Fresh!east Results8th August 2006
Gloomy Omens
FEATURING: D'avid & Teresa Tomas
AUTHOR: JOSH Y. & SONYA
Alone in walking around the beach is D’avid Bulrat, Red Rock’s sex pest side kick and under his arm is a black folder containing some drawings and in his free hand he is holding a bunch of flowers he had just bought from the (petrol) gas station near by. Up on closer inspection it would appear that D’avid is not alone on the beach as in the not so distant distance is a lonesome Teresa Tomas collecting her thoughts. D’avid jogs up behind Teresa with a large over enthusiastic grin on his face. He then enters flowers first and Teresa can’t help but giggle.
D’avid: Teresa Tomas!
Teresa’s body jerks at the shock of D’avid’s unexpected appearance.
Teresa Tomas: D’avid?! You scared me!
D’avid: It has been too long! I nearly died when we were drafted apart like Romeo and Juliet!
Teresa Tomas: Aren’t you Red Rock’s side kick?
D’avid: AIIIIEIEIE! You remember me? OoooOh I think I just did a little piss!
Teresa Tomas raises her eyebrows as D’avid approaches her with a bunch of flowers.
D’avid: Teresa Tomas I got you these flower which I bought myself!
Teresa Tomas: Oh…thanks D’avid, it is D’avid isn’t it?
D’avid: I was hoping that you and I could go out on a date?
Teresa Tomas covers her face to shroud her entertainment at D’avid’s suggestion.
D’avid: Look I even did these drawings to show you how HOT it will be! Heh! This is us going to the cinema to see a movie!
D’avid: Then we find our seats and then we start to get a bit randy and you touch my throbbing ginger penis!
Teresa Tomas: In the front row?
D’avid Heh! Yes why not? But that’s not the end we then go back to my flat for coffee!
Teresa Tomas: Oh right… that’s no so bad!
D’avid: THEN WE GO IN TO MY BEDROOM AND I BEND YOU OVER THE BED AND PUT IT IN YOUR WET AND THAT’S ME LOOKING ALL PROUD! Heh…
Teresa Tomas: Right ok D’avid… I think I have to go now
D’avid: Is that a yes?
Teresa Tomas walks with haste in her step as D’avid stands and grins. Meanwhile off in the distance the clouds rumbled, holding nothing but ominous portents for the evening.
Introduction
FEATURING: DAVE KERN, JEFF MARX
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
As the continued rumbling of the sky overhead did its best to drown out the crowd, the opening thrumming of Metallica’s ‘Battery’ resounds across the arena. The crowd seems to get into it a little bit, for a moment forgetting the clouds above. The scathing riff kicks in and jolts the crowd into excitement as it seems Ms. Volkyeva has gone all out to show up the other special for AWC.
Fireworks ping from the backstage area, but only for the briefest of time before they sputter and falter. The moist air has laid waste to the attempt at a grand opening and unsurprisingly the camera swerves over to Dave and Jeff, hoping to avoid any more mishaps.
Dave Kern: Hello everybody and welcome to the Fresh!east special, coming live from the Motherland of our Entertainment Manager, right on Anapa Beach!
Jeff Marx: (sarcastically) That’s Russia for all of you who aren’t up on your history.
Dave Kern: Whatever. Regardless fans, we know it looks like it’s a bit doom and gloom here but we’re positive that what’s going to happen here tonight will be grandiose and earth shattering. We have the start of the Alliance Tournament, a Countdown Trophy match and let’s not forget our main event, 2 out of 3 falls for the Frontier Championship!
Jeff Marx: Bah, I think tonight will show how the dominance of the East is paramount. It’s East vs. West tonight and we have every confidence in victory. Because if those East guys don’t win…well let’s just say that the water out there is chilly.
Dave Kern: So buckle up fans because we’re ready to rumble! Forecast be damned, we’ll set this night alight!
X & Y
FEATURING: Gabriel Afeaki
AUTHOR: joe(Maga)
This was it, his first night of combat in just over two years. His first time back in the spotlight, a known face, no more hiding, no more secrecy; she’d thrown a curveball at him the week before, but for some reason he was strangely calm. He remained an enigma to the other superstars that were dotted around the backstage area. Who was he? Why was he here? All questions without answers. All questions with answers only he possessed.
They wouldn’t get answers. Not tonight. Most certainly, not tonight.
~BEEP, BEEP~
The low drone of his cellular phone kicked into life, it was all he needed as a light drizzle descended down upon him. He didn’t even have to try to ruin the show, Sasha was doing a good enough job of it without him making an effort.
GA: It’s about time you called.
…
GA: Yes… she has no idea. I really don’t think she reckons I’ll show. I mean… why else the Emo Kid?
…
GA: What do you mean show patience? Let’s do it tonight… you wanted disruption, so let me do the damn thing…
…
GA: Two weeks? Two weeks! No… I do not question your judgment… but tonight… I’m ready to bang…
…
GA: As you wish…
The other end of the line went silent, but it certainly was not bliss. “The Voice” had spoken. It had ordered. It had directed and it had proclaimed. The end was coming for Sasha, but how, and when and why? All questions relevant, yet all without their relevant answers: a quandary if ever one existed.
AWC didn’t quite comprehend the gravity of the situation. Its face would change forever. No one had a clue. Not one soul. To Gabs, it was only a wrestling federation: he’d find work wherever the cages called… but he didn’t enjoy the idea of bringing down something so… well… so grand.
Choice though, never came into the equation.
x + y - z = a… solve a for the answer… the only factor he knew was z… it was choice, he didn’t have one of those… what a lot of help.
The revelation was coming, sooner rather than later. I suggest you take your seats ladies and gentlefucks, you don’t want to miss the show.
Champions and Politicians don’t mix!
FEATURING: The Coalition & Pierce Lavelle
AUTHOR: LARA & DAVE
In the makeshift backstage area at Anapa Beach in Russia, the camera examines the area to find the team of Wesley Reno and Phil Allen – together known as the Coalition – training together. Phil Allen is working on his bulging pythons, while Reno is using dumbbells reluctantly. The new Transatlantic champion Pierce Lavelle, dressed in dress trousers and royal blue shirt, walks towards the pair.
Pierce Lavelle: You’re the ‘politician’ that came third in the Ruby Diner match?
Wesley Reno: (sceptical) Yes, that’s me. To what do I owe the pleasure, my friend?
Reno extends his hand to the champion. Lavelle takes it and the two share an amicable handshake. Lavelle’s firm grip forces Reno to relinquish the handshake.
Phil Allen: We’re sort of in the middle of a, you know, training session here. Is there any chance you could come back later, champ?
Reno shoots a glance at Lavelle to indicate that training is the last thing on his mind right now.
Pierce Lavelle: Training session, huh? Couple of dumbbells and a little flexing and you call that training! I think your ‘politician’ friend here is doing fine as is, cut him some slack, huh…
Lavelle shoots a smug grin and folds his muscular arms across his chest and stares down Allen, once more, covered in sweat patches with rosy cheeks.
Pierce Lavelle: Might want to be careful, don’t want to give yourself a coronary!
Phil Allen: Please, the chances of me having a coronary are about as high as you retaining your gold against that guy who lives in a trashcan!
Allen and Lavelle have a stare down for a moment, but Reno steps in between them.
Wesley Reno: Before you tough guys get into a misled and totally unnecessary fight, let me just say that Mr. Lavelle, I’m sure you’ll give a great account of yourself against Garbage Man. Philly, control yourself.
Lavelle still keeps his gaze firmly on Allen, as he asks Reno a question.
Pierce Lavelle: So, how has the transition to wrestling from politics been for you?
Reno shrugs, then exhales heavily before answering.
Wesley Reno: Well, you’ll be pleased to know that the Democratic Party have increased their polls by point six of a percentage since I joined AWC. I’m adjusting well, but I’m yet to get my first win. That’s what you get for teaming up with this has been, eh?
Reno nudges Allen playfully, Allen shaking his head at Reno’s poor attempt at humour. Lavelle chuckles to himself as Reno and Allen whisper to each other, arguing about their matches. Lavelle seems uninterested and begins to go on his way.
Pierce Lavelle: You guys obviously have issues; I’ll leave you two alone.
Allen shouts after the champion as he is leaving.
Phil Allen: Remember to watch your back, champ.
Pierce Lavelle: Careful ‘old man’.
Allen chuckles to himself, scolding Reno and ordering him to get back to work. Reno remonstrates with his mentor, but eventually acquiesces. Lavelle grins at the camera which focuses on his Transatlantic championship. Softly in the background you can see the tinkle of rain drops as the camera fades out.
Life of Lies
FEATURING: Mikey O'Reilly & Teresa Tomas
AUTHOR: JEREMY J. & SONYA
Well, this scenery doesn’t change much from last week. Mikey O’Reilly is on another beach, but this time, it’s the Seafront Anapa Beach in Moscow, Russia. Unlike Huntington Beach, California, there are no sunny, blue skies. Instead, it’s dreary overcast, with the occasional rain showers, ranging from light to heavy. This weather is the perfect setting for Mikey’s mood: gray, depressing and angry. The same thought keeps coming back to him: Why couldn’t Sasha put this venue in a fucking indoor arena?!
Last week, Mikey O’Reilly lost again, his third loss in a row. He lost the Battle for Independence, a Countdown Trophy Match and a Duo Match, along with Paddy O’Shea. Over the past few weeks, all Mikey has done in AWC was lose. When he started back in February, he had a good winning streak, beating Dagoth Kinslayer on his debut, and defeated both Jason Ortiz and Mr. Marshall in a Three Way Fury. But his streak would come to an end against Aimz, and it would all go downhill from there. He would have his highs, but mostly, he would suffer lows.
Mikey stands there, smoking a cigarette, drinking a bottle of Vodka and looking out into the ocean. Tonight, he’s in the second main event of his career, facing Anton Assault for the Frontier title. When he heard he was facing the Nigerian shoot fighter, two thoughts came to mind: What did I do to deserve a title shot; and Will my wife and kids recognize me after getting my ass handed to me by Anton?
Perhaps tonight is the night where Mikey O’Reilly, a native of Belfast, Ireland, will get out of his losing slump and beat Anton Assault for the Frontier title. Granted, it will be a difficult task, but Anton can be beaten. Anton has had his winning streak before and after winning the Frontier title off of Ellis Nash at Divide and Conquer, but tonight, Mikey will try with all his might to defeat “The Lion” and strip him of the Frontier strap.
Mikey comes out of his reverie when he feels a hand on his shoulder. It’s not just a hand, but a female hand. The hand gently squeezes his shoulder Mikey turns his head to see his old friend, Teresa Tomas standing beside him watching the rise and fall of the ocean’s waves. Her free hand held a partially empty bottle of whiskey. A distant and disturbed expression held her features.
Mikey frowns when he sees his friend like this. He had heard about what happened to her last week, and he’d been meaning to call her to see if she was all right and, evidently, she isn’t.
Mikey O’Reilly: Hey, Teresa...
Teresa Tomas: Hi, Mikey...
A momentary pause is shared between the two friends as they continue to watch the ocean and drink their select booze. They both are thinking of their own personal dilemma; Teresa and her newfound family secrets and Mikey with his losing streak.
Finally, Mikey O’Reilly is the first one to speak.
Mikey O’Reilly: I’m sorry to hear what happened with you last week. It must be hard going through something like that.
Teresa sighs and takes a long swig of her whiskey.
Teresa Tomas: You have...no idea what it’s like...to have something like that dumped in yer fuckin’ lap.
She stops for a moment to comb her fingers through her windblown hair. A state of dizziness overwhelms her, then recover although her speech becomes slurred.
Teresa Tomas: I’ve been livin’ a fuckin’ lie all my life. I thought...for so many years, that my mama was a damn saint. And now this happens - I have a fuckin’ half-sister... In fuckin’ Tiara Belle Russell.
She takes another long swig of her whiskey and throws the nearly empty bottle into the ocean and pulls a pack of cigarettes from her front pocket. She uses her lips to pull out a nicotine stick.
Teresa Tomas: Got a light?
Mikey pulls a lighter from his pocket and lights Teresa’s cigarette for her. He then decides light another for himself.
Mikey O’Reilly: I understand what you’re goin’ through, Teresa.
Teresa’s head snaps to her side, looking over at Mikey with questioning eyes.
Teresa Tomas: How could YOU possibly know?
Mikey O’Reilly: Well, I have no half-siblings to speak of, but I did find out when I was a little boy that my uncle on my father’s side was adopted. When I found out that my Uncle Sherman was not my real uncle, I felt mad. For the longest time I couldn’t understand why...
Teresa Tomas: Was you close to him?
Mikey O’Reilly: I never met him. He died when I was a baby. Alcoholism my father said. Killed himself by drinking himself to death. It was rather foolish of me to feel that way, because I never met the man.
He pauses for a moment, looking over at Teresa, who he discovers is looking at him with hurt, concerned eyes.
Teresa Tomas: I’m sorry...
Mikey O’Reilly: Don’t be, Teresa. It was something I learned a long time ago, and now, I don’t think about it anymore. Hell, it’s nothing to think about... can’t really do anything to anything about it, ya know?
Teresa Tomas: Can’t do what about it?
Mikey O’Reilly: Ask questions, you know? Ask him where he came from, why he was adopted, that sort of thing. My parents wouldn’t tell me; they said I wouldn’t understand...
Mikey lets out a sigh.
Mikey O’Reilly: Enough about that. I bet you anything that Tiara Belle Russell is trying to get under your skin with this whole thing. Have you asked your mom about it?
Teresa Tomas: Why no. That poor woman is so far gone, she doesn’t know which way is up.
Mikey O’Reilly: Then don’t worry about it, Teresa! If Tiara’s lying about her being your half-sister, then you can beat the holy hell out of her, and I think letting out her frustrations out on her at Coast to Coast would suffice, don’t you think?
A thought came to Teresa’s mind causing her to laugh. What ifthis whole thing is some sorted lie to mess with her head? Her laugh abruptly halts when a question comes to mind. Why?
Teresa Tomas: Thanks Mikey, but I don’t see why she would make something like that up. She hates me, why would she make up being my sister?
They both take a last drag from their cancer sticks and exhale as if it was their last breath before flicking the butts into the ocean ahead.
Mikey O’Reilly: I don’t know Teresa. People do crazy things sometimes, ya know?
Mikey gives Teresa a smile and a pat on the shoulder.
Mikey O’Reilly: Well, I have a Frontier title match against Anton Assault to prepare for. Dunno why I have a title shot against him; I haven’t done anything to deserve it.
Teresa Tomas: Good luck, Mikey. I hope you do better than me.
She finishes with a smirk. This makes Mikey laugh.
Mikey O’Reilly: I hope so. Won’t be easy, though. Hang in there, Teresa, okay?
Teresa Tomas: I’ll try.
Mikey O’Reilly gives her a kiss on the cheek, hugs her briefly and walks away from Teresa. She smiles at Mikey and watches him go while digging into her front pocket for her smokes.
Johnny Lexicon vs. Shawn Harris
STIPULATION: SINGLES
REFEREE: LARS LARSSON
AUTHOR: DAVE LARKIN
Dave Kern: Moving swiftly onwards with the show now, and it’s singles competition. One half of PWC, the infamous Shawn Harris, takes on newcomer Johnny Lexicon. Lexicon will undoubtedly be fired up for this one, hoping to cause an upset, perhaps.
Jeff Marx: This is another one of those matches where you’re struggling to choose who you’re rooting for. I mean, Harris is rebellious and all that, but Lexicon is the unknown one, the mysterious one.
Dave Kern: Um, how about being impartial for once, Jeff? It’s in the commentator’s code.
Jeff Marx: The what?
Dave Kern: The code, you jackass! Didn’t you learn anything in all your years of calling matches? Being impartial is part of the deal.
Jeff Marx: No, being impartial is part of your deal, and that most certainly is not what I dig. Stick to your style, Dave, and I’ll stick to mine.
Dave Kern: Fine. You’ll whine throughout the match while I act with pride and actually call the action. Oh, did you bring the ghost repellant? Smith has been showing up a lot recently… in ghost form.
Jeff Marx and Dave Kern exchange wary looks.
Jeff Marx: Yes, it’s under the table here, but it’s only for emergencies. There’s absolutely nothing his ghost could say or do to scare me.
Dave Kern: Not even if he started coming onto you again?
Jeff Marx: I will end you, Dave.
The drizzle pours down on top of our commentator’s, who have erected an umbrella to protect themselves from the terrible weather, which is due to become worse within the hour. James Brunt stands in the ring for this first match of the night. Brunt is clearly unhappy that he has to get his prized suit wet. Many fans in attendance are wrapping themselves up in rain jackets.
James Brunt: The following contest is a singles match and it is scheduled for one fall!
"Trip With Jesus" by the Union Underground starts up as the fans begin cheering, images of Shawn in previous battles are shown as pyro's go off around the stage area.
James Brunt: Making his way to the ring, from Las Vegas, Nevada... weighing in at 220 pounds, "THE NEW EVOLUTION" SHAWN HARRIS!
Shawn comes out from backstage and poses for the crowd, he then runs down the ramp and jumps up onto the ring apron, he then flips over the top rope into the ring, Shawn then goes to the top turnbuckle where he then taps the left side of his chest where the heart is with his right hand them points at the crowd getting a reaction from then, he then hits a backflip, lands on his feet and awaits for the match to begin.
Dave Kern: “The Natural Selection” appears to be ready for this match-up with Lexicon, although he couldn’t have done much research as far as his opponent goes. Debuting stars always have the edge.
Jeff Marx: Until, of course, Harris lays into them with any number of moves that knock the rookies unconscious.
Dave Kern: Yes, it will be a tough task for Johnny Lexicon tonight to beat Harris. Since forming PWC with Kris Krimzon, you can just sense that mean streak come out more often in Harris, and you better believe he enjoys it.
Jeff Marx: Like a kid on Christmas day. Tormenting is what PWC do. Here comes Lexicon…
The opening rif of 'Beautiful People' by Marilyn Manson trebles on the bass line as the screen flickers and fades into static.
'Patient zero has become infected.' A robotic voice emulates fear. 'Self destruct sequence has been Initiated.' The same robotic voice ques in higher.
Johnny: "Oh that human element." His baritone rolls.
There's a flash, a crash, the music picks up and Lexicon walks from the back in a pair of Trooper Shades framed by his shoulder length blond hair. He raises a rock on and points to his Pierce Lavelle t-shirt as he heads ringside. Shades and shirt come off before he even climbs through the ropes, tieing his bangs back out of his face as he watches for Shawn.
James Brunt: Entering the ring, from Calgary, Alberta, Canada… weighing in at 245 pounds… JOHNNY LEXICON!!!
Lexicon and Harris stand up to each other, both men’s intensity there for all to see. The bell rings, signifying the start of this contest.
Jeff Marx: Check it out, Dave. These two are gonna kick the crap out of each other.
Dave Kern: It looks that way, Jeff. We also have to keep in mind, though, that Shawn Harris has another match tonight, namely the first round of the Alliance championship tournament with Kris Krimzon.
Jeff Marx: PWC are in the house, eh? No worries, I’ve concocted a PWC repellant spray, too. You know, just in case.
Dave Kern: (slowly) Yes. I understand.
Lexicon and Harris size each other up, the latter appearing confident to approach his opponent, which he does ever so slowly. Enticing Lexicon to make the first move as planned, Harris ducks under the right hand and delivers a neckbreaker to the AWC newcomer. Harris runs against the ropes, gathering momentum, and lands a precision elbow drop across the face of Lexicon. Harris with the cover.
ONE!
Dave Kern: Nothing more than a one count there, Jeff. You can already sense the experience gap between these two superstars, though.
Jeff Marx: Maybe thus far, but Lexicon isn’t without experience, you know. The man is a brawler, and if he plays his cards right against Harris, we could see an unlikely upset.
Harris lifts Lexicon up to his feet and swings his foot at him for a karate kick. Lexicon dodges the kick, rolls to the side and charges at Harris, knocking him into the corner. Lexicon lays into Harris with fists, kicks and stomps, as Harris tries to catch his breath. Lexicon delivers shoulder thrusts to the midsection of “The Natural Selection” and whips him to the opposite corner. Harris reverses the whip, however, sending Lexicon into the corner. Lexicon takes a spinning heel kick to the face from Harris and falls over the top rope and out to the apron.
Dave Kern: Great battle here between these two superstars. It’s only just started to heat up!
Jeff Marx: I feel no heat. It’s cold and wet out here. Whose idea was it to send us to a beach in Russia?
Dave Kern: I would assume the owners of the company? Pearl? Miss Volkyeva, perhaps?
Jeff Marx: I don’t know. Either way, I’ll be issuing a formal complaint on the grounds that our health and safety is being compromised.
Lexicon struggles to get to his feet on the apron, and hangs out to the ropes for support. Harris sees his opportunity and nails a springboard dropkick to Lexicon’s chest, knocking him to the floor below. Several fans jeer at Lexicon as Harris prepares to roll him back into the ring. Lexicon surprises Harris, however, with a straight elbow to the gut. Lexicon headbutts Harris to the protective mat on the ground. Lexicon then mercilessly whips Harris’ body into the unforgiving steel ring steps, causing Harris to yelp out in pain.
Dave Kern: A truly monstrous whip into the ring steps from Lexicon! He’s showing no mercy against Harris, hoping to utilize his strength to take Harris out of the game.
Jeff Marx: Lexicon’s smart, Dave. He’s on Harris’ arm now like flies on shit, trying to wear him down, bit by bit.
Lexicon rolls Harris back into the ring, landing several elbow drops onto Harris’ injured arm, which he cradles in his other arm at every available opportunity. Lexicon measures a rising Harris with a big boot to the chin, knocking the PWC member down. Strangely, Lexicon does not cover his opponent. Lexicon goes to the outside of the ring, reaches under the apron, and removes a pair of brass knuckles. Referee Lars Larsson just misses them as Lexicon shoves them into his wrestling pants.
Dave Kern: What an underhanded tactic by Johnny Lexicon here! He’s gonna clock Harris with the knucks and that’ll be that. Where has the spirit of competition gone to?
Jeff Marx: I think it’s competitive. Come on, Johnny, break his face!
Lexicon enters the ring with a head full of steam, looking to finish Harris off. Harris was playing possum, however, and rolls Lexicon into a small package pin.
Dave Kern: Here’s the pin!
Jeff Marx: No, not the small package!
Ghost of Steven Smith: Did somebody say small package?
Marx reaches for his can of ghost repellant spray, but he knocks it over accidentally, sending it crashing downwards to the water below them.
ONE!
TWO!
Lexicon barely kicks out before the three count, now furious at Harris’ attempt to pin him. Lexicon removes the brass knuckles from his pants, hiding them behind his back as he approaches Harris. Harris explodes at his opponent with a Twist of Fate, sending the crowd into raptures. Harris and Lexicon both lay motionless on the mat as Larsson begins his ten count.
ONE!
Dave Kern: That was a spectacular move by Harris. It took Lexicon completely by surprise, and there’s nothing better than the element of surprise.
Jeff Marx: I was kinda hoping Harris was out cold there…
TWO!
Harris begins to stir, crawling over and draping a desperate arm over Lexicon’s chest. Larsson ends his count and goes down for the pin.
Dave Kern: A desperate attempt by Harris to end it here!
ONE!
Jeff Marx: Not this way! It could end in a much cooler way than this!
TWO!
Lexicon cleverly places his foot on the bottom rope to stop the count. Larsson spots this and motions to Harris that he has no won the match. Harris, although dazed and confused, curses to himself. Harris gets back to his feet, dragging Lexicon up with him. Lexicon delivers a hard knee to Harris’ solar plexus, doubling over the latter. Lexicon whips Harris against the ropes, knocking “The New F’n Evolution” down unceremoniously with a clothesline.
Dave Kern: Lexicon could have just broken Harris in half with that vicious clothesline!
Jeff Marx: Let’s consult our impact-o-meter to find out what the impact was!
Dave Kern: Are you being sarcastic or are you just stupid?
Jeff Marx: I’m totally serious. It reads “tooth breaker” on the scale, by the by.
Lexicon looks to finish the job against Harris now, preparing to boot him squarely in the face. Harris telegraphs the boot, and goes for his Natural Causes finishing move. The move does not work, however, with Lexicon catching Harris in midair. Lexicon then delivers his finishing move, known as Pattern Perfect. Harris lands hard on the back of his head and Lexicon goes straight into a pinning combination on Harris.
Dave Kern: My God! Lexicon may have just done brain damage to Shawn Harris!
Jeff Marx: Here’s the cover!
ONE!
TWO!
Jeff Marx: Oh, it’s academic!
THREE!
Lexicon’s music hits as his arm is raised by Lars Larsson.
Dave Kern: A good performance by both men, but Johnny Lexicon has upset the odds to beat Shawn Harris on his AWC debut.
Jeff Marx: And didn’t he just deserve it?
Dave Kern: We move swiftly onwards with the show, ladies and gentlemen…
Eye of the Storm I
FEATURING: Sasha Volkyeva
AUTHOR: FERGUS
What a bitter, disappointing match thought Sasha as the wrestlers trudged out of the arena. The fans looked even more disappointed by it and some of them were starting to show it. She could see a trickle of fans towards the back shaking their heads and giving up on the weather. They were beaten and had decided to leave.
It had all been so simple to her. Just to run the shows as best she could, putting on blockbuster matches and watching as the fans flocked to her broadcasts. It had been all so simple.
Had been.
She wiped her forehead of the droplets of rain from standing out in the fresh air of Anapa Beach. The moment she wiped it however, more of it hit her forehead. A lot more.
IF you could hear Sasha Volkyeva’s inner thoughts right now, she’d probably be cursing.
Unsecure Line
FEATURING: JOsh Marquez
AUTHOR: GARETH
The screen is filled with a view of Josh Marquez, one of AWC’s hottest young stars, walking along the nondescript backstage mash of hastily made barricades. His t-shirt and hair glisten slightly, the inclement weather conditions leaving a visible mark on the competitor.
As he makes his way past a multitude of offices, locker rooms and toilets, he appears focused solely on his match. At least, that is, until he stops suddenly and slowly retraces his steps, putting his ear to a small gap between a door and its frame.
The voice emanating from the room sounds familiar, though it’s tones are strained, frustration clear. It’s the voice of none other than David ‘Pearl’ Harber.
Pearl Harber: -ain in the ass. It really couldn’t have come at a worse time, what with Coast 2 Coast coming up and the roster split.
The voice pauses momentarily leaving a vacuum of sound in the room. It seems that Pearl is venting his frustrations through a phone.
Pearl Harber: Well right now I’d be happy for anybody to sort it out, I can’t be dealing with that crazy Irishman right now.
A smile breaks across the face of Marquez as he slowly moves away from the door, leaving Pearl and his problems far behind…for a while anyway. After all, he has business to take care of.
Round and Round We Go I
FEATURING: Pierce Lavelle, Chainz, Tracy & Sarah Kennedy
AUTHOR: LARA & MIKE S.
Pop went the cork on the bottle of wine; foam fizzled to the top as she gripped the base and poured out some into a glass, Sarah sighing with the dismal weather outside the window, the lashing rain and the tossing wind with the crashing of equipment. Tracy smiled as she took a glass and poured herself some wine, dressed lavishly in a black gown with a denim jacket shielding her white skin from the harsh cold of the Russian weather; she longed to be back in the States on Huntington Beach – the heat and sunshine with people speaking English.
Tracy: To your new job!
Tracy smiled clattering her glass gently off of Sarah’s who nodded her head to the appraisal and started opened a small bottle of beer – Russian beer – She was surprised to find they did more than just Vodka.
Tracy: You enjoying the perks of working for Pierce?
Sarah smiled and bit her lip.
Sarah Kennedy: Oh, it’s a hoot!
Tracy laughed as she was talking more about flexible work hours and better pay, but knew how it sounded. Both the women had met up at Huntington Beach and spent the weekend chatting about relevant things – Sarah going bridal shopping with Tracy – although she still couldn’t muster what Tracy saw in Chainz, she did enjoy the wedding gown shopping, cake tasting and all the other perks of being the maid of honour.
Sarah Kennedy: What’s it like being the interviewer now?
Tracy slumped and looked over the rim of her wine glass, although they were celebrating Sarah’s new job and release from Sasha’s vice grip, Tracy really didn’t want to talk about herself, as she found she’d been doing it a lot, pestering Pierce to watch Chainz carefully…Although she had no idea where he was or what he was doing.
Tracy: To be honest, it sucks!
Sarah Kennedy: Really? Why don’t you talk to Pearl?
Tracy: I’ve tried, but he spent the whole time staring at my - -
The door burst open, screaming fans charging after Pierce who was dressed in black suit trousers and a dark blue shirt, he shut the door immediately, catching his breath. His hair soaked from being outside, droplets of rain forming patches on his shoulders and back. Sarah smiled and looked out the window at the line of fans, trying to enjoy the show, despite the weather.
Pierce Lavelle: Phew…That was close…
Tracy: If it isn’t the champion, enjoying the stardom?
Tracy smiled and moved a seat opposite for Pierce to sit next to Sarah. He smiled and nodded his head, looking for a towel as he dried his hair slightly.
Pierce Lavelle: Oh, it’s great. Raging fans I can handle, but screaming women. How do you guys run in six inch heels?
Sarah Kennedy: The mysteries of desperation.
Sarah smiled, standing up now, she kissed him gently and handed him a beer. He watched her as she returned to her seat, his eyes scanning her body with a gleaming smile.
Pierce Lavelle: No really, how do you run full sprint in heels?
Tracy: Years of practice chasing good looking men.
Pierce Lavelle: Tracy, you flirting with me?
Tracy winked and raised her glass to him as he sat down next to Sarah and took a sip of the beer – cherry flavoured – swigging it around his mouth, smacking his wet tongue against his lips he took another swig of the beer and then rested it down on the concrete floor, the locker room’s not exactly designer or adequate to deal with the storm – rain drops pattering against the small counter tops.
Sarah Kennedy: Congratulations, Pierce.
Sarah smiled kissing his cheek gently, a smile across his own lips as he rested into the shower watching the show on the small television set.
Chainz: Aww, if ain’t the three musketeers!
The screaming intensified as the door was opened by, the dazzling, Michael Sloan, his eyes burning onto the three who were exchanging pleasantries. Sarah rolled her eyes, and unknowingly, cuddled up to Pierce, feeling a little safer with him around. Tracy smiled and rose off the sofa hugging her fiancé with a sweet peck on the cheek; however, he wasn’t as forthcoming with pleasantries.
Chainz: Well, it seems we have a new chump!
Tracy: Michael, sit down and have a drink with us, please.
Pierce Lavelle: Yeah, Mikey…
Pierce smirked offering him a bottle of beer, keeping one arm around Sarah’s shoulder; his eyes looking to see what Chainz was planning. Their last encounter had left him stunted, Chainz had saved him from having his head smashed in with a baton, and here he stood, unrelenting to just leave him.
Chainz: Don’t mind if I do lover-boy! Seen as we’re good pals now.
Chainz sniggered and brought an eerie sense of confusion amongst both girls, who now looked to one another with quizzical looks.
Tracy: Please, Michael.
Chainz: Don’t worry, sweet cheeks, I’m just here to thank Pierce for the help. Not only is he our new chumpion, the dude’s got quite a side. So, here’s to you, Pierce.
Pierce didn’t respond; he remained rigid, knowing exactly what Chainz was up to rose off the sofa and grabbed his beer bottle. Approaching the sick master-mind that was Michael Sloan, Pierce clattered his glass against Chainz’s wine and gritted his teeth, muttering a shrill ‘thank you’. Sarah looked up and could see the bitterness rising quickly.
Sarah Kennedy: What are you talking about? What side?
Chainz looked toward Sarah with a glint in his eyes.
Chainz: Your pussy doesn’t know?
Sarah folded her arms at the word ‘pussy’, rolling her eyes and ignoring Chainz, best option she had. Pierce looked at Chainz and shook his head. However, Chainz was having fun.
Chainz: Pierce, here, helped me kick the shit out of Sasha’s bodyguards. He was on roll too, it was close though, wasn’t it…
Sarah Kennedy: What’re you talking about?
Tracy: Yeah, Michael.
Pierce Lavelle: You’re right, I did kick the shit out Sasha’s bodyguards, but she had it coming. That bitch had me banned from wrestling, but I never helped you…
Pierce poked Chainz’s chest violently, placing his beer down, Chainz smiled raising his arms in a surrendering gesture.
Chainz: Right, but I helped you. I stopped you from getting your head smashed it. Think about it, you won the title because I saved you from a beating.
Tracy: Michael? Why are you threatening Sasha?
Sarah rose now, pulling Pierce to the side and whispering something into his ear, a smile brimmed across his face that seemed strange to Chainz…his mind games were having no effect.
Chainz: Cause I want you here with me!
Tracy: Did you ever think I might like it on the West show. I don’t want to be lugged around Europe with you, Michael.
Chainz: Well, if you don’t come here, Sasha’s a dead woman.
Tracy turned to Pierce and shrugged her shoulders, a questioning look to her gaze.
Chainz: Don’t look at him. You got him to protect me, but he can’t stop me forever y’know…
Sarah Kennedy: Protect you, what the bloody hell you on about?
Chainz: Now this is fun, what else haven’t ya told her, lover-boy?
Chainz smirked as Sarah turned to Tracy and Pierce abruptly, her glare one of anger.
Pierce Lavelle: Look, Tracy asked me to keep an eye on Michael. To get you as my manager, I agreed with Sasha that’d I’d watch over him.
Sarah Kennedy: You bartered me?
Pierce Lavelle: No, well, yes, but I thought you - -
Chainz: Ooohhh, in the dog house again with Ms. Kennedy…
Sarah looked hurt as she turned to Pierce, the touch of her hand in his, she realised what Chainz’s was up to. Pierce felt her touch and a tingled sensation coursed through his arm.
Pierce Lavelle: I guess I didn’t keep my promise of honesty to Tracy.
Tracy: What?
Chainz: What?
Pierce Lavelle: Tracy, you asked me to tell you everything that Michael did, right?
Tracy nodded her head as she moved closer to Michael, gripping his bicep.
Pierce Lavelle: There’s something you should know, he’s been stalking Aimz and kissed her recently.
The words lingered in the air a moment. It felt like a large blow to her stomach as Tracy stumbled backward from Michael, a pain in her heart as she gazed back toward Sarah and Pierce, both unhappy with the decision to tell her, but she knew Michael could never change. Michael snarled at Pierce and turned to Tracy, a large smack across his face as she ran out of the room and through the crowds. Chainz turned around, the tingling sensation still prudent in his cheek as a smile grimed menacingly across his lips.
Chainz: Speaking of the red vixen, I’ve a date with her now…
He left without as much as a word. Pierce hung his head and let go of Sarah’s hand. She gripped her jacket and turned to him, she’d forgiven him, and she raised his chin and kissed him delicately before leaving after Tracy. Pierce smiled as he watched her leave and went after Chainz – keeping his promise to Tracy.
Tracy stormed off, muttering as she pushed past some fans, cheering her, chanting her and trying to grope her, she shrugged it off, giving a solemn nod and keeping up her pace until she slumped into the comfort of chair and sighed heavily. She had slapped Michael, not with real intention, but hurt. This isn’t his fault. He was trying change, he was just being tempted.
Sarah Kennedy: Bugger, six inch heels hurt to run in.
Tracy: Tell me about it…
Sarah Kennedy: No desperation then.
Sarah smiled and sat next to Tracy, patting her gently on the back as they gazed out into the mass of fans surrounded by the bleak, dreary weather overhead.
Tracy: Don’t blame Pierce for any of this, it was my idea.
Sarah Kennedy: That’s Pierce for you, always trying to help people.
Tracy: Nice to have that though. I mean…
Sarah Kennedy: I know what you mean and yes it is, but Tracy despite my feelings about Chainz – Michael – he cares about you and he doesn’t intend to hurt you.
What am I saying Sarah thought almost spitting the words of her mouth as she realised she had just stood up for Chainz. Looking up into the dark overcast above her, she felt small droplets of rain once again emerging.
Tracy: You’re right. This isn’t his fault, he’s just being played by that whore.
Sarah Kennedy: Wait? What?
Tracy: Aimz is using him, toying with him. This is all her fault.
Tracy rose onto her legs, removed her heels and chucked them into a mingling of fans as she looked toward the entrance to the small set-up for wrestlers.
Sarah Kennedy: I think that’s the wine talking, how about you sit down and take a deep breath.
Tracy: I had a glass, Sarah. I’m not tipsy, feeling perfectly sober.
Sarah Kennedy: I know, we’ll go back inside and wait for Michael to come back.
Sarah tried reasoning, but her words fell on deaf ears.
Tracy: No, I’m going to settle this right now.
Sarah Kennedy: What are you going to do? Confront Aimz?
Tracy: That’s exactly it.
Tracy stormed off and Sarah shook her head using her English tongue to mutter some obscene words before heading after Tracy just as the rain storm kicked off once more, leaving the bustling group of Russian male fans fighting over Tracy’s abandoned high heels.
DUI vs. PWC
STIPULATION: DUO TAG
REFEREE: SELENA SUMMER
AUTHOR:
Dave Kern: Okay, we are back for more action on the Special of Fresh!East here on the Seafront Anapa Beach! Coming up, we being the first round of the Alliance Tournament between the Pacific Wrestling Club against the former LOW World Tag Team champions, Delta Upsilon Iota! Of course, the winners of the match enter the second round of the tournament!
Jeff Marx: I don’t like neither team. Both are gay, they suck and did I mention they’re gay? As far as I’m concerned, neither one of these teams should make it onto the second round. And I wish it would stop raining! Rain sucks!
Dave Kern: The weather’s getting worse as we speak. We currently have moderate rainfall and the forecast calls for a heavy downpour. If the rain does get bad, Sasha Volkyeva will have to pull the plug on this show. Anyway, both teams are in the ring as we speak, and the match has begun!
Referee Selena Sumner calls for the bell and both teams are ready for action. Shawn Harris is starting for PWC and Colby Korver has started for DUI. Harris and Korver find it rather hard to maneuver around the ring as the rain continues to fall. Both men go for a collar and elbow tie-up, but both men are slipping around on the canvas. Korver lands on his back while Harris inadverently drops an elbow right into Korver’s crotch! Korver bellows out in pain, telling the referee to disqualify Harris.
Dave Kern: OOH! That wasn’t good! Shawn Harris accidentally drops an elbow right in Colby Korver’s testicles!
Jeff Marx: The man did it on purpose! Selena Sumner should disqualify that team and have DUI advance onto the second round!
Shawn Harris pulls himself to his feet, keeps his balance by holding onto the ropes and tags in his partner, Kris Krimzon. Double K is overzealous to get into the ring as he trips over the middle rope and falls on his face. Some of the Russian fans are laughing at Krimzon’s misfortunes while the others are jeering him.
Jeff Marx: All right, this match is simply getting pathetic. Unless someone does something or this might get pulled from the card.
Dave Kern: I don’t think either one of these teams can perform on a slippery canvas!
Kris Krimzon gets to his feet and walks towards Colby Korver. He picks him up, whips him into the ropes, but after he bounces off the ropes, he slips and falls right on his face. Double K is laughing his ass off at this point, and Hank Cobb enters the ring and delivers a Clothesline from behind! Cobb picks up Krimzon, about to pick him up for a Body Slam, but Krimzon kicks Cobb in the gut and gives him a DDT! Krimzon gets to his feet, walks over to Korver and lifts him to his feet. Korver kicks Kris in the midsection, tries to whip Krimzon into the ropes, but Kris reverses, sending Colby over the top rope, and plunging onto the saturated sand.
Dave Kern: Well it looks like things are picking up now, ladies and gentlemen!
Jeff Marx: Man this match sucks so much ass.
Dave Kern: Hey, at least we’re seeing something in this match rather than people falling on their asses!
The rain is now falling harder, and some of the hardcore wrestling fans are evacuating from the premises. Almost half of the fans have left the seats, yelling and complaining about the weather. Kris Krimzon motions to his partner to enter the ring, and Shawn Harris does. Both Krimzon and Harris are in the ring, looking over at Hank Cobb, who is slowly getting to his feet, trying not to slip on the canvas. Both Harris and Krimzon have positioned themselves, waiting for Cobb to turn around and face the Pacific Wrestling Club. As he turns around, both Kris and Shawn step forward and deliver a Double Super Kick right in “Hank the Tank’s” face! Kris Krimzon goes for the cover...
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
“Know Your Enemy” by Rage Against the Machine starts to play as the Pacific Wrestling Club pulls off the quickest win in AWC history!
Dave Kern: That has got to be fastest win I have ever seen!
Jeff Marx: With this weather, I’m glad this match is over.
Dave Kern: Well, the Pacific Wrestling Club has advanced into the second round of the Alliance Tournament. We need to take a commercial break and dry out the canvas. Don’t go anywhere... unless the power gets shut off!
Round and Round We Go II
FEATURING: Pierce Lavelle, Chainz, Aimz & Tracy
AUTHOR: LARA, KATIE & MIKE S.
The camera’s rolling become blurred slightly by movement of a figure, as the camera pans out, the figure appears to be Michael Sloan. His footsteps heavy, leaving deep imprints within the sandy surface as he walks toward the make-shift locker room’s, designed to shield the wrestler’s from the rain. He had seen Tracy and Sarah scurry inside, but had more elusive ideas on his mind – the thought of danger, being caught and the act of it all – made his loins tighten as he streaked through the small door and opened another.
Chainz: Honey, I’m home!!!
Chainz’s husky deep throated voice reverberated around the small make-shift room, his nose sniffing in the scent of perfume deeply, his eyes lingering on the small lingerie sat delicately within a suitcase.
Aimz: Darcy! That you??
Aimz came out of the utility room and saw the man before her, her throat clogging, a familiar heated feeling returning, his sick, maniacal grin oozed along his cheeks.
Chainz: Much better, sweet thing.
Aimz: Get the fuck out of my room, NOW!
Chainz: Why, afraid Darcy boy might find you coming onto me?
Aimz: I don’t lust after anyone!
Aimz found herself backing into a corner, Chainz’s heated breath flowing onto her skin, his eyes piercing hers, his hands barely touching her. A chill rose up her spine, his fingertips tingled with an unwanted sensation.
Aimz: You touch me and I’ll scream so loud everyone will hear!
Chainz: Oh, please, do…Even better.
Aimz: You sick, fuck!
Chainz: That’s why you like me, baby.
Aimz: Don’t call me b-
Chainz: Ssshhhh, why don’t you stop talking and give me a kiss.
The door opened, neither Chainz nor Aimz ready to move.
Tracy: Michael…
Chainz cocked his head sideways and saw his fiancé Tracy in his vision, her eyes pleading with him to let it not be true. She stood perplexed, only moments ago finding out that Michael had kissed Amy, but was now in her locker room, against a wall.
Aimz: I swear to god, get away from me.
Chainz: Tracy, sweet heart, now’s not a good time.
Tracy: Actually, it seems like the perfect time to dump you…
Pierce Lavelle: Wow, sorry I’m late, ran into a little trouble.
Pierce emerged, hands around the swinging door, standing behind Tracy, turning sharply toward him, a questionable expression mused along her cheeks.
Pierce Lavelle: Well, Michael, did you ask Amy if she forgave me for the incident at the battle royal!!!
Pierce stared coldly at both Aimz and Chainz, now realising his interruption and playing along with him. Tracy even more perplexed by the three speaking in front of her.
Tracy: What? This makes no sense.
Pierce Lavelle: Well, since Mike over here is friendly with Aimz, I wanted him to tell her my apology for the royal.
Chainz: Yeah, sweetheart, I wouldn’t touch this red head with a barge poll.
Tracy: You expect me to believe that?
Pierce Lavelle: No, not really. You choose what you want to believe. Oh, by the way, Amy, I saw Darcy in the hall, he was looking for you…
Aimz looks up and mutters a ‘thank you’ with her lips, quickly scurrying past him and heading out of the room. Tracy turned to Pierce now, her focus on him, arms folded.
Pierce Lavelle: Anyway, I’d love to stay and chat, but I’ve got dinner plans with Sarah.
Pierce walks off leaving Chainz and Tracy alone in the locker room.
Tracy: What was that all about?
Chainz: It was nothing, I came to ask her how she was and she couldn’t keep her mind on the topic at hand. Come on dear, she’s nothing compared to you. I don’t want to talk about this right now; I got a match at hand. If I win I’ll be on both tours and we can be together.
Tracy: I know, I’ve been praying that you win. I know you will, you’ll do it for me right?
She slinked towards Chainz wrapping her arms around his neck and planting a kiss on his lips.
Tracy: And when you do I have another prize for you. The cameras left the locker room as the two exchanged kisses and more.
A Lingering Silence
FEATURING: Pierce Lavelle & Teresa Tomas
AUTHOR: LARA & SONYA
Teresa Tomas stood next to a railing, her arms rested gently on the metal rail as she looked on at the show in front. Her blond hair blowing in the breeze, flopping and scooping it all out of shape, but oblivious to her looks Teresa keeps a firm eye on the show and the wrestlers moving too and from. She’s dressed very casually in her faded Levi’s and a blue Tennessee Titans tee-shirt. Although cold and windy, she doesn’t budge or think of moving inside, her minds too preoccupied and the fresh air helps calm her red neck temper.
A figure moves in the side of her eyes, a fragrance familiar to her as he leans on the railing next to her, a warm smile greeting her as she gazes towards his blue eyes.
Pierce Lavelle: Lovely day, isn’t it?
Pierce smiles extending his hand as rain drops patter onto his palm, shattering into tiny droplets on impact. Teresa can’t help but smile and turns her attention back to the action in the ring.
Teresa Tomas: Congratulations on the big win.
Pierce Lavelle: So, how you holding up?
Teresa Tomas: Everything’s just peachy. Couldn’t be happier.
Pierce couldn’t help but laugh at her sarcasm. He clasped his hands together as he leans most of his body weight on the metal rail, his eyes now drawn to her saddened face as her eyes wander aimlessly in the distance, towards the dark clouds overheard.
Pierce Lavelle: Since when do you say ‘peachy’?
Teresa Tomas: Hangin’ around you too much.
Pierce shrugged with a grin and patted Teresa on the back, the warmth of his touch comforting to her as her mind processed through all the jumbled information she was learning each week, even more so now with Tiara around.
Teresa Tomas: Should you, you know, be here?
Pierce Lavelle: You mean will Sarah hang me out to dry? No, she’s cool with it.
Teresa Tomas: Really?
Pierce Lavelle: Yeah, really.
There was a long lingering silence, listening to his own heart beat; the screaming fans became omniscient to his ears, the strange rings of the equipment, vanished. He was completely at ease, no longer looking over his shoulder, or feeling tense.
Pierce Lavelle: Anyway, how are you, really?
Teresa Tomas: Pretty shitty actually.
Teresa sighed and leant back, stretching, she soon turned her position around. Her back was now resting on the rail, facing Pierce she saw his eyes linger a moment on the passing crowds and then return to her.
Teresa Tomas: Just found out my saint of a mother had an affair when she was young. I’m the result, and not only that, the guy she slept with so happens to be Tiara Russell’s father.
Pierce Lavelle: Oh, Ohhhh…
Teresa Tomas: Exactly, I wasn’t all that happy about it either. I have a half sister and of every other female in this godforsaken world, it has to be Tiara Belle Russell.
Pierce Lavelle: Look, you’ve both just come to this realisation. She’s probably been annoyed that nobody told her and you, well, you were confused about whom your father was or what happened to him and you’re both taking everything out on each other.
Teresa Tomas: Since when did you become Dr. Phil?
Pierce Lavelle: Watching too much day-time television!! But really…
Teresa Tomas: There’s nothing between us, except the same gene pool.
Pierce Lavelle: Well you can’t exactly avoid one another.
Teresa sighed and turned to look back at the small stage set-up to house the wrestlers, the door flapping violently in the wind, her hair fluttering between her eyes, every now and then a small strand sticking to her lip-gloss.
Pierce Lavelle: How about a drink?
Teresa looked toward him.
Pierce Lavelle: I meant water, of course.
He smiled and extended his arm to a small bar set-up on the sand of the Anapa Bay. As they moved through the sand, dodging the fans hurling their hands for a pat on the back, they ordered two waters and watched the commotion unfold in the ring.
Teresa Tomas: This is a first. At a bar and drinking water, you know how to woo a lady!
Pierce Lavelle: I’m full of surprises!
The two stopped laughing and coughed and took sips of their water, Pierce chugged his down extremely quick and rose onto his feet, shuffling them and rubbing his hands against the cold. Teresa let the cup linger on her lips, the silence excruciating.
Pierce Lavelle: Eh, I’ve got to go, lovely speaking to you.
Pierce extended his hand in an awkward way and shook Teresa’s before walking off toward the stage, Teresa turned to the bar tender and sighed.
Teresa Tomas: Jack Daniels, straight….
Eye of the Storm II
FEATURING: Sasha Volkyeva
AUTHOR: FERGUS
Torrents of rain poured from the heavens into the makeshift arena and the dour outlook of the crowd turned sour. Now Dave Kern & Jeff Marx could physically see people leaving from the crowd, turning tail and heading for the hills. They tried their best to ignore this and continue the broadcast for the fans but you could tell.
You knew that they could see this was a sinking ship.
A couple of enterprising fans had set up a stall towards the back and were now making a tidy profit selling umbrellas. Nothing too outlandish and none of the security had stopped them from doing it. After all, they’d got their umbrellas for free.
Despite the torrential rain, which was starting to clear a little bit admittedly, Sasha was determined to make this event be a success, rain and all.
Josh Marquez vs. Horazon
STIPULATION: SINGLES
REFEREE: AARON DAVIES
AUTHOR: KLONE
'The Ace of Spades' hits and the few hundred remaining fans give the obligatory cheer as Josh Marquez makes a lackluster entrance. The rain getting steadily worse those who remain to watch hide and huddle beneath their umbrellas, Josh seems to ignore the weather but gives little in the way of fan fare.
Dave Kern: Another promising recent addition to the roster, Josh Marquez makeing his way down to the wet ring.
Jeff Marx: He doesn't seem too happy about the circumstances of this match up.
Dave Kern: Nor do I blame him.
'Underdog' cues up and Horazon jumps into view, one arm raised determinedly as he practically runs towards the ring and slides in on his belly. Hopping to his feet he moves in a wide circle around the stoic Josh Marquez.
Dave Kern: Both of these men are looking to pull away from the pack and make impressions here in AWC.
Jeff Marx: I'm thinking they got lost on their way to the unemployment line. But they're here, it's raining, and they're going to wrestle.
Dave Kern: They ARE going to wrestle here tonight and it's Horazon opening this competition with a flurry of lefts and rights that's putting Marquez into the corner.
Josh blocks a left, takes a right, boots Horazon in the gut and drops, smashing Horazon's head into the top of his knee.
Dave Kern: Both men jumping onto the offensive and Josh Marquez with an impressive momentum shift in the early moments of this match.
Horazon bolts into the ropes, narrowly dodging a drop kick attempt. Holding the ropes Horazon lets Josh get to his feet, Marquez takes a charge and Horazon slips out of the ring.
Dave Kern: Horazon taking a moment to step back and re-evaluate the all fired up Josh Marquez.
Jeff Marx: I'd be pissed too, getting scheduled to fight this guy in the rain.
Dave Kern: Horazon is not that bad, he's simply not found his groove in his debut matches here in AWC, but he's hoping to change that with a tick in the win column here tonight.
Josh finally gets tired of calling for Horazon to get back into the ring and he slides out after him. Marquez meets him at ring side with a solid right hand, Josh hammers with one of his own, but Horazon blocks it and hammers a flurry of lefts and rights into Josh's midsection and then nails him with a standing drop kick.
Jeff Marx: Oh geeze, what a way to look back. Get up Josh! I think I picked the wrong guy, you wanna trade?
Dave Kern: What!?
Jeff Marx: All these new guys I can't keep track!
Dave Kern: Horazon giving Josh a hand back into the ring, and Marquez springs to his feet!
Jeff Marx: And you wanted to trade, hah!
Josh hammers Horazon with a right, and another before throwing him into the ropes for a scoop slam! The couple of hundred odd fans give a hoot as the umbrellas begin appearing en mass, the rain coming down ever harder.
Jeff Marx: Marquez with a viscious turn around on Horazon and now adding a few stomps for good measure.
Horazon pulls himself up in the corner as Josh backs off, and then charges with a drop kick to Horazon's back!
Dave Kern: What a dastardly maneuver.
Jeff Marx: That was great!
Josh gathers Horazon from the mat and again throws him into the ropes, lowering himself to catch his opponent Horazon boots him in the chest.
Dave Kern: Horazon escaping that dangerous situation effectively.
Horazon drives his forearm into Josh's chest and pushes him into the ropes. He presses the assault with a kick but Josh catches it!
Dave Kern: This is dangerous ground for Horazon!
Enziguri kick.
Jeff Marx: What a boot to the head!
Dave Kern: I think he knocked the senses out of Horazon's head!
Jeff Marx: What senses?
Josh goes for a quick cover but Horazon gets his shoulder up at the two count. Josh backs off looking around at the quickly forming puddle in the center of the ring. Horazon pushes to his hands and knees when Josh kicks water right into his face and hammers him with an elbow drop!
Dave Kern: Josh maintaining his dominance in this match with an effectively ferocious strategy.
Jeff Marx: In other words: He's kicking Horazon's ass!
Dave Kern: He is at that and using this foul weather to his advantage he's splashing Horazon's head in the puddle!
Jeff Marx: Beautiful ain't it?
Dave Kern: No it's despicable, he is a decorated athelete that doesn't need to stoop to these underhanded tricks.
Jeff Marx: Of course he doesn't! That's what makes it so great!
Marquez handles Horazon onto shaky feet and throws him into the corner hard, following in with a hard back elbow. He hooks the mans head under his arm and muscles Horazon into sitting on the top rope.
Dave Kern: Josh settling the dazed Horazon into a ride he does not want to take!
Josh mounts the middle turn buckle and readies when Horazon suddenly comes to life and throws him to the mat with a splash.
Jeff Marx: Oh no!
Horazon hops onto the top turnbuckle and stands to his full height, sizing up his target before - slipping!
Dave Kern: OH NO!
Jeff Marx: HAHAHAAA!
Horazon slips on the wet turnbuckle and spills to the floor outside, Josh is quick to recover and slips out onto the apron. He doesn't take long to fall off and into a diving elbow drop that lands soldily on the already writhing Horazon.
Dave Kern: What a disaster for Horazon.
Jeff Marx: C'mon Josh capitalize!
Marquez pulls Horazon to his feet and hammers him back first into the ring post before laying in a solid knee to the gut and rolling Horazon under the bottom rope.
Dave Kern: Josh has been on top of Horazon this entire match and now stands with a good chance to finish this quick.
Jeff Marx: Please do, it's starting to make ME sick.
Josh pulls the agonized Horazon into a doubled over, yet standing, position. He raises one hand to the die hard fans who still stand around the barricade before lifting Horazon into-
Jeff Marx: Bet. On. Red.
Dave Kern: Oh geeze, this has to be over.
Josh makes the cover for a very splashy three count and clamors to his feet with both hands lackluster in the air.
Jeff Marx: It's like Horazon didn't even show up this week.
Dave Kern: The weather's lousy, the fans are few and far between, it is far from a career ending loss. I have faith Horazon will return with a little more fire in his belly.
Jeff Marx: Right now there's only pain in his belly, and his back, and his shoulders...
Suitable Background
FEATURING: Gabriel Afeaki
AUTHOR: joe(Maga)
Where were the crowds? Where the hell were they? Her big moment in the spotlight, ruined. She’d bring AWC to her homeland, she’d put on a magnificent show, she’d prove she could do it… as she looked around the practically deserted Anapa Beach, she knew that her dream was as far away from reality as Jeremy J on a hot summers night. Detached…
Sasha Volkyeva: Where are they…
She spoke in reference to the droves of fans she promised the superstars of AWC. She did not enjoy making empty promises, they left her feeling dejected. She had no time for self pity though as AWC’s latest star Emo Kid approached Sasha, an expression of wrought fear across his face.
Why?
Two letters, GA.
Emo Kid: Sasha… he’s not here is he… he’s going to cut my wrists and black my eyes…
Sasha Volkyeva: Do not fret son of Emo, why would he show to wrestle you? I have lowered him to wrestling the likes of you; do you really see him coming all this way for three minutes in a ring? Of course not my dear Emo. You have nothing to worry about, he will not show, and then he shall be off home to that delightful institute in Fiji.
Emo Kid: …but Sasha you see, these questions in my mind are so much bigger than life. I swear to you on everything I am and I dedicate to you all that I have and I promise you that I will stand right by your side forever and always until the day I die…
Sasha Volkyeva: Excuse me…?
An explosion of Emo angst, pain and emotion grips Emo Kid as he sinks to his knees, pushing his fringe to one side, revealing his geek chic glasses, My Chemical Romance t-shirt… toiiight like toiger jeans… and converse… black ones.
Sasha Volkyeva: Oh dear God…
Emo Kid grips an imaginary microphone…
Sasha Volkyeva: No… it is okay… honestly…
Emo Kid unleashes the fury… an Emo medley… quoting the Emo Song…
Emo Kid: Beating hearts baby!!! Baby is this love for real… We’re going down down in an earlier round… dance dance… Ohio is for lovers only… stop my breathing and slit my throat… I play guitar and write suicide notes…me and my friends all look like clones…
Sasha looks on in morbid terror…
Emo Kid: You know Sasha, I can’t get through a week without crying… and now, you’re going to make me go Postal Service on GA? This world only seems bearable through my Buddy Holly glasses… and Sasha… any chance of my white eyes on your bright thighs?
Sasha Volkyeva: Shut up.
Emo Kid: I will not be broken… I am the one.
Sasha stares down at Emo Kid… and walks away…
Sasha Volkyeva: Who created that monstrosity.
Who indeed…
Covert Agreement
FEATURING: Josh Marquez & Pearl Harber
AUTHOR: GARETH
The towel held in the left hand of Josh Marquez was visibly sweat-stained, testament to just how hard he’d worked in his match against Horazon earlier in the night. Sweat, however, wasn’t on his mind right now.
The door he stood before looked vaguely familiar, though it was hard to tell given that most of the doors in the building could only be differentiated by the scratches and scars obtained over years of use. Marquez knocked the door once and almost instantly the words ‘Come in’, were heard. He was only too happy to oblige.
Pearl Harber: What do you want?
Pearl had a bemused look on his face, wondering exactly what Marquez was doing in his office. He hadn’t been summoned and Harber had no idea as to what the Las Vegas native could want.
Josh Marquez: Mr Harber, I have a proposition for you.
Pearl was clearly amused at this, the unspoken message ‘What can a guy like you offer a guy like me?’ clear in his laughter.
Josh Marquez: Don’t be so hasty to dismiss it Pearl, after all, you’ve been looking for someone to help you out with that ‘crazy Irishman’.
Harber’s face changed instantly. How the hell did this guy know about O’Shea? He hadn’t been broadcasting his frustrations. He tried to maintain control of the situation though.
Pearl Harber: I’m afraid Mr Marquez, that I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about.
Now it was Josh’s turn to laugh.
Josh Marquez: There’s no need to play innocent Mr Harber, I understand your frustrations, really I do. I’m here to help. You need someone to occupy Paddy, somebody who is willing to get into the ring with him and look him in the eye. I’m that man.
Harber ponders this for a second, weighing up Marquez’s proposal against the enormous stack of zero other offers he’s had from AWC stars willing to go toe-to-toe with Paddy O’Shea. Eventually he speaks.
Pearl Harber: Okay Marquez, say I take you up on this, what does it cost me? I know you’re a gambler and all but I know that you aren’t offering to do this out of the goodness of your heart.
Josh Marquez: How perceptive of you Mr Harber. Though I think that what I’m asking in return may surprise you somewhat. You see, I don’t want money or title shots, no. All I ask is a single match of my choosing with Paddy O’Shea at Coast 2 Coast.
Harber had to work hard to contain himself, this was turning out to be a better proposal than he’d imagined.
Pearl Harber: Well in that case, Mr Marquez, you’ve got yourself a deal.
Nice Shoes
FEATURING: Pierce Lavelle & GBJ
AUTHOR: JOSH K. & LARA
Pierce Lavelle strolls through the crowds, his mind at ease as he continues walking. The air is cool and brisk, but at the same time refreshing. He walks with a sombre pace, eyes dead ahead of him. He's wearing black suit trousers, shiny black shoes and a royal blue shirt despite the cold air he refuses to wear his jacket. A skinny, bedraggled figure moves through his peripheral vision, he turns, but it's too late the two collide.
Pierce Lavelle: Oh, sorry.
The shaggy hair, beard and ragged shoes all belong to none other than, Garbage Bag Johnny, who has a crooked smile as he looks toward Pierce Lavelle's shoes. Garbage Bag's dad always told him to look at the ground when he walked- might find some spare change. Found 40 bucks once at a gas station.
Garbage Bag Johnny: Nice shoes, man. A little flashy, but nice.
Pierce looks quizzically toward Garbage Bag Johnny, eager to move on as he looks towards the man's ragged runners – dirty, ripped and discoloured.
Pierce Lavelle: Thanks, nice sneakers.
Garbage Bag Johnny: One of a kind. So you're the new champion.
Pierce Lavelle: And you'd be my opponent for Coast to Coast!
Both sniggering at one another, shuffling their feet and both willing to side-step the other and head off in different directions, yet they stayed.
Garbage Bag Johnny: Eli almost had you, she was this close…
GBJ pulled his finger and thumb together in a gesture of how close Ellis Nash was to winning. Pierce nodded his head and folded his arms, his posture, muscular stature and frame, shadowing that of GBJ's.
Pierce Lavelle: Eli, huh? Watch out man, you're messing in Dick's territory there.
Garbage Bag Johnny: Ha, what'd you know about, huh?
Pierce Lavelle: I know plenty…
Garbage Bag Johnny: Just a mutual interest in mustard...
GBJ said excitedly, faint recognition coming to mind.
Garbage Bag Johnny: …I heard the King messed you up royally. Although you don't look too shabby now.
Pierce Lavelle: Eh, thanks, I guess. Impressive match last week, seems I'll have my hands full.
Garbage Bag Johnny: Well I was wearing my backup pair of lucky shoes, see.
GBJ flexes his leg and sticks his foot in Pierce's face, Pierce squinting his eyes, moving back with the stench.
Pierce Lavelle: Ever think of getting them washed?
Garbage Bag Johnny: Nope, man, they're lucky! But, if you're interested, I'm willing to bargain. What are you, size 11...12?
Pierce Lavelle: I’m a 14, something tells me they wouldn’t fit.
Pierce smiles and looks down at GBJ, he steps back slightly. A herd of screaming fans push through a small railing, but get stopped by a small amount of security guards and the railing is propped up once more, the incident distracting the two from the strange, yet interesting conversation.
Garbage Bag Johnny: Suit yourself, but the offer's open if you change your mind- or your feet shrink.
Pierce moved backward a little, looking to end the conversation without a finish, but GBJ wasn’t done, just yet.
Garbage Bag Johnny: Where ya off to?
Pierce Lavelle: And here I thought this conversation was over.
Garbage Bag Johnny: You remember what it feels like to be hungry?
GBJ’s crooked grin returned, a glimmer is his eyes, his hair fluttering in the wind. Pierce gritted his teeth and moved forward, his fists clenched. GBJ slightly under Pierce’s figure as Pierce looks down at GBJ, the heat of his breath blowing on GBJ’s forehead.
Pierce Lavelle: That was a long time ago.
Pierce moved forward, his heart rate slowing.
Garbage Bag Johnny: You yearn for it, right! The sweet, sweet rush…
Pierce Lavelle: You’d want to be careful, Johnny. You’re swimming in deep waters and saying all the wrong things.
Garbage Bag Johnny: What you talkin’ bout?
Pierce Lavelle: Whispering sweet nothing’s into the ear of Dick’s bitch…
Garbage Bag Johnny: With all due respect, legend, a lot has changed since you were banned. A lot of people have underestimated Adam, Ellis, and especially me.
Pierce smiled, a cocky grin at that, his arms folded.
Pierce Lavelle: He was the reason I was banned. He’s a sly man, Johnny. His girls no better, how about taking advice from somebody who was screwed by Adam and be careful who you trust around him.
Garbage Bag Johnny: Pierce, I know you're no stranger to medication. Dick told me all about the Prometheus serum and I know all about the painkillers you've been using to ween yourself off of it. So perhaps it'd be wise to consider that maybe I'm not as high all the time as everyone thinks I am.
But then GBJ calls his own bluff.
Garbage Bag Johnny: Uh, but if you do have some painkillers- morphine, vicodin, anything...I've been making quite the pretty penny off of my new line of merchandise, if you know what I mean.
Pierce rolls his eyes, turns around and takes a deep breath.
Pierce Lavelle: Really? You know about me, do you?
GBJ starts playing with his fingers, nervously, biting his nails. They taste like cheetoh powder.
Garbage Bag Johnny: Well...I've gotten some hot leads. I googled your name once, when I was bored at the library. Damn porn filters.
Pierce Lavelle: Look, junkie Johnny, just be careful around Adam's girl.
GBJ moves forward, poking Pierce roughly on the chest with his finger.
Garbage Bag Johnny: I don't need your advice.
Pierce raises his arms in a surrendering manner and smiles.
Pierce Lavelle: Alright, but I look forward to saying 'I told you so'.
Garbage Bag Johnny: Ha! Well, I look forward to telling you that I am the one in charge of being right about, uh...so.
Pierce Lavelle: You’re right? I don’t think so, Johnny, you’ll be played and I’ll be the one that’s right.
Garbage Bag Johnny: You don't think so, huh? Maybe I should let you in on the fact that "told you so" is my middle name...er, well, Bag is my middle name, but, uh...dammit!
Pierce laughs, thoroughly enjoying the word swapping with GBJ. GBJ shuffles his backup pair of lucky shoes on the gritty sand and twiddles his thumbs.
Pierce Lavelle: Hey, Johnny, wakey wakey, you high right now? I bet you I’m right, I’ll give a hundred bucks if it turns out that Adam’s girl ain’t playing you and the Dickster doesn’t fuck with your head. You can go to junkie heaven with that, right?
GBJ at sound of money raises his head, a gleam in his eyes.
Garbage Bag Johnny: A hundred bucks? Is that all? Why don't we make it interesting? How about one million dollars? I'm sure you can afford it, and I'm sure I won't need to.
Pierce Lavelle: One million dollars? You’ve been watching way too much Austin Powers.
Garbage Bag Johnny: What's the matter, Pierce? Too much of a pushover to accept?
Pierce moved forward with a glint in his eye as his upper lip twitching at the mention of ’pushover’. GBJ rubs his hands together, whistling in the wind completely oblivious to the anger building in Pierce.
Pierce Lavelle: Things change! You’ve got a deal, but if I win you owe me one million dollars! Got it?
Garbage Bag Johnny: You got yourself a deal.
GBJ spits in his hand and extends it to Pierce Lavelle for a handshake. Pierce steps back, a clog in his throat, suddenly all sorts of diseases flash through his mind.
Pierce Lavelle: You serious? You got anything?
Garbage Bag Johnny: Nothing too contagious.
Pierce Lavelle: Oh, that’s real assuring…
Pierce steps back, shoving his hands into his pockets. He took a step forward and patted GBJ on the back, quickly wiping his hand on his trousers.
Pierce Lavelle: You got a deal and I’m going to be one million dollars richer.
GBJ smirked, thinking of all the delicious goodies one million dollars could buy him.
Garbage Bag Johnny: Oh, we’ll see pretty boy!
And with that, not another word was exchanged between the two, Pierce strolling off in one direction, GBJ skipping with tremendous joy in the other until he realised he was going the wrong way and quickly scooted back in the opposite direction.
Gabriel Afeaki vs. Emo Kid
STIPULATION: SINGLES
REFEREE: SELENA SUMMER
AUTHOR: joe(MaGa)
Untitled by Simple Plan kicks into life as AWC’s very own Emo Kid takes to the ring.
Dave Kern: It’s the Emo Kid!
Jeff Marx: Eurgh… why doesn’t he just die already.
Dave Kern: He’s tried.
James Brunt: From Emoville, weighing in at NINETY-TWO pounds… EMO KID~!
James Brunt’s voice seemingly dissipates through the surroundings, an eerie occurrence due to the strange lack of fans ringside.
Emo Kid slides underneath the bottom rope, his hair momentarily causing him to choke on his fringe as he painfully makes his way to his feet after barely being able to stand due to the tightness in his jeans. Now he waits.
Dave Kern: Now Jeff, even though this was an apparent master plan of Sasha to play to GA’s ego, there are words emanating from the back that a certain Gabriel Afeaki is here tonight.
Jeff Marx: Good. I don’t care who fights this Kid, he needs a good beating hearts baby.
Dave Kern: A what…?
Jeff Marx: My damn kids are emo’s… it’s sickening… they’re infecting me with emo lyrics.
Dave Kern: Right…
A minute worth of silence grips the area, though it seems like an eternity, or longer. Maybe GA wouldn’t show tonight? Maybe his ego was too large to come out here and wrestle this ‘superstar.’
Of course, that was wrong…
The harrowing guitar riff of Troll by Thorr’s Hammer perverts the airwaves, shocking everyone at ringside into a frenzy… just as the gravel lyrics begin to chant in their foreign tongue a hooded behemoth appears from behind the backstage curtain.
Dave Kern: Ladies and Gentlemen, I do believe that is GA… The words slipped and slid slowly from Kern’s mouth, as the piercing pupils of GA slowly turned to face his. Intertwining for those precocious seconds, a mind fuck if ever one existed. GA’s eyes slowly turned back to the ground as he continues to make his way toward the ring area. Removing his hood to reveal a face of malign intent, he slides into the ring and removes his hoodie, chucking it ringside.
Jeff Marx: Kerny, you just got owned. He’s pure EVIL, I love that.
The contrast in size was immense. It was the dinghy versus the titanic, a David vs. Goliath contest, only this time Goliath was a 6’3”//285lbs Fijian Animal, and David a 92lbs Emo. The juxtaposition of Gabriel Afeaki next to Emo Kid was something to behold. Selena Summer stares at Afeaki whose chiselled physique was striking, but it was not a look in awe… more of fear. How could she command such a huma… such an animal?
Dave Kern: I have a feeling…a feeling that this is going to be messy.
Jeff Marx: Oh, I’m hoping on it.
The bell sounds and Emo Kid walks up to GA, his 5’2” frame pressed firmly against the robust Afeaki. His mouth is shooting some sort of Emo lyric at Afeaki: yet nothing. Emo Kid takes a step back and unleashes a huge EMOSLAP~! connecting to Afeaki’s ribcage.
Jeff Marx: Hah, ooh… that did a lot!
Emo Kid perplexed by his lack of impact shoots himself off into the rope and back into Afeaki with a diving clothesline… again, nothing.
Dave Kern: I’m sorry to say this but, it’s like a 92lbs fly buzzing into the chest of Afeaki. It’s doing no damage whatsoever.
Emo Kid, determined to do something shoots himself off the ropes once more…
Emo Kid is decimated into the canvas with a running knee uppercut, Afeaki showing amazing agility, leaping and crushing a knee into the chin of Emo Kid.
Jeff Marx: WOOO~! That has to be it right there!
Selena Summer looks over toward GA, no signs of him making a pin. There was no guard attempt to pass as Afeaki mounts Emo Kid and starts to make resounding elbow strikes to the unprotected nose of Emo Kid. Unlike in the cage, there was no stoppage for someone being not able to intelligently defend themselves. Summer could only stand and watch as blow after blow rained down upon the face of Emo Kid, an unrelenting assault that seemed like it would never end.
Dave Kern: This is just wrong, somebody stop this!
Jeff Marx: Now this is Emo! He’s getting his eyes blackened… and there’s blood, what more could you want?
The face of Emo Kid is unrecognisable as GA stands ominously over the carcass of his prey, that same wry grin creeping its way across his face. Gabriel Afeaki picks the body of Emo Kid up before slamming him back down to the canvass with an immensely executed Major Outer Hook hip throw, sending Emo Kid to the canvas with a sickening thud. GA grabs hold of Emo Kid’s right arm and applying a Paint Brush Armlock, a favoured technique of the Gracie Jiu Jitsu marital arts system.
Jeff Marx: I don’t even know what that is… but it looks painful. That’s all I care about. Here comes the Pain Train~! WOO WOO
Dave Kern: Some form of armlock…
Crimson flows like an unholy stream from the face of Emo Kid as Afeaki brings him to his feet once more… barely being able to stand…
Dave Kern: Make it stop… he’s had enough already.
Jeff Marx: I think he needs a little more still…
Emo Kid was out… his shoulder was shot… his face shot… his emo glasses… shot… and now he was being stalked. Crawling over to the ropes the now visible face of Emo Kid is an absolute mess… blood strewn from at least three wounds, and blood dripping from his mouth suggesting internal bleeding.
Jeff Marx: Ooh… what now…
Crawling to his feet Emo Kid turns slowly into the Fi.Ji.T, an Ankle Pick takedown. As Emo Kid’s spine hits the mat the heavens begin to open more fervently… as a downpour of rain soaks the ring. The ring resembling something of a battleground as the water intermingles with the blood stricken across the canvas, giving it a dull matte look. Emo Kid was in a bad way, and it was about to get worse.
The Fijian Leg Lock. Dave Kern: This has to be it… surely…
A loud crack, followed by the piercing screams of a wounded foe prompts Selena Summer to call an end to the match. Emo Kid lies clutching his ankle and knee in the middle of the ring, the Heel Hook applied by GA most likely rupturing ligaments in his knee and rupturing his ankle.
Dave Kern: That was painful to watch. It was like a merciless onslaught, a unrelenting tide of anger… no wonder that Fijian Leg Lock was banned from the majority of MMA competitions… just look at what its done to Emo Kid.
Jeff Marx: What an impressive debut by the man from Fiji, absolutely decimating Emo Kid, and sending a message to Sasha as well, wouldn’t you say? This man is pure evil… did you see the look on his face when that crack resounded around us? He looked… like he was enjoying it.
James Brunt: The referee Selena Summer has called an end to the match deciding that Emo Kid could no longer continue. Your winner by stoppage, Gabriel Afeaki!
Dave Kern: That was very impressive Jeff. Very impressive indeed.
Looking around the ring, it seemed GA had once more simply vanished. This was a habit he was accruing… like Batman he was…
Brush with the Beast
FEATURING: MIKEY O'REILLY & GA
AUTHOR: JEREMY J. & joe(Maga)
A sombre atmosphere gripped the beach as people recovered from the brutalisation they had just witnessed. It was a debut of hellish proportions: there was certainly nothing sacrosanct about GA. Nothing in the slightest… Mikey O’Reilly is on the prowl for Anton Assault, his opponent for tonight’s Main Event. He wants to talk to him before they went into the ring to do battle. When Mikey O’Reilly was still a bare-knuckle boxer, he would always find his opponent, tell them good luck, shake their hand and get ready for the fight. Those old habits die hard, and Mikey is always the traditionalist to wish his opponent good luck. It seems as if everything is turning to the new school. Respect was a lost art form…something that displeases Mikey.
Something…doesn’t feel right. As he continued his adventure, a feeling of well…evil encompassed him… He breathes it in...intoxicating his senses. It was surrounding him, slowly, and surely. He looks around, half-expecting someone or something to attack, but there’s nothing here. Nothing. Maybe it’s his imagination, stress playing tricks with his mind.
Letting out a sigh and telling himself to pull himself together, he continues to look for Anton Assault, until...
“Mikey O’Reilly...”
He looks over to his right to see GA, Gabriel Afeaki standing no more than two feet away from him. Mikey almost jumps out of his skin upon meeting the Fijian. He’d felt his presence before…maybe in passing. But now…no Sasha has him under control.
He hopes.
He is staring down at Mikey, his red pupils sending chills down Mikey’s spine.
Gabriel Afeaki: Mikey O’Reilly, our paths cross at last. A former eight-time bare-knuckle boxing champion, Ireland’s finest export since Keith Woods I do believe.
Mikey O’Reilly arches an eyebrow. What kind of game is this man playing?
Mikey O’Reilly: Yeah, I am. What’s it to you?
Gabriel Afeaki gives Mikey a small grin, the one glimpsed very rarely. He is a man on a mission tonight. Sasha thought she’d won last week, she thought she had him in the palm of her hand. She was wrong.
And how…
Gabriel Afeaki: When I see someone of your talent, I want to introduce them to a better fighter...
He steps closer, only getting about three inches in front of Mikey.
Gabriel Afeaki: ...Me...
Mikey O’Reilly feels himself shiver. He isn’t cold; the shiver is the fear felt by many standing in the presence of the Fijian Animal. Mikey has heard of some of his exploits…he’d broken a man’s ankle without hesitation in his final bout. He never walked again. His fears give way to anger, but he’s keeping himself composed; he doesn’t want to blow his temper on someone who can easily break him in half. Judging from his size, Gabriel Afeaki can do so without complications, and judging by reputation, he already had done. Many a time.
Mikey O’Reilly: What’s your game, Afeaki?
Gabriel Afeaki: No game whatsoever, Mr. O’Reilly. I would wish you the best of luck against Anton Assault tonight, but a man like you doesn’t need my blessing. When Anton Assault is through turning you into dust, the better man will fill your place, and show you how to fight.
Gabriel’s smile breaks out across his face, gripping and contorting his lips into a smile of pure enmity.
Gabriel Afeaki: Ni sa moce, Mr. O’Reilly, and may your agony cripple you in the ring.
Mikey’s eyes drop to the floor, as his thoughts pervade him.
Mikey O’Reilly: Who the hell…
Gone. Again. Like Batman…
Mikey O’Reilly: That dude creeps me the hell out.
He lets out a shaky sigh, regains his composure and continues looking for Anton Assault. The night is young, but already O’Reilly is feeling the strain.
The Dark Knight
FEATURING: Gabriel Afeaki
AUTHOR: joe(Maga)
He made one of those swift exits that he was slowly becoming synonymous with once more. Leaving the ring before the fans could give him their reaction, before anyone noticed, before anyone could see. It was a skill he’d gradually learnt, a skill taught to him by the Masai, the one’s who raised him. You couldn’t hunt unless you were a ghost, and that as far as people saw him of late was precisely what he was: an entity not traceable, not to be discovered and not to be found.
The sticky remnants of crimson tinged the Lion eyes on each hand, their wondrous gaze perverted by the last vestiges of life in the Emo Kid’s body. Quite simply, there and then, he could have extinguished his life. Now he felt a tiny shard of what The Penguin felt (the Prison Guard) every day. Holding life in one’s hand, for good or for evil, was a potent tonic. A tonic so potent that GA had ascertained pleasure from the brutal decimation.
His thoughts drifted back to the match, the heinous sound of skull bouncing like a basketball off the canvas were like a well written concerto to his ear. It was not mindless destruction – far from it – he was an artist, the conductor, every carefully planned blow a new stroke of a paintbrush, a new note from the symphony. It brought back all those memories once more: those memories of the cage. In truth, he felt like the Afeaki of old, that same vigour flowing endlessly through each part of his body, his coursing veins channelling adrenalin like never before. He felt at home.
She would never have expected him to show tonight. That was her plan, her objective, and how it had failed. She wanted to degrade him, force him to her every whim. Sure, she could force him to wrestle. He would have to wrestle whoever she said… for now… but not for one second did that ever mean she was not going to be ruined. Yes, she had tried to make him not show by appealing to the thing that on any other night would have worked. Playing to his sense of competition, and playing to his ego was a masterstroke… thanks to the Voice, he was always a step ahead, and he began to wonder how the Voice knew everything about everyone in the AWC. He was like a God, an omnipotent, omniscient being.
With him lied true power.
With him lied redemption.
With him lied a new beginning.
He had one important thing to declare tonight, and for that he would need to tell Sasha in person. Always the gentleman GA… always the Dark Knight…
… and if you believed that after tonight… then my friend… you have issues.
Shadow in the Storm
FEATURING: Pearl Harber & Sasha Volkyeva
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
“Shoulda brought a coat.”
David Harber’s flippant comment does nothing to lift the mood of one Sasha Volkyeva, who is watching her dreams tear themselves apart before her eyes. Another clap of thunder reverberates around the grey sky, and the few fans who still remain tug nervously at their sodden clothing, dipping down only occasionally to take a shot of their compulsory vodka beneath the protection of their rain jackets.
Sasha Volkyeva: How did you do it, David?
Pearl: I'm sorry?
Harber meanders closer to the woman once so commanding; now, with mascara streaking down her face, hair in an awkward bun of rain and sorrow, a fragile thing, weak bones and thin skin.
Sasha Volkyeva: A little pay-off to the rain gods, I think...
Pearl laughs, but only out of courtesy. Any joy he is feeling at the disastrous nature of this competing show is tempered by the pang of worry he feels for AWC as a whole... a promotion that has been with him for more than a year now; a promotion that crept into and consumed his life while he happily egged it on.
Pearl: So why so competitive tonight?
Sasha Volkyeva: I beg your pardon?
Pearl: Your match bookings... a little unimaginative too, I might add, but that’s a different story. Lexicon versus Harris – West versus East. Horazon versus Marquez – West versus East. Even the Frontier title match you happened to arranged for – West versus East. I thought these Fresh!special events were supposed to be about cooperation... not competition?
Sasha Volkyeva: (grinning bitterly) You were the better organised all along, David. I knew your show would be better than mine, each and every week. My only hope was to draw as distinct a line as possible between us, and hope to show Mr. Drake –
Pearl: Dr. Drake.
Volkyeva blushes.
Sasha Volkyeva: Quite; to show him that... that the East tour had more talent. That if we could win more of the matches against West, I could lay claim at least to... to better organisation of my wrestlers. I don’t know. It sounds silly...
Pearl: It does sound silly.
Sasha Volkyeva: Nevertheless! David, I must hold tight to the fragments I have while they remain. So at the show, the Coast To Coast, I want to propose a match...
Pearl: You do?
Pearl was used to free rein booking the pay-per-view events, seeing as Sasha knew nothing about wrestling.
Sasha Volkyeva: A team match. East against West. We can select our teams... four on each, and... and the winners will be able to say their tour was... better. I want to give my wrestlers something... I know we have struggled; I know they haven’t had the best of times, and if they could have this match, and if they could win it...
Pearl: Bragging rights, if nothing else.
Volkyeva had never heard the expression, but:
Sasha Volkyeva: Exactly!
Pearl: Interesting, interesting...
Harber stops to peer up at the sky as another roll of thunder passes by.
Pearl: But where would it be? I mean, Coast To Coast is two shows really; one in London, one in Atlantic City... one of the teams would have home advantage...
Sasha Volkyeva: Unless it were somewhere different entirely.
Pearl: Somewhere neutral?
Sasha Volkyeva: (staring out to sea) Exactly.
The blare of a ship’s fog horn raises a smile on Volkyeva’s face.
Sasha Volkyeva: Sometimes it is hard to remember we are at a wrestling show...
But she stops at the look on Pearl’s face. The look of wonder.
Sasha Volkyeva: David?
Pearl: That’s it! We have it on a boat!
Sasha Volkyeva: A boat.
Pearl: Midway across the Atlantic!
Sasha Volkyeva: Midway.
Pearl: Can you get any more neutral?
Sasha Volkyeva: I think you are crazy.
Pearl: The match is on! Deal?
Sasha Volkyeva: I think you are crazy.
Harber whirls away with boyish enthusiasm as Volkyeva raises an eyebrow, almost amused. But she’s too depressed to be amused. Slipping her hand into her soaked trouser pocket, she pulls out a weather-battered hipflask.
Just a Little A-Mays-Ing
FEATURING: Anton Assault, Luis Ferrara, Darcy Crisis & Tony Little
AUTHOR: OBINNA
The sparse crowd is chatting amongst itself, paying little attention to the current non-action in the squared circle. The commentators, Marx and Kern, are understandably disheartened, but they are currently content to go over their notes and reminisce whil they wait for the next occurance. It's all they can do, right?
Luckily for them, then, that the next occurance comes rather quickly.
All heads whip towards the aisle as a compactly-built man strides down full of fire, ponytail bobbing behind him. He is dressed in a white tanktop with a leaping long-legged bovine adorning it and black, skintight shorts. His face is contorted in pure rage.
Needless to say, he's a little ticked off.
Dave Kern: I don't believe this! Since when did… Tony Little is here, folks!
Jeff Marx: These unwashed lot wouldn't know who Tony Little was if he bit them in the ass!
Dave Kern: I… what?
Tony Little rolled into the ring and popped to his feet, snatching the microphone out of James Brunt's hand. Brunt eyed Little oddly, but the fitness trainer quickly shooed him out of the ring. Little began to pace about the ring, stroking his chin and deciding on what to say.
Tony Little: Goddamn you!
That's a pretty unique start.
Tony Little: Goddamn you, Luis Ferrara! What the… I mean… I'm trying to do something good! I'm trying to bring a little fitness to the fans! You know who I am, you know my credentials. You know that I'm America's Fitness Trainer®, soon to be Europe's Fitness Trainer(pending). You know all that! So why… why would you pull a stunt like that!?
Tony combs his fingers through his hair, trying to calm himself down. It's futile.
Tony Little: I mean, look at the facts. Most wrestling fans aren't in the best of the shape. I recognized the problem and I said "Aha, solution!" I said to myself "You know who can help them out? Me! Tony Little, America's Fitness Trainer®!" So I started to work with the companies, to promote my Gazelle, to help the PEOPLE.
Tony smiles out at the crowd to show his benevolence.
Tony Little: So when I came to Commieland, I got the inkling "Hey, all the commies do all day and night is drink vodka, so the Gazelle could really help them out!"
Dave Kern: Oh no…
Jeff Marx: Tony Little is my hero!
The crowd begins to boo just as Tony says "Commieland." Tony is taken a bit off guard, but he continues.
Tony Little: Everything I did was for you, the people of Commieland. I mean, it's you commies that really deserve it. I got the free Gazelle I was going to raffle off for who? Commies. I got that beautiful boat for who? Commies. I hauled my toned-and-oiled behind out here for who? Who did I do all this for? Who did I take a very rickety, very un-classy puddle jumper plane out here to cater to? SEE-OH-EMM-WHY-ESS, COMMIES!
The crowd is booing full-force at this point. Tony paces about the ring, undisturbed.
Tony Little: But you… you screwed it all up, Luis! You prevented these commies from the exhiliration, from the unbridled thrill of getting on the Gazelle for the first time and knowing that their husky commie bodies would soon be turned into lean, MEAN commie bodies! You… ARRRGH!
Tony drops to the mat and hits five quick push-ups before standing again.
Tony Little: You make me so angry! Come out here! Get your skinny little behind out here and apologize to these commies!
The opening riff to "Born On Your Knees" by Napalm Death pulses out of the PA system.
Jeff Marx: Who in the…
Dave Kern: I have no idea!
That's because he's never entered by himself before.
Out from behind the curtains steps Luis Ferrara, dressed in an impeccable white zoot suit with Anton Assault's Frontier title draped over his left shoulder. He has a mic in his hand and he gives Tony Little his best smug smirk.
Luis Ferrara: Wassup, Ton'?
Tony Little: Don't give me that! Apologize! Apologize to the commies!
Luis Ferrara: Naw, man. I ain't apologizin' t' no one, y'understand?
Tony Little: I… no! I don't understand!
Luis Ferrara: Iss very simple. See, I—
Tony Little: YOU SUNK MY BATTLESHIP!
Luis Ferrara: I—
Tony Little: Yahtzee! Apologize!
Voice: YOU JUST SHUT YOUR DAMN MOUTH!
A man steps out from behind the curtain, microphone in hand. He's got a bushy black beard and a face that would be kindly if it wasn't drawn in anger right now. He had on a blue shirt with a little icon above the left pocket.
OxiClean.
Jeff Marx: No way!
Billy Mays: TONY LITTLE, YOU ARE A LAZY SACK OF SHIT, BUT WE CAN FIX THAT BY PUNCHES-TO-FACE. THAT'S RIGHT, ME AND LUIS WILL PUNCH YOU IN THE FACE AS HARD AS WE CAN BECAUSE YOU ARE A WORTHLESS PIECE OF TRASH! WE WILL USE FISTS AND FEET AND ELBOWS AND EVERYTHING AT OUR DISPOSAL, AND WHY?
Mays shakes his fist.
Billy Mays: BECAUSE. WE. CAN.
Billy Mays: IF YOU'VE WATCHED TONY LITTLE BE A JACKASS ON AWC TELEVISION, YOU PROBABLY THOUGHT "WOW, I WANT TO KICK THAT GUY'S ASS!" WELL, NOW YOU'LL GET TO SEE TONY'S ASS GET STOMPED COURTESY OF LUIS FERRARA AND BILLY MAYS.
Billy Mays: WE'LL KICK HIM, WE'LL PUNCH HIM, WE'LL GOUGE HIS EYES OUT, WE'LL DO IT ALL IN UNDER THREE MINUTES AND WE'LL DO IT WELL. IT'S A THREE-IN-ONE DEAL FOR THE LOW, LOW PRICE OF NOT A GODDAMN CENT.
Mays drops his microphone and starts up the ramp, rolling up his sleeves. Luis starts down after him, slipping his tonfa out of his jacket. Tony Little drops his mic as well and backs up.
Dave Kern: Just what exactly are we witnessing here?
Jeff Marx: The battle of a lifetime!
Mays rolls into the ring and gets to his feet. He weathers a weak-looking kick from Little and rises to his feet, smashing Tony in the head with a forearm. Tony drops to a knee and then climbs to his feet, putting up his dukes. He throws a jab that catches Mays in the jaw. Billy shakes his head and kicks Tony in the stomach, doubling America's Fitness Trainer® over and sending him into a fit of coughing. He lifts his head, but a crack quickly sounds through the air.
Dave Kern: Oh no! Not… no!
Luis Ferrara has cracked Tony over the head with his tonfa and now he and Billy Mays are putting the boots to Tony Little. Tony has curled up into a fetal position to try and defend himself, but their boots seem to be homing in on whatever spaces he leaves open.
Jeff Marx: This is a well-oiled machine! For not a goddamn cent, I might just buy Punches-to-Face.
Dave Kern: Shut up!
Suddenly, a blur hurtles down the aisle and leaps upwards, sliding under the bottom rope.
Dave Kern: Darcy Crisis with the save!
Crisis throws a stiff right hand to the jaw of Billy Mays, knocking him off course. He continues to batter Mays, knocking him backwards further and furhter before he takes him down with a lariat. Luis Ferrara comes from behind to silence Crisis with the tonfa, but DMC manages to evade the shot and come back with a roaring elbow.
Dave Kern: Darcy's protecting Tony Little!
Jeff Marx: Anton's joining the party!
Dave Kern: Not good!
Anton slides into the ring, dashikiless, and he gets to his feet. He comes straight up against Darcy and they exchange a very heated glare, fists balling and unballing. Neither man speaks a word. None are needed here. And then—
Jeff Marx: Luis is down!
Dave Kern: I don't believe it!
Luis crumples to the mat after being hit with a surprise low blow from Tony Little. Tony drops back to a knee, huffing and puffing. Crisis takes the moment of distraction to slip away, hustling Tony Little out of the ring and helping him to the back. Anton stares out at Darcy Crisis and Tony Little as Billy and Luis climb back to their feet.
Dave Kern: This whole thing has just been… outrageous!
Jeff Marx: But oddly watchable!
Vince Jones (c) vs. Chainz
STIPULATION: Countdown Trophy Match
REFEREE: AARON DAVIES
AUTHOR: JEREMY J.
Dave Kern: All right, we are back for more FRESH! action from the East Atlantic tour. We’re still live at the Seafront Anapa Beach in Moscow, Russia. Coming up next, we have two off and on partners going at each other for the Countdown Trophy! Chainz has the chance to defeat his former partner, “The Violence” Vince Jones, and take the trophy!
Jeff Marx: Man, why couldn’t we be at Huntington Beach, California, last week? This country has crappy weather!
Dave Kern: Talk to Sasha, she’s the one who booked this location for the special show. Some of the Russian fans have evacuated due to heavy rain, and I’m surprised we’re still on the air after that heavy rainfall. Right now, there’s a bit of drizzle, and hopefully the heavy rainfall is done tonight. Anyway, let’s go down to the heavily saturated ring where James Brunt is standing by.
James Brunt: The following match is for the Countdown Trophy!
“Cure” by The Wild Colonials starts to play on the PA system as Mike “Chainz” Sloan makes his way to the ring, obviously not in the best of moods tonight. The remaining Russian fans watch in silence as Chainz enters the ring.
James Brunt: First, from Birmingham, Alabama, weighing 295 pounds... CHAINZ!
Dave Kern: Chainz has been on a tangent the last couple of weeks, wanting his fiance, Tracy Stanton, to be on the East Atlantic tour, and Sasha Volkyeva isn’t fulfilling Chainz’s wish.
Jeff Marx: She will, eventually, unless she wants to have bigger orifices in her body.
Dave Kern: Sasha’s gonna fire you for saying that.
Jeff Marx: Better than to be in this dump.
James Brunt: His opponent...
All of a sudden a loud, booming, demon-like voice bellows out the message...
“PREPARE TO ENTER MY HELL, MY REALM, AND MY GAME...”
...as the words flash up on the screen in pulsing red letters. The message quickly fades away and the voice bellows out the message...
“...ENTER THE VIOLENCE...”
...as the words appear on the video screen embossed by flames. All of a sudden a loud gunshot rings out through the beach. The opening chords of “Thug Luv” begin to play as the oh-so familiar voice of 2Pac is heard throughout the beach…
Fool, we doin' this shit from Cleveland to L.A.
Whatever you bitches want. We bringin’ it!
Thug luv, bitch! What time is it?
Yo, I don’t give a fuck where you lay at, fool!
It’s time to slay these Bitch-ass killas
They ain’t even knowin’ what type of thugs we is. Where my thugs at?
The sound of a cocking of a gun, followed by gunshot repeated throughout is heard ringing out in the Anapa Beach.
Bone thugs-n-harmony
I know you fools been waitin’ for this shit for a long time
Well, here it is! Here it is!
What you gonna do with it?
“The Violence” Vince Jones emerges from the entrance and makes his way to the edge of the beach with a black baseball bat in hand followed by the lovely Jasmine. He stops and raises the baseball bat in the air and flashes the hand sign of his old gang from New York as red pyro explodes behind him. He slowly makes his way down ringside totally oblivious to the flickering camera flashes and the hatred of the crowd.
James Brunt: Making his way to the ring, being accompanied by Jasmine. From New York City, New York, weighing 269 pounds... He is the Countdown Trophy holder, “THE VIOLENCE” VINCE JONES!
He slides into the ring, climbs the nearest turnbuckle and looks out at the crowd as if he’s in a trance, drawing in energy from the hatred the crowd has for him. He finally awakens and points the baseball bat out at the members of the crowd and once again raises the baseball bat above his head and flashes the hand sign of his gang. He then climbs back down to the mat and awaits his opponent.
Dave Kern: Listen to the hatred form the fans! Vince is feeling the heat!
Jeff Marx: What heat? There might be about five people booing Vince Jones. That ain’t heat, Kern.
Dave Kern: Trying to play the dramatic effect of the show, Marx. Sheesh. Can’t a guy do his job by improvising?
James Brunt leaves the ring as Aaron Davies calls for the bell, and the time shows up on the makeshift Atlantic Tron.
5:00
Dave Kern: All right, let’s see another classic Countdown Trophy Match!
Mike “Chainz” Sloan and “The Violence” Vince Jones circle the ring, keeping their eyes locked on one another, and waiting for one or the other to strike. These two know each other well enough to know what kind of an attack they’re going to administer and how to counter it. Instead of going for an attack, the meet in the middle of the ring, doing the traditional collar and elbow tie-up. Being the stronger of the two, Chainz gets Vine in a Headlock, but VJ counters with a Backdrop Suplex. There is a small pop from some of the Russian fans after the Backdrop Suplex is executed, while others heckled the Countdown Trophy holder.
Mike Sloan gets to his feet, flashes a small grin at his former partner and both men circle the ring once more. The drizzle is now turning into light rain. Both wrestlers meet in the ring again, about to do another collar and elbow tie-up. Chainz fakes Vince Jones out by kicking him in the gut, followed by a forearm club in the back of Jones’ neck, sending “The Violence” onto the mat. Chainz runs over to the ropes, bounces off them, and stomps on the back of Jones’ head. He lifts the trophy holder to his feet, whips him into the ropes and takes VJ down with a stiff Clothesline. He goes for the first cover...
ONE!
TWO!
Vince Jones immediately kicks out before three.
Dave Kern: Stiff Clothesline by Chainz, but it isn’t enough to put Vince Jones away.
Jeff Marx: When was the last time you’ve seen someone beat someone with a simple Clothesline?
Dave Kern: Nikita Koloff with the Russian Sickle.
Jeff Marx: ... I’ll take your word for it.
4:00
Mike Sloan picks up his opponent, about to whip Vince Jones into the ropes again, but VJ counters with a knee into the gut, doubling Chainz over. Vince wraps his arms around Chainz’s waist, lifts his near 300-pound bulk and sits down with a Grappling Doctor Bomb (or Gut-wrench Power Bomb). “The Violence” remains seated as referee Aaron Davies counts Chainz’s shoulder onto the mat...
ONE!
Chainz immediately kicks out. Vince Jones gets to his feet, grabs one of Mike Sloan’s legs, turns Chainz onto his back and locks in a Step-over Toehold Face-lock (or STF). “The Career Killa” is pulling back on the Face-lock, making Chainz bellow out in pain.
Dave Kern: Vince Jones has the STF locked in on Chainz, and Chainz can’t escape the painful submission maneuver!
Jeff Marx: He may not escape the maneuver, due to his lack of mat wrestling knowledge, but Chainz can has a high tolerance for pain.
Vince Jones, the current Countdown Trophy holder, breaks the STF and slams Chainz’s face into the mat. The light rain is becoming stronger, going into a moderate rainfall now, saturating the ring even more. Slipping around in the ring, he picks up his opponent, places the heel of his boot behind one of Chainz’s leg and executes a Clothesline with a back heel trip, also known as an STO. The Clothesline portion slams the back of Chainz’s head onto the canvas hard, resulting in having the back of Chainz’s head bounce off the canvas.
Dave Kern: Space Tornado Ogawa - otherwise known as the STO - by Vince Jones!
Jeff Marx: “Space Tornado Ogawa,” Dave?
Dave Kern: Indeed! Naoya Ogawa is the innovator of the STO, derived from the Judo sweep, O-soto-gari. There is a Claw-hold variation of the STO called the STK, or Space Tornado Kensuke, named after Kensuke Sasaki.
Jeff Marx: You don’t go out and get laid much, do ya, Kern?
Dave Kern: ...I plead the fifth.
3:00
Instead of going for the pin “Mr. AKA” picks up Mike “Chainz” Sloan, gets him to his feet, and lifts him over his right shoulder. He struggles to get Chainz’s 295-pound frame over his shoulder, but is successful. VJ then rotates Chainz’s body forward, adjusting Chainz’s body on Jones’ side and drives the monster onto his shoulder blades with the Emerald Fusion.
Jeff Marx: VJ hit the Thug Killa!
Dave Kern: And Vince Jones is going for the cover!
ONE!
TWO!
THR---
NO! Mike Sloan kicks out before the three.
Dave Kern: That was a close one, ladies and gentlemen! Vince Jones drove Chainz onto the canvas with his Thug Killa maneuver, but it isn’t enough to finish off that psychotic monster!
Jeff Marx: Chainz is one tough son of a bitch, and it’ll take a lot more than Vince Jones’ Thug Killa to put Chainz away.
2:36
“The One-Man Dynasty” Vince Jones gets to vertical, bends down and lifts Chainz to his feet. Before he can get his opponent to a vertical base, Chainz changes gears, grabs a hold of Vince’s head and drops his jaw across Chainz’s bulky shoulder. Mike Sloan gets to his feet, grabs a hold of one of Vince’s arm and yanks him up to his feet. Chainz then takes “The Killa, the Conqueror and the King” down to the canvas with a Short-arm Clothesline. Without letting go of Jones’ arm, he yanks him back up again, taking the Countdown Trophy holder down with another Short-arm Clothesline. Chainz repeats the process for the third and final time, and finally lets go of VJ’s arm.
Mike Sloan chuckles when he sees there’s two minutes remaining of the five-minute regular-sanctioned interval of the match. Chainz lifts Vince Jones to his feet, picks him up high into the air and drives his spine onto the canvas with a hard Spine Buster Slam. He goes for the cover, hooking the leg and grinds his forearm into VJ’s face...
ONE!
TWO!
THR---
Vince Jones shoots his shoulder up, and Chainz is beside himself.
Dave Kern: Picture perfect Spine Buster by Chainz put it doesn’t win him the Countdown Trophy! What does Chainz have to do to defeat the seemingly unstoppable Countdown Trophy holder, Vince Jones?
Jeff Marx: I have no idea, Kern! Chainz’s raw power isn’t doing anything to stop the New York City native!
Ninety seconds remain and Mike “Chainz” Sloan is looking desperate. He knew that he had the match won with that hard Spine Buster Slam, but it wasn’t enough to put Vince Jones away. Without thinking, Sloan grabs Vince’s legs, locks them in a figure-four, turns V over and sits on the small of his back, administering the Texas Cloverleaf, and Jones is writhing in pain!
Dave Kern: Texas Cloverleaf by Chainz, and he has it locked in tight!
Jeff Marx: Vince Jones is reaching for the ropes and time is almost running out for the five-minute interval!
Vince Jones is clawing vehemently towards the ropes, feeling the pain shooting through his back. His girlfriend, Jasmine, is cheering him on, telling him to get those ropes, baby! Thirty seconds remain and “NYC’s Most Rough, Rugged and Raw” is halfway towards his destination, but is tragically stopped when Chainz sits all of his weight on Vince’s lower back, causing him to wail in pain. Vince Jones starts to crawl more, but the pain is too intense. Before he can tap out, the bell rings to signify the sudden death interval of the match.
Dave Kern: We are now in the sudden death portion of our match, ladies and gentlemen! One man has to now go for a one-fall pin attempt, win by count-out or submission!
Jeff Marx: And Chainz is celebrating too early, Kern. He hasn’t won the Countdown Trophy yet, and he’s acting like he won the Transatlantic title.
Ghost of Steve Smith: Transpacific title...
Both Dave Kern and Jeff Marx look at each other for a moment, say nothing and go back to watching the match. Mike Sloan is celebrating in the ring as referee Aaron Davies is telling him that he hasn’t won the match yet. He’s explaining to the unhinged monster that the bell rang to start the sudden death portion of the match-up and Chainz is livid! Chainz grabs a hold of the tiny referee by the collar, threatening to do bodily harm on him if he doesn’t reward Chainz the Countdown Trophy. This gives Vince Jones enough time to collect himself, get to his feet and do a sneak attack on Chainz. After getting to his feet, “The Violence” runs over to Chainz, rolls him up with a Schoolboy, and has a handful of Chainz’s pants! The green-eyed monster manages to kick out before the referee gets the chance to count Chainz’s shoulders on the match.
Dave Kern: Vince Jones almost cheated his way to retaining the Countdown Trophy! He’s been doing that a lot as of late just to keep the trophy for himself!
Jeff Marx: You gotta do whatchu gotta do, y’know what I’m sayin’, nigga?
Dave Kern: I’m not your “nigga” and you’re too white to be ghetto.
Jeff Marx: It’s Gangsta, foo’! GANGSTA!
Dave Kern simply rolls his eyes and continues to do his job. Both men are back on their feet. Chainz, being surprisingly flexible for a man his size, throws a Super Kick right in Vince Jones’ jaw. “The Violence” drops backward like a ton of bricks and Chainz is on his opponent, hooking the leg, but VJ kicks out before the one-count.
Dave Kern: OH! Chainz almost had his opponent with the Chain Link Super Kick!
Mike Sloan is back on his feet again, waiting for Vince Jones to get to his feet, about to execute another Chain Link Super Kick. When VJ gets to his feet, Chainz goes for the Chain Link, but Jones catches Chainz’s foot, snaps off a Dragon Screw Leg Whip and sends Chainz onto the mat, clutching his knee and ankle. Keep the momentum in his favor, “The Violence” grabs Chainz’s hurt leg, turns the monster over and locks in the NYC Crippler. He drops backward, wrapping his legs around Chainz’s thick leg and applies pressure on the ankle.
Jeff Marx: NYC Crippler by Vince Jones! He can break that ankle if Chainz doesn’t submit!
Dave Kern: Chainz is holding on! He’s near the ropes and he’s trying to reach for them!
Mike “Chainz” Sloan literally throws himself at the ropes. He wraps his arms around them, holding on for dear life as referee Aaron Davies forces Vince Jones to break the Ankle-lock submission. “The Violence” finally breaks the hold after the referee started the dreaded five-count. Chainz is clutching at his ankle now, groaning in pain as the referee is lecturing VJ about the rules and regulations of the match. This gives Jasmine the opportunity needed to help her man win the match and retain the Countdown Trophy. Jasmine grabs the Louisville Slugger, runs towards Chainz and attempts to hit him in the head, but Chainz catches the baseball bat and rips it out of Jasmine’s hands. Chainz’s green eyes are blazing with fury, and Jasmine runs away from ringside, disappearing into the backstage area.
Chainz is getting to his feet now, slowly putting weight on his hurt ankle and is satisfied that he can walk on it. Vince Jones is charging at Chainz, spouting unintelligible utterances at his opponent. Chainz buries the head of the baseball bat into V’s gut, doubling over. Quickly, Chainz disposes the evidence, sets Vince in between his legs, picks him up and administers a Power Bomb. Instead of letting go, Chainz lifts up Jones again, he feels his leg buckle and drops forward, slamming Jones’ back onto the canvas with the second Power Bomb, completing the Chain Reaction.
Dave Kern: Chain Reaction by Chainz! Cover him, Sloan!
Jeff Marx: Chainz’s ankle is giving him trouble, Kern! I don’t think he can make the cover!
Chainz is clutching at his ankle, trying to get the feeling back in it. Knowing that it isn’t working, he crawls over to his opponent, flops on top of Vince Jones and hooks the leg...
ONE!
Referee Aaron Davies calls for the bell as “Cure” by The Wild Colonials plays on the PA system. James Brunt announces the winner.
James Brunt: The winner and the NEW Countdown Trophy winner... CHAINZ!
Dave Kern: Chainz has ended Vince Jones’ reign and put a stop to his cheating ways! What a match! What a finish!
Jeff Marx: Chainz is the new Countdown Trophy holder... God help us all...
Dave Kern: My thoughts exactly, Marx! Chainz gets to defend his newly won Countdown Trophy in Louisiana next week! Coming up next is our Main Event for the evening: Anton Assault defends his Frontier title against Mikey O’Reilly in a Two out of Three Falls Match! Will Mikey O’Reilly pull off the win and the title, or will the shoot fighter prove to be too much for the former Irish bare-knuckle boxer? Those answers are up next!
Eye of the Storm III
FEATURING: Sasha Volkyeva
AUTHOR: FERGUS
All wrong, all, all wrong. It was hopeless now. Sasha stood on the barricade which had been erected for her to oversee the entire event and, standing on top of it now, was the loneliest person there could be.
Rain began to fall again as more of the crowd dispersed and Sasha bowed her head.
Droplets of water fell from her face, but they weren’t rain anymore.
Revelling
FEATURING: Gabriel Afeaki
AUTHOR: joe(Maga)
The night had been a disaster and to be perfectly straight, that was being kind to Sasha’s side of the tour. Once more after the resounding success of David Harber’s Huntington Beach Special, her Anapa Beach hardly mirrored that. She would have been happy if she had half the fans turn up that she’d promised, yet by now only a few hundred remained, and mostly because they couldn’t leave yet due to prior travel arrangements. The rain had washed away any chance of a party atmosphere being developed. The crowd were nonplussed: they’d expected to catch a show, and all they caught was a cold.
“Sasha…”
That voice she knew it well, too well… she spun, and there he stood: her best friend, Gabriel Afeaki.
Sasha Volkyeva: You…
Her voice grumbled into action… he was the last face she needed to see.
GA: Yes, me.
There was a cocksure tone that seemed to dictate his speech.
Sasha Volkyeva: You are to blame for all of this!
GA: Now surely it would be unreasonable to suggest that I can control the weather Miss. Volkyeva. I am a man of many talents…
He glanced slowly down toward his bloodstained fists, making sure Sasha takes full note before continuing.
GA: … but weather control I am sad to say is not one of them.
Sasha can feel the rage boiling from deep within her…
Sasha Volkyeva: I blame ALL of this on your shoulders. Ever since you began this crusade of terror nothing has gone right for me. NOTHING! Do you hear me? Your pathetic existence, your excuse for a life, your waste of breath carcass will NOT bring me down. Another thing…
He interjected.
GA: You’re correct Miss Volkyeva. I will not and have no intention of bringing you down. However, he has the power, and the cogs are slowly turning in motion. He must severely dislike you.
Sasha hesitated for a second, deliberated some more before continuing.
Sasha Volkyeva: He? Who is this he? Is this he the Voice you speak of… who is this vile cretin… tell me… or I’ll… or I’ll…
GA: You’ll do what Sasha? Book me against FREDROCK~! The truth is, well, I have no clue to who commands me… like I said before, I am but a messenger of the Voice…
Sasha finally breaking down launches herself at Afeaki in a scathing assault, pounding fist after fist into his exposed chest she begins to cry, a cascade of pent up emotion being released with each tear.
Sasha Volkyeva: WHY? Why are you doing this to me?
GA slowly lowers the sobbing Volkyeva to the ground as she curls up at his feet. No show of anger… he didn’t enjoy this… he knew what it felt like to be alone, to have nothing… he began to stride away but turned back… she was a mess.
GA: I did have one salient piece of information for you. Coast To Coast… there and then you will know.
He turned away…
GA: There and then… you… will… know.
The Fix (Week One)
FEATURING: Red Rock & GBJ
AUTHOR:JOSH Y. & JOSH K.
It’s a rainy day at Anapa Beach in Russia, and the beach is practically cleared out, except for two men…two masters of the art of win streaks, seeking shelter under a deserted, oversized beach umbrella. Both of them are dressed for much warmer beach weather, not realizing that Russia isn’t exactly known for its beaches. As the two huddle under the umbrella, they shout to each other, trying to beat the rain’s volume.
Garbage Bag Johnny: This sucks, man. I was going to kill me a shark if it wasn’t for the goddamned rain! But since we’re stuck here, we might as well gloat about how awesome we were last week.
Red Rock: Awesome? Awesome was hiding my full on boner when Aimz by accident burshed her hand against my willy! But in all seriousness we were awesome! We need like T-shirts with our faces on them!
Garbage Bag Johnny: Oh, I distinctly remember that part. It was no accident, my friend. Aimz was reaching for your flesh burrito. Clear as day! I bet she was wondering if the sour cream costs extra, if you know what I mean.
Garbage Bag Johnny reaches in the air for a high five.
Red Rock: Ha, ha woo!
Red Rock heartily accepts the high five before checking over his shoulder for Darcy Crisis in the event of him over hearing his lewd comments about Aimz.
Red Rock: So Garbage Bag Johnny now we've achieved glorious winning streaks I think we should do something new!
Garbage Bag Johnny: Well, we could start new winning streaks, but I’ve been thinking…I don’t know about you, but my contract isn’t worth shit, and I’m the first ever number one contender to two Transatlantic Championships. I beat seven other guys twice to do it. And you’re the longest reigning Relentless Champion of all time. We deserve fairer compensation.
Garbage Bag Johnny looks around, to make sure no one’s listening.
Garbage Bag Johnny: Now look, I’m going to let you in on a little secret. I’ve got a little wager going with Pierce Lavelle, and if things start looking bad, I might need some assistance. I’ll split the million in half with you, so you get $400,000 and I’ll take the other half. But it might require some trickery. Are you in any way averse to dressing in women’s clothing?
Red Rock: No, $400,000 you say? I'd actually was-
Red Rock pauses before saying "wash your ball bag" due to the simple fact that Garbage Bag Johnny may accept that offer.
Red Rock: Err... heh, yeah!
Garbage Bag Johnny: Excellent, my friend! Before you know it, we won’t need to deal with rainy Russian beaches because we’ll be swimming in our own riches!
Garbage Bag Johnny and Red Rock share a hearty cackle as lightning strikes to make their plot seem all the more ominous.
Best of Luck
FEATURING: Mikey O'Reilly & Anton Assault
AUTHOR: JEREMY J. & OBINNA
His search for the Frontier champion is coming to an end. He sees a plain white module with Anton Assault standing in front of the door, arms folded across his chest and wearing the Frontier title belt proudly around his waist. This makes Mikey O’Reilly smile when he sees someone represent a championship title belt with the utmost respect. Nowadays, people carry them in their hand, having it drag on the floor, having no regard towards the belt.
Halfway from Anton Assault, Mikey sees Luis Ferrara talking with a lovely looking Russian woman, pouring on his Venezuelan charm. A few moments later, the Russian woman slaps Luis across the face, knocking the small man on his ass. As the woman walks away, Luis is cursing at her in Spanish. This makes Mikey chuckle at Luis’ misfortunes. A little comedy relief has calm Mikey’s nerves. Since having that encounter with Gabriel Afeaki, he was shaken up by it. That man isn’t human, and that spells doom for Sasha Volkyeva and for the rest of AWC.
Mikey comes out of reverie when he’s no more than a hundred feet away from Anton Assault, the current Frontier champion. When Mikey gets about a foot away from Anton, he looks at him, wondering if he’s conscious. It is as if he is staring at ramrod straight statue in the likeness of the Frontier champion. Finally, Anton’s dark eyes gazes at Mikey, but his body doesn’t move.
Anton Assault: Appointment?
Mikey O’Reilly: No I don’t.
Anton’s eyes remain locked on Mikey’s.
Anton Assault: Then leave.
Mikey steps back a little holding his hands up in defense.
Mikey O’Reilly: Take it easy, Anton, I’m not here to get into a fight with you. Being a traditionalist, I wanted to wish you the best of luck before we have our match tonight for your Frontier title. It’ll be an honor to face a man of your caliber, Assault. So...good luck.
Mikey O’Reilly has his right hand outstretched in front of Anton Assault, gesturing a handshake. Anton’s eyes doesn’t leave Mikey’s.
Anton Assault: I need no luck. Leave.
Mikey O’Reilly drops his hand to his side and shakes his head. He can’t believe the disrespect emanating from Anton Assault. It angers him deeply. His previous thoughts about Anton no longer apply.
Mikey O’Reilly: I thought of you as a respectable man, Anton, wearing your Frontier belt with pride and dignity, but all of that is a sham, isn’t it? You’re nothing more like your greedy, money-grubbing whore, just like your manager. I put you on a pedestal of pristine greatness, but now, you belong on the floor, broken, useless...a shell of your former self. It’ll be a pleasure for me to take your title away from you, Anton. You don’t deserve. See you in the ring, Assault.
Mikey spins on his heel, showing Anton Assault his back and walks away before he does something he’ll regret later. Anton’s demeanor changes after being compared to his manager. Greedy, money-grubbing whore.
Anton Assault will make him eat those words.
Anton Assault (c) vs. Mikey O'Reilly
STIPULATION: 2/3 Falls
REFEREE: LARS LARSSON
AUTHORS:
Dave Kern: As the rain begins to subside slightly, we’re all set for the main event for tonight’s show, and what a main event it promises to be. It’s the Frontier champion, Anton Assault, taking on Mikey O’Reilly, who has impressed all of the AWC with his recent efforts.
Jeff Marx: What efforts? You call teaming with Paddy O’Shea and losing, efforts? I’m telling you, O’Reilly has to pull a big performance out of his hat tonight if he wants to win this Frontier title.
Dave Kern: Indeed, a Frontier title that Assault has held and retained successfully since June 23rd. Anton Assault will be looking to chalk up another win tonight, but the stipulation in this match will see this contest go on longer than usual. It’s two out of three falls tonight, ladies and gentlemen.
Jeff Marx: Two out of three falls matches come at a premium here in AWC, but with these two guys involved, I can’t look any further than the champion. Sure, he’s by no means my favourite around here, but he stands a great chance if he can weather the storm early on.
Dave Kern shakes his head in disgust at Marx’s poor attempt at humour.
Jeff Marx: What, at least I gave it a shot? You know, with the weather. Oh, never mind.
Dave Kern: This match has been highly anticipated all night long, despite the fact our fanbase here in Anapa Beach has dwindled increasingly throughout the night.
Jeff Marx: Would you blame the fans for leaving, Dave? Standing there in the rain for hours; picking up all kinds of diseases; there’s no telling what could happen.
Dave Kern: Fortunately for us, of course, we’re well protected from the rain. Now before we descend into another rambling session, let’s head straight down to ringside, where a near saturated James Brunt is standing by.
The camera swivels across, taking in the small number of fans scattered throughout the area. A team of AWC employees can be seen erecting a tent for the remaining fans. Many of them have already begun heading over there. James Brunt, now with an umbrella in tow, stands ready as ever.
James Brunt: Ladies and gentlemen, the following is a two out of three falls match! The rules of this match are as follows: The two competitors will enter the ring and to gain a fall over your opponent, you may pin your opponent in the regular fashion, or make him submit. The first competitor to reach two falls will be the winner!
Dave Kern: Seems simple enough.
Jeff Marx: I don’t know. In any case, I hope the wrestlers will understand.
Dave Kern: Oh, I’m sure they will.
Jeff Marx: Ah, if it isn’t the champion…
“WAAAAAARRRLOOOOOOOOOOORRRRRRRRD!!!”
The guttural, almost desperate cry from Steven Rathbone announces Lair of the Minotaur’s “Warlord.” A long guitar slide sounds and then the song enters a fierce rampage, accompanied by flashing red lights and an image of a lion leaping into a pit of men and tearing into them wholesale, sending limbs flying and terrified bodies everywhere.
Amid the crushing riffage, a form dressed in a multicolored dashiki steps out onto the stage: the one and only Anton Assault. Of course, right behind him is his manager, Luis Ferrara, dry washing his hands and casting an arrogant glance up onto the crowd.
Dave Kern: The champion appears to be ready for this one, Jeff. I have a feeling that Ferrara’s presence at ringside could be very beneficial to Assault’s cause tonight.
Jeff Marx: What are you insinuating, Dave? That Luis Ferrara would intentionally interfere to guarantee victory for his client?
Dave Kern: It’s possible, that’s all I’m saying.
Jeff Marx: Always one for suspicions, Dave.
A melodic, beautiful sound of a pair of acoustic guitars fill the arena with music. An Italian style solo plays, then the introduction fades into hard, driving metal as 'The Enemy' by Team Cazares starts to play.
James Brunt: Making his way to the ring, formerly from Belfast, Ireland, now residing in Boston, Massachusetts, weighing 230 pounds... MIKEY O'REILLY!
Mikey O'Reilly is seen slowly making his way onto the ramp. He looks out into the crowd, feeding off the mixed reaction, and throws a few punches, as to get some more shadow boxing in before his match. He then makes his way down to the ring as the yells of Mark Hunter fill the arena.
I finally found myself;
I tried to erase all this hate from my body.
I tried to end all the lies, all the pain that I caused everyone,
But it all seemed so fucking useless!
He rolls into the ring, climbing up one of the corners, raising his arms up.
I can’t forgive
And I can’t forget.
Don’t you know who the fuck I am?
I’m the enemy.
THE ENEMY!
The enemy.
THE ENEMY!
He hops off the corner, removes his leather, porkpie style hat, puts it in the corner of the ring, facing up. He removes his golden catholic cross, kisses it, places it inside the hat and removes his white wifebeater, as he stares his opponent, Anton Assault, dead in the eyes.
Dave Kern: Early showdown here between the two men! There could be fireworks unless Lars Larsson takes control quickly.
Larsson steps between the two competitors, breaking up the potential fight. Larsson explains the rules to both men, slowly and competently. Ferrara speaks a few words of encouragement to his client, then leaves the ring. Larsson checks both men for foreign objects, then gives the all clear. The bell rings to begin this two out of three falls match for the Frontier championship.
Jeff Marx: And we’re off!
Dave Kern: Yep, it’s the Frontier championship on the line. How do you see this match panning out, Jeff? Share with us some of your expertise, please.
Jeff Marx: There’s gonna be a lot of punching, submissions, and perhaps a little more punching. Oh, and grabbing.
Dave Kern: You’ve just described any wrestling match I’ve ever seen, Jeff. Care to go a little deeper?
Jeff Marx: Geez, you’re starting to sound like Smith.
Assault and O’Reilly circle each other cautiously in the middle of the ring, each man jockeying for position early on. O’Reilly, in his traditional boxing stance, takes a few quick jabs at Assault, all of which the champion dodges. They are nothing more than warning shots. Assault quickly ducks and rolls to the side of O’Reilly, taking the challenger down to the soaking wet canvas with a swift kick to the calf muscle. O’Reilly drops to one knee, and Assault looks to take advantage. Assault looks for a half nelson hold on O’Reilly, but the challenger surprises the champion with a quick turn, ending the turn with a left uppercut to the chin, sending Assault backwards.
Dave Kern: Great exchange of holds in the opening moments of the match here. You can see how desperate both men are to get off to a good start in this match. Assault seemed to have that advantage after that vicious kick, but Mikey O’Reilly responded well.
Jeff Marx: He responded with an uppercut to Assault’s jaw. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from watching the champion, it’s not to make him angry.
Assault, rubbing his jaw after the blow, simply shrugs it off. Assault measures O’Reilly with a series of punches of his own, to both his face and midsection. O’Reilly backs against the ropes, with Assault delivering more blows. O’Reilly recovers quickly, though, taking Assault down by the legs and quickly locking on the Sharpshooter. O’Reilly begins to turn Assault over, when the champion, using all his ring savvy, grabs the bottom rope to break the hold.
Dave Kern: What experience and in-ring know-how shown by Anton Assault there! Before O’Reilly could even lock the move in, Assault had the ropes.
Jeff Marx: Yes, kudos to the champion. I can see Assault being troubled by O’Reilly’s unconventional moves, you know. These two have similar styles in terms of their moves. It will be a tough one to call.
O’Reilly lets Assault go, but doesn’t give him time to get back to his feet. O’Reilly drags Assault towards the middle of the ring and looks for another submission, his Belfast Crab. Assault resists the move, however, and uses his tremendous leg muscles to push O’Reilly off of him. O’Reilly turns and runs towards Assault, who predicts this and lowers the top rope, sending O’Reilly flying over. O’Reilly lands unceremoniously on his face. Assault pursues his opponent, eager to get him back into the ring. Assault strikes O’Reilly several times in the head to wear him down, then tosses him back under the bottom rope.
Dave Kern: Once again, Assault showing his desire to finish his opponent off quickly. This contest could have three falls, so I don’t blame the champion for this strategy.
Jeff Marx: It’s far from over, Dave.
Assault stalks his opponent, laying in a few kicks for good measure on O’Reilly’s knee. Assault looks to exacerbate the pain in the knee for O’Reilly, locking in a Texas Cloverleaf. The fans rise in anticipation, thinking O’Reilly could tap out.
Dave Kern: Mikey O’Reilly is in trouble here! He’s stranded in the middle of the ring, nowhere to go!
Jeff Marx: But he’s slowly edging his way towards the ropes.
O’Reilly is finding it difficult to move under the pressure of Assault’s hold, but somehow manages to make a despairing dive to save himself, grabbing the bottom rope for respite. Larsson forces Assault to break the hold, which he does reluctantly. Assault lifts O’Reilly up to his feet and delivers a devastating Distraction Combo, consisting of multiple hard kicks to the sore knee of O’Reilly, followed by an uppercut shotei to O’Reilly’s jaw. O’Reilly staggers backwards against the ropes, grabbing his jaw.
Dave Kern: That has got to be painful!
Jeff Marx: That’s why they call him the fastest fists in AWC!
Dave Kern: Really? Who calls him that?
Jeff Marx: Um, I do, for your information.
Assault, with a head full of steam, moves towards O’Reilly to work on his knee once again. O’Reilly surprises the champion, delivering three headbutts in succession, temporarily knocking the champion backwards. O’Reilly throws caution to the wind and executes his Eatin’ Canvas on the champion, who now lies face down on the canvas. O’Reilly goes for the pin.
Dave Kern: First cover of the match-up!
ONE!
TWO!
The champion kicks out well before the three count, but there is a glint of urgency in the champion’s eyes as he stares at O’Reilly.
Jeff Marx: Assault wasn’t expecting that from O’Reilly at all. Life is full of surprises, though. One of these men has to exert enough pressure on the other to get the first fall, and it has to be soon, before they tire themselves out.
Dave Kern: Wow, an insightful piece of commentary. Keep that up and they might actually pay you each week.
Jeff Marx: They do pay me, Dave.
Dave Kern: Do they?
Assault gets back to his feet, shaking off the cobwebs. O’Reilly, looking to press home his advantage, nails Assault with a few jabs, both left and right. O’Reilly whips Assault against the ropes. Assault hangs on to them, however, anticipating O’Reilly’s intentions. Assault lashes out at an unsuspecting O’Reilly, pushing him back into the corner with his trademark Massacre Combination. Assault hits several hard knees to O’Reilly’s head, then delivers a series of elbows to O’Reilly’s head. O’Reilly staggers forwards, and Assault executes a belly-to-belly suplex across the ring. Assault makes the cover quickly.
ONE!
TWO!
O’Reilly just kicks out before the three count, although it appears that he has been dazed by Assault’s quick succession of attacks. Assault, having failed with the pin, looks to lock on a Triangle choke. Assault does so, and begins to choke the life out of his opponent slowly.
Dave Kern: This is a clever strategy by Assault here. He’s basically depriving O’Reilly of oxygen, thus sapping his energy. Assault is definitely hoping to finish this section of the match and get the first fall.
Jeff Marx: O’Reilly needs to escape this pronto, or he’ll be unconscious. That means an easy win for Anton Assault!
Assault cinches the hold in tighter, but O’Reilly has begun to stir and is close to reaching the ropes. O’Reilly rolls over onto his stomach and begins to stand up, despite Assault still holding on. Inexplicably, O’Reilly lifts Assault up into a powerbomb position over his head and drops Assault with amazing force, causing the champion to land on the back of his head. O’Reilly collapses to the wet canvas, unable to capitalize.
Dave Kern: What a brilliant counter to the Triangle choke! O’Reilly has pulled that one out of nowhere!
Jeff Marx: I’m impressed. How he managed to lift Assault up, coupled with the pressure on his bad knee, is amazing!
Dave Kern: O’Reilly and Assault are both down… neither man able to get to their feet.
Jeff Marx: O’Reilly is stirring.
O’Reilly begins to crawl slowly towards Assault, but Assault has already recovered by the time O’Reilly reaches him. Both men use each other for support as they return to a vertical base. O’Reilly and Assault trade weak punches, with Assault getting the advantage, slipping in a kick to O’Reilly’s knee. O’Reilly goes down suddenly, but just as Assault reaches down to lock into another submission, O’Reilly explodes with his ONE PUNCH~! The crowd, although small, explode with excitement. Assault goes down under the impact of the punch, falling backwards to the canvas like a collapsing building. O’Reilly digs deep and makes the cover.
Dave Kern: That’s the punch to end all punches! Could this be an unlikely first fall victory for Mikey O’Reilly?
Jeff Marx: WHAT A PUNCH! ****IN’ HELL!
O’Reilly makes the pin on a semi-unconscious Assault.
ONE!
TWO!
The fans gathered under the tent are still, waiting for the decisive three count.
Dave Kern: Will Assault kick out?!
Jeff Marx: …
THREE!
Dave Kern: The Frontier champion has been pinned! Mikey O’Reilly has won the first fall, and that changes the dynamic of this match completely!
Jeff Marx: This makes the task for Anton Assault that much more difficult, but do you honestly believe he’ll give up? That punch just looks good. It’s really not that painful, I’d say.
Dave Kern: Would you like to be hit by it, Jeff?
Jeff Marx: Negative.
James Brunt: The winner of the first fall… MIKEY O’REILLY!!!
O’Reilly can’t believe that he’s just won the first fall. He slumps away from the pin predicament and shakes his head in disbelief. The shock washes over him quickly however and within moments he returns to what he has to do. It’s just a normal singles match, one which had to be finished up now.
Anton meanwhile was shaking his head, frankly devastated by his pinfall loss. It just didn’t happen to him anymore. It wouldn’t happen again in his mind and, getting off of the mat, he vowed that it wouldn’t.
The rain was having other ideas on this match continuing now though. It began to pour down from the heavens and it was clear that it was not going to let up. The canvas was slick with the rain and both wrestlers look unsteady on their feet. Referee Lars Larsson is shaking his head and looking towards the announcers. He isn’t sure what he’s going to do.
Dave Kern: Things are looking grim here.
Jeff Marx: You think any of them are going to hurt themselves?
Dave Kern: I don’t know, but it’s a distinct possibility. Lars…well, I think he’s just answered me before I could make the statement.
The little crowd that’s still there is booing now as Lars Larsson calls for the bell. He’s shaking his hands and arms, pointing to the canvas and its horrible state. It’s clear that he has no intention of endangering the wrestlers.
Assault is livid that the match has been stopped, but goes almost ballistic once James Brunt makes the announcement.
James Brunt: This match has been stopped due to impossible conditions. Because of this, your winner….and the NEW FRONTIER CHAMPION….MIKEY O’REILLLLYYYY!!!!
Even O’Reilly looks sick at the result, not wanting it this way. Assault is flipping out at Lars but he high tails it before anything can happen to him.
Dave Kern: Well…I guess things didn’t turn out how they were expected to.
Jeff Marx: Wanna head under some cover and get a beer?
Dave Kern: Yeah. Folks, this has been the Fresh!east special. Goodbye.
And that’s it. The most anticlimactic moment of the evening, one which should have been celebrating the new champion is instead a whimper. The crowds depart, leaving Mikey in the ring on his own, the arena emptying in no time at all.
Meanwhile Sasha looks on from her precipice and sobs softly.
Things are lonely at the top.