Fresh!burst Results18th June 2006
Introduction
FEATURING: TRUTH WATERS, GEORGE CASSIDY
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
The AWC logo fills the screen, and then fades away to show a darkened arena. Abrupt fireworks on the stage, cheers, and then the lights suddenly flash bright with the grungy beginnings of “E-Pro” by Beck. The fans in the Mile One Stadium go mental, screaming their lungs out as the video screen bursts into action with highlights of the first year of AWC. All the big spots are there: Hate tossing Pierce Lavelle off the bus in the Streets of London match; Jack Murphy’s flying Bull Charge on Tim Shipley in the Triangles structure; Chainz taking a dive through a glass window at Twilight of the Gods; and many more.
See me coming to town with my soul
Straight down out of the world with my fingers
Holding onto the devil I know
All my troubles will hang on your trigger
Take your eyes and your mind from the road
Shoot your mouth off but look where you’re aiming
Don’t forget to pick up what you sow
Talking trash to the garbage around you
The Transatlantic title belt fills the screen, momentarily fading through to a shot of Adam Dick, cocking his crowned head to one side as he flicks his eyes from side to side. And then it’s white light.
Truth Waters: Fresh!burst, ladies and gentlemen! You’re seeing Truth Waters and George Cassidy back on air here in St John’s, Newfoundland!
George Cassidy: Ugh. Canada. I had to towel down my seat… just in case.
Truth Waters: Just this one West Atlantic show before Divide And Conquer, which comes live this Friday!
George Cassidy: Bound to be The Worst Pay-Per-View Ever – it’s in Canada.
Truth Waters: You’re right in one sense, Cassidy – that’ll be from the MTS Centre in Winnipeg, Manitoba! Order now if you haven’t yet – a lot of good shit’s going down! Anton Assault versus Ellis Nash for the Frontier title…
George Cassidy: Ellis Nash on pay-per-view is worth selling some real estate for, I’ll agree.
Truth Waters: Darcy Crisis versus everybody’s favourite trashcan man, Garbage Bag Johnny… the Alliance Invitational Rumble---
George Cassidy: Actually that’s the Sudden-Death Invitational Alliance Rumble, Truth.
Truth Waters: Well look who started paying attention! Good on ya, Cassidy. One of these days you might even like AWC.
George Cassidy: It’s possible.
Truth Waters: BAH GAWD! Then there’s the inaugural match for the Countdown Trophy, and Leviathan versus Mr. Marshall for the right to be Sasha’s little bitch…
George Cassidy: Don’t forget Mikey O’Cliché’s bare-knuckle challenge!
Truth Waters: The one to Anton Assault, who has another match anyway?
George Cassidy: No, it’s an open challenge now.
Truth Waters: Really? In that case, I might have to search out my old boxing trunks…
George Cassidy: Don’t you even think about it. Now what’s weird about the Divide And Conquer card, Truth?
Truth Waters: Transatlantic championship match. Conspicuous by its absence.
George Cassidy: Spot on. Adam Dick is a clever clever boy. There are no challengers. No one’s won a Claim To The Throne match, and Pearl’s already played his bullying-the-King-into-a-match card last week at Fresh!. You know, I think we’re heading for a pay-per-view without a Transatlantic title match…
Truth Waters: It’s looking more and more likely.
George Cassidy: That sucks. Ah well – it’s only Canada.
Truth Waters: Tonight, then! Three matches; six debutants; two returnees. Let’s get it on!
WINNING LOTTO EMAIL NOTIFICATION
FEATURING: GARBAGE BAG JOHNNY, MIKE WADE
AUTHOR: JOSH K.
Garbage Bag Johnny is looking for partially smoked cigarettes in an ashtray outside of the building when he finds himself beneath someone’s cast shadow. GBJ looks up at the shadow before turning around, seeing the silhouette of a very tall man with a sack flung over his shoulder.
Garbage Bag Johnny: Jesus Christ. It’s Giant Santa Claus, back for revenge!
Garbage Bag turns around and backs away slowly, lighting the remaining half of a used cigarette. He realizes the shadow was deceiving. The man near him is only a normal sized Mike Wade, but he still has a sack slung over his shoulder.
Mike Wade: Ah, Rubbish Bin Charlie, just the man I was looking for.
Garbage Bag looks around anxiously. He’s heard that this Mike Wade fellow was bad news.
Mike Wade: Relax, man, I’m only here to return the crowns and title I stole from the Royal Court a couple of weeks ago.
Garbage Bag Johnny: You mean the crowns and the Frontier title that we inexplicably had last week on Fresh! but discontinuously made their way back into your possession this week for the sake of resuming an angle that was dependent on the outcome of certain matches last week?
Mike Wade: I have no idea what you’re talking about, but yes, I have your crowns and Ellis’ title, and I’m giving them back to you. You see, Pearl had a talk with me. He said that you and Adam came to him in some kind of lunatic rage, and that maybe stealing your most prized possessions was a little over the top. So he ordered me to give them back to you and also to apologize for my unkind behavior.
Mike Wade holds out the bag, and Garbage Bag Johnny cautiously takes it. He peers inside, satisfied with his contents, even putting the Zero 2 Hero Helmet Crown back on his head.
Mike Wade: So are we cool?
Garbage Bag Johnny: I guess so. Thanks for giving our stuff back. I’m going to go give Adam his crown back and Ellis her title back now.
Garbage Bag Johnny advances, but Mike catches him with a hand on the shoulder.
Mike Wade: Whoa, not so fast there, Johnny Bags, I still feel bad that I inconvenienced you, and you look like you could use a good scrubbing up, so Pearl and I are servicing you with a trip to a day spa after you beat the Darcinator at Divide And Conquer. You can do it!
Garbage Bag Johnny: I suppose it’s been a while since my last mud bath and avocado facial.
Mike Wade: That’s the spirit. I’ll just need you to sign this day spa contract.
Mike Wade hands a clipboard to Garbage Bag Johnny, and Johnny starts to look it over.
Mike Wade: No need to read it. It’s just logistics.
Garbage Bag Johnny: I don’t sign a contract before I read the fine print. I’m cautious like that.
Garbage Bag starts reading the contract out loud.
Garbage Bag Johnny: Day Spa Contract: According to the terms of this contract, the signer, hereby referred to as Party A, agrees to meet the present contender, or Party B, in one week directly following his obligations at Divide And Conquer. If Party A is unable to fulfill his obligations towards meeting Party B, Party A then relinquishes his claim, and Party B gets compensation in the form of… Fuck this. It’s all jargon.
Mike Wade: It’s standard boilerplate. It basically means that if you don’t make it to the day spa after your match, they’ll have to cancel your reservations. It’s a very prestigious day spa.
Garbage Bag Johnny: That makes sense.
Garbage Bag signs the contract and gives the clipboard back to Mike Wade.
Garbage Bag Johnny: Thank you.
Mike Wade: No. Thank YOU my friend.
Red Rock? Push? ...pffheheheheHAHAHAHAHA!
FEATURING: RED ROCK, DAVID "PEARL" HARBER
AUTHOR: JOSH YOUNG
We now find ourselves outside the office of one David “Pearl” Harber and outside pacing around with his hands in his pockets is the Anti Hero and our Relentless champion Red Rock! Red Rock has an uncharacteristically annoyed expression on his face; he doesn’t seem to be his usual cheeky self. Red Rock seems to be gathering his thoughts before summoning the courage to knock on his door but after a brief second he does.
Pearl: Come in.
Red Rock steps awkwardly through the door and Pearl seems a little disappointed it is Red Rock.
Red Rock: Don’t look so happy Dave.
Pearl: Sorry I thought you were---
Red Rock: One of your valued members of the roster?
Harber’s ears prick at Red Rock’s tone and attitude.
Pearl: Sounds like you have a chip on your shoulder there Red?
Red Rock: Well maybe I do!
Red Rock folds his arms and pouts in anger.
Red Rock: I don’t think it’s fair that Anton Ass-ault gets a shot at the Frontier title and all these praise about how great he is, when I’ve beaten him like twice!
Pearl: You have had two shots at the Frontier title!
Red Rock: That’s not the point! He’s getting a push and I’m once again left behind. It’s not fair! I’ve won my last 7 matches and I’ve kept this belt from three pretty hard people! I deserve a bit more don’t you think?
Harber gets up from behind his desk and puts his arm around Red Rock.
Pearl: But you’re the Anti Hero! People love you because you never get anywhere... It’s good TV!
Red Rock: But---
Pearl: I’m pretty busy Red, I’ll talk to you about this later.
Red Rock: But--- Pearl: Bye now!
Harber swiftly ushers Red Rock out of his office and Red Rock looks very upset at Pearl’s lack of concern for his issues.
Samantha Keane vs Filipe Alvaro
STIPULATION: SINGLES
REFEREE: SELENA SUMNER
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
The short and built “Portuguese Poser” Filipe Alvaro enters the ring to yells of ”CLICHÉ! CLICHÉ!”, much to the bewilderment of commentary team Truth Waters and George Cassidy who express their surprise that the new signing could be condemned on hearsay. However, Alvaro does little to dispel the notion that he is to Portugal what Mikey O’Reilly is to Ireland – the grease on his forehead is a shining beacon. He sidles up to referee Selena Sumner and, with his hands on his hips, appears to proposition her. Sumner swallows and looks away; the practical Englishwoman rolls her eyes just a little bit.
Samantha Keane, also a debutant, presents the referee with fewer problems in that department and she flashes a smile to Sumner before the bell sounds to start the match. Soon enough, Alvaro has Keane in a pumphandle position from behind; instead of capitalising, he grinds his hips provocatively with a low chuckle. George Cassidy’s stare bores a hole through the back of his head.
Alvaro pays for his showmanship, Keane winning the upper hand with a neat series of snapmares, drop toe holds and arm drags. However, Alvaro’s powerful frame allows him to absorb the blows and each time he regains control, the temperature rises in the Office for Sexual Equality: hooking Keane up for a suplex, he reaches forward to stroke her bottom before getting an angry fist into the ribs. Keane is shocked; the fans are outraged; the commentators are incredulous. A frustrated low blow by Samantha Keane moments later raises an enormous cheer throughout Mile One; Sumner actively turns a blind eye and Samantha Keane gives the Portuguese Poser a kick in the shins for good measure.
Little time passes before Keane has Alvaro in a roll-up pin; he kicks out at two and savagely grabs her breast. To be fair, Alvaro is blinded by his position and could well have just been scrabbling for any kind of hand-hold, but judging by past actions, Samantha Keane isn’t going to give him the benefit of the doubt. She kicks him, no holds barred, in the head and leaves the ring. Before the five-count has gone, Alvaro has followed, running up to Keane and getting down on his hands and knees to plead her return to the ring. Keane turns away, disgusted, just as James Brunt announces the no-contest verdict.
Red Rock? Push? ...wait, Who Is Red Rock?
FEATURING: RED ROCK, SASHA VOLKYEVA
AUTHOR: JOSH YOUNG
Last time we saw Red Rock he was outside Pearl’s office expression his disappointment with his treatment in AWC. Unfortunately David Harber seemed less than concerned about what Red Rock had to say, so the persistent young man has brought himself to the office of Sasha Volkyeva. Unfortunately, an obstacle presents itself in the form of Anton Assault. Assault hasn’t seen Red Rock, who gulps and scrambles back to hide in the shadows; Assault trudges off for a convenient toilet break and this time Red Rock marches right up to the door and knocks. (Yes, Hyde is awesome at covering for oversights - Ed.)
Sasha Volkyeva: Enter.
Red Rock enters, but Sasha doesn’t even bother to look up at Red Rock from what she is doing.
Red Rock: I’m going to cut this short. I don’t think it’s fair that Anton Assault gets a push and I don’t. Nothing against the guy but I beat him a couple of weeks ago and now he’s getting a push! ...and he’s a bloody GUARD! For a DOOR! I mean---
Sasha looks up at Red Rock with a raised eyebrow.
Sasha Volkyeva: Sorry, are you new?
Red Rock’s eyes bulge out of his head at this comment.
Red Rock: NEW? I’ve been here longer than most of the roster? NEW?!?! I’m the fucking Relentless champion you cunt!
Sasha slams her hands on the desk and stands up to bite back.
Sasha Volkyeva: Listen, you! I don’t know who you are but you cannot just come into AWC and expect the world! You have to earn your way up! Now get out or I’ll have you removed!
Red Rock: Fuck this!
Sasha Volkyeva: No, you do not! In fact... you want your push? Why don’t you have Jack Murphy at Divide And Conquer? Yes, I'm sure Jack would like that... it can be for that Relentless title of yours, too... if you really do possess it. Push? Or... punishment? I wonder...
Red Rock storms out of Sasha’s office, slamming the door behind him. Just before he can storm off down the hallway a hand grabs Red Rock on the shoulder. Red Rock turns around with hostility, expecting Anton Assault... and his face lights up!
Red Rock: Heyyy! What are you doing here?!
Dimensions
FEATURING: THE NEW BLACK, UNNATURAL SELECTION
AUTHORS: SIMON, DUSTIN AND PHIL
Angelus Sorrow strides purposefully down a backstage corridor, a smirk emblazoned on his rugged face. He’s clearly happy to be back in wrestling, no matter how much he claims he is “only helping out Lacuna”. Making an entrance was always something he has taken pride in, and now he decided it was time for a few little mind games with tonight’s opposition.
With Lacuna Debris obediently in tow, he approaches an unmarked locker room and bangs his giant fist on the flimsy wooden door three times.
A muffled response emanates from within, and Sorrow beckons to Lacuna to follow him into the room.
The inside of the unmarked locker room is small but quaint enough to fit the four members of Unnatural Selection. Seated at a table are Hunter and Martyr. Standing are the two competitors, "Rain Man" Rustin Slade and "The Tactical Assassin" Shawn Singleton, who seem to be discussing the game plan for the night. Both of them stop talking and eye the two who have just entered. Martyr starts to get up, ready to attack, but is ushered to sit back down by Hunter. Rustin is the first to speak.
Rustin Slade: Well look what the cat brought in and threw up for us, Shawn.
Singleton looks on silently, but with hidden intensity behind the eyes.
With a grimace, Sorrow eyes the occupants in mock distaste and scrunches his nose. Never one to under-act, he began to chuckle.
Angelus Sorrow: I’ve just come to wish you commiserations. It can’t be nice to lose a debut match, or so I gather. One thing though, guys, that phoenix guff, you didn’t honestly mean it did you? I mean, c’mon, talk about clichéd! I was half expecting you to ask if we could smell what you were cooking!
Sorrow chuckled again to himself. The sport was beginning, even if only slowly. Lacuna meanwhile was again staring at her feet. It didn’t seem worth the effort, but she was burning for someone to give her an excuse, anyone but Sorrow. She wasn’t going to take anything else from him.
Rustin eyed up the girl. He didn't want to display his weakness for the ladies too soon. He had been through that before, and it had given him nothing but heartbreak. Plus to show weakness in front of Shawn Singleton was a definite "no-no." However, Rustin couldn't help himself, compelled to say something to the girl, regardless of the monstrosity standing beside her.
Rustin Slade: Don't tell me this is the New Black? I'd heard about the ugly one, but nobody told me that I was going to have to hurt a babe, tonight.
Shawn looked at Rustin with a warning look.
Shawn Singleton: Rustin...
Rustin held up a hand in defiance. Shawn gave him a nasty look.
Lacuna lifted her hazel eyes from her boots and smirked, hours of weariness seemingly dropping from her fine-boned features. Round one.
Lacuna Debris: I'm not sure anyone has ever quite described dear old Angey there as a babe before. I'm not sure he'd appreciate it. Wait… you were talking to me? You don't want any of this, sunshine. Oh, and as for hurting me? You look like a smart man, so you'll be wanting to keep your testicles attached. Listen to the rumours, I do bite.
Rustin gives a slight smirk at Lacuna's comment. Feisty, just the way he had liked him.
Rustin Slade: As do I, love. As do I. Maybe you and I can exchange some teeth marks later, what say you?
Rustin gave a little chomp of his teeth to accent his point. This time it was both Hunter and Singleton who turned to Rustin, warning him to shut his mouth.
Hunter and Singleton: Rustin, enough...
Rustin Slade: It's all right fellas. I'm sure this lovely little lady and Lurch over there are just enjoying their last few minutes to relish the fact that they had the opportunity to speak to us. If you smell what I'm cooking.
He spit the catchphrase mockingly at Angelus Sorrow, poking fun at his earlier comment.
Angelus Sorrow: I don't know about you Lacuna, but all I can smell at the moment is a sweaty arse-crack and a steaming pile of shite. I'm sure there must be a twisted logic around somewhere though. I'm loving speaking to you, that's for sure.
Sorrow cracks his knuckles playfully and glances at Lacuna, who grins back slyly.
Lacuna Debris: Yeah, this is quite an opportunity for the both of us. We've been looking forwards to it for a while and let me be the first to thank you. You've finally put the missing piece in place. Americans are quite as stupid as they look. One-dimensional too. In fact, you're actually quite boring as a country.
Rustin Slade: Well sweetheart, if you took a little more time to pay attention to what we had to say last week. We're not the biggest fan of the country either. As a matter of fact, we're not a big fan of yours either. We dream of a utopia where we don't have to see the likes of lackluster knaves like you. A place where only the strong survive, and the weak are flushed away like those steaming piles of "shite" you were referring to.
Shawn Singleton smirks at Rustin. He looks back at the two competitors.
Shawn Singleton: And after tonight... you'll see just how un-dimensional we really are. You can't even begin to place a number near the amount of dimensions you'll see tonight.
Hunter and Martyr look on. Martyr again tries to get up to attack, but Hunter tells him to sit back down.
The Hunter: Patience, Martyr. You'll get your chance.
Rustin looks back at Lacuna, giving her a wink.
Rustin Slade: A pity that a firecracker like you has to have such horrible tastes. I know women like tall guys, but this is freakin' ridiculous.
Rustin motions towards Angelus Sorrow.
Rustin Slade: That height will be great after we finish your career tonight, pal. It'll give you the advantage to stock those top shelves at the supermarkets.
Sorrow yawns theatrically
Angelus Sorrow: And you will go about all this… how? Talking a lot? Does your Utopia involve anyone giving a shit? Lets just say it does happen, Dubya will only nuke it anyway. Just remember to send him a Christmas card and some wax crayons, they'll keep him occupied and you can live on in your incestuous little perfect gene pool lives in peace.
He checks his watch, and Lacuna catches his drift.
Lacuna Debris: Sorry guys, must dash. We've got something much more important to be doing. Like, banging our heads against walls or gouging out our eyes or something. Anyway, enjoy your little fallacies. Catch you later, chicken.
She adds, purring at Slade but failing to remove the sarcasm before following Sorrow out of the room and back into the corridor.
Lacuna Debris: You were right, that was kinda fun.
Sorrow, however, is too busy laughing.
Angelus Sorrow: Chicken?! How cute! I hope you kick him extra hard later.
Lacuna just nods. She has plans.
Back in the locker room, Hunter looks back at Singleton and Slade. He has a stern look on his face.
The Hunter: You know what needs to be done tonight.
Singleton and Slade give each other a nod, as Hunter adds.
The Hunter: Silence them... completely.
Rustin gives a smirk, as Singleton gives a compliant nod. The camera cuts to...
Cold Reception
FEATURING: SASHA VOLKYEVA, JACK MURPHY
AUTHOR: FERGUS
A simple corridor, filled with activity and one person in it seems troubled by the entire process. People are buzzing around the corridor, bringing assorted goods and materials for the show, making sure that everything is working like clockwork. In the centre of it all stands Sasha Volkyeva, looking so puzzled and confused.
Sasha Volkyeva: Can you please hurry this up? I need to have this set up for… well, very soon now! It's going to be needed!
Just then, a single man walks up to Sasha, seeing her stop stone dead. Her eyes open slightly and she inhales sharply.
Jack Murphy: Needed for what?
Sasha Volkyeva: It's... a present.
Jack Murphy: Don't bother.
Murphy turns to leave and Sasha jolts her arm out to his shoulder. He stops and turns, looking at her coldly.
Sasha Volkyeva: (pleadingly) You saw your email? You know you have that match at Divide And Conquer? I thought you might be happy.
Jack Murphy: I am. Just not with you.
'The Bull' leaves the vicinity, Sasha slumping and heaving. She looks at all the workmen, busily preparing for that present.
Sasha Volkyeva: (defeated) Forget this. Tear it down.
The Vengeful Shadows
FEATURING: VINCE JONES, ???
AUTHORS: JAY AND ???
Dry ice starts to line the rampway. 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 arena. The opening chords of 'Thug Luv' begin to play as the oh so familiar voice of 2Pac is heard throughout the arena…
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 arena.
James Brunt: Making his way to the ring, from New York City, weighing in at 269 pounds... "THE VIOLENCE" VINCE JONES!
The 'Violence' Vince Jones emerges from the entrance and makes his way to the edge of the rampway with a black baseball bat in hand, he marches straight down the ring and rolls in under the bottom rope, he gets to his feet and raises his arms as the crowd boos. Looking extremely angered he snatches the microphone from Brunt, as Brunt hands it to him then Vince threatens him with the baseball bat, making him leave the ring, the music dies out and Vince ignores the asshole chants coming from the crowd.
Vince Jones: Right now The Violence pretty pissed off 'bout some shit! It ain't good when a man like V. Jones is fuckin' pissed off! When you piss off 'The Violence' Vince Jones you lookin' to get yo punk ass pissed on so don't piss V off! And that's real, Canada! (points the baseball bat at the crowd) That shit is mahfuckin' real! Last week, some bitch made in A Dubb Cee took it upon his or herself to steal V. Jones Louisville Slugga (raises the bat high in the air for the crowd) and beat him upside the head with it! That shit ain't cool! That shit ain't cute! And that shit ain't goin' down without someone up in this join payin' the price! In fact, V. Jones had to tell the Crown Jewel, Jasmine, to stay in the back tonight cuz shit 'bout to pop off up in here! Things 'bout to get a lil hectic! Somebody up in this buildin' 'bout to get lit up and smoked the fuck out!
Truth Waters: Looks like the Violence is looking for a fight tonight.
George Cassidy: You know, it doesn't surprise me that he got attacked last week, the man has gotten on the wrong side of a lot of people, now it's coming back to haunt him.
Truth Waters: Vince Jones is sure to come out on top of this situation! Just like he has in all previous situations!
George Cassidy: How much did he pay you to say that?
Vince Jones: So, its goin' down like this right about now! V. Jones got a funny feelin' that the cat he lookin' for prolly up in this buildin' somewhere hidin' out scared for his fuckin' life! Well, V. Jones ain't leavin' until yo mark ass, trick ass, punk ass, bitch of coward waltz yo lil ass out here cuz this show officially shut down until then---
Vince is cut off as the lights go out, the entire arena is completely dark, the only light coming from the camera flashes from the crowd. A loud booming voice then rocks the speakers in the arena.
Voice: Silence!
George Cassidy: What the hell?
Truth Waters: That made me jump just a little bit. And I don’t jump easy!
George Cassidy: I don't think you were the only one to get a little jumpy. Vince Jones appears to be a bit on edge himself out there.
Vince Jones looks around the arena a bit startled by his sudden interruption. He quickly regains his composure and becomes angered by the situation.
Vince Jones: HEY! Fuck that! You on V's time right now! Bring yo ass on out here!
Voice: Vince Jones, four months ago you attacked me from behind, you walk around here thinking that you're something in this place, but the fact is, four months on and you're still at the bottom, it's where you were when I got here and it's where you'll always remain.
Vince Jones: Whoa, whoa, whoa! Slow your roll, son! Who the fuck do you think you are, huh!?!? if you think you're so high and mighty, why don't you get your punk ass out here right now?! You wanna scrap!? We can do this shit right now!
Vince slams his Louisville Slugger bat on the mat and readies himself to strike.
Voice: In due time Vinnie, in due time. The only advice I can give you at the moment is watch your back, keep an eye out and turn... around.
The lights come back on and the crowd instantly begins cheering, A confused Vince turns around and is suddenly met with a superkick to the throat by a man wearing a black ski mask, black denim pants and a white tank top, Vince hits the mat hard.
George Cassidy: He's here!
Truth Waters: But who the hell is it?!
Vince gets to his hands and knees, the mystery man picks up the Louisville slugger and cracks Vince over the back of the head with it. He drops the bat and picks up the microphone.
Mystery Man: Four months Vince, Four... Fucking... Months! But I am back, better than ever, you see...
With his free hand, the mystery man grabs the ski mask and pulls it from his head, the crowds cheer intensify.
Truth Waters: Shawn Harris! He's back!
George Cassidy: He is and he is looking better than ever.
Truth Waters: ...Just because Steven Smith’s off our screens now doesn’t mean you have to take up his role, Cassidy!
Shawn Harris now complete with short spiked blonde hair and an evil look on his face, something that hasn't been seen before throws the mask into the crowd.
Shawn Harris: The Evolution has returned! And at Divide And Conquer, Evolution's going to pass your punk ass by... bitch!
Shawn Harris slams the microphone down on Vince who is laid out on the mat. "Trip With Jesus" by The Union Underground starts up as Shawn leaves the ring and heads to the back with an 'Evolution' chant echoing throughout the crowd.
Truth Waters: I think we just saw a Divide And Conquer match booked! Is Jones man enough to rise to Shawn Harris’ challenge?
The New Black vs Singleton & Slade
STIPULATION: DUO TAG
REFEREE: RICHIE TRAVIS
AUTHOR: JEREMY J.
Who’s ready for some Fresh!burst action?! You’re not? Well, okay, I won’t write this fucking summary then if you’re gonna be that way, bitches!
Meh, I’m kidding. This Father’s Day edition of Fresh!burst kicks off with two new Duos debuting: Angelus Sorrow and Lacuna Debris, the team of The New Black, to take on former 4WW East Wind champions, Shawn Singleton and Rustin Slade, half of the stable Unnatural Selection.
Alrighty then. Everyone’s in the ring to start the match. RING THE DAMN BELL, MONKEY!
DING DING DING!
Alright, this match is interesting to say the least. Big power moves by Angelus Sorrow, aerial spot-fests and impact moves by Lacuna Debris, and...whatever Shawn Singleton and Rustin Slade does. I don’t have their move sets in front of me, sorry. This is a summary, not an actual written match. *sigh*
Okay, let’s not waste any more time, shall we? Unnatural Selection clearly targeted Lacuna Debris throughout, but Angelus Sorrow was more than a match for both men, flagrantly disregarding the match rules about tagging and nearly forcing the referee to disqualify his duo, as he boldly protected his partner – much to the chagrin of Debris, who was more than happy to get stuck in on her opponents. Towards the end of the match, Angelus Sorrow, whose knees had been worked on throughout by the Tactical Assassin and his ally the Rain Man, and Shawn Singleton were going to town on each other, trying to put each other away, but the 6’8” 328-pound Sorrow proved to be too much for the former 4WW North, South and East Wind champion. The Unbeliever kicked Singleton in the gut and drilled Singleton in the middle of the ring with his Spinning Sit-out Power Bomb also known as The Unbeliever. Rustin Slade tried to break up the count, but Lacuna Debris intercepted the opponent while the referee counted The Technical Assassin’s shoulders for the 1-2-3. Sorrow and Debris, collectively known as The New Black, won their debut match, leaving Singleton & Slade to lick their wounds.
IS THAT A GOOD ENOUGH SUMMARY FOR YA?! HUH?! HUH?! HUH?!
...Bitches.
Yeah, I suck at summaries.
The Aftermath
FEATURING: SINGLETON & SLADE, THE NEW BLACK
AUTHOR: DUSTIN HUMMEL
As James Brunt announces The New Black as winners, Hunter signals to Martyr, who grabs a chair and tosses it to Shawn. Martyr slides into the ring, and attacks Lacuna and Angelus, with the help of Rustin. They defend themselves pretty well for a while against Rustin and Martyr, but Shawn nails them from behind with the chair, and they proceed to beat up The New Black, holding Angelus in place as Shawn nails him in the face with the chair so hard that the top of it breaks it into the security fence. Hunter gets tossed a mic from the ring announcer.
The Hunter: Divide and conquer, right? Two down, many more to go.
With that, the four men leave the ring, leaving the fruits of their destruction in the wake.
Garbage Bag Dropping Acid While The Darcinator's Dropping Ass
FEATURING: GARBAGE BAG JOHNNY, DARCY CRISIS
AUTHORS: JOSH K. AND NATE
Behind a closed stall door, Garbage Bag Johnny is mumbling to himself.
Garbage Bag Johnny: Jesus Christ. It’s Giant Santa Claus, back for revenge!
Garbage Bag Johnny’s face is seen peeking under the stall, surveying the bathroom for any other occupants, but failing to see the feet in the stall next to him.
Garbage Bag Johnny: Get a hold of yourself, Johnny. There’s nobody here. Just take another hit of acid. That’s just what the doctor ordered.
Garbage Bag Johnny slips another tab of acid onto his tongue. He talks, trying to balance the paper on his tongue while it dissolves.
Garbage Bag Johnny: There’s only one way out of here alive, and it’s through this tunnel.
The sounds of Garbage Bag Johnny crashing into porcelain accompanied by frantic flushing are heard. Water can be seen overflowing out of the stall.
In an adjacent stall, Darcy Crisis was innocently re-contemplating his life as a vegetarian. It wasn't a problem of taste - he didn't find the food half bad, actually - but rather the newfound plethora of fiber he now found in his diet. As high as his distaste for math ran, he was forced to concede to the fact that his life was now dictated by an unalterable mathematical formula: High fiber = frequent trips to the can. Darcy braced himself as his cantankerous colon prepared to bombard the Toilet Sea with another depth charge when he overheard the incident in the next stall.
“I do NOT believe this shit!” he thought to himself, slightly pissed off at what he'd just heard. He had no problem with anybody who felt the need to drop acid, nor did he find anything wrong with impulsive, hilarious acid-induced antics, just not when he, or anybody else was in wrestling attire. It was insult to injury, however, that Darcy recognized the pitiable psychonaut to be Garbage Bag Johnny, whose antics in particular served to be a major thorn in Darcy's side. He recognized how old it made him sound to be so concerned even as the words were escaping under his breath.
Darcy Crisis: I should take him out right here and now… before this ass-clown hurts somebody.
But there was still the matter of the fiber begging to continue exiting the Darcinator. Not to mention that in his current state resting among porcelain debris, the Garbage Man proved dangerous to no one, save for himself. He pondered a new strategy before an idea hit him, one so cunning that Darcy was unable to avoid the devious smile that crept upon his face…
A Welcome Distraction
FEATURING: SASHA VOLKYEVA
AUTHOR: ???
Sitting at her desk with that look of concentration etched into her face, Sasha Volkyeva was woman not to be scorned. She had mountains of work piled in front of her face, before a note dropped onto her desk. She did not look to see who had laid it there; opening it with a few jagged tears:
Dear Miss Volkyeva; you have a parcel for collection. Personal collection only.
Signed, Delivery Port Administrator.
Looking perplexed, she needed anything to relieve her from work.
Sasha Volkyeva: Let’s see what is waiting for me, then...
Walking away at a brisk pace she couldn’t wait to discover what wonderful things had drawn her from her place of work. The way she currently felt, anything would be better than a stint working at her desk.
Anything.
Ironing Out The Creases
FEATURING: ADAM DICK, JESSICA O'GRADY, BITTY, JACK MURPHY
AUTHORS: JOE SCHMIDT AND FERGUS
“Flying At Tree Level” or “Family Business,” it doesn’t matter. They all signify the arrival of Adam Dick, still King Dick, crownless as he walks to the ring. Of course he isn’t happy, but when is this man ever truly happy? As he steps out, the Royal Court is right behind him. Tonight, it’s Bitty and a surprisingly happy Jessica O’Grady.
He carries a mic in hand if only to save him from the trite routine of getting one from James Brunt. Without wasting any time to soak up the hateful reaction Adam quickly climbs to the ring, not even holding the ropes for Jessica as she climbed in after.
George Cassidy: THERE HE IS! The man I came to see!
Truth Waters: What isn’t normal is that I don’t doubt that... in fact I’m still wondering about his odd Courtship.
George Cassidy: What’s to wonder? Bitty is a cold MoFo!
Truth Waters: Well, Jessica is still staying at Adam’s side after Jack Murphy’s return last---
George Cassidy: SHIT! I forgot about Jack being here. Think he’ll be mad after how that last match went down?
Truth Waters: No, Cassidy, I’m sure he’s grateful you helped Dick win his belt.
George Cassidy: Whew.
Bitty sees a child in the front row with tin-foil on his teeth, paying a homage to the glorified drug dealer obviously, and Bitty gives him a piece of Wrigley’s Platinum Bubble Gum. The child cannot chew it and breaks his teeth as AWC’s legal department shoots themselves in the foot. Adam stands in the center of the ring for the music to die down, and as it does, the crowd’s boos still linger.
He glances about, somewhat frustrated, but then begins to speak.
Adam Dick: THE ONLY THING COOL ABOUT YOUR WHOLE FUCKING COUNTRY IS DEGRASSI YOU PORT-CITY FISH FUCKS!
Boo!
George Cassidy: Port-City Fish Fucks! That’s amazing!
Truth Waters: I don’t think it even means anything…
The rest of the court finally climbs in the ring and shuffles behind Adam.
Adam Dick: Before we continue, I have more business to attend to. Specifically, these two strapping young lads right here.
Adam points towards the announce table. Truth is confused and George is smiling.
Adam Dick: Yes, let’s give it all up for George Cassidy and Truth Waters everyone! If it wasn’t for these two, I would not be the Transatlantic champion before you today! Thanks, Georgie. Thanks, Truth.
Truth lowers his head in shame while George holds his hands high like a champion. Bitty and Jessica clap faintly at their “accomplishment,” Jessica more with a bitter regard towards Cassidy.
George Cassidy: Thank you! Thank you! It was an honor to make that pin-count, King Dick!
Adam Dick: I’m sure it was. I commend you two for serving your court well.
Adam begins to strut around the ring, carefully eyeing a few eager fans sitting in the audience. The audacity, he thought, these people had to disrespect him.
Adam Dick: So this week, everyone’s jocking my dick and shit. They’re all saying “WHAT ARE YOU DOING FOR DIVIDE AND CONQUER, MY LIEGE!?!” or “ARE YOU GOING TO FIGHT MIKE WADE?!” or “HOW ABOUT JACK MURPHY?!” Listen up you Barbara Walters-acting mother fuckers — GET OUT OF MY SHIT. It doesn’t matter to you who I’m defending my title to, because you aren’t getting the shot! No, NO ONE IS! Who has done a single thing to deserve it?
Truth Waters: That’s BS, Wade and Murphy are perhaps the only two that deserve it at this point!
Adam Dick: No one! I mean, what more do you people want from me?! You wanted to see Darcy Crisis get his shot, and I created yet another hole in his body for Aimzzzzz to strap-on fuck. Furious Fists beat me TWICE, so they get their shot. Guess third time isn’t the charm, you socialist fucks. And now you people are asking for MORE!?! After I put my body on the line in TWO handicap matches and then that horrible, horrible four way match, you STILL beg for more. WHAT THE HELL IS A MATTER WITH YOU PEOPLE?!?! ARE YOU DEPRAVED OF SOULS OR SOMETHING?!
St. John’s boos.
Adam Dick: Mike Wade has played his game rather cleverly, stealing the Court’s prized possessions. It don’t matter because I’m still the King without that crown, and it’s only a matter of time until I get it back. And if he thinks that his petty antics are going to rile me up, inspire me to challenge him to some match at Divide And Conquer, he’s sorely fucking mistaken. Sorry, but he lost to (counts on finger) Ellis Nash and Jack Murphy two weeks in a row, he’s at the bottom of my contenders list right now.
The fans cheer at Jack Murphy’s mention, and a small “Bull” chant begins to surface.
Adam Dick: You think HE’s getting the chance at me anytime soon!!?! After that shit he and Pearl tried to pull over me? No, that idiot-fuck is still learning his lesson on why you don’t fuck with the Face-Eater. He wants his return match? He gets it — after Pierce Lavelle gets his. What’s the status on that ban, now? Are we, what, six months into it?
Truth Waters: Less than that, unfortunately…
Adam Dick: Sorry Jack, looks like 2006 isn’t going to be your year. Now, if these guys were SMART, they’d go the route all the rest of these douchebags are taking. Take the fight to my good friend Garbage Bag, who I’m sure is more than ready to take---
The music is familiar. “Burn.” It makes Adam take a defensive stance towards the entry-way, and Jessica’s smile to grow to a mile-wide grin.
Finally, the Bull has arrived.
George Cassidy: YIPES!
Truth Waters: Yes! Finally! After months of hiding after that questionable outcome at Twilight, JACK MURPHY IS BACK IN THE ATLANTIC WRESTLING CLUB!
Murphy stands tall at the top of the entranceway, holding a microphone menacingly. The crowd roars its approval as the Bull speaks for the first time in over a month.
Jack Murphy: Well, well, well. I see you’ve lost none of your pomp and circumstance since I took a break. Then again, it just wouldn’t be Adam Dick without an ultimatum staccato delivery amounting to nothing but utter bullshit. And once again Adam, you’re crying like a little baby.
George Cassidy: What? He’s the one that left in a huff!
Truth Waters: I’d keep your mouth shut Cassidy… I don’t think he’s happy with you either…
The King of AWC looks like he’s about to speak but Murphy is onto something.
Jack Murphy: No, just take a bit of relaxation time in that ring Dick, you’ve earned. I, on the other hand have got some things to get off my chest.
The Bull begins to make his way down to the ring, talking as he walks.
Jack Murphy: I left here simply because what you wear right now… (points to the crown)… is a travesty. It represents nothing to anybody here in the AWC but bitter and farcical memories of a man who cheated his way to a title. I left because if the one thing I was trying to respect and bring to the top of its sport can be cheaply taken away from me… then what’s the point?
Adam Dick: (sneering) You’re looking at it from the wrong end of the stick Jack boyo. I have elevated it, risen it from the depths of the doom and gloom that you brought it to. Now, it is a symbol of the strength of this promotion.
Jack Murphy: It’s a symbol of your manipulation. That’s why you don’t wear the belt, because you can’t face the fact that you’ve tarnished it. You’re not fit to wear it anymore and frankly I don’t care for it right now. As far as I’m concerned, I don’t need a rematch against you… because I never lost it.
George Cassidy: (mumbling) What an idiot…
Wrong move from the heelish commentator. You see Jack, having made his way down to ringside, has positioned himself conveniently beside a certain George Cassidy. (Yes, the table is at ringside for Fresh!burst. It makes a nice change at least. -Ed.) He turns and glares at him.
Jack Murphy: And as for you George…
George? Meet spit. Spit? Meet George.
The crowd explodes in cheers from the Bull as Cassidy has an epileptic reaction to Murphy’s ball of phlegm. Murphy doesn’t give a care however and returns to the task at hand.
George Cassidy: I… I… agh!
Jack Murphy: I see you’re building the quips in your head Adam, but let’s not waste time here. I’ve had my say on that topic and it’s dead. But… I do want a rematch.
Adam Dick: What did I just…
Jack Murphy: Not for your title. Just you… and me, in a ring. No prize at the end, no title to be stolen. Just you and me, one on one without any of the bullshit. I’m here to prove the inadequacy of your ability here. Your career is blighted by suspect dealings. I want it to end on a concrete conclusion.
Adam Dick: You’re in no position to be questioning me, the KING OF AWC! So what do I have to say to that? NO!
Boos erupt from the crowd and Truth Waters looks suitably irritated by this statement too. Cassidy on the other hand looks justified.
George Cassidy: You show him Adam!
Adam Dick: No, it’s not going to happen because we’ve crossed that bridge and I’ve had my fun. Well… there is one thing left to do. Jessica?
O’Grady looks a little confused as her name is called but looks towards her client.
Adam Dick: I think our time with you has been… fruitful… but sad. I don’t even know why you’re still with me to be honest. Consider yourself fired.
Jessica simply nods as Dick looks incredulously.
Adam Dick: Well… that was easy.
Jessica O’Grady: (taking mic) I don’t care, you’re an asshole. Besides, what grounds do you have to fire me?
Adam Dick: (stuttering) You’re… sleeping with the enemy!
Jessica O’Grady: (tilting head) Got me there.
Catcalls and whistles herald this piece of information. Murphy simply smiles.
Jack Murphy: Well, I think that clears everything up huh Adam? Enjoy your title while it lasts. I won’t be taking it… but I certainly won’t be helping you keep it.
No more words are spoken and Murphy, with Jessica in hand head back up the rampway, leaving the champion frustrated and scowling.
George Cassidy: (incredulous) He spit on me! He actually spit on me!
Truth Waters: (ignoring) Yeah, whatever. We’ll be right back!
My True Self
FEATURING: AIMZ, CHAINZ, TRACY STANTON
AUTHORS: KATIE AND MIKE S.
The backstage area is in shambles, signs of the inferior quality of Fresh!burst. There are fairly few employees scattering about, everyone taking it easy seeing no need to bust ass. Suddenly a smoking hot redhead walks into frame; you’d say she was hot if you weren’t afraid that she’d knock your teeth down your throat.
Of course this is Amy Campbell and she’s walking like she’s trying to get somewhere. Her fists are clenched as if she’s expecting a fight or expecting someone to bring the fight to her and we shortly find out why. She stops in front of Chainz’s locker room, shaking with fury. She’s avoided him for the past few weeks, but she still couldn’t get him out of her head. She goes to push the door open, but it opens towards her instead and in front of her stands the man that’s been tormenting her mind for weeks. This ends now.
Chainz: Well, Miss Campbell... lovely to see you here.
Aimz doesn’t respond, she’s just staring at Chainz, glaring up at his towering figure. His grin shows no signs of fear or concern over Amy’s intentions and that scares her just a bit, but not enough to back her off. Even though she’s small, she brings a mighty punch in a small package and when she gets pissed -- right in someone’s face -- they usually back down, but Chainz just seems to keep coming forward, no worries or fears.
Chainz: Oh what, you wanna jump me, beat me to a pulp? Come on, go ahead.
Aimz: Don't try making with the mind games. You're a mental midget.
Aimz shakes her fists before dropping them to her side.
Chainz: Still holding back huh? You’ll learn with time. And since you don’t wanna be a fighter tonight, how about a lover? I promise I won’t tell Darcy, not that he’d do a damn thing. Darcy’s pussy is bigger than yours I bet, twice as wet too.
To her own surprise, and partially to prove a point, Amy stands there and simply seethes through the verbal assault. Shit-talk about that man will get her, but beating Chainz for his smack talking has already proven to be futile.
Chainz: Now get out of my face since you don’t wanna fight. I come back and you’re still here, I’ll assume you’ve grown a liking to me and then we can have some real fun.
Chainz blows her a kiss and walks off laughing. He disappears behind a corner with his laughter still audible as the door creaks back open.
Tracy: You okay?
Tracy peaks her head out of the locker room to check on Aimz, who's still trying to stifle her temper.
Aimz: Yeah, just great. Your boy sure knows how to brighten my damn day.
Without invitation Aimz pushes the door open and steps inside, bumping against Tracy in the process. She looks around the locker room and takes a seat, not knowing exactly why she wants to sit in the same chair that she assumed belonged to Chainz, but standing up nearly blind with rage hadn't been doing her any good. Maybe Tracy would be fun to verbally assault.
Tracy: He’s just playing around, you know that. He’s told me he likes you, a lot.
...Or is it wrong to hurt the mentally handicapped?
Aimz: That’s great news, I’ve attracted that sick son of a bitch. What the fuck does he think I do, stand out in the streets waiting to become a rape victim?
Tracy: He just sees great potential in you and he knows you’re holding back and could be more.
Aimz: Or - now, try to stay with me, princess - he gets off on little mind games and plays them for jollies before he someday runs into my locker room while I'm napping to fuck me in the ear?
Tracy’s the one with a frown on her face now.
Aimz: Speaking of which, why the hell are you hanging out with him? Aren't you better than that?
Tracy: We love each other.
Aimz: So you're not above his sick shit, you're just weak.
Tracy’s not amused.
Tracy: I’m not weak, I just happen to know that a strong woman can change a man.
Aimz: And you're stupid to boot! If a strong woman can change a man, then I was right in calling you weak... 'cause that toolbox you bed with isn't gonna change for anything.
Tracy: It’s better than sleeping around and trying to fit a relationship together as if the local drug dealer was the answer to all your problems.
Aimz: Ha, you’re talking to me about sleeping around? I'm sure I could dig up a word or two on you.
Tracy: Yeah well word is the guys stained your panties so often, you had to start borrowing Darcy's.
See, there are lines - even in a conversation between two grown women. One of those lines, in Amy Campbell's perception, was just washed away with piss.
Without warning, she pounced on Tracy and took her down to the ground, Chainz' girlfriend emitting a loud yelp as she hit the floor. Aimz knew for a fact that this wasn't a fair fight, but she'd gone past the point of caring when Tracy brought up Darcy's name. Her hands found themselves around a tiny neck and, without even thinking, she was squeezing the life out of Tracy.
Tracy tried to free herself from the vice-like grip of the embittered Aimz, but it was no use. The air was running out of her body as her face started turning purple.
Chainz: Doesn’t that just hit the spot? I know deep down that just feels right in a way.
Aimz suddenly lets go of Tracy and gets off of her, again about to try proving a point that she's nothing like the man who wants her partnership. She looks at her hands and then back at the smiling face of Michael Sloan, who seems to have no intentions of avenging his fiancée. Amy ambles away, seemingly without nervousness, but full of confusion. For some reason, it did feel right to her - it always had - and the fact that Chainz was right about her made her whole body shiver.
Chainz walked over to Tracy and picked her up. She slapped him.
Tracy: You asshole, why didn’t you help me?
Chainz: Relax honey, Miss Campbell needed to learn a lesson. One that I couldn’t teach her through words alone. Don’t worry, I knew she wasn’t gonna go further than that or else I would have intervened. You know you’re completely safe around me.
She looked skeptical, but like always believed the man and hugged him. Chainz looked down the hallway as a small smile crossed his face.
Chainz: Welcome to my world.
Despite being out of earshot, Aimz would spend the night knowing that Michael Sloan knew some part of her... and well.
Misplaced Agendas
FEATURING: SASHA VOLKYEVA, DAVID "PEARL" HARBER, OVERWEIGHT STEVE
AUTHOR: ???
Sasha Volkyeva, AWC’s own Mother Russia walked with a spring in her step toward the loading area of the Mile One Stadium. Someone had left her a delivery and my, my, it sounded like something worth dropping her hectic schedule for. As she approached the corner of the corridor she heard a distinctive voice…
Sasha Volkyeva: David…?
The words dripped from Sasha’s mouth in a stifled whisper. Why would Pearl be at the delivery port? She decided, with a roll of her eyes, that he no doubt had arranged for her so-called gift to be delivered just to be able to corner her about something else. The roster split, most likely. Regardless, her curiosity prevailed, an air of leverage emanating from her situation – could she catch out some plan of Pearl’s to bring her down? Mother Russia most certainly would not be outwitted by such an inadequate species of the male race.
Pearl: I told you last week about the plan, and to stop it. You didn’t follow through and now look what position you’ve put me in!
David Harber was uncharacteristically pent about something.
Pearl: Next time, keep your phone on. I don’t want to ruin anything we’ve established so far by some misunderstandings due to a lack of the ability to communicate. If I hire you to perform a certain job, then that duty you will perform – and if I tell you NOT to perform it, then you won’t. I won’t accept this lack of professionalism again.
Sasha, unable to maintain any form of secrecy, walked robustly toward Pearl’s direction, steering round the corner with the proverbial swagger of someone who knows something they indeed should not.
Sasha Volkyeva: David!
She looked around at her surroundings with artificially new disdain.
Sasha Volkyeva: What brings you back here?
Really, he could have asked her the same. But he didn’t. That speaks volumes. Pearl fidgeted with the phone.
Pearl: I gotta go, company has arrived.
Accepting the jutting nature of Sasha’s arrival, Pearl calmly closed the phone, placing it inside a trouser pocket.
Pearl: No particular reason... just had to make a call.
Sasha Volkyeva: Isn’t that what company phones are for?
Pearl shot her a glance that spoke more words than any indignant retort could ever inflict. His face however reclaimed the jovial expression – Pearl always was a happy character. That’s why everyone liked him.
Pearl: I felt like a walk, and besides… it was a personal call. You know, business options and the sort. Didn’t want to waste company money on personal issues – not with all the financial problems we got ourselves.
It was a model answer.
Pearl: Besides, who knows who is listening in on conversations these days?
A pointed stare. But Sasha knew he was up to something. Pearl always fought fair; maybe she would just let it slide – he wasn’t the clandestine sort.
Pearl: Anyway, what brings you back here? Shouldn’t you be bullying some new signings or creating an unpleasant mess that I have to sweep up?
Sasha shifted herself from side to side. Pearl had a point; at least her explanation had some sort of tangible proof.
Sasha Volkyeva: I have a parcel to pick up, David.
Pearl looked her straight in those blue eyes. He could normally read a person pretty well and she gave no signs of telling a fabrication.
Pearl: Okay, well I gotta go... show to run, you know. Good luck with that parcel.
The words meant nothing.
Sasha Volkyeva: Very well.
Her short syntax did nothing to disguise her blatant dislike for the man. Looking around her surroundings, Sasha saw a man in brown overalls with the orange AWC logo printed somewhat scruffily across his back. He was probably middle-aged. Probably didn’t know who she was. Probably married. Probably had kids. Probably was underpaid. Probably dissatisfied. Sasha cared not, he was but a means to an end.
Sasha Volkyeva: Hello there, can you direct me to where I might pick a parcel up?
The man ignored Sasha’s initial attempts at conversation. This displeased her.
Sasha Volkyeva: Hello! Can you help me?
Her voice was more determined this time. The man turned round to reveal a name badge of “Steve”. He was overweight… probably.
Steve: What can I do you for, ma’am?
His southern drawl made Sasha cringe. She hated Americans, especially slack jawed yokels such as this fine specimen. The words themselves grated, too; Pearl had used that inane expression only last week.
Sasha Volkyeva: I’m looking for a parcel, addressed to me. That’s Sasha Volk---
Steve reached into his pocket for an envelope; in one swift movement he handed the note to Sasha and walked away. Sasha looked down at the envelope before looking back up.
Sasha Volkyeva: Who gave this to…
Looking around, Steve had already disappeared.
Sasha Volkyeva: How very odd.
She tore open the envelope to reveal a piece of paper with two letters printed on it scrawled in an ineloquent fashion.
Sasha Volkyeva: “G.A.”...
Sasha looked perplexed.
Sasha Volkyeva: “G.A.” – what could this mean?
It seemed like hours had passed but in a few minutes the piece of paper was torn into shreds and dumped in the nearest waste paper basket. Maybe it was Pearl’s idea for a joke? It certainly wasn’t funny. With that she stormed off back down the corridor. Whoever had done it was not in Sasha’s good books.
Kris Krimzon vs Jack Murphy
STIPULATION: SINGLES
REFEREE: JOSEPH REID
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
Kris Krimzon is the AWC wrestler with the most historic association with the Club – his contract was first signed before even the likes of Pierce Lavelle were on David Harber’s roster. Nevertheless, his return in tonight’s feature match is hugely overshadowed by that of former Transatlantic champion “The Bull” Jack Murphy, who decimated Adam Dick after his successful title defence on Fresh! five days ago. Murphy lost his title belt to Dick in highly suspicious circumstances back at Twilight Of The Gods, when tonight’s commentators, Truth Waters and George Cassidy, went beyond the call of duty in their involvement. Out of form, out of sorts and out of AWC, Jack Murphy has had plenty of time to cool down, but it seems he just hasn’t been able to do so – having his ex-girlfriend and manager Jessica O’Grady consorting (willingly and then resignedly) with Adam Dick throughout his absence hasn’t helped matters. “The Illustrious Face-Eater” King Dick is clearly number one on The Bull’s hit-list; tonight’s opponent Krimzon, former partner of The Educator and crowd favourite for his goofiness, is but a sideshow.
Murphy begins with a display of his technical excellence. His proficiency in old-school wrestling and insistence on its use once frustrated AWC fans, but as he won them over they learnt to love The Bull’s unique blend of intricate wear-down techniques punctuated with awe-inspiring bursts of raw power. Krimzon, on the other hand, relies on his speed and his counter-attacking, so we have a match that covers all the basic principles here.
After two minutes, Kris Krimzon hasn’t contributed an offensive move, nor has he broken a sweat. Fireman’s carries and side headlocks can only go so far; although Krimzon isn’t as sprightly as when the match began, there is a little gleam of belief in his eyes. He’s blocked a few; he’s countered one or two... if he can channel The Bull’s considerable weight and use it against him, he will surely be able to capitalise with one of the daring high-risk moves in which he specialises – we hope his body has fully recovered from the horrific injury that originally put Krimzon out of AWC action; cramping his high-flying style could compromise his chances of success.
Slipping out of a body slam to land behind Jack Murphy, Krimzon senses his best chance and wraps Murphy into a neat double-arm DDT. As he springs up to the top rope, Truth Waters reminds us with something approaching pride that the man perched on the turnbuckle is a former Neon Wrestling Albany champion; Truth, like a considerable number of AWC staff, is proud of his short-lived Neon heritage.
Murphy stands, dazed, and walks right into a missile dropkick from Kris Krimzon. Joseph Reid’s count has to stop agonising short of three when Murphy kicks out.
The next few minutes are very even, Murphy affording more respect to the man who has now shown the capability to deny the former Transatlantic champion a victorious return to action. The tension is broken abruptly, however, when Krimzon’s Irish whip is reversed. As KK comes back off the ropes, Murphy steps in and sharply delivers the Bull Charge! Krimzon is completely unprepared and falls, broken, to the canvas; moments later The Bull has him up in the air and delivers the Fall From Grace. Just a one-second loss of concentration has cost Kris Krimzon (six, one, eight) this match. There’s no kicking out of the Fall From Grace.