AWC Fresh!
"Well, everyone wants to win." - Foster
Fresh! 9 July 2010
FedExForum (capacity 18,119) -- Memphis, TN
By Hook or By Crook
AUTHOR: Hyde
It’s a hot evening in Memphis, and though Sasha Volkyeva’s face would never betray it, she’s starting to regret the overcoat.
She’s 52 now; still beautiful, but even the most expensive make-up can’t hide that she’s flown overnight. There’s a friend or more likely a bodyguard at her side, in a dark suit, with dark glasses, holding a dark bag. Sasha is six feet tall – she would have been a model if she’d grown up in the metropolis – but between her bodyguard and the huge figure of Butch Radder at the door, she looks tiny.
Sasha: Take me to David Harber, please.
Radder: Ms. Volkova? Good to see you again, ma’am.
Butch is actually trying to be nice. Sasha was one of the few people he ever could be bothered to be nice to.
Sasha: It’s Vol-kye-va – how many times?
Radder: Sorry, ma’am.
He opens the door behind him.
Radder: I can’t take you to Pearl, I got to watch the door.
Sasha smiles sweetly, impatiently.
Sasha: Then who can?
Radder: Uh. I’ll radio Taz. Taz can take you.
He reaches for a walkie-talkie, but Ms. Volkyeva lays a hand on his arm, grimacing.
Sasha: The man with the hook? He still works here also?
Radder: Yeah. I mean, yes ma’am.
Sasha: Forget it. I shall find David for myself.
She streams past Radder, the silent bodyguard in close attendance. Radder looks helplessly after them.
Radder: He got it filed down, ma’am!
Introduction
AUTHORS: Hyde and Joe
The repeated piano line of “All My Friends” by LCD Soundsystem underlies a montage of some of the most famous AWC moments, pay-per-view by pay-per-view.
That’s how it starts
Pierce Lavelle taps out to the Life Support, trapped uselessly in Alexander Strider’s arms, and the bell is rung to declare Strider winner of the original Zero To Hero.
We go back to your house
Paddy O’Shea and Crimson O’Malec mounting opposite turnbuckles either side of the ladder they just mounted to become the inaugural Alliance Champions at Solarized.
You check the charts
The red-painted head of Hate at the wheel of a double-decker London bus, smashing full on into the outer wall of Earl’s Court to conclude The Battle of Britain.
And start to figure it out
The Illustrious Face-Eater pulls off his mask at Testimony. And when no one really knows who Adam Dick is, he begins to yell, and stamp his feet, and then gathers up his mask and cape and leaves.
And if it’s crowded, all the better
The first Triangles match, with nine competitors crammed into the unique triangular structure. We see Jack Murphy’s Bull Charge on Alcaeus, while Adam Dick and Tim Martin team up on Pierce Lavelle.
Because we know we’re gonna be up late
Mike Wade slashes desperately at Chainz’s chest with a jagged shard of glass, but Chainz pulls out a tazer and sends Wade into unstoppable convulsions in the sick Cup of Blood match that stole the show at Winter Warfare.
But if you’re worried about the weather
Red Rock shuts Captain Suleimon in the Iron Maiden to win the Ottoman Torture Chamber match at Bloodlust, burning Suleimon’s desperate hand with a red-hot poker to clinch victory.
Then you picked the wrong place to stay
“I’m sorry,” Chainz mutters to Tracy Stanton, “I’ll always love you.” And he hurls himself off the hotel room balcony, hitting the concrete with a slap, the rain pouring down in the shocking finale to Twilight of the Gods.
That’s how it starts
Mike Wade rips the crown off Adam Dick’s head, clocks him in the face with it at the Zero 2 Hero Fan Festival, marking the end to the reign of the Unfuckables.
And so it starts
Garbage Bag Johnny’s Tragically Hipbuster on Kip Brown, securing him Hero status for 2006 and a Transatlantic title shot for Coast To Coast.
You switch the engine on
Adam Dick hits Mike Wade with the Finger Poke of Doom and Wade drops for the three, signalling one last Unfuckable swerve before Wade’s retirement and induction as a Legend at Divide & Conquer.
We set controls for the heart of the sun
Paddy O’Shea with a giant spin barrelling Ellis Nash into the swimming pool. Gabriel Afeaki bearing down on Johnny Lexicon. Nash with her own springboard frog splash off the diving board to catch Colby Korver. Josh Marquez with the Full House off the top of the climbing wall, crashing right through the deck of the Jewel of the Seas.
One of the ways that we show our age
Adam Dick, Garbage Bag Johnny and Pierce Lavelle drinking in a bar. Dick and Lavelle on scooters, charging down the Segway-bound GBJ. Lavelle and GBJ in a pool of marinara sauce, Dick arriving wearing only his boxers. The madness of Coast To Coast.
And if the sun comes up, if the sun comes up
If the sun comes up and we still don’t wanna stagger home
Aimz with the Darcinator on Darcy Crisis in the main event of Untouchable, right before Crisis proposes to her, to receive a kick in the groin that in their twisted world meant “yes”.
Then it’s the memory of our betters
That are keeping us on our feet
Triangles 2006: elevated Decree off the cage wall by Ellis Nash on Seymour Almasy; AgentDash with a huge bulldog on Johnny Lexicon; Jack Murphy’s Fall From Grace driving Darcy Crisis headfirst onto Pierce Lavelle’s body; Garbage Bag Johnny with the ENORMOUS Tragically Hipbuster off the top of the structure and driving Crisis through the announcers’ table... and then Juggernaut Kintu dismantling the cage bracket by bracket, with the competitors still fighting inside... and then Smiley is held firm by half the roster for Mike Wade to TFW him one last time... and then Dr. Kasidy Drake:
“I want to KILL this pathetic little promotion... As of now, AWC is CLOSED!”
You spent the first five years trying to get with the plan
And the next five years trying to be with your friends again
Shots of the reunion show, to this day untelevised, AgentDash winning two belts from Jack Murphy, GBJ regaining the Transatlantic Championship from Darcy Crisis.
But then where are your friends tonight?
Where are your friends tonight?
Where are your friends tonight?
And now shots from backstage, before the show, on the orange couches and leather seats, roster and staff alike, sharing drinks, listening to music, telling jokes, hugging old friends.
If I could see all my friends tonight
If I could see all my friends tonight
If I could see all my friends tonight
If I could see all my friends tonight
Cut in to the Fresh! logo. And then out to the arena. People jumping, shouting, moving. People already loving every second of it.
Face-Eater: FRESHEN UP MO’FUCKAS!
Waters: Welcome to the Club!
Face-Eater: Which I hereby declare a LEBRON-FREE ZONE!
Waters: We are in Memphis, Tennessee tonight, at the – well, the disappointingly corporate FedExForum! Garbage Bag Johnny and Diego Foster are both in action before our main event, which features the return of the Frontier Ch—
Face-Eater: HOLY SHIT!
Waters: What’s up, Dick?
Face-Eater: Oh, nothing, never mind. I just—
Waters: What is it?
Face-Eater: I just thought for a second that my cock doubled in size, and was like, ‘whoa’. FALSE ALARM, PEOPLE. REGULATION COCK HERE, NOTHING OUT OF THE NORM.
Waters: Uh... OK...?
Face-Eater: (hotly) Are you implying I don’t know how to USE my cock?
Waters: No, I don’t believe I—
But Truth’s too late to prevent the AWC Legend from scrambling up onto the announce table and starting to pelvic thrust in his face.
Waters: Uh... I can’t run down the show like this. Sit down, Dick. SIT THE FUCK DOWN.
Dick takes no notice, now engaged in a verbal exchange with the front row fans. Truth peers out from under him, his unflappable face looking rather downtrodden.
Waters: Damn it, just read the card for your own damn selves.
We leave Truth and Facey to their stand-off, the camera panning around to show thousands of fans still leaping up and down and brandishing the signs they’ve brought with them. We catch sight of an advert for STATEPRESS.COM, a poke at a competitor’s website situation (WWA: WHERE’S WALDO AT?), and black lettering on plasterboard that just reads OLSIG?!! SYKES?!! without further explanation.
Face-Eater: (sitting back down) Ah, what’d I miss?
Waters: What the hell were you doing up there?
Face-Eater: Spotted this girl in the crowd who sent me a letter once. Thought I’d blow her a kiss or two.
Waters: You can kiss my black ass, Dick.
Face-Eater: Pipe down, Truth. You’re such a stereotype.
Still Learning
AUTHOR: Hyde
“How much did you have to pay?” David Harber asks, counting out notes from his wallet. He’s seated in his glass-walled office, Sasha Volkyeva the other side of his desk, sipping from a glass of white wine. Sasha grimaces, replacing the glass carefully on his desk.
Sasha: (tapping the rim of the glass) California?
Pearl: I believe so.
Sasha: Muck.
Pearl nods, depressing the intercom button built into his desk.
Pearl: Fred, come and take Ms. Volkyeva’s wine away and find her something French.
Sasha: Or vodka.
Pearl: Or vodka.
Sasha’s hulking bodyguard stands outside the office door, black holdall still in hand as if he’s afraid to put it down. He steps aside as a familiar sight waddles into view. Fortunately for all our sakes, Fredrock is dressed; with a pink t-shirt stretched over his voluminous gut, he looks not dissimilar to GCW’s Clyde Fox, all pasty skin and fat feet. He’s also dropped the tilde, after AWC sold the rights to the FREDROCK~!™ moniker to Dreamworks in anticipation of a cameo appearance in the sixteenth film of the Shrek franchise.
Fredrock: Excuse me, Ms. Fuckyouover!
The Ice Queen swivels in her seat and delivers a resounding slap to Fredrock’s face, which he takes with a beaming smile before scuttling away with her discarded glass.
Pearl: He’s still learning.
Sasha: So I see.
She smiles, and momentarily Harber smiles, too. It’s been a long time since they could joke. But now this is business, and he wipes his face clean, clasping dollar bills of various denominations in his outstretched hand.
Pearl: Here, I’m sure this’ll cover it.
Sasha waves him away.
Sasha: Forget it, I don’t need the money. You were more than generous to pay for my flight over here and the hotel. Don’t tell me you want what’s in the bag all that much?
She motions to what’s being held by her bodyguard. Pearl smiles apologetically.
Pearl: No, you’re right. It’s a favour to a friend, but I could take it or leave it. I thought it would be a nice opportunity to see you, too. How do you like your room?
Sasha: It’s wonderful.
Pearl: I booked you in for the week. I thought maybe we could—
But Sasha is already gravely shaking her head.
Sasha: I must fly back tomorrow, David. I’m sorry. I have a business to run, too.
Pearl: Of course. Of course you do, I know that.
But David Harber doesn’t look like he considered that at all, and his face collapses for a brief moment. Fortunately Fredrock returns, bearing a bottle of white wine in one hand and a bottle of vodka in the other.
Sasha: Stolichnaya?
Her face falls.
Sasha: I suppose it will do.
Pearl: Fred, pour Ms. Volkyeva a drink, please.
Fredrock reaches into his pants and pulls out a corkscrew, with which he opens the wine with a flourish before either David or Sasha can intervene.
Sasha: Just vodka, please.
Fredrock grins, and takes to the vodka bottle enthusiastically. But screw-tops are not designed to be corkscrewed open, and the top of the bottle breaks off, vodka slopping to the surface of the desk. Harber stands, his eyes thunderous.
Pearl: Get a dishcloth and clear this up, Fred. I will pour the drinks.
Fredrock slinks away in shame while David Harber reaches for the bottle, but Sasha puts her hand on his.
Sasha: Never mind the drink, hmm? Our deal is still intact? You have the papers?
Pearl reaches somewhat reluctantly for a contract, sliding it across the dry portion of the desk.
Pearl: Just know that I’m not doing this in exchange for the belt. I’m doing this for you, because you deserve this.
Ms. Volkyeva coughs quietly.
Sasha: Why you want to do this is not of my concern. I went to Beijing for you, I brought the belt to you, and in exchange, L2E retains all Eurasian rights to the AWC name, copyrights, and history. Is that what you have here?
She gestures to the papers. Pearl nods.
Pearl: You can read them if you want.
Sasha: I have no interest in reading. I trust you.
Her blue eyes catch the light as she says so, and Harber swallows, hard. The woman once gimmicked as “Mother Russia” takes a pen and signs her name neatly at the end of the contract, before flipping back through and initialling each page in the top corner. Without looking up, she calls to her bodyguard.
Sasha: Yuri, bring the bag.
He wordlessly enters and places the bag next to Sasha, obediently awaiting his next cue.
Sasha: Give David the belt.
Yuri bends down and unzips the bag, straightening up with the contents in hand just as Fredrock returns with several cloths in his hands. He drops them in surprise.
Fredrock: The Just Wrestling Championship! But why!
Harber looks grimly at his janitor.
Pearl: A favour to a friend, Fred. I had Ms. Volkyeva here recover it from the Chinese authorities for me.
Fredrock: But... why did they have it?
Pearl: Just Wrestling is under investigation, you see, and in the US, all assets are being seized. The Chinese confiscated the belt when Tim Shipley was over there, but nobody came to collect it from the US Embassy – which, I guess would be because the Chinese would have conveniently neglected to tell the Americans.
Ms. Volkyeva nods gravely, attesting to her experience in the East.
Pearl: So the belt went on general sale in a police auction, that’s usual procedure when no one claims property they’ve seized. I figured I’d do Shipley a favour, and asked Ms. Volkyeva to go out there for me and bring the belt back.
Fredrock: But... now that it’s back in the US, won’t it just be ceased?
Pearl: Seized. No, Fred, because I bought it from the Chinese. It’s my property now, not Just’s.
Fredrock gapes, trying to process the legal entanglements.
Fredrock: Ohhhhh.
Pearl: Now, can you wipe up this mess?
Fredrock: I sure can, sir!
Pearl: Sasha, why don’t I show you to somewhere more comfortable to spend the evening...
They stand and Harber ushers Sasha out, his hand on her back.
Pearl: We have a fantastic Lounge area...
Peyote Jones vs Diego Foster
CHAMPIONSHIP: None
STIPULATION: Singles
REFEREE: Richie Travis
AUTHOR: Hyde
In the opening encounter of the night, two names that have secured themselves some recognition in recent weeks would go head to head. Peyote Jones’ backstage antics have won him a cult following, reinforced by his impressive display in the oil spill fundraiser last week, while Diego Foster inked his name in the record books by defeating T.A. Giles in the Zero to Hero final, but at the cost of endangering his fellow professional’s health.
The two combatants are quite evenly matched for poundage, and neither has yet taken an AWC defeat, which provides a real sense of intrigue as referee Richie Travis opens the match. Jones signals his intentions by not giving Foster even a moment to feel his way into the match, spearing the Zero to Hero winner straight to the mat, and the two descend into a furious brawl that leaves them both red-faced and gasping for breath.
Though Foster is initially keen on matching Peyote’s high-energy style, the Prodigy has to change his plans after barely kicking out following a perfect Asai moonsault. He is able to bring the pace down, allowing his technical skills to shine, and Jones seems to lose heart as he is taken down to the canvas again and again. Foster drops his guard for a moment which allows Jones to catch him in a waistlock and attempt a German suplex, but Diego spins out and catches Jones in the uranage position, then lifting him high and dropping him into a backbreaker. The move gets a two-count, with a spent Peyote Jones just about able to kick his legs.
Sensing his opponent at his mercy, Foster pulls Jones halfway up into a reverse DDT position and holds him there a short while, the former Just Wrestling Champion helpless, before pounding at him with a sequence of quick European uppercuts. Jones takes the blows and cannot defend himself as Diego Foster turns him over and hoists him up into the sit-out tiger driver. The finishing move could not quite defeat T.A. Giles at Zero to Hero, but it more than does for Peyote Jones who does not move a muscle as Richie Travis counts the three.
Post-match Interview
AUTHOR: Steve
We cut to backstage now, where Sarah Kennedy Lavelle is standing by, waiting for the victorious Diego Foster to emerge through the curtains. She smiles as she sees him, waving him over. What man could resist an invitation like that. He's still catching his breath, but looks otherwise composed, running his hand through his semi-long hair as he waits for Sarah's questions.
Sarah: First off, Diego, let me congratulate you on your win tonight. How did you approach this match, coming in?
Foster: Well, I know I've got a match with Garbage Bag Johnny looming on the horizon, and I've definitely been training for it. Peyote Jones has a very similar, unpredictable style to GBJ, so tonight, I thought, would be a good measuring stick for my progress.
Sarah: So how exactly have you been training?
Foster: When you're in the ring with these guys, you've got to be ready for anything. You've got to stay focused, can't take your eyes off them even for a second. Reflexes are important, so I've been working on my reaction time.
She nods her head, raising her eyebrows slyly.
Sarah: Seems like it's been paying off.
Foster: Well, yeah, I'm pleased with the result, obviously, but I've still got some work to do. Peyote Jones, he's got a lot of latent talent, he's a former JUST Champion, after all, but you can't really put him in the same class as GBJ just yet.
Sarah: How do your assess your chances in your upcoming Transatlantic Championship match?
Foster: It's going to be a tough one, no doubt about it, but I'll be doing my best to be ready for it. I feel momentum is on my side and I think I've got a a good shot at taking the Transatlantic title.
Sarah: Well, I'm sure everyone's looking forward to that match. Changing the subject, last week we heard T.A. Giles refuse your apology and challenge you to you match. What's your response to that?
Foster pauses for a second, likely considering the most tactful way to field this one.
Foster: I've never been one to back down from a challenge. Giles put on a hell of a performance at Zero to Hero, and if he wants a rematch with me, he's got it, anytime he wants it.
Sarah: It doesn't sound as if he's looking for a simple rematch, however. I believe the words he used were "grudge match." He's coming into this looking for revenge.
He raises his hands in the air, shrugging his shoulders.
Foster: You know, I manned up and apologized to the guy. I don't know what more I can do. There's some guys that there's just no talking to. If he wants revenge, he's welcome to try and get it.
Sarah: Do you consider him a threat?
Foster turns up his mouth, as if unsure how to answer the question.
Foster: It all depends on how he approaches the match. If he's too hot-headed, he's going to make some mistakes. I can tell you that from first-hand experience. So I'd recommend him to keep his cool in the ring if he wants a shot at beating me. He was tough the first time, even on one leg, so I'm definitely taking this match seriously.
Sarah: Any idea when it'll be?
Foster: Honestly, I don't know. I'm supposed to meet with Pearl later tonight. I'm not sure what he wants to talk about, but maybe it'll come up. We'll see.
Sarah: Well thanks for your time. Ladies and gentlemen, Diego Foster!
Cheering can be heard from the fans in the arena, watching the interview on the big screen. The two exchange polite nods before Diego heads off screen in the direction of his locker room.
Waters: Diego Foster has a lot on his plate at the moment, with matches with GBJ and T.A. Giles lined up. Do you think the kid is up to the challenge, Dick?
Face-Eater: If you want my opinion, he's trying too hard to be Mr. Nice Guy. Sucking up to the fans with some fake-ass humble interview isn't going to help him win the Transatlantic title.
Waters: Maybe not, but it'll win him some respect.
Face-Eater:: Take it from a former champion: if he wants to be successful in this sport, he's got to be bloodthirsty. He needs to find that killer instinct we saw in him at Zero to Hero. The Diego Foster we saw tonight, he's going nowhere fast.
Waters: Only time will tell what lies in the future of this promising 22 year old.
Obstacle 1
AUTHOR: Hyde
Backstage, Pearl rounds the top of the spiral staircase, bounding up the last few stairs with enthusiasm. Sasha Volkyeva follows with a more measured, stately gait, and joins David Harber at the door to the Legends’ Lounge. The Entertainment Manager has a wide smile on his face as he turns to face her.
Pearl: This is the jewel in our crown, Sasha. We have a fully stocked bar, silver service on demand, a skybox...
Sasha: That sounds very luxurious, Pearl, but I don’t think Jack wants us to come in.
She inclines her head behind Harber, who turns to see the hulking frame of Jack Murphy standing in the doorway, his arms crossed.
Pearl: Jack! You do remember Sasha?
Taking note of the ice-cold glare Ms. Volkyeva gives him, the Bull just nods measuredly.
Murphy: Hope you’ve been well.
Sasha: I am well, Jack.
Pearl: I was just about to show Sasha the Lounge, Jack. Everything’s to your satisfaction up here?
Murphy doesn’t smile.
Murphy: It’s great, David, but I was led to believe that the Lounge was for the exclusive use of members of the Roll of Legends.
As he says this, Liam and Tim Martin walk up behind Murphy. Liam flips a grape into his mouth.
Pearl: Well... yes, that’s certainly the intention, but Sasha’s come all the way from Russia. We can bend the rules just for tonight, Jack!
Murphy considers this, then gravely shakes his head.
Murphy: I’d rather we didn’t, David, if it’s all the same to you.
Harber’s cheeks flush as he senses the embarrassment of being talked down to by a man whose career he made. Sasha clicks her teeth and turns to go.
Sasha: David, let’s go. I have seen all I need to see. I have to get some rest, anyhow.
Pearl: No, wait a minute. I want you to get a view from the skybox. Gentlemen...?
Murphy and the Fists don’t move a muscle, and now their positioning begins to resemble quite a formidable physical barrier at the door. Liam munches another grape.
T. Martin: Sorry, Pearl. We got a meeting.
Pearl: A meeting?
And suddenly Harber puts two and two together, clocking the matching logos on the front pockets of the black polo shirts all three are wearing.
Pearl: This isn’t a UPW meeting?
Martin nods.
T. Martin: That’s what it is.
Murphy: Liam and Tim have kindly agreed to help me out with a little business we got to deal with here in the AWC branch.
Pearl: Oh, and what business would that be?
Murphy: Don’t worry, David, we’ll talk to you if it comes to that. Nothing to worry about for now.
Pearl: For now?
A vein starts to twitch in Pearl’s forehead, but he’s detached from the moment by the click-clack of Sasha Volkyeva’s heels making their exit.
Sasha: I’m leaving, David.
Pearl: Wait! I’ll walk you to your car.
He looks back as he leaves, Murphy and the Fists watching him from the door to the Lounge. He begins to say something. But then he realises he doesn’t know what he wants to say.
Class
Author: Jon
The cameras catch Steve Harrison outside the FedExForum looking concerned while talking on the phone. He begins pacing his patience running thin with the person he is on the phone with.
Harrison: Look you are my lawyer.
….
Harrison: What do you mean the judge is wary?
….
Harrison: Just show him tape of Peyote Jones and he will understand how difficult it is to take care of him.
….
Harrison: Yea, he is a slippery guy and I mean that he is really a slimy sticky mess.
….
Harrison: Real mature.
….
Harrison: I am paying you to work so how about you get off your ass and convince the judge that what I am doing should count for community service. For real…what I am doing is good for society.
….
Harrison: Then do it.
The camera continues to roll and Chase Harvey walks out from behind it and towards Harrison. Steve hangs up his phone and then looks up to see the onrushing Chase. Steve sighs and looks angrily at Chase.
Harvey: Harrison… what was that all about?
Harrison looks around confused.
Harrison: Are you spying on me?
Harvey: Just doing some reporting, so how are things with Peyote?
Harrison: What no parrot this time?
Harvey laughs but then stops as he sees how serious Harrison looks.
Harvey: I, um… guess not.
Harrison: Ugh, things with Peyote are horrible as usual do you like to see me angry?
Harvey: Not at all. How do you feel about your opponent tonight?
Harrison: Garbage Bag Johnny?
Harrison scoffs
Harvey: He is a legend in the wrestling world.
Harrison: Legendary at looking like a bum. Look I don’t care how many titles he has won or how many backs he has massaged, I am Steve Harrison.
Harvey: What does that mean?
Harrison laughs
Harrison: It means I bring respectability to the ring. I look good, I smell good, I eat fine cuisine, and I have class. I am the future, not because I say it because I will prove it tonight when I rearrange Johnny’s already fucked up teeth.
Harvey: Ok, well…
Harrison puts his hand.
Harrison: Shut up peasant and make sure my locker room is pristine.
Harrison walks away leaving Harvey looking confused as the scene fades.
Garbage Bag Johnny vs Steve Harrison
STIPULATION: Singles Match
REFEREE: Don Porter
AUTHOR: Trent
This is a face and heel match, with Garbage Bag Johnny getting the support of the fans and Steve Harrison getting a negative reaction. Harrison is off to a fast-pace start, taking out GBJ’s knees with a sweeping kick. Harrison pounds out GBJ on the ground before immediately attempting a leg lock, but the Transatlantic champ scrambles out of it to the pleasure of the crowd. Steve Harrison chases him down again, eager to prove himself by getting a win over AWC’s champ. He throws him into the corner and stomps away, taking advantage of GBJ’s apparent exhaustion from being both wrestler and Commissioner of GCW.
The match continues this way until GBJ catches Harrison off guard with a Brainbuster DDT. GBJ immediately goes for a quick pin, trying to finish it early, but it yields a one count. GBJ goes right back to work, landing a couple of quick elbow drops to keep Harrison down. Eager to get it over with, GBJ springs to the top rope then leaps off attempting a crossbody frogsplash – his trademark Dumpster Dive. Harrison rolls quickly out of the way and GBJ meets canvas. Harrison is quick to capitalize, locking on a single-leg Boston Crab.
Despite his leg being yanked off, GBJ manages to pull himself to the ropes. He might be exhausted, but he isn’t a quitter. Referee Don Porter calls for Harrison to let go. Harrison leaves it on a little longer than Porter would like and GBJ’s face is one of a man in pain. After being admonished by Don Porter, Harrison takes out his frustration and begins mercilessly feeding kicks into GBJ’s leg. Then, he stands him up and hooks him into a double-arm DDT. He tries to hit his set-up move Probation, but GBJ squirms out.
Harrison still has a good grip on GBJ from the rear. All dirty jokes aside, Harrison attempts a belly-to-back suplex that is absolutely textbook, but GBJ, still agile, manages to land on his feet. He stumbles a bit from his damaged leg but keeps his ground. Harrison turns around and doesn’t expect a kick to the gut and the Tragically Hipbuster!
To the fans’ delight, Garbage Bag, though he thought about doing his teabag-pin, drops onto Harrison with a regular pin. He gets the three count and narrowly avoids a massive upset.
This Ain't No Intervention...
AUTHORS: Steve and Hyde
It's been a long night. You can see it in David Harber's eyes, if you look close enough, the blood vessels vivid and on display for the world to see. The look on his face suggests he's aware that tonight is only one of what is sure to be a long series of long nights. It suggests that manning the helm of a major professional wrestling outfit is not all sunshine and lollipops. Not that he ever thought it would be. But still...
Looking up, his expression softens a little, but only just. Diego Foster walks into his office, still wearing his wrestling gear from earlier in the night, the sweat still glistening on his skin.
Pearl: Ah, Diego. Thanks for coming by. Please, take a seat.
Harber gestures to the seat in front of his desk with a flourish, but Foster only nods respectfully.
Foster: That's alright. I'm ok standing.
Pearl: Fine, fine, doesn't matter.
Three seconds in, and an uncomfortable silence has already sept into the room, neither man sure what to say next. Diego glances down, before collecting himself and resuming eye contact.
Foster: So, um, what exactly did you want to see me about?
Pearl: Yeah, see... you and I, we need to have a talk.
Diego spreads his hands, forcing a smile.
Foster: Well, that's why I'm here.
Harber nods, matching Diego's manufactured smile with one of his own.
Pearl: It's about your performance in the ring.
Foster: What about it?
Pushing himself up from his desk, Harber takes his time to walk around to the front. Looking Foster up and down, he leans himself back against it.
Pearl: I may have been out of the business for four years, but before that, AWC was a pretty big deal. And most of that time, I was in or around the place, guiding careers, watching people rise and fall. I've seen a lot of young guys like you come up through the ranks - a lot. Guys who were hungry, guys that would do anything to make it to the top.
Foster: Well, everyone wants to win.
Pearl: True. But everyone's opponents don't usually get carried out of the ring on a stretcher after the match.
Foster visibly slumps, letting out a groan.
Foster: This is about Giles?
Harber folds his arms, shaking his head.
Pearl: No, this is about you.
Foster: But I already apologized for that last week. What do you want me do, lick his fucking boots?
Pearl sighs, clearly not used to the role of disciplinarian.
Pearl: Listen, I don't want to be the bad guy here, but you need to look at the big picture. You won Zero to Hero, you've all but secured your place as a main event fixture here in AWC. You're a representative of this company now, and you can't continue to act recklessly in the ring.
Foster: Recklessly?
Pearl: Look, you know Pierce Lavelle, right? He started out just like you - just the same. And he would powerbomb guys into the turnbuckle. Guys who didn't even know yet how to take a powerbomb on the canvas!
Foster: I don't know what that has to do with me.
The Entertainment Manager sighs, frustrated.
Pearl: I don't need to rehash your history, because you know as well as I do that this isn't the first time you've been causing problems in the ring. I just want you to think long and hard before you use that move of yours again.
Foster: The Diamond Flash? You're banning it?
Pearl: I'm not banning it. I just want you to promise me you won't use it again. We'll call it a gentleman's agreement.
It's Diego's turn to sigh. His whole posture slumps, already defeated.
Foster: I guess I don't really have a choice in this.
Pearl: No, not really.
Foster half turns away, before shaking his head sadly.
Foster: Look, it was never my intention to try and break Giles' neck, or whatever. The Diamond Flash, it's a move designed to hurt people, people that deserve it. The move was never meant for him. He kind of just fell into it.
Pearl: All the more reason not to use it.
It's barely perceptible, but Diego nods, swallowing deeply before replying.
Foster: Ok. Fine, I won't use it anymore.
Pearl: I'm glad to hear that. Well, that's all I wanted to discuss with you.
Diego nods again without making eye contact, turning to leave the office without another word. Harber tries to look reassured as he watches Diego go, but for whatever reason, he can't make himself smile anymore. Not tonight. He's all smiled out.
Someone Who Can Help
AUTHOR: Kongo
On the big screen comes the image of a dejected wrestler looking down at his duffle bag, shaking his head. Slow, somber music plays to illustrate his despair.
Voiceover: Is this you? A wrestler seeking to break out in the business, but never seeming to make it?
The wrestler gets up and walks to the door of the locker room, staring out into the hall with longing, yearning for success.
Voiceover: Does everything seem to be standing in your way? Is there just no way out?
The wrestler shakes his head and turns around, letting the door shut behind him.
Voiceover: Train more. Work harder. Pay your dues. They told you everything in the book, but none of it's helping.
The wrestler throws himself back against the wall and buries his face in his hands.
Voiceover: But don't give up!
Filled with hope, the wrestler lifts his face and looks up, wonder dancing in his eyes.
Voiceover: There IS someone who can help!
Quick cut! Upbeat music! Now we're in an office whose back wall is filled with books. A wood desk marks the foreground, and in between is a high-backed leather chair. Surprise! It whirls around and a short Latino man with a rat-like face and a fedora tilted at a rakish angle faces the camera, leaning over the desk and pointing at the camera.
For those who followed AWC a few years ago, he might be familiar. For those who are new, he wastes no time with his introduction.
"My name is Luis Ferrara, the founder, owner, and proprietor of the Wrestling Cartel, and I can help YOU!"
Ferrara slams both hands down on the desk, rising out of his chair somewhat. He wears a sharp white suit jacket open over a black wifebeater.
Ferrara: Ya don't need books or advice from some old washed up trainer who is gonna live vicariously through ya, knowhutamsayin'?! What ya need is to pony up and give the Cartel a call! I am the PRE-MIER mind in wrestling today, and so if you let me manage your career, let me guide you, make all the RIGHT business decisions instead of the backwards-headed bullshi--damn, can't say that on TV! But you know what I'm saying! Gimme the reins, chico, and I'll take you straight to the top!
Ferrara stuffs his hands into the pockets of his white slacks, strolling casually around his desk. The camera backs up to give him space.
Ferrara: Now, some people will come in here talkin' a big game about credentials, what they did in the past, yadda yadda, blah blah shish boom bah, well I say FAH, I gave credentials to ya mama last night! Your career don't gotta be stagnatin' like no fish in no damn puddle, 'cause you know what they say, you could ALWAYS be doin' just a little bit better!
Ferrara ticks off the ways as he goes over them:
Ferrara: Frontier champ? BOOM! Transatlantic! Infinite Gauntlet? BANG! Elite Champion! No-name pipsqueak outta Iowa? BAZOINNNNNG! Starship captain! I can make it happen, brotha, I can make it all come true, I'm like a wish dealer, knowhutamsayinyeahyouknowhutamsayin!
Ferrara points at the camera insistently once more.
Ferrara: Don't hesitate, 'cause every second you wait is a second the rates jump higher! The phones, they're ringin' so bad I don't even got a prop phone to show ya for this joke! We hadda hook that one up in the real office! Everybody wants my management skills, wants to join the Cartel, and because you're a snot-nosed bandwagoner that succumbs to peer pressure, you do, too!
Ferrara: So if YOU wanna be on top of the Atlantic Wrestling Club, and I know you do, give the Wrestling Cartel a call at 1-800-FUK-YOU-PAY-ME, that's 1-800-555-555-555-555-555-6, and we'll hook you up!
BAM! Spinning Wrestling Cartel logo! Ferrara flexes and poses his wimpy muscles even though most of his body is obscured by the graphic.
Voiceover: Don't wait! Call the Wrestling Cartel at 1-800-555-555-555-555-555-555-555-555-555-555...
OMG
AUTHOR: J. Christopher
Chase Harvey is standing backstage, microphone in hand, glancing up and down the hallway. It almost looks as if he's waiting for someone. To be perfectly honest, it looks as if he's waiting on Anyone. In the slight distance, that Anyone just happens to be exiting out one of the corridor doors.
Harvey: Hey!
Harvey speedwalks up the corridor and the slightly expression on Van Isaac Pryce's face shows that this is definitely an impromptu interview.
Harvey: Van Isaac Pryce!
Van gives a smirk and a salute.
VIP: Whoa. Hol' up there, Harv. That ain't no way to introduce a man on his way to what might possibly be the biggest match in the beginning of his career!
Chase blinks in confusion.
Harvey: I--
VIP: May I?
Van holds his hand out. Chase looks at it, then at the mic and then back up at VIP. VIP makes the "gimmie" motion with his hand. Chase frowns, but reluctantly hands the microphone over.
VIP: Good boy.
VIP grins nice and big, before bringing the microphone up to his lips.
VIP: Memphis, Tennessee. I'M BAAAAAAAACK!
The crowd pops and Van returns the microphone to Chase.
Harvey: So, how does it feel to have a title shot so early?
VIP: Are you kiddin' me? It feels awesome! Not only do the Suits in the office recognize my skills, but now I've got a chance to bring the Frontier Championship home to my P1's!
Harvey: Feeling pretty good about your chances, then?
VIP: Let me put it to you this way, Harvs. In one corner, we got some AWC legend that I ain't ever heard of. He could have skills, yes. But how long has it been since he's even stepped in the Squared Circle. A lot has changed since 1901. Now, he's going up against, not one, but two epic, hungry, unbelievable powerhouses that want this Frontier Championship around their waists. You think Over The Hill can handle that?
Harvey: And what of your other opponent, T.A. Giles?
VIP: The Notorious T.A.G. and I are in the same boat. We both kicked ass at Zero to Hero. We both got the drive. We both got the talent. We both deserve to walk away with this victory, tonight. But!
Harvey: I had a feeling there was a but.
VIP: If you think, just because I got some respect for my peers. Just because I'm new to the game. Just because I got mad love for all my people out there in this packed, sold out, unbelievably kickass townÉ
The crowd pops again for their city!
VIP: If you think I ain't goin' into this Main Event with every single fiber of my soul burning with desire for this win, you better think again. Tonight? In just a few minutes. I'll be makin' not one. Not two. But three different histories! I'm sending' AgentDash back to whatever Retirement Home he snuck out of. I'm puttin' Giles in the I Coulda' Been A Contender category and I'm straight moonwalkin' outta' here with the Frontier Championship!
Van leans in to pull the microphone closer to his face.
VIP: What more can I say?
And with that, Van spins on his heels and continues on his purposeful walk down the corridor.
Face-Eater: Nothing! Please, don't say anything else! Fuck, my ears.
Waters: I like him. He's got the right mix of heart and confidence.
Face-Eater: Your burning sexual desires aside, Truth, I wish this kid would talk less. Every week we hear blah blah P1's, blah blah slang term, blah blah mad love yo'. Does he ever shut up and wrestle?! I mean, really. Who wants to sit up and listen to somebody run off at the mouth for extended periods of time when there could be action happening! Sports Entertainment, people!
Waters: Dick, all he was--
Face-Eater: I'm talking here! Stop being so damn rude!
AgentDash (c) vs T.A. Giles vs Van Isaac Pryce
CHAMPIONSHIP: Frontier
STIPULATION: Three-Way Match
REFEREE: Lars Larsson
AUTHOR: Hyde
Waters: It’s main event time, Dick, and we’re about to witness the return to an AWC ring of simultaneous Frontier and Relentless Champion, AgentDash.
Face-Eater: Those reigns shouldn’t even be recognised, Truth. Dash won the belts together in one night against a washed-up, out-of-shape old man at the reunion show—
Waters: I think Jack Murphy would resent the suggestion.
Face-Eater: Do you know what Jack thinks, Truth? DO YOU? I suggest you shit in your own mouth – resent that suggestion.
James Brunt steps into the ring, ready to call the tale of the tape once more.
Brunt: Ladies and gentlemen! The following contest is our main event, and will be a three-way match for the Frontier Championship!
There is a great cheer from the crowd.
Waters: What a history there is behind this title belt. Past champions include Andy Murray, who went on to become the longest reigning GCW World Heavyweight Champion in history; Tim Shipley, who is tearing up GCW in his long-running feud with that very same Murray; our own Live Events Coordinator Darcy Crisis; Legends including Ellis Nash and Mike W—
Face-Eater: HEM HEM!
Waters: I was getting to you.
Face-Eater: I was the greatest Frontier Champion of all!
Waters: Yes, Dick. You held the belt for ten whole days.
Face-Eater: I HAD TO DROP THE BELT SO I COULD UNMASK! Uh, shit, you really think that dickhole Shipley coulda beaten me otherwise?
“Born to Win” by Papoose begins to play, and the popular heavyweight Van Isaac Pryce salutes his fans on the stage.
Brunt: Introducing the first challenger... from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, weighing in at 275 pounds... VAN! ISAAC! PRYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYCE!!!!
VIP holds his arms to the sky and throws the ‘V’ sign to the crowd, a beaming smile on his face.
Waters: VIP came to AWC straight out of bouncing at Philly nightclubs. I don’t think he expected to be fighting for a hallowed championship belt in only his third match.
Face-Eater: What can I say, Truth, this here ‘new era’ AWC is watered down. We would’na had this back in ’05.
Waters: Dick?
Face-Eater: Yeah.
Waters: Mikey O’Reilly.
Face-Eater: I would say point taken, except you remember how O’Reilly won the belt? It was a huge fucking rainstorm at an outdoor event, Truth. It was a three falls match that the referee abandoned after one. It was the biggest fucking travesty of justice I’ve ever seen, and Anton Assault won that motherfucker straight back two weeks later.
Waters: ...Point taken.
The lights dim and a piano plays. T.A. Giles strolls out onto the ramp, his face impassive, Astronautalis’ “The Wondersmith and his Sons” accompanying him.
Brunt: His opponent, and the second challenger... from Brandon, Manitoba, Canada, weighing in at 195 pounds... TEE! AY! GIIIIIIIILESSSSS!
Face-Eater: Now, Truth, I heard AgentDash taking heat backstage for this whole ‘one night only’ thing, week by week, whatever. But we’re still sharing this T.A. with GCW, damn it – something ain’t right here.
Waters: He’s hot property, Dick. A late bloomer. Harber spotted the talent and if GCW isn’t using him right, it’s up to AWC to step in.
Face-Eater: Just saying, Truth. Push him to the moon just ‘cause GCW won’t? That’s not good enough for me. You don’t put the gold on someone’s not committed. And that’s why VIP’s my pick tonight.
Giles enters the ring, nodding curiously at VIP, who’s still playing to the crowd.
Waters: We saw Van Isaac Pryce refer to T.A. Giles as, quote unquote, the ‘notorious T.A.G.’ last week on Fresh!. Giles ain’t exactly on his wavelength.
Face-Eater: I hate that ‘quote unquote’ bullshit. I mean, if you say it like that, you’re actually quoting nothing. I could say, Truth Waters says QUOTE UNQUOTE QUOTE UNQUOTE QUOTE UNQUOTE I’M A FAGGOT, and I wouldn’t be misquoting you.
“Tie Me Up! Untie Me!” by mewithoutYou crashes out of the speakers, and the crowd gives a quite muted reception to the returning AgentDash.
Brunt: And their opponent... from Berkeley, California, weighing in at 190 pounds... the AWC Frontier Champion... AAAAAAAAAAAAGENT... DAAAASSHHHHH!!!
Face-Eater: The guy who’s too good for an AWC contract. And that’s why they’re not all over his shit here in Memphis, Truth. Anyone else from the old days, it’s all RAAAAAHHHHH!, y’know, SCCW-style and shit.
Waters: Dash is getting a broadly positive reception.
Face-Eater: For some random guy, maybe, but for an AWC double champion? This is worse than that time Ellis tried to do an in-ring.
Waters: I don’t remember that ever happening.
Face-Eater: Not with Dash either, though. Some of these guys, Truth, could do with a lesson or two at the Adam Dick School of Face-Eating.
AgentDash hands his Frontier Championship to James Brunt as the ring announcer departs the ring, while head referee Lars Larsson steps in the middle of the three competitors and lays down the law.
Waters: You know, Dick, AgentDash once held the Core Wrestling Classic Championship...
Face-Eater: PAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!
Waters: ...just like you did.
Face-Eater: Hey, I was young and impressionable, AND THEY PROMISED ME BROWNIES.
The bell rings, and Giles and Dash both fly at Pryce without a word. The two cruiserweights batter at VIP’s head with their forearms, and Pryce can’t fend them both off for long. They gather him in and send him to the ropes, and on his return Dash goes low and Giles high with corresponding dropkicks.
Waters: T.A. Giles teaming up with the champion early on. They’ve got very similar builds...
Face-Eater: They look EXACTLY THE FUCKING SAME.
Dash slaps Giles’ hand, which is greeted with a frown from T.A. Giles that is unseen by the champion as he pivots on the turnbuckle and stands on the second rope. VIP mows Giles down with a clothesline as he rises but Dash leaps from behind with a double axehandle.
Face-Eater: That bone on bone CRUNCH was a little slice of awesome, Truth. Tasted like breakfast cereal.
Pryce tumbles over, clutching his head, and Dash bends to work on him as Giles gets up. The Zero to Hero runner-up comes off the ropes as the one-time Triangles winner holds Pryce in a sleeper, Giles leaping with both feet forward to bury his boots in Pryce’s unprotected abdomen!
Waters: More double-team action from the cruiserweights as they try to nullify the threat of Van Isaac Pryce.
Giles rolls onto his side and gets to his feet, Dash putting out a hand to help him. Giles frowns and refuses the offer, getting up on his own steam, and AgentDash makes eye contact, raising his eyebrows at the Canadian. Giles ignores him, rushing forward to stomp three times on the downed Pryce.
Face-Eater: AgentDash hardly fighting like a champion here.
Waters: From the very start he’s trying to build alliances, and it seems T.A. Giles can see straight through that.
Face-Eater: He’s gotta be careful, Giles is as slippery as a snake judging from his promotion-juggling.
Waters: Will you let it drop? AWC and GCW have good relations and from what I’ve heard, more talent-sharing isn’t out of the qu—
Face-Eater: No thank you. I spent enough years laughing at that Scottish King of Faggot to have to accept that one day he started amounting to something.
All three are on their feet now, and Giles engages Pryce in a grapple. The move seems somewhat unwise as despite his having been beaten down, VIP is still by far the stronger and begins to back Giles up – until Dash calmly steps behind him, back-to-back, reaches back to grab him around the neck, and sits down. VIP is jerked roughly out of the grapple and his neck snaps down on Dash’s shoulder.
Waters: Punishing neckbreaker by AgentDash.
Giles is thrown off balance and falls into the ropes, Dash taking the opportunity to try a quick pinfall on Pryce.
ONE!
TWO!
T.A. Giles springboards off the second rope and breaks the fall with a senton splash!
Waters: Great athleticism!
Face-Eater: Dash isn’t happy!
AgentDash gets straight to his feet and glares at Giles, who returns the look coolly and invites Dash to approach him. Dash thinks for a moment, then suddenly swings a right hook, catching Giles. A second right hook is ducked, and Giles spins behind Dash, locking up, but Dash backflips over Giles straight into a waistlock of his own. Before he can do anything with that, Giles spins around Dash and once more looks to lock up around the waist, but Dash throws his arm around Giles’ head and drops them both to the canvas with a Russian leg sweep!
Waters: The agility of those two men! A stunning sequence of counters. And now VIP can take advantage!
Pryce is on his feet, at last with the opportunity to set out his stall. He tugs Dash to his feet, dispatching him overhead with a sambo suplex!
Face-Eater: The ring shook!
Pryce turns immediately to Giles, who is scrambling to his feet.
Waters: These two didn’t face each other in Zero to Hero, but both of them won one and lost one...
Pryce pulls Giles in and looks to send him overhead with a belly-to-belly suplex, the fans on their feet, but T.A. spins out in mid-air and lands on his feet, swinging a roundhouse kick at the back of Pryce’s head. VIP doesn’t go down but turns around to face Giles, who jumps up and nails the bigger man with a spinning heel kick!
Face-Eater: Got him this time!
With both his opponents down, Giles nips up to the top rope and waits for Dash to stir. Unfortunately it’s VIP who’s on his feet first and Giles has to adjust, only able to leap with Pryce barrelling towards him. He ends up on the shoulders of the charging Van Isaac Pryce and looks to duck back into a hurricanrana but Pryce powers him off his shoulders and into the turnbuckle!
Waters: Oh, what a reversal! Homage to Pierce Lavelle from Van Isaac Pryce!
Face-Eater: I don’t think that dude even knows who Lavelle is. He just knows how to bring the hurt!
Giles yells out in pain and curls himself around the ringpost, both hands thrown to his ravaged back. AgentDash is finally on his feet after the sambo suplex and tugs at Pryce from behind, nailing the turning VIP with a thrust kick. Pryce drops to his knees but comes straight back up with an uppercut and a rising knee, pushing Dash down between his legs, but Dash hooks his arms around Pryce and trips him, VIP’s back hitting the mat.
Waters: AgentDash and VIP struggling to gain the advantage here.
Face-Eater: Giles still struggling to even get back up.
With Pryce’s legs still up in Dash’s grasp as VIP lays on the canvas, Dash rocks back and levers the 275-pounder full across the ring in a catapult! The flying Pryce crashes straight into T.A. Giles as he gets up, and the two hit the turnbuckle, Giles knocked through the ropes to the apron.
Waters: AgentDash is causing carnage in that ring!
The high-impact move at last allows Dash to get some of the fans on his side, and riding on this, the former CIA investigator speeds at the ropes before shooting a dropkick through them at Giles on the apron. But Giles telegraphs it and drops down just in time, hanging from the bottom rope with both hands as AgentDash kicks at thin air and ends up with his legs tangled between the top two ropes. Giles hoists himself back onto the apron and then pulls on the top rope, slinging himself over to land a leg drop on the back of Dash’s head!
Waters: Slingshot leg drop from the apron, and T.A. Giles turns this back around!
Pryce comes out of the turnbuckle swinging, but Giles ducks and draws the Pennsylvanian into a single-arm DDT! He goes for the cover:
ONE!
TWO!
Face-Eater: No chance, not enough impact to keep VIP down.
Giles backs away to the ropes and waits for his opponents to get to their feet. In front of Dash, VIP comes to all fours, trying to shake the grogginess from his head. On a whim, Giles dashes at the pair of them and plants his boot in the small of Pryce’s back, leaping up and smashing a high-impact boot through AgentDash’s face!
Waters: NOTHING PERSONAL!!
Dash clatters back and the momentum carries him over the top rope to land at ringside with a smack.
Face-Eater: The Frontier Champion going for a ride!
Giles turns back to VIP, who ducks away from the cruiserweight’s crescent kick and, pulling Giles in tight, flexes his arms...
Waters: Time for the Last Call!
Pryce lifts Giles and spins, but before he can land the spinebuster Giles throws both arms around Pryce’s neck and clings tight. Unable to slam him down, VIP turns 180 again and tries to throw Giles off, but his legs now free, Giles stretches them up and twists himself in Pryce’s grasp, dropping into an Ace Crusher!
Waters: Reversed by Giles! Neck Pain!!
VIP rolls over on the mat, stunned, and pulls himself slowly up with a hand to his head as Giles backs away to the ropes. He lifts himself up and bounces from the second rope...
Face-Eater: Oh, better watch out...
Waters: NOTHING PERSONAL!!
ONE!
Waters: NEW CHAMPION!
TWO!
AgentDash rouses himself at last and slides back into the ring but he’s too late to break the fall.
THREE!
Face-Eater: First new champion of AWC 2010 is T.A. Giles!
AgentDash exits quickly and storms up the ramp, while Pryce is still laid flat out recovering from the jumping thrust kick.
Brunt: Here is your winner... and NEW AWC FRONTIER CHAMPION... TEE! AY! GIIIIIIIIILLLLESSSSSSSSS!!!
Waters: He doesn’t look like he can believe it!
Giles’ face looks white as he is presented with the hallowed championship belt. He raises it uncertainly up above his head.
Waters: Are those tears in his eyes, Dick?
Face-Eater: BAHAHAHAHA! This bitch wouldn’t last with the Unfuckables around. AWC 2010 is weak.
Waters: What a moment this is for T.A. Giles. The culmination of a dream. He’s our new Frontier Champion.
Face-Eater: AgentDash looked pretty pissed. But he’s still got a Relentless Championship to keep shined up till next time.
Giles breaks into a hesitant smile, and the crowd around him rises as one to applaud him.
Waters: That’s all for Fresh!, ladies and gentlemen. Join us next week from Cincinnati, Ohio where we will hear from our new Frontier Champion T.A. Giles, witness the AWC debut of former Core Wrestling Legacy Champion William Gwynn, and maybe just maybe see another AWC Legend come out of the woodwork.
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