This one lustrous in the bright sunlight, the reflections from the ice blinding those stood in a huge circle, arms behind their backs and heads held high. Confidence and preparedness is present in each and every one of these soldiers.
But as we move in from a bird’s eye view, we see that they are not kitted out as soldiers after all. Many do not wear garments on their upper bodies, yet are not bothered by the subzero temperatures. A frozen image on a frozen day. Colours and textures conspicuous by their ambition in the event. Blue lycra and black PVC and red spandex. Totally inappropriate for warfare, but that isn’t the point. As we move ever lower in our altitude, the camera tilts round to a horizontal view, swimming smoothly around the circle, and finally we can put names to faces. Butterfly Hamada. Chainz. Mike Wade. Paddy O’Shea.
It’s AWC.
The image freezes on AWC Transatlantic champion Pierce Lavelle, expressionless as his watery eyes stare into the distance.
AWC presents Winter Warfare.
December 23rd.
Who will be frozen out?
The British Bomber vs Red Rock
STIPULATION: 10 COUNT MATCH
REFEREE: MICHAEL RYAN
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
Dave Kern: AWC has held a grand total of one 10-Count match in the past. This was at Testimony on September 30th, in which Tim Shipley defeated his nemesis The Illustrious Face-Eater, now more commonly known as Adam Dick, to capture the Frontier title that he currently holds.
Jeff Marx: And then Dick took his face off!
Dave Kern: Indeed, Dick unmasked to reveal his true identity, which was a bit of a letdown for some fans...
Steven Smith: I was hoping for “Precious” Peter Love under there!
Jeff Marx: But within a few weeks Dick started worming his way towards the top of AWC with his new partner-in-crime Mike Wade. Now, Dave, how is this relevant?
Dave Kern: Well that bit wasn’t. You, Jeff Marx, took it too far.
Jeff Marx: Ooh, now you’re asking for trouble, dickweed.
Dave Kern: Imbecile.
Jeff Marx: KRAMER WILD WING LIKER!
Steven Smith: Now you’ve crossed a line, Jeff.
Dave Kern: I can’t compete with that...
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.
Dave Kern: I still can’t quite believe my eyes. We all believed this man dead...
Jeff Marx: It’s Aliso syndrome all over again.
Dave Kern: Except that was completely different and lasted half a year rather than a few weeks.
Jeff Marx: A faked death is a faked death.
Steven Smith: Bomber’s return actually undermines Volky’s argument for her instatement somewhat, since “TWO deaths!” was one of her main points.
Smith drinks in the stunned silence at a useful observation from him.
Steven Smith: It also undermines me, since that bastard stole my damn name!
Dave Kern: Steven, standing on her chair with your thumb to your nose and wiggling your fingers is hardly going to help matters.
Smith reluctantly sits back down as the commentators study their monitors.
Jeff Marx: This sucks, you know. We can barely even see the ring past the throng of fans we have to contend with... SIT DOWN, FOR GOD’S SAKE!
Steven Smith: Throng sounds like thong. I can imagine Pierce Lavelle in one of those...
Dave Kern: Can being the operative word since this is REALLY not the time!
The opening feedback of "Blame Thrower" by Reuben hits as the lights lower to darkness. The riff begins and the lights flicker red, and Red Rock's logo hits the big screen. The heavy riff kicks in...
We all have responsibilities,
we all have a social debt
and if there is a man free of guilt,
I haven't met him yet
... and Red Rock bursts out from behind the curtain with huge amounts of energy. Boolie comes out swiftly afterwards and stands with his hands on his hips.
James Brunt: The following is a 10-Count match! Already in the ring, from Birmingham, England, weighing in at 230 pounds... THE BRITISH BOMBER!
So now you’re backed in a corner,
you’re under verbal attack
they’re pointing fingers like guns in your face and
nobody’s got your back
Red Rock walks down to the ring with a cheeky smile on his face giving members of the crowd a nod and a thumbs-up but making an effort not to touch anyone.
James Brunt: And his opponent, from Aldershot, England, weighing in at 197 pounds... RED ROCK!
Red Rock reaches the ring and pulls himself up on to the apron and hops over the top rope and poses to the crowd, pouting with his hand on his hip.
Dave Kern: This rivalry an all-British affair.
Jeff Marx: We don’t actually know Boolie’s nationality. Or gender, for that matter...
Dave Kern: He’s from New York City, apparently. Funny no one ever told us he had a New York accent...
Steven Smith: But surely you could hear that, Dave?
Dave Kern: I'm just text on a page, Steven... just text on a page...
Bomber looks out at the crowd, soaking in the heated reaction from the fans.
Dave Kern: The Sheffield crowd is more than up for this tonight. They know this is the final showdown for Red Rock and Bomber. And it’s all about to kick off...
The bell rings, as Michael Ryan completes a final check and nods to both competitors, though Bomber’s back is turned to him. Red Rock saunters up behind TBB – a mistake. Bomber turns round and in one smooth movement punches him hard through the bridge of the nose.
Dave Kern: Oh, a cheap shot!
Red Rock loses his balance and falls, Bomber following up by taking his legs and shunting his knee into Red Rock’s inverted and elevated spine, again and again, while Red Rock’s arms flail either side of him, trying to get a grip on something.
Jeff Marx: Bomber’s looking to stun Red Rock momentarily just so he can get some sort of hold on, wanting to weaken the smaller guy’s resistance.
With an uncharacteristically involved Boolie yelling at him from ringside, Red Rock draws his legs in towards him, thus bring TBB forward and away from his strong base, before thrusting them quickly back out, forcing TBB to trot backwards in a hurry. Freeing a leg, RR buries it in Bomber’s inner thigh and scrambles to his feet, throwing a jab to the abdomen of his opponent as he does so.
Dave Kern: Bomber asked the early question and Red Rock passed the first simple test.
Jeff Marx: If I take a nap, can you prod me when they start ripping each other’s faces up?
Steven Smith: Sure thing, Jeff. I love to watch you sleep.
Jeff Marx: On second thoughts...
His left leg glued to the canvas, a dead leg the apparent result of RR’s stiff kick, Bomber is doubled up as Red Rock careers willingly into the nearest set of ropes before playing out a nice running bulldog.
Dave Kern: Red Rock bringing Bomber to the mat. Perhaps that’s unwise. The British Bomber’s technical know-how after so many years in the business could hand him the advantage in that situation.
Jeff Marx: But not when he’s eating canvas and Red Rock is on his back choking him out...
The situation is as Jeff described, with Red Rock’s dirty tactics going down a treat with the crowd, but not with Michael Ryan. However, the senior referee’s capacity to restrict him is limited, the 10-Count match including a stipulation of no disqualification.
Jeff Marx: Encouraging words aren’t gonna stop Red from choking the life out of the Bomber!
Dave Kern: He could actually win it like this, sickeningly enough. Choking him into unconsciousness and then waiting patiently for Michael Ryan to count to – Steven, are you OK?
Smith’s eyes are fixed to his monitor with his head slumped on the desk.
Steven Smith: Red... mounted... Bomber...
Jeff Marx: Steven, you do appear to have a little drool running from the corner of your mouth.
Bomber attempts to galvanise his body into action, jack-knifing in an attempt to throw Red Rock, but it’s no use with Red Rock knelt around his trunk. Two hands clamped around his windpipe, TBB struggles to breathe with his face turning rapidly purple. Pleading eyes, but the referee can’t do a thing.
Jeff Marx: He needs to use the fact that Red Rock is light. Bomber should be able to lift a sub-200-pounder on his back from prone.
Dave Kern: But without any oxygen in his lungs? Then, it becomes a little more tricky.
Bomber’s head now moves left a little, his entire body leaning that way as he looks to find an easier way to breathe. Red Rock pays little heed – this can’t be a tactic; RR’s in perfect control. And anyway, he’s too busy smiling out at the crowd, who have been chanting ”RED ROCK! RED ROCK!” since the match began. Too bad for him. With a grunt, Bomber suddenly draws his right leg up. Red Rock desperately forces Steven Smith’s head down (not THAT Steven Smith and not in THAT way, pervert) but with a knee firmly against the mat, Bomber has room for leverage.
Jeff Marx: Now he’s got something to work with.
Red Rock throws his entire body over Bomber, smothering torso with torso and legs with legs, but this lack of contact with the mat in fact makes it easier for TBB to do what he’s planning, and he now pushes up with his foot and knee, working a little more room to bring that leg up fully and plant his boot flat on the canvas. Now, the task is simple, and he pushes himself up to standing, with Red Rock still hanging off his back. Unfortunately for the Bomber, his face is a horrible violet, and Red Rock is still persevering with the choke.
Jeff Marx: Sign of inexperience... Red Rock panicked in the heat of the moment and actually distributed his weight better for The British Bomber.
Dave Kern: Despite escaping that nightmare scenario of the choke-out on the canvas, though, Bomber does still have an immediate situation on his hands.
Steven Smith: A man on his back. A great state of affairs for anyone.
Bomber throws his hands down to his sides, grabbing RR’s knees and pulling them forwards to wrap around him.
Jeff Marx: Look away kids...
Steven Smith: Harder, Red, harder!
Bomber now thrusts his weight around, but can’t dislodge Red Rock. Changing his strategy, he yanks Red Rock’s knees yet further around him.
Dave Kern: Bomber was looking for some kind of sit-down slam, but with Red Rock still choking the life out of him he just couldn’t get the propulsion. Now what’s this?
With Red Rock’s legs brought round to their fullest extent, Bomber shifts his grip to the ankles, drawing them in and across each other in an improvised variant of a familiar mat hold. Red Rock suddenly lets out a yell as his ankles’ attrition reaches his nerve centre, and falls away from Bomber, landing flat on his back as TBB lets go of his feet.
Jeff Marx: Well that was pretty damn fine!
Steven Smith: Indeed – Red Rock now spreads his legs for entry!
Kern and Marx: ...
Bomber, gasping for breath, plunges forward into the ropes and relaxes, leaning on the middle rope as he spreads his body weight over it. Red Rock takes a couple of breaths, frowning at the intense pain he just had in his ankles, and then throws himself back up, running into Bomber with a mid-level dropkick right into his gluteus maximus to send him head-over-heels out to the floor!
Jeff Marx: ASS DROPKICK!
Having landed comfortably, Red Rock is already back on his feet and moving authoritatively onto the apron, from where he spreads his arms, a wide smile aimed through the wire fencing at the fans, who respond warmly. He then braces himself and flips off the apron head-first with a senton bomb, his body weight crushing the sternum of the veteran!
Dave Kern: RED ROCK TAKING A BIG RISK! AND IT PAID OFF! SENTON BOMB FROM THE APRON!
Jeff Marx: Bomber’s really groaning with the pain from that one.
Dave Kern: He’s got no breath in his lungs –
Steven Smith: Yeah, it was one intense orgasm.
As Red Rock rolls untidily away from Bomber to recompose himself after such a high-risk manoeuvre for a man who doesn’t often take to the air, Michael Ryan, having slid to the outside of the ring, now starts to make a count that nobody really thought about as TBB lies prone.
ONE!
TWO!
Jeff Marx: What? He can’t count him down!
Dave Kern: That IS the match stip, Jeff...
Jeff Marx: I was just testing you.
Steven Smith: Deliberate mistake?
Jeff Marx: See, Steven understands.
Steven Smith: That’s right. I'm kind, caring and compassionate.
Dave Kern: Steven, AWC Fresh! is not a Lonely Hearts column.
At five, Bomber lifts an arm, showing Ryan that he is indeed conscious and so the count should be stopped, which it subsequently is. There’s no respite for The British Bomber, who is taken by surprise as Red Rock punts him in the ribs with his trendy trainers.
Dave Kern: Red Rock can get down and dirty with the best of them!
Jeff Marx: (pointing a finger at Steven) Not. A. Word.
As Steven spreads his arms to protest his innocence, Red Rock sends another harsh kick into the ribs of his foe, leading TBB to roll over, pain etched all over his still colourful face. Storming away suddenly, Red walks right into Boolie, who wobbles on impact before handing RR a chair with a beaming smile on his face.
Dave Kern: Red Rock and Boolie not quite singing from the same hymn sheet there...
Steven Smith: Nor were they on the same wavelength.
Dave Kern: Which is the same thing.
Steven Smith: But isn’t a retarded and outdated idiom.
Dave Kern: Are you Jeff?!
Jeff Marx: No, that’d be me. They certainly were on the same wavelength with regards to that folding chair... OOF!
As Steven Smith points out with a self-satisfied smile that Jeff used the same idiom as he did and not the one Dave used, everyone else in the arena gasps as Red Rock swings the chair from up high, but Bomber, showing previously untapped agility, flips his legs up and bends them to absorb the impact of the shot on the soles of his boots and then shove the chair back up into Red Rock’s face!
Dave Kern: WHAT A COUNTER!
Jeff Marx: Chair full of face for Red Rock!
Dave Kern: ...Faceful of chair?
Jeff Marx: I AM NEVER WRONG. Tell him, Steven.
Steven Smith: You two really aren’t on the same wavelength.
Dave Kern: Care to share my hymn sheet?
The chair drops with a clang as Red Rock staggers back into Boolie’s arms, his hand to his temple where a small gash is visible. As Red Rock looks at the red adorning his fingertips, Bomber crawls over to the barricade, using it to drag himself up.
Dave Kern: Oh no, not a good idea with those fans caged up behind the barriers...
It seems Bomber’s intentions were pure – taunting was not on his mind – as he pulls himself up, fixing his fingers in the gaps of the mesh as if he were trying to climb a WWF-style cell, but the heckling he receives from the fans rapidly causes a smirk to form on his face, as he taps the mesh proudly.
Jeff Marx: You’re not untouchable!
Marx’s warning is too late for TBB, who suddenly yells out as a biro is jabbed into his arm through a hole in the wire. He reels away, his face looking like thunder, as Red comes running at him with a cross body block!
Dave Kern: Cross body! Out of nowhere!
Steven Smith: RAPE!
Red Rock springs off Bomber’s body as it lands flat on the floor and, ignoring his fallen enemy, starts to kick at the ring steps.
Jeff Marx: Red Rock trying to bring the ringside environment into play.
Red Rock throws increasing power into his boots to the hinges of the steps but he just can’t free them, and some Bomber fans in the crowd start to jeer. With a backwards glance and a grin, he flips them off.
Steven Smith: Red Rock can’t get those ring steps free! You need a real man to do that! Somebody with some POWER in him!
As if answering the commentator’s call, Boolie lumbers over, crashing his size-ninety-eight (OK maybe not) boot against the side of the steps. They fall away, toppling over with a clang.
Dave Kern: That’s one way to do it!
Jeff Marx: There is a mahooosive dent in those ring steps.
Bomber brings an arm over his face, shielding it from the bright lights as he struggles to get to his feet. RR, straining, pulls the ring steps up with both arms with their bottom just twelve or so inches off the floor and runs at Bomber, letting out a faux-Kamikaze scream. He goes clattering into TBB, tripping over the steps as he runs into them, and the impact poleaxes The British Bomber, who falls into a bent position against the barricade with Red Rock on top of him and the steps in between.
Jeff Marx: He’s hardcore.
The front row fans grab the mesh right above the two, rattling it with their arms as they yell out at the participants. ”RED ROCK SUCKS COCK!” is their totally mature mantra.
Dave Kern: Long-time fans in the front row cheering on the Bomber.
Jeff Marx: No, what they’re saying is not a cue to unzip, Steve.
Steven Smith looks crestfallen.
Boolie extends a great arm, pulling Red Rock to his feet and brushing him down. Red Rock is cradling his left elbow.
Dave Kern: He must have hit that elbow against the edge of a step as he fell. Starry eyes and aching bones...
Steven Smith: I’ve got an aching bone-
Jeff Marx: ERRRRRRRR no!
Dave Kern: Jeff, if you’re going to interrupt, at least have the courtesy not to finish his sentences for him.
Bomber throws the steps off his body, and they hit the floor with a loud noise just by Red Rock. Seeing how they have fallen as if set up in position, Red Rock, ignoring his friend Boolie’s attempts at advice, backs away. The fans roar with anticipation as they see his plan. Meanwhile, ONE!
Dave Kern: Michael Ryan’s just starting to count the Bomber down. With the steps on him previously, that didn’t count – they have to stay down unhindered.
TWO! And The British Bomber, grumbling, slaps his hand against his knee, pushing himself up from the floor. Red begins to run. Placing his right foot on the first step, left foot on the second, the fans start to rise to capture this on film – but then Red Rock plants his right foot on the third step and the ring steps overturn.
Jeff Marx: BAH! Has Red Rock never studied physics?
Waving his arms to try and balance, RR tries to ride the forwards topple of the steps, but he is thrown off as they land with a crash and he falls on his front right at Bomber’s feet. The British Bomber grins and spreads his arms: what did I do?
Dave Kern: Red Rock has just compromised himself!
Steven Smith: Time for the Bomber to – er – take advantage of him.
Wearily, TBB drags Red Rock up and slams a fist across his jaw. Spittle flecks from RR’s mouth to the floor, but he recovers to throw a punch of his own. Bomber, aware, ducks it and grabs Red Rock’s legs, tripping him to fall back onto the steps!
Dave Kern: SPINEBUSTER ON THE RING STEPS!
Jeff Marx: I think the spinebuster requires SOME force on the part of the aggressor, Dave.
Dave Kern: No matter! Red Rock’s spine - is - busted! Well, as close as you’re gonna get in a wrestling environment! Three points of impact on the edge of each step!
ONE! TWO! THREE! come the counts from Michael Ryan, and the fans rally behind Red Rock, encouraging him up.
Steven Smith: He’s right, you know, Jeff. Pressure = force over area.
Jeff Marx: Did I ASK for your bastardised version of schoolroom physics?
Dave Kern: ...You didn’t know that did you, Jeff?
Jeff Marx: Didn’t ask for YOUR opinion either.
FOUR! FIVE! Red Rock yells in pain, stuck as if skewered by the steps while Bomber backs away, brushing his hand over his forehead. He taps his temple, smirking at Red Rock.
Dave Kern: British Bomber teasing Red Rock, reminding him that he’s the one who’s bleeding.
Jeff Marx: Bet the match writer needed that reminder too.
SIX!
Dave Kern: And could The British Bomber have taken victory so soon?
Sensing the urgency, Boolie charges in, running over to his friend as fast as his tree-trunk legs will allow, but Bomber meets him with a lightning-fast spear, sacking Boolie against the security barrier where he slumps to a sitting position with glazed eyes.
Steven Smith: Poor Boolie!
Jeff Marx: Nah, he got what he deserved. He’s a big Boolie.
SEVEN!
EIGHT!
And Red Rock rolls onto his side, throwing up his left arm to show his ability to continue to compete. Referee Ryan nods, ending his count.
Dave Kern: Sigh of relief from the fans here in Sheffield – their Anti Hero is still in this.
Bomber spins around to deal with Red Rock, looking rejuvenated following his tiredness earlier on after his bout on top of this match. Grabbing both his legs, Bomber looks for the catapult...
Jeff Marx: Easy catapult with Red Rock already at an angle.
But as Bomber rocks back, Red Rock kicks off from the steps, shooting forward out of his grip to club TBB across the chin! The resulting cheer from the crowd is enormous as Red Rock follows through, stumbling forward and seeing Boolie motionless against the security barrier.
Dave Kern: OH THE SHOT!
Steven Smith: Good recovery from Red Rock. I always say what these wrestlers need is a little R ‘n’ R...
Dave Kern: There’s no time for rest and relaxation now Steven!
Jeff Marx: You’d think, but Red Rock seems more concerned about this obese beast than dealing with the match.
Bent down to check on Boolie, his eyes wide as he impatiently scrubs the drying blood from the right side of his head, Red Rock is oblivious to the crowd yelling him on until a young boy presses his head against the metal between the ringside area and the fans to shout “Finish him off!” right in Red Rock’s ear.
Jeff Marx: Action!
Whirling around, Red Rock marches over to the downed Bomber, giving him a kick for good measure. He looks back at the young boy and gives him a wink (the boy promptly faints out of sheer joy)... and then leaps up onto the top of the security wall.
Dave Kern: Red Rock has climbed onto the top of the usual barricade we have! He’s leaning back against the safety wall, considering...
Jeff Marx: He’s taking a big risk here, too big a risk. He’s as likely to put himself out for the count as he is Bomber!
Steven Smith: Red Rock naked would certainly put me out for the count.
Dave Kern: Do you put out for the Count?
Jeff Marx: I put out for the cunt.
Steven Smith: I can’t count.
Dave Kern: 10-Count!
Jeff Marx: What the hell are we talking about??
Steven Smith: I love desk.
Dave Kern: Steven, are you just looking at things and saying you love them?
Jeff Marx: WANKERMAN!
Steven Smith: SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUP! LOOK!
Dave Kern: My God! Red Rock is CLIMBING THE SAFETY WALL!
Jeff Marx: I don’t think this is quite what Sasha Volkyeva had in mind!
Straining, Red Rock pulls himself up, ignoring the pain in his hands, ignoring the way the mesh cuts off the circulation to his fingertips, just thinking about The British Bomber, and what has passed between them, and ending this once and for all...
Steven Smith: HE’S GOING CROWD-SURFING!
Dave Kern: ...No he’s not.
Jeff Marx: It’s going to be a leg drop.
Dave Kern: No, it’s not.
Jeff Marx: Yes, it is, and Bomber’s gonna move, and Red Rock is gonna be dead from the waist down.
Steven Smith: That’d be inconvenient in a whole number of ways.
Dave Kern: Er, guys, that’s not funny, not at all...
Jeff and Steven hang their heads.
A stupid idea, since they miss the action as Red Rock swivels, digging his heels into the mesh, to face towards the ring and out across it, issuing a cheeky and nervous wink to the other bank of fans. Spurred on by the signs and the camera flashes, he looks down at the floor, where Bomber is still lying flat, and throws himself off the cage wall.
Dave Kern: LEG DROP! OFF THE TOP OF THE MESH!
Steven Smith: Oh Sasha!
Jeff Marx: WHAT DID I TELL YOU! WHAT DID I TELL YOU!
Dave Kern: HE LANDED IT! JEFF SAID THAT BOMBER WOULD MOVE BUT RED LANDED IT!
Red Rock falls aside on impact, curling up in a ball and shuddering involuntarily after the devastating impact, effectively dropping onto a concrete floor from ten feet up with only a torso and some floor padding in between. The British Bomber, eyes closed, is completely still. Michael Ryan, his eyes flashing with worry, begins to count. ONE! TWO!
Steven Smith: What happens if BOTH stay down for ten?
Dave Kern: Draw, I suppose...
THREE! FOUR!
. Jeff Marx: Let’s hope THAT isn’t on the cards.
Dave Kern: Indeed. It’d be a huge let-down after such a feud.
FIVE! SIX!
Jeff Marx: No, it’s just that we’d have to sit through another Red Rock/Bomber match again.
Someone starts to get to his feet. But it’s Boolie.
SEVEN!
Dave Kern: The 7’7” Boolie is back on his feet at last!
”RED ROCK! RED ROCK!”
EIGHT!
Jeff Marx: Crunch time for these two!
Red Rock paws at the air, but it’s not enough for the referee, who makes the ninth count.
NINE!
Dave Kern: Not like this!
Suddenly Boolie swoops down, dragging Red Rock to his feet by his armpits and slapping his face vigorously! Red Rock blinks rapidly and with a foolish grin on his face waves hello to Michael Ryan.
Steven Smith: Hello sailor!
Ryan nods, acknowledging this.
Dave Kern: RED ROCK’S SAFE! NOW CAN BOMBER DO ANYTHING?
Still motionless.
TEN!
Jeff Marx: NO, NO HE CANNOT! THIS ONE IS OVER! GAME, SET AND MATCH RED ROCK!
Boolie collapses to his knees, and momentarily Red Rock joins him, wrapping his arms around his friend’s huge bulk in a fond embrace as he throws his long hair behind his ears, exultant and exhausted.
James Brunt: The winner... RED ROCK!
Dave Kern: THAT, FOLKS, IS IT! TIME HAS RUN OUT FOR THE BRITISH BOMBER! ANOTHER LOSS TO HIS AWC RECORD!
Jeff Marx: Even resurrection couldn’t save him from jobberdom.
Steven Smith: That’s why Jesus pwns this pretender.
Dave Kern: Steven, you’ve just offended every Christian watching!
Steven Smith: Only like 3% go to church anyway.
Jeff Marx: THAT, MORONS, IS NOT THE POINT! THE 10-COUNT IS IN THE BOOKS! RED ROCK, WITH AN OUTRAGEOUS LEG DROP FROM OFF THE NEW SAFETY BARRIERS, HAS KNOCKED OUT THE BRITISH BOMBER TO FINALLY END THIS FEUD BETWEEN THEM!
Dave Kern: Ladies and gentlemen that concludes the show! Next week’s Fresh! is the last full show before Winter Warfare because I can EXCLUSIVELY announce that Fresh!burst on December 18th will take the form of an AWC Christmas party!
Steven Smith: Do we get an entertainer? OH PLEASE LET THERE BE AN ENTERTAINER!
Dave Kern: There will be balloons, I can promise that much, at the Bilderberg Garden Hotel in Amsterdam that has been hired by AWC for the night.
Steven Smith: Build-a-burger? Like... HARIBO!
Jeff Marx: Dude, we’re partying in Amsterdam? Sweet.
Dave Kern: That’s twelve days away, ladies and gentlemen! But in just seven we will see the next edition of this fantastic weekly show which comes LIVE from Charleroi in Belgium, at the 7,000-capacity Spiroudome!
Steven Smith: Charleroi means “Charles The King”.
Jeff Marx: No shit.
Dave Kern: WILL YOU SHUT UP AND LET US GET OFF THE AIR?!
AWC production hastily gets the copyright notice on screen, and we leave the Hallam FM Arena to the sound of bickering. As. Per. Usual.