Fresh!east Results22nd August 2006
Another Brush With The Beast
FEATURING: MIKEY O'REILLY, GABRIEL AFEAKI
AUTHORS: JEREMY J. AND JOE (MAGA)
Mikey O’Reilly is outside, smoking a cigarette. There is a strict “No Smoking” rule in the Belgrade Arena, Mikey wanted a smoke and stepped outside. (Badass - Ed.) He is sitting on the curb, wearing a leather jacket and looking up at the stars. The sky is clear, the stars are twinkling and the moon illuminate Mikey’s surroundings.
Mikey crushes his smoke, gets to his feet and is ready to re-enter the Belgrade Arena until he feels something. This feeling is one of evil, the same feeling he felt two weeks prior at Anapa Beach. He looks around, seeing if there’s anyone near him. Seeing nothing, feeling foolish about his feelings, he resumes walking back towards the door until a voice nearly makes Mikey O’Reilly jump out of his skin.
“We meet again...”
Mikey wheels around to see the Fijian Animal, Gabriel Afeaki, smiling at him. His eyes are illuminated in the moonlight, making him more sinister than ever. He slowly walks toward the Frontier champion, each pace sending O'Reilly further into his shell. The last time these two met, Mikey felt such an impious sentiment emanating from GA. He knew immediately that Gabriel wasn’t of this earth, and now he can feel it more than ever, as if it’s seeping out of his pores.
Gabriel Afeaki steps about one foot away from O’Reilly, his eyes remained locked on the Irishman. He raises his arms up and Mikey stands a defensive ground, then relaxes when Gabriel lowers the hood on the hoodie he is wearing. His smile is wider, showing off the majority of his teeth. The mind games would commence once more.
Gabriel Afeaki: The new Frontier champion, what a pleasure it is to meet you... again.
The words fell from Afeaki’s mouth... and seeped into the sub-conscious of O’Reilly. He was a mind fuck if ever one existed...
Gabriel Afeaki: Quite the performance, I might add, but you're certainly not good enough to be holding that title.
He steps closer to Mikey O’Reilly, inching him closer to the door, and Gabriel Afeaki, the Fijian Animal, continues to speak.
Gabriel Afeaki: You’re an impostor Mr. O’Reilly... If it weren’t for the heavy rainfall stopping the match you know as well as I do, and as well as Anton Assault knows… you would not be the Frontier champion. Now, you stand here before me, a proud man, clutching your title at every opportunity? I hear things Mikey, I hear a lot of things: you’ve been shouting your head off about this title… someone needs to bring you back to earth. Your victory was down to luck my friend, not skill, and tonight you will be undone. How long will this confidence and aggression last, Mikey? Stop imbuing yourself with false dreams and hopes that are better than you are… bigger than you ever could be. At any moment in time I could take everything you have worked for in the last six years, and end it all in an instant. Have you experienced a career threatening injury?
O’Reilly shakes his head… totally drawn in to every word flowing like a well written Kipling from Afeaki’s humble mouth.
Gabriel Afeaki: Emo Kid was just an example, Mr. O'Reilly... he was an example of why I’ve never been defeated in vale tudo combat. You know the funny thing? I didn't even apply the Fijian Leg Lock hard… he got off lightly.
GA looks toward O’Reilly… this was fun, but he had bigger fish to fry tonight. His hunt for Sasha was slowly coming to a head.
Gabriel Afeaki: You are a fake ass pikey, now, get out of my face.
Mikey O’Reilly feels his temper flaring. Without thinking, his right hand flinches into a fist, every muscle in his right arm flexing vehemently. Gabriel takes note of this, flashing that nefarious smile at the Irishman, chuckling to himself.
Gabriel Afeaki: You are an easy target. What are you going to do to quell your anger? Strike me? I’m quivering… really. Please, I’d rather not be responsible for putting you in a hospital bed for a very... long... time.
Mikey O’Reilly: Enough with these games!
GA doesn’t falter with the explosion from the newly crowned Frontier champion. He had O'Reilly in the palm of his hand, he knew it, he loved it...
Mikey O’Reilly: I know the last time we had our little altercation was just to throw me off of my match against Anton Assault two weeks ago, but now, you’re just pissing me off! Why are you bothering me? What do you want from me? What kind of game IS THIS?! So, if you’re going to do something… do it now!
Mikey O’Reilly is in GA’s face now. He’s looking up at him, waiting for him to do something – anything – in order for his evening to continue. All he wanted to do outside was have a smoke, not get into some sort of altercation with a man who could waste Mikey in about two seconds. He had seen what he did to Emo Kid two weeks ago, and Mikey would suffer a similar fate if he made the Fijian Animal mad. He rather liked his face the way it was… he didn’t want it rearranged. GA pushes his forehead into Mikey O’Reilly’s and continues.
Gabriel Afeaki: There are no games Mr. O’Reilly. You couldn’t be half the man I am, ever… stop frontin’ – you will always be an overrated hack. I’m sorry, you’ve caught me in a mood… you see…
Mikey O’Reilly feels a surge of pain in his chest. It makes him stagger several inches backward, forcing him to drop on his knees, coughing up a little blood on the ground. His heart is racing, his chest is throbbing and he lets out a groan in agony. His brown-green eyes are blazing; his vision is a blur…
Mikey O’Reilly: Wha’… what did you do…
He raises his head up to see that Gabriel Afeaki is nowhere to be found. Disappeared. Again. His fear is replaced with anger as he slowly gets to his feet, looking out into the moderately illuminated night.
The pain in his chest finally subsides, his heart is no longer racing and he regains his composure. He doesn’t need this worry... these run-ins with Afeaki; he had a match tonight, and that he needs to concentrate on. He walks toward the backstage door, opens it and steps inside and closes the door behind him.
Batman had once again struck fear into the hearts of his foes... who was he fighting for? GA looked on from the shadows watching O'Reilly enter the building once more. The chill of the Belgrade air caught him, it was so fresh, so youthful, vibrant and all that jazz. The games were over tonight, he was on the hunt... a certain Volkyeva was his target.
I’m sorry O’Reilly, you just seem to be collateral... collateral indeed.
It's On
FEATURING: AIMZ, TRACY STANTON, CHAINZ
AUTHORS: KATIE AND MIKE S.
The red hair of Amy Campbell came into view as she made her way around the backstage area, or what little there is. She passes a few cubicles and sees some of the wrestlers huddled inside. A rat scurries by her foot.
Aimz: Eww.
She side steps the rat and continues making her way along the cubicles, just resting before her match. She passes a cubicle and suddenly stops, unable to continue further. Inside the cubicle sits Tracy, huddled underneath a large coat trying to keep her thin body warm.
Aimz: Eww, I thought the rats were the worst this place had to offer.
Tracy sighed as she looked up to see Aimz standing in front of her. She shook the coat off and revealed why she had it on in the first place. She was wearing a slinky, sleeveless black dress that accentuated her chest. She was showing way too much skin for the climate and the weather of the night and it showed as goose bumps formed on her forearms.
Tracy: Well well well, if it itsn’t the slut of the AWC.
Aimz: Ha, everyone knows your holes are wide open for anyone to have.
The two females stood in front of each, sizing the other up. Although Aimz was the wrestler and more powerful, she was much shorter than Tracy thanks to her unnecessarily high heels.
Tracy: You know I’m tired of looking at your ugly face. I can’t believe you have a man with a mug like that. You probably come around me so much because you’re jealous of me.
Aimz: What’s there to be jealous of?
Tracy: Well for one, you look like a granny with those flabby, saggy, nasty little tits of yours.
Aimz: And you look like you’re about to lift off with those balloons on your chest.
Tracy: Your face is one only a mother could love.
Aimz: And yours is one all the cocks love.
Tracy: Funny, I always thought that Darcy was the king dick sucker round here.
Aimz: You watch your mouth bitch! I’ll knock you the fuck out just like last time.
Tracy: Face it, you’re jealous of the relationship I have with Michael. All you and Darcy seem to do is fight and squabble, while Michael and I are in love and happy. That’s why you’ve been hitting on him, flirting with him; you want him to replace the crummy boyfriend you have now. So let me say this straight, Michael’s not interested in you so stay away from my man!
She reached back and slapped Aimz across the face with her cold hand. Amy shook herself a bit and a smile crossed her face, the slap was the perfect motivation she needed to lay this skinny bimbo out.
As she reached back to throw a punch her hand was suddenly caught by the massive hand of Michael Sloan who happened on the scene at the right time.
Chainz: Ah ah ah, I don’t think you’ll be doing that.
He yanked Aimz out of the cubicle and positioned his body between her and Tracy. Tracy hugged him and gave him a long, French kiss making sure Aimz got a good look of their tongues interlocking.
Aimz: Ugh, I’m gonna be sick.
Chainz: You know, I’ve seen your skanky ass lusting after me for weeks. I know Darcy ain’t giving ya none at home, but shit, I’d rather fuck one of these rats before I stick my dick in your pussy, at least with them I know what I’m getting.
Aimz: Me lusting after you! What a fucking joke, you’re the one wanted to fuck me, it ain’t the other way. You might have your bitch fooled, but you can’t fool anyone else.
Tracy: Stop spreading your lies here, we’re both sick of it.
Chainz: Yeah, in fact I’m going to put an end to it. Coast To Coast, I want your ass in the ring. I don’t care what kind of match, shit you can pick it for all I care. I’m going to teach you some respect for both Tracy and I.
Aimz: You know what, I accept. You’ll regret this match after I’m done with you.
She blew him a kiss.
Aimz: The last one anyone will ever give your ass after I’m through with you.
She walked off, seemingly pleased with herself. Chainz stood by Tracy, wondering what the redhead had in mind for Coast To Coast.
The Masterplan
FEATURING: JOSH MARQUEZ, PADDY O'SHEA
AUTHORS: MICHAEL DOHERTY AND GARETH
Josh Marquez hadn’t realised how lucrative befriending the gypsy has-been would be. He did now. He’d spent large portions of the week listening to him warble on and on about how his miserable life was miserable and how his misery had created a life for me that could be described in no other way than miserable. And it was all AWC’s fault.
Sure Josh had considered killing either Paddy or himself on more than one occasion. Talking with Paddy was as riveting as Jeremy J.’s stamp collection. But, he persevered and found his reward. For one thing, Paddy has gotten himself a tidy little signing on bonus in his contract. Convincing Paddy he needed it to feed the starving orphans at St. Baraboo’s of his hometown, he got his hands on the money then spent the week in Vegas living it up with reds and blacks. Charity contributions were used in a myriad of ways, weren’t they?
Not to mention the AWC treatment… Paddy being high up in the AWC world was given a far superior hotel room than Marquez when travelling. Marquez told Paddy he was afraid of the lilac coloured walls and a swap was humbly made by the pleased Paddy. Things were going good for Marquez but he wanted this ALL the time… he wanted to command the respect Paddy did so he wouldn’t HAVE to scam his way into such luxuries.
Goddamnit, he was Josh friggin’ Marquez… yet a crusty old gypsy was being treated better by the bastards. So he assembled a plan.
Marquez and O’Shea arrived at the Belgrade arena in a way only one of them could demand. Limo. The white stretch, comes into full view as it turns right and manoeuvres through the car park. Streaks of light being emitted from the hazy streetlights decorate the limo beautifully as it comes to a stop. A shout is heard from inside.
Josh Marquez: Well open the fucking door Paddy! Can’t you see my hands are tied?
Paddy O’Shea: Sorry Josh, aye didn’t learn manners growin’ up.
Josh Marquez: Just hurry up!
A door opens on the far side and Paddy emerges wearing a white tank top and a pair of three quarter length khakis. It has to be said, with his greasy rat’s nest hair and unkempt growth on his chin, he is looking as messy as ever. With a look of anxiety, he runs around to the far side and opens the door.
Instead of Marquez emerging though, a string of beautiful women get out one by one. From inside, Marquez can be seen to be looking up their short short skirts as they awkwardly maneuver their way out.
Josh Marquez: Hot hot hot girls whoooo! Just go on down to Paddy’s locker room and I’ll be right down.
The hot hot hot girls disappear out of view and Marquez finally emerges looking as arrogant as can possibly be contrived. The cocky bastard. He’s wearing a shiny new Italian suit, black pin stripe with an open white shirt exhibiting his tanned, unmarked skin. His hair is the epitome of cool. What is most gripping however is the red lacy thong tied around his wrists. Binding them together.
Josh Marquez: Damn, that girl must have a security system installed around her pu-
Paddy O’Shea: Josh? Aye was wonderin’, about this plan ye said… ye know, t’ get control of AWC? They’ve made me life hell and all aye wan---
Josh Marquez: Yes yes, bastards, they’re all bastards. I get that, now, pull the potatoes out of your ears and listen to your only friend in the world – that’s me by the way, explain to you the plan.
Paddy smiles now broadly and leans in. Josh of course instantaneously pushes him and his odour out of sniffing range. Those fumes could do untold damage to the fabric of this suit, after all. He hated the loser but sacrifices had to be made on the way to the top.
Josh Marquez: You’re nice and high on the card but AWC has too many lackeys up there. They’ll screw you in every match, I mean last week? Screwed! I heard dodgy railings were put on that boat that everyone knew about apart form you. See? They tried to screw you!
Paddy O’Shea: But aye didn’t go over a rail---
Josh Marquez: That’s beside the point Paddy, listen a second. The thing is, you need support up there. I mean, how are we going to grab AWC by the throat if I’m stuck in shitty matches? How are we going to be a force if I’m stuck wrestling a guy in the middle of fucking thunderstorm?
Paddy O’Shea: But how can we get ye up the card?
Josh Marquez: Oh elementary my dear pikey. They may be out to sabotage our matches Paddy but you can help me win mine… even up the odds so to speak. So… the first step of the plan tonight is the match. This Darcy Crisis girl, I hear she’s tough.
Paddy O’Shea: She’s actually a h---
Josh Marquez: It doesn’t matter what it is, just listen. This is what I want you to do…
Josh pulls a small jar from his pocket and puts it in Paddy’s hand.
Josh Marquez: Laxatives. Now, put them in one of her drinks or something and make sure she doesn’t see you. The stupid bitch will be in such a rut about taking a shit, she’ll beg me to pin her.
Paddy looks at Josh in awe.
Paddy O’Shea: Wow… that’s like a master plan.
Josh smiles the car salesman smile.
Josh Marquez: Oh I’m good my gypsy friend. Now… step two involves satisfying this little horde of women. I’ll be in your locker room… you can use mine.
Paddy O’Shea: Aye can help ye!
Josh hurries away quickly, calling over his shoulder as he does.
Josh Marquez: Sorry Paddy, one of them is allergic to Irish people… you wouldn’t want to make a beautiful thing like her break out in hives now would you? Of course not. Laters!
Paddy’s head drops slightly but then picks himself up knowing he must go on with the plan for the greater good.
Josh Marquez: Oh yeah! Bertha’s still in the car eating a cheeseburger… you can attend to her! And Paddy – don’t forget the laxative.
Looking excited now, Paddy dives back into the limo to find out which one of the fine women was indeed Bertha. The door slams shut after him and the sound of the doors locking is heard.
Bertha: Bertha hungry! Come here!
Paddy O’Shea: Ahhhhhhhhhhh!
The limo rocks uncontrollably as Paddy’s girlish screams bringing the scene to a close.
Introduction
FEATURING: DAVE KERN, JEFF MARX
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
The flamenco-esque folk guitar of Vladimir Visotsky strums out over the Belgrade Arena, and many thousand fans sigh in unison and sit back to soak in the beautiful strains of “Vot Vash Vagon”. (Hyde will send this to you if you want to appreciate its utter awesomeness.)
Wait...
Where are all the fans?
The production director abruptly cuts away from the standard camera pan around the arena because quite frankly it looks horrible. Empty seat, after empty seat, after empty seat...
Wait...
Haven’t I read this before?
That’s right, Hyde’s ripping off wholesale the intro to the 25th July show!
Dave Kern: Hello and welcome to another, ah, empty Fresh!east show! It’s the last Fresh! prior to Coast To Coast and we’re set to get some further match announcements, as well as the teams for East versus West! But f---
Jeff Marx: But first we’re going straight back to Operation Laxative!
Operation Laxative
FEATURING: PADDY O'SHEA, SASHA VOLKYEVA
AUTHOR: MICHAEL DOHERTY
He was the King of espionage, silent as a snake. He was that smelly pikey who wasn’t O’Reilly (otherwise known as rent-a-gimmick). He was Paddy O’Shea and on a mission. One which he would not fail.
Josh had been good to him. He’d listened to him and stuck by him. He felt it was his duty to repay the favor when he could. Swapping hotel rooms and donating money to charity was such a small sacrifice, he felt that even after this mission he would still be miles away from making up the debt.
All this was running through Paddy’s mind as he opened the door to Darcy Crisis’s locker/cubicle . It was dark… this was good, that meant he wasn’t here and his task became that little bit easier. Spotting an open can of coke, he proceeded to carefully unscrew the lid of his jar and drop a few of the laxatives into the coke. He swirled the concoction and carefully placed it back down.
Voice: Darcy! I would like a word!
Paddy O’Shea: Bugger.
Sprinting out of the cubicle as quickly as he could, he neglected to close the door and the can sat alone and contaminated on the now open locker.
Now a new figure entered the room. A voluptuous figure that wore sexy black and sported a shock of blond hair. This figure was your and my much loved Entertainment Manager Sasha.
Sasha Volkyeva: Darcy, I know you’re in here! I want a word! Who said you could just appear in that match on the silly boat last week?! Come on, show yourself!
Looking around she breathed a heavy sigh. Looking for people tonight was like a grand hunt. Oh well… at least she could take a drink of this can before she proceeded on her chase of the weasly little bastard. Picking it up, she drank a little, then a lot, then placed it down. Taking one last look at the cubicles, she turned on her heels and left.
Sasha Volkyeva: Humph… that Darcy had better hurry up and realise I’m no number two around these parts!
Darcy Crisis vs Josh Marquez
STIPULATION: SINGLES
REFEREE: LARS LARSSON
AUTHORS: DAVE LARKIN AND NATHAN
Dave Kern: We’re kicking off the show tonight with a juicy contest, pitting relative newcomer Josh Marquez up against Darcy Crisis, whose record in AWC thus far has been quite impressive.
Jeff Marx: Are you serious? Crisis has frankly failed to impress me in his time here! Sure, the guy packs a punch when he wants to, but when it comes down to it, Darcy Crisis lets us all down by paying far too much attention to those mindless people cheering for him every week.
Dave Kern: You mean the fans? The backbone of the wrestling industry?
Jeff Marx: More like the bane of the wrestling industry! Because of them, Darcy Crisis has no guts to go the extra mile and be ruthless. Marquez, on the other hand, is impressive. The guy exudes confidence and will be a huge success here if, and only if, he plays his cards in the right way.
Dave Kern: Last week on Fresh!west, Darcy Crisis was involved in the first and what I hope won’t be the last Battle on the Barge match. The match itself was a melee, and Crisis was eliminated from it via bike. He’ll be looking to come back strong this week.
Jeff Marx: If by strong you mean with a defeat caused by his own idiocy, then yes.
The camera pans down to the ring, where James Brunt stands ready for the match to begin.
Hide your face forever... Dream and search forever...
A heavy guitar riff hits, marking the opening of "Open Your Eyes" by the Guano Apes. Darcy bursts through the curtain with his arm raised high. He points at the fans who give him the biggest reactions, trying to get everybody fired up.
James Brunt: Making his way to the ring, from East Bay, California... weighing in at 227 pounds, DARCY CRISIS!
Darcy slides into the ring under the ropes, taking in the fan reaction for a few moments before climbing the turnbuckle, thumping his chest twice and throwing both arms into the air doing his best to work the spectators speckled around the arena into a frenzy.
Dave Kern: Darcy Crisis getting a nice ovation from those few fans who actually are here tonight. Not surprising at all. They’ll be fully behind him in this match.
Jeff Marx: It makes me sick how gullible these fans can be at times. Crisis is leading them all on. One day, he will drop the charade and betray them all, turning to the dark side of the force.
Kern and Marx exchange a look of confusion.
Dave Kern: Star Wars, Jeff?
Jeff Marx: It’s a metaphor, alright?
Dave Kern: Ooh, Darcy’s been handed a mic. Looks like Darcy Crisis has something to share with us here…
Jeff Marx: His real gender?
Darcy receives the mic, whereupon he makes an about face back toward the curtain, an unquestionable gleam in his eye.
Darcy Crisis: Alright ladies and gentlemen, before I deal with AWC’s version of Kenny Rogers, I’ve got something to say. We’re just 10 days away from the biggest show of the year, Coast To Coast. Everybody’s going to be pulling out all the stops, everybody’s looking to make an impact, and everybody is hoping to be the one that steals the show.
Darcy takes a small pause as the crowd wonders where he’s going with this. The announcers use the opportunity to concur his sentiments.
Dave Kern: It’s true Jeff, in just 10 days the Eastern tour will be competing live at the Wembley Arena for the east segment of Coast to Coast!
Jeff Marx: Thank God Sasha secured a covered arena for this one… that was disastrous what happened at the Fresh!special…
Darcy Crisis: But if I do recall correctly, it was me and Garbage Bag Johnny that stole the show at Divide And Conquer with the Landfill match, and you can sure as hell bet that it’s gonna be ME, the D-Masta-C stealing the show one more time, on the biggest stage of them all!
A small pop for that, but nevertheless a barely audible reaction coming from the typical sparse crowds the East tour has been generating.
Darcy Crisis: But like I said, we’re just 10 days away, and Ol’ Darcy here is still looking for a dance partner. But as luck would have it, there are a couple of big names that’ve been following the Fresh!east tour around, downright legends, if you will, Tony Little and Billy Mays!
Jeff Marx: Or as I like to call them, Gazelle Boy and OxyFat.
Dave Kern: Shhh!!
Darcy Crisis: As you know, I’m a good friend of Tony’s, and I’ve been trying to help him promote his Gazelle here on tour. And as you know, Billy is a friend of a certain Venezuelan Joe Pesci rip-off…and apparently the two don’t like each other. Things kind of came to a head last week, and if I can get the boys in the back to run the clip I can show you what I mean.
The boys oblige, and the clip is replayed from last week featuring Billy Mays’ appearance.
Billy Mays: IF YOU'VE WATCHED TONY LITTLE BE A JACKASS ON AWC TELEVISION, YOU PROBABLY THOUGHT "WOW, I WANT TO KICK THAT GUY'S ASS!" WELL, NOW YOU'LL GET TO SEE TONY'S ASS GET STOMPED COURTESY OF LUIS FERRARA AND BILLY MAYS.
Billy Mays: WE'LL KICK HIM, WE'LL PUNCH HIM, WE'LL GOUGE HIS EYES OUT, WE'LL DO IT ALL IN UNDER THREE MINUTES AND WE'LL DO IT WELL. IT'S A THREE-IN-ONE DEAL FOR THE LOW, LOW PRICE OF NOT A GODDAMN CENT.
Mays drops his microphone and starts up the ramp, rolling up his sleeves. Luis starts down after him, slipping his tonfa out of his jacket. Tony Little drops his mic as well and backs up.
Dave Kern: Just what exactly are we witnessing here?
Jeff Marx: The battle of a lifetime!
Mays rolls into the ring and gets to his feet. He weathers a weak-looking kick from Little and rises to his feet, smashing Tony in the head with a forearm. Tony drops to a knee and then climbs to his feet, putting up his dukes. He throws a jab that catches Mays in the jaw. Billy shakes his head and kicks Tony in the stomach, doubling America's Fitness Trainer® over and sending him into a fit of coughing. He lifts his head, but a crack quickly sounds through the air.
Dave Kern: Oh no! Not… no!
Luis Ferrara has cracked Tony over the head with his tonfa and now he and Billy Mays are putting the boots to Tony Little. Tony has curled up into a fetal position to try and defend himself, but their boots seem to be homing in on whatever spaces he leaves open.
Jeff Marx: This is a well-oiled machine! For not a goddamn cent, I might just buy Punches-to-Face.
Dave Kern: Shut up!
Suddenly, a blur hurtles down the aisle and leaps upwards, sliding under the bottom rope.
Dave Kern: Darcy Crisis with the save!
Crisis throws a stiff right hand to the jaw of Billy Mays, knocking him off course. He continues to batter Mays, knocking him backwards further and furhter before he takes him down with a lariat. Luis Ferrara comes from behind to silence Crisis with the tonfa, but DMC manages to evade the shot and come back with a roaring elbow.
Dave Kern: Darcy's protecting Tony Little!
Jeff Marx: Anton's joining the party!
Dave Kern: Not good!
Anton slides into the ring, dashikiless, and he gets to his feet. He comes straight up against Darcy and they exchange a very heated glare, fists balling and unballing. Neither man speaks a word. None are needed here.
Darcy Crisis:: Stop the clip! Stop it right there!
The clip freezes on a frame of Darcy and Anton staring at each other, with the tension clearly boiling over.
Darcy Crisis: There! Can everybody see that? If this were just about Tony and Billy, I’d say let them have it… I can scarcely find the words to describe that level of debaclery, but it would certainly be entertaining. But look at that picture up there! Tell me you don’t see it!
Darcy points up at the frozen image of himself and the Lion, as the crowd looks on. The announcers remain hushed.
Darcy Crisis: Two men, innocently caught up in this B-level celebrity feud… but two men who in my opinion are vastly underappreciated around here. Two men routinely finding themselves playing bodyguard for Sasha, or getting thrown off barges, or in fifty-man, diner room clusterfucks, just for the chance to make an impact. Well I don’t know what was going through Anton’s mind as he locked eyes with me, but as I locked eyes with him I saw a golden opportunity to make an impact, a GOLDEN opportunity to steal the show at Coast To Coast, and a golden opportunity for us to get ours, and our friends to get theirs. Rock ‘n’ Wrestling doesn’t have shit on this idea…
Jeff Marx: If he’s going where I think he’s going with this, I’m going to be sick…
Dave Kern: Whatever Jeff, I’m excited!
Darcy Crisis: Friday, September 1st at the Wembley Arena… live on pay-per-view, I say we have an Infomercials ‘n’ Wrestling “War to Settle the Score!” In one corner, yours truly, Darcy Crisis, accompanied by America’s Fitness Trainer, Tony Little! And in the other corner, the Lion himself, Anton Assault, with Billy Mays in tow! No disqualifications. Interference encouraged. And the winning pair accepts their respective titles as Late-Night Info-King and Superior Wrestler Extraordinaire!
The diminutive Serbian crowd, not sure what to make over the thought of a wrestling match laden with American infomercial icons, starts booing profusely, although it is again only barely audible on the camera feed. Darcy pays this no attention as he now turns to look into the camera.
Darcy Crisis: So if you’ve got the cojones, Lion, you’ll get that little rat Ferrara to make it happen. But let me also tell you this… I was hoping like hell that we could make this match for the Frontier championship, so I could have the opportunity to make an impact by bringing home my first gold since I came out of retirement. But you had to go and somehow, unbelievably, lose that belt to Mikey Freakin’ O’Reilly. Now I know it was bullshit, I know the rain screwed everything up, but the fact of the matter is that I still want that belt. So you better pray to your Higher Power, Anton, that you win that belt back tonight so you can put it on the line against me at Coast To Coast. Because if you don’t, I’ll have to find another way to make the kind of impact I’m looking for… and if you wanna see how, I suggest you watch what I do to the Gambler.
With that, Darcy tosses the microphone aside and turns to the curtain, aggressively gesturing for Marquez to come out.
As ‘Ace Of Spades’ starts, searchlights move around the arena, coming to rest on the entranceway as Marquez appears. In his one of his hands he plays with some poker chips or a deck of cards as he makes his way slowly to the ring. When he reaches it, he rolls in under the bottom rope before turning and smiling at the hard camera, throwing the chips or cards into the air.
Dave Kern: Josh Marquez boasts a record of one win and two defeats in his AWC career. He’ll be eager to impress tonight in front of these two thousand fans in Belgrade. Come to think of it, why the terrible attendance tonight?
Jeff Marx: No idea, I’m afraid to say. I have a theory, though.
Dave Kern: Care to share it with us?
Jeff Marx: Um… no, not really.
Lars Larsson checks both men to ensure they are not carrying any foreign objects, then calls for the bell.
DING DING DING!
Marquez and Crisis circle each other in the centre of the ring for this opening match tonight on Fresh!east, live from Belgrade, Serbia. Marquez makes the first move, tying up with Crisis. The power of Crisis is too much for Marquez, however, as Marquez is shoved away against the ropes. Marquez explodes back at Crisis, unloading on him with left and right punches to the face. Marquez whips Crisis against the ropes. Crisis ducks under the attempted clothesline, waits for Marquez to turn and nails him dead in the face with a standing dropkick.
Dave Kern: The crowd love the first exchange between these two. Already you can sense the tide turning towards the fan favourite.
Jeff Marx: Yawn… where have I seen this before?
Crisis and Marquez keep up the fast pace, with Crisis looking to keep the pressure firmly on. Crisis locks the armbar on Marquez, causing the newcomer to reach frantically for the ropes. Eventually, Marquez reaches the ropes and manages to break the hold before any serious damage can be done. Crisis lifts Marquez to his feet, but the former is surprised by the quick atomic drop by Marquez. Marquez goes straight for the cover.
ONE!
Dave Kern: Only a one count there, but Marquez seemed to come out of nowhere with that atomic drop, right into the REGIONS~!
Jeff Marx: That’s what I mean, Dave. We need wrestlers to be ruthless. This young Marquez is definitely that. He has talent in abundance, and it’s only a matter of time until he shocks Darcy Crisis and wins this one!
Now that Marquez has his opponent on the ground writhing in pain, he begins to stomp heavily on Crisis. Marquez delivers three knee drops to Crisis’ head in succession, Crisis reeling from each blow. Marquez, now in control, lifts Crisis to his feet and whips him against the turnbuckle in the corner. Marquez charges in after his opponent, but Crisis cleverly avoids Marquez by jumping onto the second rope and kneeing Marquez in the nose. Marquez holds his nose and turns away, not spotting Crisis going to the top rope.
Dave Kern: What’s Crisis got in mind here, Jeff?
Jeff Marx: I can’t read minds, Dave, but I’d bet on something slightly stupid.
Crisis dives acrobatically off the top rope and delivers a stunning jumping DDT to Marquez, knocking him down to the canvas in a heap. Blood trickles from Marquez’s nose as Crisis drapes an arm over Marquez.
ONE!
TWO!
Marquez powers out just before the three count, as the bleeding becomes worse. Crisis has the crowd fully behind him now as he lifts Marquez up to his feet. Marquez appears slightly light-headed, but holds his own momentarily as the two exchange fists. Crisis reverses an Irish whip from Crisis and explodes back at Crisis with a diving shoulder. Marquez scales the top rope quickly, the blood dripping down to the canvas.
Dave Kern: HIGH RISK MOVE!
Jeff Marx: Don’t do it, Josh!
Josh Marquez throws caution to the wind and lands hard on Crisis’ abdominal region with a beautiful frogsplash. The crowd are in stunned silence as Marquez makes the lazy cover on Darcy Crisis.
ONE!
Dave Kern: OH MY GOD, THIS COULD BE IT!!!
Jeff Marx: Calm down, would you? You’re starting to sound like my gambling addicted uncle.
TWO!
THR--
Dave Kern: No, not quite! Darcy Crisis has kicked out, and the crowd are absolutely buzzing with excitement.
Jeff Marx: Josh Marquez doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve this fate!
Marquez is in absolute disbelief at the two count. Crisis seems to be recovering from the impact now, getting back to his feet before Marquez. Crisis lifts Marquez to his feet and delivers a wicked elbow to the face of Marquez. Marquez flies back into the corner, with Crisis in hot pursuit. Darcy Crisis wastes no time and delivers a sambo suplex on Marquez, sending him down hard to the canvas.
Dave Kern: This match is reaching its climax now, Jeff! I can feel it…
Jeff Marx: If you ejaculate on this announcing table, I swear I will retire.
Dave Kern: What the hell are you talking about?
Jeff Marx: I’m sorry, but the way you phrase things sometimes is unsettling. Criminal, even.
Marquez is pulled to his feet by Crisis, who resists the temptation to pin his opponent. Marquez is whipped against the ropes by Crisis. As Marquez comes towards him Crisis kicks Marquez in the gut and locks on Mind Crisis instantly. Marquez resists the set-up move, however, not allowing himself to be pulled down to the mat.
Dave Kern: Marquez is doing his utmost not to be dragged down to the mat for The Darcinator!
Jeff Marx: What a stupid name for a finisher. I mean, I could come up with better. How about the Marxinator? I actually like the ring of that…
Marquez throws Crisis over his head, making Crisis land hard on his back. Marquez runs against the ropes, looking to hit a Facefuck, but Crisis catches Marquez as he descends for the move, locking on The Darcinator.
Dave Kern: It could be academic here!
Jeff Marx: No, not academia!!!
Marquez’s resistance finally gives way now, as he taps out of Darcy Crisis’s submission move. Crisis rolls away and receives a standing ovation from the crowd as he gets to his feet. Lars Larsson declares Crisis the winner by raising his arm.
Dave Kern: A well-deserved win for Darcy Crisis to kick tonight off!
Jeff Marx: I’m really considering the Marxinator as a legitimate move.
James Brunt: Your winner… DARCY CRISIS!!!
From The Archives III
FEATURING: NEWSREADER, INTERVIEWER, GIRL
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
A primitive newsdesk is shown, behind which an immaculate white-skinned tall blonde is reading the news in an incomprehensible language that is in fact Russian. Subtitles adorn the bottom of our screen.
The Svetinglalsk massacre in the early hours of this morning has shocked the nation. Raiders, believed to be a local barbarian clan, descended upon the defenceless village armed with machetes and home-crafted clubs and knives. Having set alight every building in Svetinglalsk, they proceeded to brutally murder every person they could get their hands on, including dozens of women and children. Nearly two-thirds of the villagers are so far reported dead after this calculated massacre, and the village is still burning.
The shot switches to the inside of a rescue lorry, where numerous people, mainly small children, sit and cry and scream and realise what is going on around them. A man crouches in a suit, seemingly a television reporter. Again, subtitles help us understand what he says to the first girl he approaches – just about six years old, with white-blonde hair and watery blue eyes; she has been silent while everyone around her has panicked and screamed.
What’s your name?
There is no response.
I'm here to help. I'm from television. What’s your name, how are you feeling?
“Nyet!”
Taken aback, the interviewer puts his hand out on the girl’s shoulder, but she shrugs it off.
It’s OK. It’s OK.
No it’s not. Everybody is dead.
Those are her first words.
Not everybody. You are here. Safe. What is your name? Sasha. Everybody is dead. My mother, my father, my sisters. My brother too.
It’s going to be OK.
How? Why? They were all killed with knives. I don’t know why. Why?
I don’t know either. I'm sorry. It’s going to be OK.
No it’s not. Everybody is dead.
Back to the studio.
A young girl clearly traumatised by the shocking events. She has tragically lost her family. Now in other news...
The Wager Rages On
FEATURING: GARBAGE BAG JOHNNY, PIERCE LAVELLE
AUTHOR: JOSH K.
The camera pans in on a brand new pair of worn out Adidas Sambas to some hairy shins, up even further to the red mesh shorts that begin to make this walking figure more recognizable. The confirming, hairy torso isn’t the fittest of torsos, and the waist especially seems like its missing something… but anyway, the mumbling head of Garbage Bag Johnny speaks.
Garbage Bag Johnny: Who the hell is Kasidy Drake? That son of a bitch has got some nerve. I’m the Zero 2 Hero champion. I won the damned Surf City Diner match. I’m the number one contender to more Transatlantic titles than anyone in AWC history ever has been! And this guy, because of some serum controversy? I’ll show him! I’ll make a serum ten times more powerful.
Garbage Bag turns a corner, laughing to himself, but he turns right into the chiseled statue that is Pierce Lavelle, shiny AWC Transatlantic belt in tow.
Pierce Lavelle: What’s so funny?
Garbage Bag double-takes at one of his Coast To Coast opponents, not quite expecting to have bumped into him. In fact, GBJ had probably been strategically avoiding the AWC champion.
Pierce Lavelle: And what are you even doing here? You’re supposed to be on the West tour.
Garbage Bag Johnny looks confused, literally looking around for an excuse somewhere on the walls. Unfortunately, they don’t hang excuses on walls anymore like they used to, so Garbage Bag has to ring it, and he’s doing a terrible job at it.
Garbage Bag Johnny: I think I was on the West show, but I must’ve took a wrong turn walking around backstage and I ended up here. I remember tunneling under the ocean and questioning whether or not I had missed my locker room, but I kept going anywhere, and now, here I am.
Pierce Lavelle: Yeah, well, don’t forget that little bet we had going. I don’t see the lovely Miss Nash by your side.
Garbage Bag Johnny: Yeah, I remember…
Pierce Lavelle: So when she dumps you now that Adam’s back, you owe me one million dollars. In fact, I bet she leaves you high and dry before Coast To Coast is over. You better start emptying out your bank accounts.
Garbage Bag Johnny: I’d love to help you out, but I’ll be too busy contemplating how I, Garbage Bag Johnny, will be spending my newfound wealth… and I’ll also be too busy making a serum ten times more powerful than that Drake guy’s serum. Well, take it easy Pierce. See you at Coast To Coast.
Garbage Bag Johnny tries walking away, but Pierce grabs him by the arm and looks him in the eye with a look of intensity more intense than the heat of one thousand suns each burning to a point of intensitude that’s so intense that not even the highest SPF suntan lotion would save from sunburn.
Pierce Lavelle: What did you say?
Garbage Bag Johnny shakes and gulps as the camera switches away.
Aimz vs Colby Korver
STIPULATION: SINGLES
REFEREE: SELENA SUMNER
AUTHOR: DAVE LARKIN
Dave Kern: We’re already flying ahead to our second singles match of the night, this one pitting Aimz against one half of the strangely named tag team, Delta Upsilon Iota, Colby Korver. How do you see this one panning out, Jeff?
Jeff Marx: It’s all Greek to me! OHHH~! But Dave, you know better than anyone that I don’t analyze matches before they begin. I pass judgment on the wrestlers involved throughout the match. It’s more fun that way.
Dave Kern: You’re not even going to give your prediction?
Jeff Marx: Okay, okay. I’ll bite. My prediction is that Aimz will rip Korver’s testicles off, place them in his mouth and force him to swallow them, like she will swallow him whole.
Dave Kern: I think I’m gonna be sick…
Jeff Marx: Don’t be. It was a metaphor, Dave. Metaphors rock, you know that?
Dave Kern: Swiftly moving on, ladies and gentlemen. We’ll send you right down to ringside for our second match of the night. The impeccably dressed James Brunt is ready and waiting.
Jeff Marx: Impeccably gay is more like it. Purple suits just don’t work, James!
Dave Kern: I thought gay people were known for a good fashion sense?
Jeff Marx: Uh, hello. Didn’t you ever see what Steven wore?
Ghost of Steven Smith: Excuuuthe me?
The crowd sense the match is about to begin as James Brunt switches his microphone on. Silence falls over the two thousand fans in attendance as Brunt prepares himself.
James Brunt: Ladies and gentlemen, the following is a singles match and it is scheduled for one fall!
“Interlude 12/21” by AFI begins to play on the P.A. system and Aimz appears from behind the curtain to a chorus of boos from the small number of fans in the arena. They change to gasps of shock and surprise as fans catch sight of the immense bandaging down her side.
Jeff Marx: What the hell is THAT?
Dave Kern: Aimz must have picked up an injury… maybe she scraped her side falling off the barge last week? A training injury seems more likely…
Jeff Marx: (with a knowing wink) Oh, I think we all know where Aimz gets her injuries…
Aimz seems unaffected by her reception, striding down to the ring confidently. She enters the ring, jumping over the top rope acrobatically. She passes by Brunt and walks around the ring, soaking in the atmosphere.
James Brunt: In the ring, from Halifax, Canada… weighing in at 147 pounds… AIMZ!!!
Dave Kern: Doesn’t Aimz look a little slutty to you tonight, for a woman all gauzed up?
Jeff Marx: Please, Aimz has always been a slut, Dave. It’s all down to taming her. If a man can settle her down, she’ll be his to mould into his own toy, so to speak.
Dave Kern: I think she’s not the kind of woman who’d do that, don’t you?
Jeff Marx: I’d disagree there, Dave. How gullible are you? Women deserve to be treated like our slaves.
Dave Kern: Okay, way too controversial!
Jeff Marx: Okay, forget I said that. I –
Marx’s microphone is suddenly switched off, as Kern berates Marx for his comments. Marx is livid and begins to curse at the fans behind him. His microphone is finally switched back on in the middle of a rant.
Jeff Marx: -- and don’t even think about calling me a – oh, I’m back on.
Dave Kern: It’s probably best that you stay quiet for the moment.
“Master of Puppets” by rock legends Metallica plays loudly in the arena, as the Serbian fans come to their feet, more for the music than Colby Korver’s arrival. Korver does get a decent reception as he heads down to ringside, however. Korver enters the ring and eyes his opponent as he scales the top rope. His music fades out as Brunt announces his arrival.
James Brunt: And her opponent, from Orlando, Florida… weighing in at 232 pounds… COLBY KORVER!!!
The fans settle down now as Korver and Aimz square up in the middle of the ring. Referee Selena Summer calls for the bell and the match begins with Korver and Aimz circling each other. Aimz sneers at Korver who openly ignores it and takes Aimz down with a rugby tackle. Korver, now having gotten Aimz’s attention, lifts her up and slams her back into the corner. Korver delivers shoulder thrusts to Aimz in quick succession, then allows her to fall onto her buttocks. Aimz yells in pain clutching her injured side and kicking her legs with the agony.
Dave Kern: Quite a dominating start here from Colby Korver. He’s definitely looking to impress tonight, as his team DUI aren’t exactly on the map here in AWC yet. A win against Aimz tonight could do his career the world of good. Jeff Marx: Or perhaps a… metaphor? Yes, a metaphor for something deeper, maybe.
Dave Kern: Jeff that means nothing because Hyde deleted all the crap about boobs.
Jeff Marx: What? Uh… Use your boobs, Aimz!
Aimz doesn’t take heed of the advice of Jeff Marx, instead ducking a punch from Korver and rolling behind him. Facing Korver’s back, Aimz delivers a neckbreaker, looking to buy some respite from Korver’s onslaughts. Aimz shakes off the cobwebs and lifts Korver up to his feet. Aimz looks Korver in the eye and lets loose a wicked slap across his cheek. Korver’s eyes light up in fury as he edges closer to Aimz, whose confident sneer disappears a little as she feels the pain in her side.
Dave Kern: Oooh, bad move by Aimz. Korver does not have a good bedside manner, in my experience.
Jeff Marx: The boobs, I tell you! Come on, women must be good for something!
Korver seethes with anger, but a thumb to the eye from Aimz takes him by surprise. Aimz whips Korver off the ropes, grounding the big man with a hip toss. Aimz delivers a jumping leg drop across the throat of Korver and hooks the leg for the pin.
ONE!
TWO!
Korver kicks out, grabbing Aimz by the throat as he does so. Korver gets back to his feet, still holding Aimz and tightening his grip.
Dave Kern: Close fall there, but Korver has Aimz in a tight spot here.
Jeff Marx: Aimz needs to wallop Korver’s testicles, Dave. Then the operation can begin.
Korver lifts Aimz up into a chokehold so that her feet dangle above the canvas. Korver then unleashes a wicked capture suplex on Aimz, leaving her motionless in the middle of the ring. Korver wastes no time, locking on his finisher Hell Week. The crowd sense the end is near and begin to cheer for Korver’s attempts to make Aimz tap.
Dave Kern: Aimz is in absolute agony here to Korver’s Hell Week! Surely she’s close to tapping out.
Jeff Marx: The ropes are near, though. She dives for the ropes…
Dave Kern: And Aimz has reached the bottom rope! Korver must break the hold.
Jeff Marx: Lucky break there by Aimz, but I’d put it down to female intuition, whatever that is.
Korver opts to lift Aimz to her feet, then whips her against the ropes. Korver nails Aimz with a heavy clothesline, turning Aimz inside out. Korver covers Aimz.
ONE!
TWO!
Dave Kern: I fail to see how Aimz can kick out here.
Jeff Marx: BREAST POWER!
Aimz does shoot a shoulder off the canvas, just as everyone is about to celebrate a win for Korver. Aimz rallies now, getting back to her feet despite the pain racking her. Keeping an arm over her bandages, Aimz keeps Korver grounded with a series of kicks to the face. Aimz bounces off the ropes, throws caution to the wind, and lands on Korver with a senton splash. Aimz, now sensing her momentum building, scales the top rope just as Korver regains his balance. Aimz dives off, delivering a stunning hurricanrana to Korver. Both competitors collapse onto the canvas in a heap.
Dave Kern: STUNNING MOVE BY AIMZ!!!
Jeff Marx: I told you, Dave - breast power. What more do I need to say?
Dave Kern: This could be a huge turning point in the match. Aimz is finally able to show her daring, lucha libre style, ignoring the side effects it may be having on her mystery injury!
Jeff Marx: But will it be enough? Answer in short, yes.
Aimz crawls across the ring to make the cover on a dazed Korver. The referee goes down to make the count.
ONE!
Dave Kern: Aimz could wrap it up here after that spectacular move!
Jeff Marx: Oh, it’s just a matter of time.
TWO!
Korver uses his ring savvy to get his foot on the bottom rope before the three count. Aimz is incensed with the decision by the referee, but perseveres nonetheless. Aimz lifts Korver up to his feet. Korver lashes out at Aimz with a kick, but Aimz catches the boot and nails an ensiguri on Korver. Aimz jumps to the top rope as quickly as possible.
Dave Kern: Aimz is gonna finish Korver off here. The crowd senses it…
Jeff Marx: Do it for ladies all over the world, Aimz!
Dave Kern: I thought you hated women.
Jeff Marx: You are correct, but this woman changes my mind.
Aimz flies off the top rope and delivers her Dead Aim on Korver.
Dave Kern: DEAD AIM! And she’s in agony! Look, the Dead Aim took more than its usual toll on the injured Amy Campbell.
The crowd boo Aimz, but this doesn’t bother her as she stretches painfully and makes the cover. Sumner goes down for the count.
ONE!
Dave Kern: Spectacular move by Aimz… will it be enough?
Jeff Marx: Two more seconds…
TWO!
THREE!
Dave Kern: That’s it! Aimz has defeated Colby Korver tonight.
Jeff Marx: Against all the odds.
Dave Kern: Being female doesn’t make it an upset!
Jeff Marx: I enjoy annoying you, though.
James Brunt: The winner… AIMZ!!!
Aimz heads up the rampway to a mixed reception as her music plays her out. Selena Summer raises her hand in victory.
Dave Kern: In the words of Foo Fighters, “Done, done, and I’m onto the next one!”
Jeff Marx: Never sing again. Ever.
Dave Kern: I wasn’t singing!
Jeff Marx: (shrugging) Who knows? This is just pixels on a screen.
Reunion Of Old Rivals... Again I
FEATURING: CHAINZ, ZSASZ
AUTHORS: MIKE S. AND JEREMY J.
Mike “Chainz” Sloan is walking in the backstage area, getting his fiancée, Tracy Stanton, a cup of coffee. She’s been complaining about how cold she has been all evening and she sent Chainz out to fetch her coffee. Chainz doesn’t like the fact that Tracy turned her man into an errand boy, but it is best not to argue about it. Their relationship is back to where it’s supposed to be, they’re no longer in shouting matches and Tracy can now trust her man again.
Chainz walks up to the concession stand, takes a Styrofoam cup and fills it with plain, black coffee. Tracy remains Chainz several times that she likes sugar in her coffee, something Chainz has known ever since he met her. Grumbling to himself he finds the sugar, sprinkles a moderate amount and stirs it in with a straw. As he is stirring Tracy’s fucking sugar in her fucking coffee, a large hand clasps on his right shoulder. This doesn’t make Chainz jump, no. In fact, it aggravates him, thinking there’s some sort of Serbian security guard about to penalize him for something he isn’t doing wrong.
He turns around, about to rip the security guard’s head off until he realizes he’s staring deep into a pair of sapphire blue eyes. Zsasz is flashing his trademark sadistic grin.
Chainz: You...
Zsasz: Yes, me...
Chainz brushes Zsasz’s hand off his shoulder and steps backward, banging his lower back onto the concession stand. He doesn’t grimace; he won’t give Zsasz the satisfaction that banging his lower back on the table hurt.
Zsasz: It’s been awhile hasn’t it, Sloan? Why, it’s been so long that I saw that you won the Countdown Trophy two weeks ago, taking it from Vince Jones. Must make you feel very proud to steal something from someone. It’s no surprise, really. Not only are you a serial rapist, you are a thief. Two things I cannot condone. You’re batting a thousand with society, aren’t you?
Mike Sloan isn’t amused with Zsasz’s smug attitude. He has other things to do than to play these insipid mind games with this man.
Chainz: What do you want?
Zsasz’s grin widens to show most of his pearly white teeth.
Zsasz: I figured you were going to ask me that. Remember that challenge I issued you at Divide And Conquer, about the Gauntlet match that’ll subsequently unleash your full potential? I was thinking that I would have that match booked at Coast To Coast. It’s the biggest pay-per-view of the year, it’ll bring the best out of everyone on the AWC roster, and I believe it would be fitting to see if you have the potential to defeat four of my loyal accomplices. So... do we have a match, Sloan?
Is Zsasz nuts? Is he really going to think that Chainz is going to accept the Gauntlet match when he already has a match at the PPV? It will make Zsasz smile from ear to ear, ordering his lackeys to rip Chainz apart, but Chainz is smarter than that. Even if he did win his match, he wouldn’t last against Zsasz’s henchmen, no matter who they were.
Chainz: Sorry. Already have a commitment for Coast To Coast. Looks like your Gauntlet match is a bust.
Zsasz: I wouldn’t say that, Sloan. I know you have a match at Coast to Coast. You wouldn’t want to embarrass yourself after getting massacred by Pierce Lavelle - or Aimz - now would you? How would your dead sister feel if she saw her brother getting defeated by a man who’s a better monster than him?
That strikes a nerve with Chainz. He swings at Zsasz, but Zsasz traps his arm, turns Chainz around and pins his arm behind his back with a hammerlock. Zsasz steps on the back of Chainz’s right knee, forcing him to drop to one knee and slams his face against the table, locking his other arm with a half nelson. Zsasz’s near 300-pound frame is pressing Chainz against the table, grinding his chest into the edge of the table. He tries to struggle free, but to no avail.
Chainz: Careful boy, when I get free your ass is mine you fuck.
Zsasz shakes his head, clucking his tongue and then chuckles. He feels Chainz struggling and pushes down on the half nelson, crushing Chainz’s face against the table. Chainz is moaning loudly in pain and Zsasz relents, pulling Chainz’s face up.
Zsasz: You should know by now that profanity doesn’t get you anywhere. Look where it’s gotten you now.
Chainz: Next time it won’t be like this, you’ll be mine.
Zsasz: In this position, you do not make meaningless threats. Since you won’t cooperate, I’ll set the match for you: We’ll have our Gauntlet match after Coast To Coast. You pick the place and I’ll bring my assailants. You have plenty of time to decide when you want to be demolished by my team.
Chainz continues to struggle and it annoys Zsasz. This kid doesn’t know when to give up. Zsasz lets out a sigh.
Zsasz: I’m going to let you go now, and when I do, you won’t see me until you decide when you want to have our Gauntlet match. If you try to back out of our match, I will be the one to make you pay. You cannot escape your destiny Sloan, it’ll always be there, whether you like it or not.
He lets go of Chainz, who immediately gets to his feet and ready to pound the crap out of Zsasz. Unfortunately for Chainz, the blue-eyed demon is already gone, leaving Chainz seething where he stands. In a fit of rage, he turns the concession table over, spilling all the contents on the floor. He’s so angry that he doesn’t give a shit about Tracy’s coffee.
Fuck Tracy’s coffee. If she wants a cup so damn bad, she can fucking get one herself. As for Chainz, he’s going to hunt down that son of a bitch, Zsasz, and pound his ass into dust.
Wait a minute... Instead of pounding Zsasz into dust, he can pay Mikey O’Reilly a visit. Yes, that would be good. After what he did to Chainz last week, he wants to pay O’Reilly back for hitting him in the fucking face with the Frontier title belt and then giving him his Crucifix Pile Driver. That fucking move hurt; his neck is still sore after taking that move last week.
Beating up Mikey O’Reilly will be a good way to relieve himself of all the pent-up aggression. Smiling to himself, he makes his way towards Mikey O’Reilly’s changing cubicle.
The Frontier champion won’t know what hit him.
Sibling Rivalry
FEATURING: TERESA TOMAS, TIARA BELLE RUSSELL
AUTHOR: SONYA
A large rat nibbled on Teresa Tomas’ shoestring as she stood in front of a certain cubicle. A dark blue curtain took the place of the missing door. Behind the curtain, she could hear her half-sister, Tiara Belle Russell clearly complaining about anything and everything that her spoiled little head could think of.
Tiara Belle Russell: Filthy disgusting dump! Rats everywhere and no one can get any privacy with all these damn holes! There’s even a crack in my mirror. Where is my husband?! Arggggg!
Teresa looked down at the large rat at her boot. The rodent has nearly chewed a loop of her tied boot string in half. After getting an idea, she bends down and grabs the rat by the nap of the neck. Before the rodent could make the first squeal, Teresa slings it over the curtain and into Tiara’s cubicle and steps back with a huge grin on her face.
Tiara Belle Russell: AHHHHHHHHHH!!! OH MY GOD!!
Almost instantly, the dark blue curtain is pulled open and Tiara stands in her wrestling shorts and a bra. She’s barefoot and her hair is a mess from fighting with her broken mirror. The color has left her already pale face a ghostly white and her eyes are nearly bulging.
Teresa covers her mouth to hide her laughter but her baby blue eyes don’t lie. She couldn’t resist the prank and Tiara, she felt, deserved it. Tiara grabbed Teresa by the arm and yanked her into her small cubical and pulled the curtain shut behind them. A crunch is heard under Teresa’s boot. Both women looked down to see the bloody remains of the thrown rat.
Tiara Belle Russell: Damn you Teresa! Just when I think you couldn’t get any more disgusting, you step on a huge rat!
Teresa pulls her arm from Tiara’s grasp and kicks the dead critter under Tiara’s dressing table. Fresh blood is splattered all over the floor. Tiara winces and turns her head.
Teresa Tomas: Someone needed to shut you up. Shit far, the whole roster could hear your belly aching! Besides, it was quite funny.
Tiara wasn’t laughing. As she continued to stare infuriatingly at Teresa, she noticed the Redneck Princess was in good spirits unlike her mood as of late. She sighed.
Tiara Russell Listen Teresa. I’m not the evil bitch you think I am.
Teresa Tomas Huh?
Tiara Russell: I always knew I had a half sister, but I didn’t know who she was.
Teresa nodded giving Tiara an empty stare.
Tiara Russell: I found that picture of my dad and your mom. You look so much like your mother; it wasn’t that hard to figure it out.
Teresa’s hand instantly went for her back pocket where she kept the picture in a wallet. She then turned her back to leave. Just when her hand took hold of the curtain, Tiara’s hand falls on Teresa’s shoulder.
Tiara Russell: Wait Teresa. Let me finish.
Teresa Tomas: Why did you tell me? Why couldn’t you have just kept quiet? You don’t even like me so why put me into your life?
Tiara’s hand remained on Teresa’s shoulder. For once, Tiara sounded sincere almost as if she is accepting Teresa as part of her family.
Tiara Russell: Everyone deserves to know the truth about who they are. As bad as I wanted to hide the truth and pretend our parent’s affair never happened, I couldn’t. We’re sisters Teresa. We can’t deny that.
Teresa turned around to face Tiara.
Teresa Tomas: So, what now? If you think you’re gonna take me shopping and give me a makeover, you’re out of your freaking mind.
A light chuckle escaped Tiara’s throat. She shook her head and rolled her eyes to Teresa.
Tiara Russell: No, you dingbat! You’re about as disgusting and inhuman as Garbage Bag Johnny, but without the stench. At least you know how to groom and bathe. As I was saying; you stay away from me and I stay away from you.
Teresa Tomas: So, the only reason you told me was to clear your conscience? Ya know something Tiara? Screw you. Leave you alone? Oh, hell no. We both would have been better off if you kept your mouth shut. Now that my life is meaningless now and I have nothing else to loose, I’m bringing you down with me. Oh, and let’s hope The Chosen Ones beat your ass senseless cause if they don’t… I will. At Coast To damn Coast.
Teresa rips the dark blue curtain open and storms off kicking a rat or two out of her path. Tiara grabbed her hairbrush and threw it her broken mirror causing it to shatter and fall to the floor.
ExLax User #341
FEATURING: SASHA VOLKYEVA, PADDY O'SHEA, JOSH MARQUEZ
AUTHOR: GARETH
Sasha Volkyeva: Yes Paddy, what is it that you are wishing to speak with me about?
Paddy O’Shea and Josh Marquez, his ‘best friend’, had been waiting for a while to speak with Sasha and Marquez was slightly concerned that the stupid Irish bastard had forgotten his lines. They’d come this far though so what the hell, might as well see if the worthless sack of shit can do something useful.
Paddy O’Shea: Aye it’s about me friend Josh here.
When Paddy says it, it comes out sounding more like ‘Jash’. That’s what happens when incest becomes the norm.
Sasha Volkyeva: What about him?
Paddy O’Shea: Ah just think that he’d do better for ye if ya moved him up the card a wee bit, ya know?
Sasha Volkyeva: Mr Marquez has proved nothing yet. I see no reason to place him in any bigger profile matches at the moment.
O’Shea turns to look at Josh who gives him a stern look, causing the dirty gypsy to turn back to Sasha.
Paddy O’Shea: Well it’s just tha’ I know Josh can fight a lot better people than he has so far. Just the other night we were in a pub and these three big fellas decided they didn’t like the look o’ us and were ready fer givin’ us a kickin’…
The Russian looks slightly confused. English is hard enough for her as it is without having to translate from Gypsyese first of all. Then she clutches her stomach, wincing in something that isn’t quite pain but certainly doesn’t look comfortable.
Paddy O’Shea: An’ I was ready fer leavin’ the place but Josh here stayed and giv’ them all a beatin’ they’re not gonna forget in a hurry. So th---
The pikey stops mid-sentence as Sasha rushes past him and Josh, hands clutched to her stomach. Paddy looks confused but Josh quickly realises what has transpired.
Josh Marquez: Paddy, did you really put that laxative in Darcy’s drink?
Paddy O’Shea: Aye, I did surely.
Josh Marquez: And did Darcy drink it?
Paddy O’Shea: Aye she must have, I heard her coming into the room.
Marquez raises his eyes to the ceiling as if wondering whether this was all worth it. Then he turns back to Paddy and in a tone laced with frustration instructs his ‘friend’ on what to do.
Josh Marquez: Next time I ask you to do something Paddy, do it right. Now I have business to attend to, go back to your cubicle and wait for me.
Pleasure And Pain vs The Chosen Ones
STIPULATION: DUO TAG - ALLIANCE TOURNAMENT
REFEREE: AARON DAVIES
AUTHORS: JEREMY J. AND PIERRE HYDE
Dave Kern: Okay, we’re about to witness the first of two Duo Tag matches this evening. Coming up next, we have Tiara Belle and Wayne Russell, better known as Pleasure and Pain, take on The Chosen, made up of Jose Lopez and Sentice Vargas. And I would like to add that the Belgrade Arena is jumping tonight!
Jeff Marx: Dave, give it up. The last shows here in the East tour have been embarrassing. Not very people show up, the conditions of each show are terrible, and I wish I were back in the States. Sasha Volkyeva needs to realize that her tour has been a train wreck!
Dave Kern: Can’t blame a girl for trying; she’s new at this! Anyway, let’s send it down to James Brunt. Take it away, Jimmy!
James Brunt: The following is a Duo Tag Match!
“Bombs over Baghdad” by Outkast begins to play as Jose Lopez and Sentice Vargas make their way down to the ring.
James Brunt: Making their way to the ring, from Trinidad and Tobago, at a total combine weight of 515 pounds... Jose Lopez and Sentice Vargas... THE CHOSEN ONES!
Dave Kern: *With his eyes closed* Listen to the roar of the crowd, ladies and gentlemen. The Belgrade Arena is becoming unglued with the arrival of The Chosen Ones.
Jeff Marx: They’re not r---
Dave Kern: Don’t ruin my moment, Jeff.
James Brunt: Their opponents...
“We Going be All Right” by 112 begins to play as Tiara Belle and Wayne Russell walk down to the ring hand in hand.
James Brunt: From Newton, Massachusetts, at a total combine weight of 451 pounds... Tiara Belle and Wayne Russell... PLEASURE AND PAIN!
Through the magic of television, both teams are already in the ring. Wayne Russell and Jose Lopez start the match. They lock up in the middle of the ring, Wayne gets the upper hand by slapping on a headlock. Lopez breaks free and pushes Russell into the ropes. Russell takes JL down with a Shoulder Block. Russell then picks up his opponent, kicks him in the gut, slaps on a Front Face-lock and lifts him up for a Vertical Suplex. WR is expecting some response from the fans, but there is none. The two thousand-plus in attendance are simply sitting there, watching the action in the ring.
Jeff Marx: BORING! Hurry this match up!
Dave Kern: No kidding. Even the fans aren’t all to thrilled with this match.
(And neither is the match-writer. J-Bone edit.)
Wayne Russell decides to tag his wife in and gets out of the ring. Tiara Belle Russell hops into the middle of the ring, runs over to her opponent and locks in a side headlock. Jose Lopez gets to his feet, lifts TB into the air and slams her hard onto the canvas with a Backdrop Suplex. Russell arches her back, clutching at it as Lopez tags in his partner, Sentice “Ice” Vargas. Vargas is now in the ring. He picks up TBR, whips her into the ropes and takes her high into the air. Russell meets “Crash” and “Burn” as she lands onto the mat hard from the Back Body Drop. Still, the fans are sitting there, not really getting into the match. Sentice runs over to his opponent, takes one of Tiara’s legs, spins himself around it, takes the other leg and drops backward to lock in a Figure-four Leg-lock! Some of the fans murmur their response as Tiara Belle is screaming in pain from the submission.
Dave Kern: Figure-four Leg-lock by Sentice Vargas, and Tiara Belle Russell is feeling the pain.
Jeff Marx: Uh-huh. Yeah. I’m gonna take a nap now. Someone wake me if something actually happens.
Wayne Russell enters the ring and breaks up the submission maneuver. Jose Lopez flies into the ring, takes down Wayne with a Spear, mounts him and starts raining down with punches. The Belgrade fans are starting to come around, cheering a bit with the clusterfuck in the middle of the ring, and referee Aaron Davies is having a difficult time trying to restore order. Wayne shoves Lopez off, slowly gets to his feet, but J-Lo is back in Wayne’s face, taking him down with a Clothesline.
Tiara Belle Russell has shoved Sentice Vargas in one of the corners, kicking the holy hell out of him with some stick, martial arts kicks. She throws a beautiful spinning back kick into his midsection, doubling him over and then locks in a Front Face-lock. With all of her strength, she lifts the 240 pound opponent onto the top turnbuckle and climbs up. She takes Vargas down with a Hurricanrana from the top rope and the fans are buzzing with a mixed reaction.
Dave Kern: Top rope Hurricanrana from Tiara Belle Russell! What a move!
Jeff Marx: ZZZzzzZZZzzzZZZzzz
Jose Lopez picks up Wayne Russell, whips him into the ropes, but gets taken down from a Flying Shoulder Tackle. Russell is back on his feet, grabs a handful of hair and lifts J-Lo to a vertical base. He kicks him in the gut, sets Lopez’s head in between Russell’s legs and locks his arms around J-Lo’s waist. He lifts him upside down, hops into the air and spikes Lopez’s head onto the canvas with a Pile Driver! The fans buzz a bit after the impact of the maneuver and Wayne gets to his feet, getting ready to aide his wife.
Tiara Belle is getting her ass kicked by Sentice Vargas. Apparently, the Super Hurricanrana didn’t do much to “Ice.” Wayne Russell sneaks up behind Vargas, wraps his arms around Vargas’ waist and takes him over with a German Suplex. Tiara Belle smiles at her husband, gives him a kiss and runs over to the turnbuckle closest to Vargas, jumps onto the top turn, leaps into the air, does a 180-degree turn and connects with a Guillotine Leg Drop!
Dave Kern: Whoa! What a Guillotine Leg Drop with a 180-degree turn! What athleticism by Tiara Belle Russell!
Jeff Marx: ZZZzzzZZZzzzZZZzzz
Wayne Russell gives his wife some instruction as he picks up Sentice Vargas. She does what she’s told, gets into her position while Wayne picks up Vargas for a Power Bomb. Tiara Belle grabs Vargas’ head in a Hangman’s Noose setup and both sit down at the same time, doing a Sit-out Power Bomb/Neck Breaker combo. The fans buzz after seeing the move and now, it’s time for Pleasure and Pain to finish off the Chosen Ones.
Wayne Russell gives Sentice Vargas a Death Valley Driver for good measure, just to make sure he’s completely out of match before the duo of Pleasure and Pain defeat their opponents. Wayne instructs his wife to go to the top rope. As she does so, Wayne whips his opponent into the ropes and sends him into the air with a Back Body Drop. Before Vargas drops onto the mat, Tiara Belle launches herself off the top rope and executes another Guillotine Leg Drop as both superstars land on the mat at the same time!
Dave Kern: InDenial by Pleasure and Pain! Here’s the cover...
ONE!
TWO!
THR---
Wayne Russell: WAAAAAAIIIT!
He stands with a shocked expression on his face.
Dave Kern: What’s this?
Wayne Russell: I forgot to roleplay!
Russell sprints backstage, followed by Tiara, both intent on this geeky pursuit. Meanwhile, Vargas and Lopez recuperate as the referee counts out Pleasure And Pain.
ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! FIVE! SIX! SEVEN! EIGHT! NINE! T---
Jose Lopez: WAIT! So did I!
The Chosen Ones rush from the ring and the match ends with a double count-out.
Money Makes The World Go Round
FEATURING: GABRIEL AFEAKI
AUTHOR: JOE (MAGA)
After the destruction of Emo Kid the previous week Gabriel Afeaki had earned a well deserved rest. The Voice had instructed him that his presence was not requested on the Western Atlantic side of things allowing him to explore the fantastic country of Serbia. He’d chosen the quaint city of Kragujevac to reside in, instead of the hustle and bustle of Belgrade. The city was very much like Afeaki; reserved, kept to itself and shunned the more illustrious culture of the west. It was a traditional eastern European city with a culture more refined than what he had experienced in America. Gone was the hideous food, the obese people and the general lack of any respect to a fellow citizen. It felt almost like home… almost.
GA shunned the glitz of the AWC, choosing instead to reside in a low key area of the Belgrade Arena. He chose a cubicle that was dank and decrepit, dark, dinghy and all those other adjectives. It was him, his way of life and his lifestyle: the constant travelling, the moving… it wasn’t who he was. The eastern side of the tour though had strangely suited him; the eerie remnants of bullet holes hinting at a not so glorious past. Each bullet mark had its own story; for every rat in here, a life was more than likely lost… harrowing, but that’s life.
The shrill buzz of a phone breaks the silence in the room as Afeaki removes his ear bud and silences the brilliance of the Handsome Boy Modeling School.
Gabriel Afeaki: Hello?
“I have the information you have been seeking…”
The voice was unfamiliar, the tone and the rhythm completely new to him. It was strange… only one person knew this number, and it certainly didn’t sound like the voice.
Gabriel Afeaki: Who is this? What information are you speaking of?
“Who I am, is of no consequence to you, but what I hold is the information you have sought for an eternity and a day my friend: the information that stole two years of your life from you.”
Gabriel Afeaki: Who is this… and what do you know?
His voice took on a more stern tone.
“Ah… so I have caught your attention my friend. I will give you a choice; you can know who I am, or you can know who did that to you, who put you away…”
Gabriel lowered his voice.
Gabriel Afeaki: How do you know?
“So many questions… but I shall take that as you wishing to know the answers to the problems you seek. Does the name Isa Vainiko mean anything to you?”
Of course it did… Vainiko was the leader of the biggest crime syndicate in the whole of the Pacific Islands. He had his hands in every honey pot, in every country, Fiji, Tonga, Samoa, New Zealand… the smaller countries, the Cook Islands… everywhere… drugs, extortion… anything and everything. He had links with other Mafia’s around the world. GA had also had a run in with Isa Vainiko, embarrassing him in front of a large syndicate of prospective business partners.
Gabriel Afeaki: I may have heard the name… why?
“Think back to that night where you sent him crashing through that glass window…”
How the fuck did he know that?
Gabriel Afeaki: Yes… I recall it somewhat.
“Ah… well his friends that night, were none other than Alexi Dimitrov, the Russian Arms dealer…”
Russians…
Gabriel Afeaki: Where is all this going…?
“You see Mr. Reihana… or should I call you Afeaki…? Mr. Dimitrov is a very powerful man. He has friends who, how can I put this… wished to end your existence after they discovered a love interest of yours?”
Afeaki froze… he thought no one knew about his relationship with Isa’s daughter…
Gabriel Afeaki: Get to the point…
“I am trying Mr. Afeaki, believe me, I truly am. As a favour for Mr. Vainiko, a golden hello if you’d like to use such vulgar business terms, Mr. Vainiko used some of Alexi’s Russian politician friends… and the wheels were set in motion… before one of them acted, money was sent… and your arrest made. There was no worse fate than time inside that hell hole on the Fijian islands where they could control you. You upset a lot of people back home Mr. Afeaki…”
Gabriel Afeaki: Who… who sent the money… who was the person pushing for it…?
“Ah, now this is the interesting part Mr. Afeaki; there was one high ranking official on the payroll that wanted you to suffer much more than the others, and it was he who paid the money, and it was he who put you away. Your release is in fact, another move in this large game of chess.”
Gabriel Afeaki: You’re talking in riddles… mister… mister…?
“The name you seek is one familiar to you…”
GA waited with a renewed angst.
“Volkyeva was the name on the cheque, my friend – I’ll keep in touch.”
The line went dead. Afeaki sat stunned, that same numbness enveloped his body. All this time, all these years of not knowing why, and she was sitting inches from his face… he wanted answers. He wanted them now.
And he would fucking get them… any way he could.
Gabriel Afeaki stood from his seated position, his eyes contorted by rage.
Gabriel Afeaki: Time to find that bitch… she knows a lot more than what she’s letting on…
Close Encounters Of The Cubicle Kind
FEATURING: MIKEY O'REILLY, TERESA TOMAS
AUTHORS: JEREMY J. AND SONYA
Mikey O’Reilly is in his tiny, cramped changing cubicle, taping up his fists. He’s in the third main event in his career, going against Anton Assault in a rematch for the Frontier title. After the controversial victory, Mikey once stated in a press conference earlier in the week that he would give Anton a rematch if he wanted one. Evidently, he wanted one, but under one condition: Luis Ferrara gets to choose the match.
Mikey feels a little uneasy, realizing that Luis Ferrara has all the power in selecting whatever match to put Mikey in. Knowing Luis, he would put Mikey in a match that would put him in a severe disadvantage. For example, Luis could put Mikey in a Shoot Cage match, a specialty of Anton Assault’s. After witnessing the last Shoot Cage match back at Bloodlust, Anton would have no problem beating Mikey in a bloody pulp and leave him in a pool of blood. After what happened to Hate all those months ago, that could be Mikey earlier in the evening. After tonight, Mikey’s career might be over!
Mikey O’Reilly shakes his head, dismissing the thought from his head. Mikey will do anything in his power not to have his career end at the hands of Anton Assault. Controversial or not, Mikey beat Anton two weeks ago, and he can beat him again---
“Hi, Mikey.”
Mikey nearly jumps out of his skin; hearing that voice has taken him off guard. He looks over to see Teresa Tomas standing there with a bottle of Jack. She walks into Mikey’s cubicle, lowers herself uncomfortably onto the bench opposite of Mikey and looks at him. She takes a drink of her Jack, swallows and smiles at Mikey.
Mikey O’Reilly: Hi, Teresa. You startled me there for a moment. I was somewhere else.
Teresa Tomas: I’m sorry about that---
Mikey O’Reilly: There’s no need to be sorry. What can I do for you?
She looks at the ground for a moment, takes another drink of her whiskey and looks back up at Mikey.
Teresa Tomas: I... uh... about my match with Chainz last week, thanks. I mean if you didn’t come help me out when you did, I’d have more than just a few bruises.
Mikey O’Reilly: Don’t mention it, Teresa. I knew that Mike would stoop low enough to attack you after he beat you. He needed to be stopped, so I stopped him. I’m sure he’s been looking for me every since I attacked him last week. I’m not a hard man to find. If he wants to fight, then I’ll give him a fight. I don’t give a man damn what he does.
Mikey pauses for a moment, finishes taping his fists and clenches his fists. Yeah, his fists are taped enough; he’ll break bones with his fists tonight. He looks back at Teresa, giving her a grin.
Mikey O’Reilly: I understand that you have a Duo Tag match with Pierce Lavelle against Pacific Wrestling Club. Must make you feel nervous to partner up with the Transatlantic champion and AWC Legend.
Teresa Tomas shrugs, taking another drink.
Teresa Tomas: Nah, not really. We’re friends. All that TA belt and legend jive is for the fans to enjoy. I got his back he got mine, ya know? Speaking of which, I gotta get ready. Thanks again man.
Mikey O’Reilly: You’re welcome and good luck.
Teresa Tomas gets up, places her hand on Mikey’s shoulder and gives it a friendly squeeze. Mikey pats her hand and Teresa leaves the cubicle. Mikey lets out a sigh and waits for the main event, as he takes out a beer from his cooler and pops the tab.
It's A Dirty Job...
FEATURING: JOSH MARQUEZ, SASHA VOLKYEVA
AUTHOR: GARETH
That fucking pikey!!! Couldn’t even spike a drink properly!!! Now Josh was in a bad situation. He needed to be on the Coast To Coast card to catapult himself up the pecking order in AWC but without Sasha’s approval that wasn’t going to happen. So it was for this reason that he had grabbed a camera off one of the equipment tables backstage and made his way stealthily into the toilets, which were thankfully unisex. Still, he felt like some kind of psycho stalker.
The noises coming from one of the cubicles were undoubtedly Russian is origin. The smell, however, was beyond classification. Josh decided then and there that this was going to be a very short paparazzi video. He moved quietly into the stall beside Sasha’s and stood softly on the seat of the toilet, raising his camera over the top of the stall to give a bird’s eye view of the Russian as she… went about her business.
It wasn’t pretty but it sure as hell was funny. Of course, a shithole… pardon the pun, like this, didn’t have any toilet paper so the unfortunate Sasha was forced to use a discarded newspaper to sort herself out. He couldn’t help it any more at this point and erupted in laughter, causing a shocked Sasha to start screaming at him in Russian. When she eventually calmed down, Josh laid it out for her.
Josh Marquez: Okay Sasha, it seems we have the makings of a deal here. I have some dirt on you - ha, ha - and you have the power to help me out.
Sasha Volkyeva: This is an outrage! I will not help you at all, this is disgusting!
Josh Marquez: Oh I think you will Sasha because if you don’t I’ll make sure this tape is played on live television tonight. And then I’ll put it on the internet so that the whole world can see. So are you really sure about not helping me?
The Russian looks defiant for a moment before her shoulders slump. Marquez smiles in victory.
Sasha Volkyeva: What do you want?
Josh Marquez: I think a nice little match at Coast To Coast would do for starters, to keep this tape private for another few weeks. That East versus West thing sounds good, you know, on another “silly boat”. Think you can make that happen?
Sasha Volkyeva: Yes, yes; you AND your friend Paddy will fight for the East! But you have made a big mistake Mr Marquez.
Josh Marquez: Whatever you say Sasha. And by the way, I was looking forward to reading that paper.
Laughing loudly, Marquez leaves the bathroom, videotape in hand, as Sasha glowers at his departing figure.
Lavelle/Tomas vs PWC
STIPULATION: DUO TAG
REFEREE: SELENA SUMNER
AUTHOR: JEREMY J.
Dave Kern: Here on the final leg of the East Atlantic tour before Coast To Coast, up next is our final Duo Tag Match. The Pacific Wrestling Club have quite the challenge in front of them, taking on the new three-time Transatlantic champion, Pierce Lavelle, and the very first Countdown Trophy holder, Teresa Tomas. Both Pierce Lavelle and Teresa Tomas have been developing a friendship as of late in the last couple of weeks, much to the dismay of Tracy Stanton and Sarah Kennedy. Can this duo top the undefeated PWC, or will PWC continue their winning streak as a duo?
Jeff Marx: I think Pierce Lavelle can beat PWC and Teresa Tomas by himself if that redneck piece of trash was against him. Lavelle is the new three-time Transatlantic champion, and I doubt he’ll fall to those idiots, Kris Krimzon and Jeff Harris. Besides, if Teresa Tomas tries to get involved in this match, she’ll screw everything up. After losing to Chainz last week, she’s gonna screw Pierce Lavelle out of the victory here tonight.
Dave Kern: Don’t count Teresa Tomas out just yet, Jeff. She may have lost the match against Chainz last week, but she’s looking to make that loss up in this Duo Tag Match tonight! Without further ado, let’s take it down to the ring. Jimmy Brunt, you’re up!
James Brunt: The following is a Duo Tag Match!
“Know Your Enemy” by Rage Against the Machine plays on the PA system as Kris Krimzon and Shawn Harris walk down to the ring, trying to liven up the two thousand-plus Belgrade crowd, but they aren’t giving the Pacific Wrestling Club any recognition.
James Brunt: Making their way to the ring, at a total combine weight of 450 pounds... Kris Krimzon and Shawn Harris... PACIFIC WRESTLING CLUB!
Both men roll into the ring. As they get to their feet, they try a second time to get the crowd on their feet, and that plan went tits up as it did previously. Then they pretty much say “Fuck it!” and go to their corner, talking strategy for the match.
Jeff Marx: Those two geniuses can’t even get the crowd on their feet. This is pathetic!
Dave Kern: The Serbian people probably aren’t familiar with PWC, Jeff. In fact, the entire country isn’t really familiar with AWC at all. This is their first taste of what the AWC is like, and thus far, we’re getting mixed reviews.
Jeff Marx: Yeah, and ticket sales plummeted into an early grave after selling 2672 tickets. I feel like our voices are reverberating throughout the Belgrade Arena.
James Brunt: Their opponents...
The famous horn of the Dukes of Hazard’s General Lee seeps through the P.A. system, blasting “Dixie.” This is followed by Waylon Jennings picking the intro to “Good Ole Boys.” A record scratching abruptly stops the Southern anthem, followed by utter silence. Without warning a cannon is heard blasting through the speakers and the lights begin to flicker violently, “Big Guns” by AC/DC floods the building. Teresa Jane Tomas, Top Rope Temptress, THE American Woman, and AWC’s own Redneck Princess marches down the entrance ramp with a bottle of Jack Daniels in hand.
James Brunt: Making her way to the ring, from Nashville, Tennessee, weighing 145 pounds, she is “THE American Woman...” TERESA TOMAS!
She stops midway, takes a long swig and chucks the nearly full bottle of booze over her shoulder into the crowd for a thirsty fan to enjoy before she completes her journey to the ring.
James Brunt: Introducing her Duo Tag partner...
The lights suddenly go out, plunging the unsuspecting crowd into the darkness. Flashbulbs shatter throughout the arena, trying to illuminate ringside, just in case they’re missing anything. A few seconds later, the Atlantic Tron produces an image on the screen, an image of a Celtic cross. In the foreground, a series of words appear on the screen, each flashing in succession in bold, red letters...
PIERCE...LAVELLE...IS...BACK!
Then, the driving metal of “Happy?” by Mudvayne fills the arena, as an explosion is heard in the arena, illuminating the arena once more. Standing on the stage, with his head down, is Pierce Lavelle, and the crowd is going absolutely crazy.
Slowly raising his head, Pierce Lavelle looks out into the crowd, showing off his new look: Shaved head, Van Dyck beard, and new wrestling attire - short tights, boots, elbow and kneepads. The AWC Legend walks down to the ring, wearing the AWC Transatlantic championship belt around his waist, as Chad Gray’s vocals reverberate throughout the arena.
In this hole,
that is me,
the dead are rolling over.
In this hole,
thickening,
dirt shoveled over shoulders.
James Brunt: From Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, weighing 235 pounds. He is the new three-time Transatlantic champion, a 2005 Zero 2 Hero runner-up and a AWC Roll of Legend... PIERCE LAVELLE!
I feel it in me,
so overwhelmed,
oh this pressured center rising.
My life overturned,
unfair the despair,
all these scars keep ripping open.
When Piece Lavelle rolls into the ring, he climbs one of the corners, stands in a crucifix pose, letting out a mighty bellow.
Peel me from the skin,
tear me from the rind,
does it make you happy now?
Tear meat from the bone,
tear me from myself,
are you feeling happy now?
Pierce Lavelle jumps off the turnbuckle, turning to look at his opponent, his eyes locked as the lyrics slowly come to an end. The crowd quiets down as the metal words course through their eyes…
Are you fuckin’ happy,
now that I’ve lost everything…
Dave Kern: All two thousand-plus are going crazy for the Transatlantic champion, Pierce Lavelle!
Jeff Marx: If you call a loud buzz going crazy, then I’ll go with that.
Pierce Lavelle removes his Transatlantic title belt, handing it over to referee Selena Sumner, and she calls for the bell. She hands the title belt to ring announcer James Brunt, as he walks back to his chair. Teresa Tomas and the Transatlantic champion are talking over strategy, as Shawn Harris decides to start the match for his team. The former Countdown Trophy holder starts the match for her team. Both Harris and Tomas circle the ring, sizing each other up, and they meet in the middle of the ring for a collar and elbow tie-up. “The New Revolution” gets the upper hand on his smaller opponent by executing a deep Arm Drag, tossing “The Top Rope Temptress” into PWC’s corner. Double T recovers nicely, gets to her feet. Unbeknownst to her, Kris Krimzon reaches out and swats Teresa on the ass! This angers Teresa by quickly spinning around and throws a stiff forearm shiver into Kris’ face!
Dave Kern: That’ll teach Kris Krimzon to keep his hands to himself!
Jeff Marx: And the attack from behind should teach Teresa Tomas a lesson to keep her attention on her opponent!
Shawn Harris ran up behind Teresa Tomas and took her down with a Clothesline, sending her face first onto the canvas. He picks her up, about to send her into the ropes, but “THE American Woman” counters the Irish Whip by twisting Harris’ arm around, locking it to her side and steps beside Harris to deliver a textbook Side Russian Leg Sweep. After executing the maneuver, she floats over for a lateral press, but Harris throws her off before she can go for a pinfall. The “Redneck Princess” quickly gets to a vertical base, same with “The Natural Selection,” and Shawn gets the upper hand by burying a knee into Teresa’s gut. He bends Teresa over, stick her arm in between her legs and throws her other around across his shoulder. He grabs the trapped arm by the wrist, grips Teresa by the collarbone and sends her over with a Wrist-Clutch Exploder Suplex!
Dave Kern: Beautiful Wrist-Clutch Exploder by Shawn Harris!
Jeff Marx: Shawn Harris tags Kris Krimzon in! Let’s see what he can do to Teresa Tomas.
Dave Kern: Hold the phone, Jeff! Teresa Tomas rolled into her corner and tagged in the Transatlantic champion!
All of Pierce Lavelle’s fans in the Belgrade Arena are cheering for the AWC Legend. Kris Krimzon’s face goes slate and is about to lose all bodily functions. Pierce is standing there, waiting for his opponent to make the first move, and Kris’ first move is to get the hell out of the ring and jump the security wall. The fans are booing at “618’s” cowardice.
Jeff Marx: Look at Kris Krimzon run! What a damn coward!
Dave Kern: Would you want to face the AWC Legend? I sure as hell wouldn’t.
Shawn Harris tells his duo partner to get his ass into the ring and Kris Krimzon is refusing vehemently. Both men get into a pissing match, arguing over the issue and Pierce Lavelle decides to toss “The New Revolution” into the ring, slamming him on his back. The fans are cheering for Lavelle as he stalks his opponent. Shawn is scooting on his ass, trying to scramble to his feet, but Lavelle will not be having any of that. The three-time Transatlantic champion kicks his opponent in the head, almost knocking Harris out. Before Lavelle can mount anymore offense on Harris, Double K gets into the ring and charges at Lavelle from behind. Lavelle is one step ahead of Krimzon, driving the point of his elbow right into Krimzon’s face, sending the man on his ass!
Dave Kern: What an elbow by Pierce Lavelle! I think he could’ve broken Kris Krimzon’s nose with that shot!
Shawn Harris quickly rolls out of the ring as Pierce Lavelle, the AWC Legend, picks up his legal opponent and whips him into the ropes. After bouncing off the ropes, Lavelle executes a Tilt-a-Whirl Backbreaker on his opponent, and the fans are on their feet, cheering for Lavelle.
“LA-VELLE! LA-VELLE! LA-VELLE! LA-VELLE!”
Pierce Lavelle rolls Kris Krimzon onto his stomach, wraps his right arm around Krimzon’s trachea, places his left hand on the back of Krimzon’s head and rolls onto his back, locking in a Rear Naked Choke with a Leg Grapevine! Double K is trying the fight out of the Rear Naked Choke, but to no avail. Before Kris taps out to the chokehold, Shawn Harris enters the ring and delivers a low dropkick into the side of Pierce’s head, forcing him to break the submission.
Dave Kern: Shawn Harris comes into save his partner, and now Teresa Tomas is in the ring, clocking Harris in the face with a Flying Forearm Smash!
Jeff Marx: And Selena Sumner is having a fit trying to restore order in the ring. This clusterfuck is better than the last one!
Teresa Tomas and Shawn Harris are battling in the ring, throwing punches at each other, but neither superstar is going down from each other’s punches. Double T wins the punching war by throwing a heavy haymaker into Harris’ chin and takes him over the top rope with a Clothesline. Harris doesn’t go alone, however, as Harris grabs a hold of Tomas’ shirt and pulls her down with him. Meanwhile in the middle of the ring, Kris Krimzon has gained the upper hand on the AWC Legend by driving a knee into Pierce Lavelle’s gut and takes him down with a DDT. He goes for the lateral press, hooking both legs...
ONE!
Pierce Lavelle vehemently kicks out before two. Kris Krimzon gets to his feet, goes for a side headlock, but the Transatlantic champion counters with a Backdrop Suplex. Double K clutches at the back of his head, gets picked up by the AWC Legend. Lavelle kicks Krimzon in the gut, doubles him over and hooks both arms. Lavelle picks his opponent up, flips him over and sits down with the Tiger Driver! He cradles his opponent with a sit-out pin...
ONE!
TWO!
Kris Krimzon kicks out after the two.
Dave Kern: Textbook Tiger Driver by Pierce Lavelle. But it wasn’t enough to put “618” Kris Krimzon.
Jeff Marx: Why is it called a Tiger Driver? It’s a Power Bomb for Chrissakes.
Dave Kern: Ask Mitsuharu Misawa; he invented the maneuver.
Pierce Lavelle gets to his feet, bends over to pick up his opponent, but Kris Krimzon gives Lavelle a thumb to the eye, temporarily blinding the AWC Legend. Krimzon gets behind Lavelle, wrapping an around his waist and the other around Lavelle’s leg. Krimzon lifts Lavelle into the air and slams Lavelle on the back of his neck with a Saito Suplex! He goes for the cover...
ONE!
TWO!
Pierce Lavelle kicks out before three. “618” Kris Krimzon gets to his feet, lifts Lavelle onto a vertical base, kicks him in the gut and does a double under-hook. He’s about to do a Double Arm DDT until Lavelle counters with a Back Body Drop. That move is also countered, however, when Kris Krimzon hung on with the double under-hook, both men doing a 360-degree spin and Krimzon sits down with a Pile Driver. The fans are on their feet, booing Double K.
Dave Kern: OH MY GOD! That looked like a Under-hook Front Flip Pile Driver!
Jeff Marx: Kris Krimzon is going for the cover!
ONE!
TWO!
THR---
No! Pierce Lavelle shoots the shoulder up.
Kris Krimzon gets to his feet and tags in his partner, Shawn Harris. Harris jumps over the top rope and runs over to his opponent. He gets Pierce Lavelle to a vertical, gets behind him and locks in a Full Nelson. Harris then pops his hips and lifts Lavelle over his head with a Dragon Suplex, and executes a bridging pin...
ONE!
TWO!
THR---
NO! Pierce Lavelle breaks out of the maneuver. Shawn Harris gets Pierce Lavelle to a vertical base, gets behind him and locks in a Cross-face Chicken-wing. He lifts him over for the Millennium Suplex, but Lavelle lands on his feet, hooks in a Half Nelson, wraps his other arm around Harris’ waist and executes a Tiger Suplex ’85, bridging the maneuver for the pin...
ONE!
TWO!
THR---
NO! “The New F’n Revolution” Shawn Harris kicks out before three.
Dave Kern: This match is turning into a Suplex Duplex!
Jeff Marx: Boo! Get off the stage, Kern!
Pierce Lavelle is exhausted for being in the ring for such a long time. Shawn Harris gingerly gets to his feet, about to attack the Transatlantic champion, but somehow, Lavelle rolls into his corner and tags in his partner, Teresa Tomas! The fans cheer as Tomas enters the ring. Harris charges at “THE American Woman,” attempting a Clothesline, but Tomas ducks underneath the attempt, buries a knee into the small of Harris’ back, locks in an Inverted Face-lock and drops backward with Inverted DDT. Tomas kips up, runs over to the ropes, jumps onto the middle rope, springboards and does a Moon Sault! She goes the leg, going for the cover...
ONE!
TWO!
THR---
NO! Shawn Harris gets the shoulder up!
Dave Kern: This match is becoming an instant classic, ladies and gentlemen. Both these duos are giving it their all, and neither one are backing down!
Kris Krimzon enters the ring, about to attack Teresa Tomas, but Pierce Lavelle intercepts Krimzon with a Spear! Pierce picks up Krimzon, sets him up for a Power Bomb, runs over to the corner and throws Krimzon into the corner with a Buckle Bomb! As Lavelle sets Krimzon up for the Muscle Buster, Double T grabs Shawn Harris’ arm, wraps herself around it and sits down, taking one of Harris’ legs and pulls back. After Tomas locks in the Southern Comfort, the Transatlantic champion has already pulled off the Muscle Buster. He now has the Kata Hajime locked in with a Leg Grapevine.
Dave Kern: Double submission in stereo - Southern Comfort from Teresa Tomas and Whiplash II from Pierce Lavelle!
Jeff Marx: And the Pansy Wrestling Club has tapped out to Pierce Lavelle’s obligatory awesomeness!
Dave Kern: Don’t forget Teresa Tomas!
Referee Selena Sumner calls for the bell as “Happy?” by Mudvayne begins to play. Ring announcer James Brunt announce the winners.
James Brunt: The winners of the match, as a result of a double submission... PIERCE LAVELLE AND TERESA TOMAS!
Dave Kern: Pierce Lavelle and Teresa Tomas have pulled off a big victory over the Pacific Wrestling Club! What an exciting match!
Jeff Marx: I knew Pierce Lavelle could pull off the victory!
Dave Kern: What about Teresa Tomas?
Jeff Marx: What about her?
Dave Kern: Ugh, never mind! Coming up next is the Countdown Trophy match! Chainz is defending his trophy against Paddy O’Shea!
Storm And Stress
FEATURING: SASHA VOLKYEVA
AUTHOR: JOE (MAGA)
Tonight was turning into a most auspicious occasion; the air of a past filled with conflict clung to the arena walls. It was a most permeating stench, each bullet hole, each blood stained orifice, all signifying the haunting remains of a time not so long passed. Serbia finally was its own dominion; free from Montenegro after years of political unease. It reminded Sasha of her tempestuous relationship with David Harber. She was always the villain… always.
Having managed to find quite possibly the only room that could not be described as a cubicle in the arena, and with her insides finally calm after the puzzling stomach bug earlier, Sasha sat in a contemplative stupor. How had things reached such a low? All she had ever wanted to do was show the world; show the AWC the beauty of Eastern Europe. It all seemed a hefty cry from the glitz and glamour and success and everything else besides that she had witnessed across the pond. The stark contrast of the juxtaposition of the East and West was harrowing. This was not what she had envisaged. Not an angry Fijian shadowing her every move. Not an ignorant gambler making home movies for a booking.
Who would she turn to? Pearl? Her husband? God? No… she turned to someone or something which gave courage and hope to more people than all these combined. Sat across the table he stood, proud, clear, and smooth: Russia’s finest Vodka. She took one look at the bottle; she wasn’t much of a drinker, she thought… three bottles down over this tour, she stared deeply into the pure substance.
She had reached the end of her tether with this whole situation: now this… this bottle dancing in front of her eyes, taunting her…
“Come on… finish me… drink me… look at you… quivering…”
Sasha Volkyeva: SHUT UP!
“Do it… come on… just do it…”
Sasha looked despondently at the bottle; she knew she shouldn’t… lunging forward she grabbed the bottle by the neck, ripped off the cap and necked a good five shots worth of the poison. She cringed in the way a virgin does to their first hard piece of alcohol… the manic laugh of the bottle sent Sasha deeper. Taking a huge hit of the Vodka, Sasha begins to sob silently. No one would hear her tears anyway… no one.
She didn’t know she was being stalked, she was prey tonight… a certain Gabriel Afeaki was after her. As ever. She hated him. As ever. Hated him with an abhor so malevolent… it had to be reciprocated. He now knew… Sasha was to blame… the incarceration, the torment, the torture… all her fault…
What would GA do to Sasha?
It really didn’t bear thinking about.
Like Only A Captain Can
FEATURING: CAPTAIN SULEIMON
AUTHOR: TOM HOLZERMAN
Dave Kern: Well, I just got word from our production truck that we're going to get a live satellite feed from the United States.
Jeff Marx: Oh, cool, does this mean I get to watch some good porn instead of having to sit through another segment with Pierce Lavelle and those insufferable women?
Dave Kern: Insufferable women, Jeff? You're starting to sound like Steven Smith, and it's always a pleasure to have our Transatlantic champion on-screen with us. Alas for you, Jeff, we don't have porn but we do have Captain Suleimon, who wishes to say a few words.
Jeff Marx: That's almost as good as porn. Suleimon's one of the only reasons I tune into the competition.
Dave Kern: They're not competition, Jeff...
Captain Suleimon: Time is money, gentlemen. Are you going to let me talk, or should I just wait and watch you as you inanely banter?
Dave Kern: Sorry, sorry. Now, Captain, I understand you have something of a challenge to make.
Captain Suleimon: I don't make challenges, especially not to filthy Western slime. That implies that the recipient can actually put up a fight. What I'm doing tonight is making a demand. Much like I had to demand to have this satellite time from that twit Harber. It's a good thing Ms. Volkyeva and I are on such good terms.
Jeff Marx: I know. Isn't she great?
Captain Suleimon: Well, I wouldn't say great. Adequate is more the word, but enough small talk. I am here to make a demand to a certain tag partner of mine to meet me in the ring at the Meadowlands for Coast To Coast.
Dave Kern: Demand? To Jack Murphy? That's awfully brazen of you!
Captain Suleimon: Brazen is to walk into a den of mujihadeen and yell "Shalom." This is but mere everyday disposition, the need to take care of everyday business. When your tag partner repeatedly fails to hold up his end of the team, then he is to be dealt with like a Balkan peasant in the path of a rampaging soldier of the Great Saladin. That is, he should be hewn down like the weakling he is.
Dave Kern: You can't be serious, Captain! Jack Murphy is no weakling. He's a former Transatlantic and Livewire champion. You haven't even sniffed gold here yet let alone held the kind of hardware he has.
Jeff Marx: Political bullcrap! Right, Captain?
Captain Suleimon: Exactly right, Mr. Marx, but if I wanted a lapdog, I would have picked up a sharpei from the pound. The point is, Harber, Sasha, Sam Newman, even that krazy Kraut who bought up the stock... they're all afraid of letting someone with the awesome blood of the Ottoman pashas coursing through his veins claim gold because they're afraid that I'll never let go of the championship belt once I win it. That's why they only let me near any kind of gold after putting a slug of a drunken Irish bastard by my side.
Dave Kern: Jack Murphy is no drunk bastard, I can tell you that.
Jeff Marx: Then what's he doing in Kilkenny right now with that shipment of Absinthe that went stolen?
Dave Kern: What the hell are you on, Jeff? Just be quiet.
Captain Suleimon: Regardless of what Murphy is out doing right now, at Coast To Coast, I am demanding that he step in the ring with me and submit to the growing power and vengeance of the Ottoman Empire.
Dave Kern: I'm not so sure Murphy will take kindly to you demanding he faces you.
Captain Suleimon: Well, if he doesn't... then too bad. However, I feel that his pride will probably preclude him from refusing to obey this demand.
Dave Kern: I may not like the way you put it, but you're probably right. Jack Murphy and Captain Suleimon at Coast To Coast... wow, this lineup keeps getting better and better! Thank you for your time, Captain! Our main event is right around the corner!
Building A Better Serum
FEATURING: GARBAGE BAG JOHNNY
AUTHOR: JOSH K.
Amidst a series of tubing, flasks, and Bunsen burners, liquid bubbles through the scientifically engineered contraption that now occupies the boiler room. Lightning flashes in the background, not from the sky or positively charged ions or any shit like that, but from the pure demonical evil that permeates the air. Suddenly, an oven timer dings.
Garbage Bag Johnny: It’s ready!
Garbage Bag walks past the field of differently sized flasks and test tube, his image through each contorting to match the tubes shape until he gets to the final mixture, a graduated cylinder filled with a mucky looking substance that foams and smokes, hissing off the top.
Garbage Bag Johnny: If this Garbage Bag Serum is a success, there will be no stopping me - and there will be no upstaging me.
Garbage Bag Johnny tips his head back, cackling, as he pours the contents of the cylinder down his throat. He then starts coughing because that’s what happens when you laugh and drink simultaneously, but after regaining his bearings, GBJ finishes off the serum and awaits the physical transformation that will undoubtedly ensue.
Team Drama
FEATURING: SASHA VOLKYEVA, TERESA TOMAS, DELTA UPSILON IOTA
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
Sasha Volkyeva: Sank you for coming, Teresa, I will n-not need mush of your thime---
Teresa Tomas: Sasha? You been drinkin’?
A trace of annoyance in her face, Volkyeva shakes her head vigorously while trying to move as subtly as possible to block the bottle behind her from Tomas’ view.
Sasha Volkyeva: Don’t be ridilewkus. Ridink--- oh, this English language! Never mind! Teresa, this was just to say that I want you to be on my team for the East versus West match at Coast To Coast. That will be a---
Teresa Tomas: I can’t.
Sasha Volkyeva: Excuse me?!
Teresa Tomas: I can’t; I’ve got a match with Tiara Belle Russell scheduled. Even if I could be in two matches, there’s no way I could get from London to the middle of the Atlantic in time – not with the hyperspeed jetpacks being illegal now.
Volkyeva purses her lips.
Sasha Volkyeva: Forget about the Russell girl! You are on the team, and---
Tomas stands and slams her fists on the desk.
Teresa Tomas: No! I will NOT forget about it! You don’t know how much this means to me Sasha, and besides, I already cleared it with Pearl by phone. The match is on! Sorry, you’ll just have to find someone el---
Tomas looks around as the door opens. Delta Upsilon Iota, having heard the commotion, enter. Hank Cobb stands with his arms folded as Colby Korver enquires of the ladies:
Colby Korver: Can we be of assistance?
Turning her eyes skyward, Volkyeva’s pinched lips don’t seem to think so. Still –
Sasha Volkyeva: On another day I might have fined you for entering my office without permission. But it looks like you have come just at the right time. I require a replacement for my East Atlantic team, since Ms. Tomas does not feel capable of fighting for us...
Teresa glares at Sasha.
Colby Korver: Sure, we’ll do it.
Sasha Volkyeva: Just one replacement, please...
Korver looks at Cobb. Without a word, they each whip out their fists for a round of rock-paper-scissors. Korver brings out the scissors; Cobb the rock.
Hank Cobb: Ooh!
Colby Korver: Best of three?
Hank Cobb: Uh. OK.
Korver’s scissors beat Cobb’s paper. Korver’s paper beat Cobb’s rock.
Colby Korver: Looks like I'm in.
Chainz (cth) vs Paddy O'Shea
STIPULATION: COUNTDOWN TROPHY
REFEREE: LARS LARSSON
AUTHOR: JEFF
“Raggle Taggle Gypsy” by Christy Moore starts up as the crowd begins cheering the Irish native, Paddy O’Shea steps out from the back.
James Brunt: Introducing first from Galway, Ireland, weighing in at 180 pounds, he is “THE MAN FROM THE CARAVAN” PADDY O’SHEA!
O’Shea walks down the ramp then slides into the ring and awaits his opponent.
Dave Kern: O’Shea taking on the powerful Chainz tonight who captured the Countdown Trophy off of the Violence.
Jeff Marx: I guess Vinnie J couldn’t take the defeat. Idiot.
"Cure" by The Wild Colonials hits as Countdown Champion Chainz steps out from the back with Tracy by his side. The two proceed down the ramp way, Chainz ignoring the fans and Tracy appeasing them. Chainz slides into the ring and looks around at the audience.
James Brunt: His opponent, from Birmingham, Alabama, weighing in at 295 pounds… The Countdown Champion, Michael “Chainz” Sloan!
Jeff Marx: This should be an awesome match. Chainz has the size to Paddy O’Shea and will kick the hell out of him.
Dave Kern: That’s about as objective as you can get from Jeff Marx right there.
5:00
The bell rings and Chainz goes charging at Paddy but Paddy reverses a clothesline attempt with a dropkick to the knee. Chainz goes down to the one leg then Paddy begins to unleash on him with a barrage of lefts and rights to the face, he grabs Chainz by the hair and pulls him up then slams his knee in his face. Chainz drops to the mat and Paddy goes to the top rope. He goes for a top rope leg drop but Chainz moves out of the way and Paddy hits the mat hard. Chainz gets to his feet and grabs Paddy by the throat with both hands, he picks him up and slams him down with a massive choke bomb.
Dave Kern: That was nasty!
Jeff Marx: That was excellent!
Dave Kern: Chainz has now taken control of this match.
Jeff Marx: Can you not believe it Dave? Look at Chainz… then look at little Paddy. O’Shea doesn’t stand a chance.
4:09
Chainz throws Paddy into the corner but Paddy recovers and runs right towards Chainz, Chainz captures him however and gets him with an overhead belly to belly suplex. Chainz gets up and grabs Paddy by the hair and pulls him to his feet he then picks him up and hits him with a military press slam. Chainz taunts the jeering crowd and goes for the pin.
ONE!
TWO!
Paddy just manages to kick out before the third pin fall; Chainz looks frustrated and gets back to his feet. He picks O’Shea up and goes for a short arm clothesline, Paddy ducks under it though and hits Chainz with a dropkick. He stumbles back then trips over when Paddy executes a drop toe hold a grapevine is then locked on but Chainz manages to power out of it. Paddy picks Chainz up then runs against the topes; on the rebound he goes for a Lou Thesz Press but Chainz catches him and slams him down with a vicious spine buster. Paddy grabs the back of his head in pain but Chainz doesn’t give him a second as he picks him up and gets him with a bear hug. Paddy screams out in pain as the referee is ready to call the submission.
Jeff Marx: He has it, Chainz will gain yet another victory!
Dave Kern: Don’t count him out yet, we still have over two minutes remaining before it goes to sudden death.
2:23
Paddy begins to lose consciousness and the referee grabs his arm, he raises it up and it falls. He raises it up a second time and it falls yet again.
Jeff Marx: Third time lucky?
The referee raises the arm again and releases it but this time Paddy keeps his arm up, he makes a fist and begins punching away at Chainz’ face he then begins biting his forehead. Chainz releases Paddy almost straight away, Paddy hits him with a back fist then gets him with the angry and intoxicated kick to the face.
1:38 He places Chainz on the top rope and goes for the Top of the Morn but as he goes for the faceplant Chainz just throws him half way across the ring, Chainz then stands up on the top rope then jumps off with a huge flying elbow drop, even the fans are amazed as he then goes for the pin.
ONE!
TWO!
THR---
Paddy kicks out yet again and the crowd begins an “O’Shea” chant. Chainz picks Paddy up and goes for the Chain Reaction. As he lifts Paddy up for the first powerbomb it gets reversed with a hurricanrana.
1:00
Paddy gets to his feet and poses for the cheering fans.
Jeff Marx: Concentrate on the match asshole!
Dave Kern: Oh he is but he’s taking a breather. Seems like your man Chainz could be in trouble.
Jeff Marx: Rubbish he’s been in control the entire match. Paddy’s about as tough as Steven Smith.
Dave Kern: Smith was pretty tough.
Jeff Marx: Only in the sack I’m afraid… not like I’d know or anything.
Dave Kern: To be sure, to be sure.
Paddy hits a quick leg drop on Chainz then gets him in a quick sleeper hold, he wraps his legs around Chainz’ body and turns the sleeper into a choke hold. The referee threatens to disqualify causing Paddy to make it back into a sleeper. Chainz gets on all fours and slowly makes it to his feet he then walks across the ring and starts climbing the turnbuckles. He stands at the top then flips Paddy off, throwing him to the outside of the ring. Paddy hits the floor outside hard Chainz then collapses backwards and hits the mat as the crowd starts a “Holy Shit” chant.
0:02
Dave Kern: Oh my God! Paddy could have broken his back after a fall like that! The buzzer has gone, the five minutes have expired we’ll now go to sudden death.
Jeff Marx: Whose in trouble now Dave? I’m surprised Paddy isn’t dead after that. Why isn’t the referee counting?
Dave Kern: I think he’s too concerned for Paddy’s health at the moment.
Jeff Marx: Idiot… Do your job!
With the referee outside checking on Paddy, Chainz recovers and goes outside the ring. He picks Paddy up and throws him into the ring. Before Chainz can do anything however Paddy slams his foot into the side of Chainz’ knee, Chainz cries out in pain and drops to one leg. Paddy picks Chainz up and Irish Whips him into the ropes on the rebound he Fecks It much to the delight of the crowd. Paddy then goes for the count.
ONE!
Dave Kern: FECKITTHEREITIS!
The bell rings and the crowd jump to their feet and give a standing ovation for the new Countdown Trophy holder. Paddy gets to his feet and is handed the trophy. He raises it up for the fans to see.
Dave Kern: I told you Paddy would be able to pull this one out.
Jeff Marx: Oh shut the hell up.
James Brunt: The winner of this match and NEW Countdown Trophy holder, “The Man from the Caravan” Paddy O’Shea!
Door/Bell
FEATURING: PIERCE LAVELLE
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
Following his win with Teresa Tomas over PWC earlier, a showered and dressed Pierce Lavelle is on his way to the catering area to pick up a snack bar and a drink before leaving for his hotel when the mobile phone in the inside pocket of his jacket buzzes. Instinctively ducking out of the busy main corridor, Lavelle pushes at a side door – probably a mistake. The thin board collapses in on itself, and Lavelle recoils in shock, having actually managed to break a door with his fingertips.
Pierce Lavelle: (murmuring) They really know how to make them in Belgrade...
He pushes a button on his phone and holds it to his ear as he sidles into the doorless and also windowless room, which is empty of all furniture and looks as if it hasn’t been used for a decade or more.
Pierce Lavelle: Hello? Oh...
Lavelle looks around furtively.
Pierce Lavelle: ...it’s you, you legend!
Lavelle sticks a British inflection on the last word, now laughing heartily; presumably whoever he is on the phone to is doing the same, at some sort of private joke.
Pierce Lavelle: Are we all set?
Lavelle listens for a while, and after a time, his face falls.
Pierce Lavelle: What? I thought we agreed?
The Transatlantic champion’s brow begins to furrow.
Pierce Lavelle: But it’s what you do b--- me?! Are you crazy?! I can’t do that!
Animated now, Lavelle leaps up and begins to pace around the room, almost fuming at whatever suggestion has been made.
Pierce Lavelle: No, I said no, it’s impossible, I---
Still shaking his head, Lavelle listens some more. And then he stops shaking his head.
Pierce Lavelle: (quietly) You’re sure? You promise?
Pause.
Pierce Lavelle: (in a creaky voice) I can’t tell her?!
The three-time champion begins to look very white, and breathes deeply.
Pierce Lavelle: I’ll... I’ll sleep on it... I...
Thoroughly drained of any expression, Lavelle brings the phone away from his ear and closes it. Then, to the empty room, hollow, faint:
Pierce Lavelle: Bye.
From The Archives IV
FEATURING: INTERVIEWER, SASHA
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
Interviewer: You don’t have to say a thing, Sasha. If you don’t want to.
A 16-year-old girl sits cross-legged on the couch across from the camera. She is going to be beautiful, there’s no question about it. Tall for her age, with more flowing blonde hair than she knows what to do with. Small developing breasts finding their own place in her body. Strong, supple arms; small, dainty, bare feet. A simple maroon turtle-necked jumper and jeans.
Nod.
Interviewer: They arrived... when?
Sasha: I do not know. Late – early. Late in night; early in morning. That. The two.
Interviewer: Both?
Sasha smiles.
Sasha: Both.
She looks at the camera apologetically.
Sasha: Sorry. My English not perfect.
Interviewer: Haha. No one will mind. So they arrived at maybe, one, two, three in the morning?
Sasha: Maybe. I do not know. I not time to look. I wake up and house is on fire.
Interviewer: What did you do?
Sasha: I get up; I go to my parents’ room. My mother is there; worried, weeping. Holding to the bed. Like this.
The girl demonstrates, clinging tight to the arm of the couch. She swallows and slowly continues.
Sasha: My father is gone outside; he to help the village men; my mother say there is fight, big fight... that he may... not return.
Now at last, a small tear escapes the corner of her eye. The teenager wipes it away impatiently.
Sasha: So I... I give my mother... give her kiss, and run out of house. She screams – Sasha, Sasha. But I must go, I must find my father. I do not – I see my sisters as soon as I leave the house, dead, on the doorstep. Killed by knife.
Displaying surprisingly little emotion for her dead sisters, Sasha goes on, the interviewer listening silently.
Sasha: But my brother, who I love dearly, he not there. I know he will be with my father. So I run to the hill, where there is a lot of fighting...
Interviewer: The village around you: what does it look like? Is there a lot of damage?
Sasha: Oh, yes. Everything on fire. Everyone dead or screaming or bleeding, or hiding in their burning houses. My mother, I worry, is still in the house. But it is my father and brother I must see. So I run to – run to –
Sasha breaks down.
Interviewer: (reaching over to the camera) I think that’s enough for t---
The feed cuts.
More Than Just Pride
FEATURING: JACK MURPHY
AUTHOR: FERGUS
Dave Kern: Remember we had to take a broadcast earlier in the show from the US?
Jeff Marx: Yeah, it was the Captain issuing his decree.
Dave Kern: Well, apparently a certain former champion wasn’t too far away from the AWC offices over in the west… and we’re going to him right now.
Jeff Marx: Hey I thought this was about us! What is it with this west bullcrap?
Jack Murphy: Well some of us have our own manipulative talents to fall back on in times of need Jeff.
The screen has split to allow us to see Jack. Despite his regular appearances on Fresh! he looks somewhat different in the more enclosed atmosphere. Actually, he looks tired… very tired.
In contrast Jeff is still on the screen and looks a little bit more than shocked at the sudden appearance of the Bull.
Dave Kern: Well Jack it’s a pleasure to have you on the show.
Jack Murphy: Not a problem Dave and I’m sure that you’re in the middle of another action packed show so I’m going to be brief.
Jeff Marx: You know we’re more than happy to take the time with you Jack.
Jack Murphy: (coldly) Shut up.
Marx looks furious but he doesn’t respond.
Jack Murphy: Now, (straightens himself) the Captain has challenged me to a match at Coast To Coast, AWC’s biggest pay-per-view extravaganza. Not just a challenge, an attack upon my very honour. I heard you earlier Dave talking about how I would not be able to decline this match, and you’re right, I won’t.
Dave Kern: Well that’s great to…
Jack Murphy: Shut up. The Captain needs to get something straight in his head however. There are more things to the world than his own perspective on how things work. His isn’t the only way that things are going to happen. I’ve tried to be open and honest with him and try to teach him in this manner, but he’s missing the point. This isn’t just a matter of pride for me, it’s an awful lot more.
The Bull pauses inhaling slightly and sighing.
Jack Murphy: I have had nothing but dishonour and heard nothing but excuses from a man who claims to have it all. I even believed that things were going well with him; but I was wrong. I tried to deal with a pompous stubborn man who has talent but fails to use it. Sully, at Coast To Coast I’m going to show you that’s it’s so much more than a matter of pride.
Dave Kern: Well fans there you have it! Another blockbuster match signed for AWC’s biggest event of the year!
Reunion Of Old Rivals... Again II
FEATURING: MIKEY O'REILLY, CHAINZ
AUTHORS: JEREMY J. AND MIKE S.
Mikey O’Reilly steps out of his changing cubicle, ready for his match this evening. He had a pre-match beer, stretched a bit and did a vigorous warm-up of shadow boxing. The Frontier champion is feeling good about himself, ready to take the match head on and win with the utmost aggression---
Someone delivers a Lariat into the back of Mikey’s neck, sending him onto the concrete lower. He is then picked up, feeling someone grab a hold of the back of his wifebeater and throws him headfirst into the wall. He bounces off the wall, falls backward and that’s when he sees who is attacking him. Before he can react, his attacker kick him right in the side of the head, making Mikey bellow out in pain. Chainz, with a smug, triumphant smile on his face, stands over Mikey O’Reilly with cruel intentions.
Chainz: You think I can’t take that title away from you, you stupid son of a bitch?!
He stomps on Mikey’s stomach, forcing him to bellow in pain, curl up and clutch at his stomach as he rolls onto his side. He exposes his back to Mike Sloan and he takes great in driving his foot into Mikey’s back. He roars in pain, now clutching at his back. Chainz is laughing now, enjoying the pain he’s inflicting on Mikey O’Reilly.
Chainz: Look at’cha, Mikey... can’t even defend yourself. I was expecting more from you!
He kicks Mikey in the back once more, making him writhe on the floor. Chainz starts to look around the backstage, as if seeking for something to use on the Frontier champion. His eyes stop on a table that’s no more than a couple of feet away from them. Mike Sloan grabs a hold of one of Mikey’s legs and drags him towards the table. He stops in front of the wooden apparatus, he picks Mikey up, kicks him in the gut and executes a Power Bomb right through the table! Mikey isn’t moving after going through the table, and this makes Chainz smile from ear to ear. He notices that Mikey is wearing his Frontier title belt around his waist. He rips it off his waist and pushes the belt into his face.
Chainz: It doesn’t matter if I can out wrestle you or not. I can take this from you whenever I feel like it, and there’s not a goddamn thing you can do to stop me. So enjoy your stint as champion, because when it’s my turn to get my shot, this title is as good as mine.
He drops the title belt on Mikey’s chest as he slowly comes to, groaning in pain after taking the Power Bomb through the table. Chainz looks down at his rival and smiles. He feels good after what he did to Mikey. It is the release he needed and he is now in a better mood.
Chainz: Good luck with your match against Assault, O’Reilly. You’re gonna need it... if you can drag your sorry ass into the ring, that is.
He walks away from Mikey, laughing as Mikey rolls off the table, gets on his hands and knees and slowly picks himself up. As he straightens up, pain shoots through his back, forcing him onto one knee.
First Gabriel Afeaki, now Chainz...
This night has gone to hell for the Frontier champion.
Mikey O'Reilly (c) vs Anton Assault
STIPULATION: FERRARA'S CHOICE
REFEREE: AARON DAVIES
AUTHOR: EMO JOE
The guttural, almost desperate cry from Steven Rathbone announces Lair of the Minotaur’s “Warlord.” A long guitar slide sounds and then the song enters a fierce rampage, accompanied by flashing red lights and an image of a lion leaping into a pit of men and tearing into them wholesale, sending limbs flying and terrified bodies everywhere.
Amid the crushing riffage, a form dressed in a multicoloured dashiki steps out onto the stage: the one and only Anton Assault. Of course, right behind him is his manager, Luis Ferrara, dry washing his hands and casting an arrogant glance up onto the crowd.
James Brunt: The challenger, making his way to the ring, from Paris, France, ANTON ASSAULT~!
Anton continues his way to the ring before sliding underneath the bottom rope.
Dave Kern: The anticipation is growing for this match, The Ferrara Rules, so to speak have been decided: the match will have a maximum of three rope breaks, closed fists are allowed, falls count anywhere… and ladies and gentlemen, the only way to be victorious in this match is via knockout (a ten count will be administered) or submission. This should be brutal.
Jeff Marx: For weeks it seems Mikey O’Reilly was destined for glory, and with his win over Assault a few weeks back, glory was bestowed upon him. However, tonight is a match suited to Anton Assault’s strengths. It should be a classic.
A melodic, beautiful sound of a pair of acoustic guitars fill the arena with music. An Italian style solo plays, then the introduction fades into hard, driving metal as 'The Enemy' by Team Cazares starts to play.
James Brunt: Making his way to the ring, formally from Belfast, Ireland, now residing in Boston, Massachusetts, weighing 230 pounds... he is the Frontier champion... MIKEY O'REILLY!
Mikey O'Reilly is seen slowly making his way onto the ramp, proudly wearing his newly-won Frontier title belt around his waist. He looks out into the crowd, feeding off the mixed reaction, and throws a few punches, as to get some more shadow boxing in before his match. He then makes his way down to the ring as the yells of Mark Hunter fill the arena.
I tried to erase all this hate from my body.
I tried to end all the lies, all the pain that I caused everyone,
But it all seemed so fucking useless!
He rolls into the ring, climbing up one of the corners, raising his arms up.
And I can’t forget.
Don’t you know who the fuck I am?
I’m the enemy.
THE ENEMY!
The enemy.
THE ENEMY!
He hops off the corner, removes his leather, porkpie style hat, puts it in the corner of the ring, facing up. He removes his golden catholic cross, kisses it, places it inside the hat and removes his white wifebeater. As he waits for his opponent, he removes his Frontier title belt and hands it over to the referee.
Dave Kern: Let’s get this baby started…
Mikey O’Reilly surveys his surroundings, he knows tonight could possibly be the defining moment in his AWC career, the night that makes him go down as one of the future greats. Anton Assault shoots a look of intense animosity to the man who deposed him of his Frontier title, tonight he would reclaim that title, he was sure of it.
The referee holds aloft the Frontier title as the bell sounds.
Dave Kern: Let’s get it oooon!
Jeff Marx: Jesus, Dave, you sound like a blue movie.
Anton Assault shuffles around the ring with a loose boxing guard as Mikey O’Reilly mimics him in this fashion. Assault charges in with a raging roundhouse kick, O’Reilly takes a step back letting Anton’s right boot swing harmlessly in front of his face. O’Reilly makes a dart toward Anton, but a stiff front push kick sends O’Reilly back into the ropes. Anton, strangely, sticks his ground.
Jeff Marx: That’s strange… why doesn’t Anton follow it up?
Dave Kern: He knows O’Reilly can bang, Jeff, Anton’s keeping O’Reilly out of punching distance.
O’Reilly leans on the ropes studying Assault – he swoops forward with a high knee attempt, but Anton Assault parries the leg away from him, and connects with a glancing elbow strike to the cheek of O’Reilly. O’Reilly spins, and unleashes a right hook Kareem Abdul Jabbar would have been proud of – Anton, sees this from way off and shifts his body weight and explodes into O’Reilly with a double legged takedown. O’Reilly hits the canvas hard as Anton quickly surpasses any guard attempt from O’Reilly. Assault with ruthless efficiency begins to pick his shots, lefts and rights, a flurry of shotei strikes.
Dave Kern: Assault’s picking the pace up here, he’s unloading on O’Reilly! Jeff Marx: Mess that pikey’s face up!
Anton continues to drop elbows directly onto the face of O’Reilly. It all changes in a heartbeat however, as Mikey O’Reilly explodes with a right cross, sending Anton to the canvas. O’Reilly quickly gets to his feet, catching the standing Assault with a hellacious haymaker. Assault is sent into the turnbuckle with an Irish whip, as O’Reilly follows it up with a running splash. It’s O’Reilly’s turn to demonstrate his striking ability now, as blow after blow rains down on Anton Assault. Assault doing his best to absorb the punishment with his guard – it is of little use to him though as O’Reilly continues the assault. O’Reilly lowers himself to one knee, and drives his shoulder into the abdomen of Anton Assault. Again, the point of his shoulder strikes Assault… he goes for a third but his head is caught in a Guillotine choke hold.
Dave Kern: Anton looking to end things early! He’s not messing about.
Anton looks to lock in the Guillotine with an iron tight grip, however O’Reilly has other ideas. He smartly hooks an arm on the rope, as the referee charges in to signal a rope break.
Jeff Marx: Assault’s got to keep this up, O’Reilly’s only got two more rope breaks to use after this one…
Anton relinquishes the hold but sends O’Reilly to the floor with a well executed uppercut. O’Reilly sprawls to the ropes, and pulls himself up as Anton Assault charges in with a vicious knee to the temple that sends Mikey O’Reilly through the middle rope. Anton drops underneath the bottom rope and begins to lay boots into the back of Mikey O’Reilly.
Dave Kern: I don’t really see this match being in the ring for too long…
Jeff Marx: Wow… now you’re a psychic…
Anton picks Mikey O’Reilly up, but is caught by a knee to the gut. Anton Assault doubles over as Mikey O’Reilly snaps Anton to the ground with a Snap Suplex. Using the Eddie Guerrero method of hip swivelling O’Reilly pulls Anton to his feet and takes him down with another snap suplex. Anton lies on the ground holding his lower back… as O’Reilly yells at Aaron Davies to administer the count.
ONE! TWO! THREE!
Anton stirs to his knees ending the count from Aaron Davies as he gets to his feet. Mikey O’Reilly charges in but is met with a fierce right hand from Anton Assault. Assault drops O’Reilly to the floor with a short spinebuster. Anton locks O’Reilly’s arm in underneath him and drops to the floor with an arm bar. O’Reilly squeals in agony as he tries to move out of the arm bar, but with little luck.
Jeff Marx: Assault’s got him here, surely!
O’Reilly summons all his inner strength and reaches across with his left arm to deliver a scintillating shot to Anton’s jaw. Connecting again and again, Assault slowly releases his grip. Assault rolls to the guardrail as O’Reilly grips his right arm. O’Reilly is on his knees as Assault stands using the guardrail as help. Anton rubs his jaw and shoots a glare toward O’Reilly.
Jeff Marx: The Lion has an evil look on his face… I like it…
Assault pushes James Brunt from off of his ringside seat and grips the cold steel chair in his hands.
Jeff Marx: Ooh… I’m beginning to like this.
O’Reilly leans against the ring as he begins to turn around... the feeling of cold steel against his skull sends O’Reilly to the floor… Anton yells at O’Reilly to get up… O’Reilly staggers to his feet, a small cut opened up on his forehead.
Dave Kern: O’Reilly’s busted open…
Anton Assault taps the steel chair against the ring post – O’Reilly twists once more.CRUNCH! steel against cranium! Assault yells at O’Reilly to stay down… as he holds aloft the chair over his head.
Dave Kern: Anton’s got this thing won, surely… there’s no way O’Reilly can stand from that.
Jeff Marx: That was utterly amazing from Anton…
Anton shouts to Aaron Davies to administer the count.
ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! FIVE! SIX! SEVEN! EIGHT!
Unbelievably… O’Reilly is hauling himself up using the ring steps: Anton’s face drops about three levels.
Dave Kern: How in the sweet mother of Thor did he get up…?
A stream of blood is now pouring from the wound on O’Reilly’s forehead. He staggers round… seeing Anton Assault lining up a third chair shot.
Jeff Marx: OH MY GOOD GAWD~!
Mikey O’Reilly, in only the way that he can, crashes his own head straight into the chair. The follow through connects with Anton Assault crashing skull and steel straight into his own face. Anton Assault flies over the guardrail and into the crowd. O’Reilly lies on the ground as he wipes the streams of blood from his skull. Assault is sprawled on the floor; a cascade of chairs sent everywhere. No one calls for a count though… both men are more than incapacitated for the ten seconds needed to win the match…
Dave Kern: Utter chaos…
Assault rises to his feet slowly and tentatively, blood trickling from his nose. O’Reilly stands somewhat dizzily as he staggers toward Assault’s position. He lands a sloppy forearm to the face of Anton, who responds in kind with a sharp elbow. Mikey slaps on a face lock, and lifts Anton vertically as if for a vertical suplex, he releases at the apex, dropping Anton Assault chest first across the guardrail.
Dave Kern: Assault’s chest crashing against the guardrail there… that had to hurt. O’Reilly drops to one knee as he forages underneath the ring for some form of weaponry. Anton Assaults carcass drops limply to the ground the other side of the guard rail, blood ebbing from his mouth. O’Reilly drags out two tables from underneath the ring, and timidly sets one up using his right arm.
Dave Kern: That right arm seems to be giving O’Reilly some pain Jeff…
Jeff Marx: I’m not surprised, Assault near enough hyper extended it into next week.
Anton rises to a vertical base, clasping something in his right hand. O’Reilly stutters over toward Anton, grabbing him by the head as he lifts him to his feet. A well concealed pole smashes into the ribs of O’Reilly, causing the Irishman to cease his grip. Anton brings the pole down across the back of O’Reilly. Dragging O’Reilly closer to the table he locks in a front waistlock, before exploding upwards, releasing O’Reilly airborne with a trademark overhead belly-to-belly suplex. O’Reilly crushes through the table, his head landing awkwardly.
Dave Kern: The table certainly backfired on O’Reilly…
Anton screams at Aaron Davies to administer the count. He sits on his haunches catching his breath.
ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR!
Anton looks down at O’Reilly, he isn’t stirring.
FIVE! SIX!
Some life…
SEVEN!
More life…
EIGHT!
He couldn’t?
NINE!
He did.
O’Reilly somehow pulls himself to his feet… holding his head and arm he leans against the guardrail near the runway. Anton is fuming, he launches a tirade of strikes as fist after fist connects with O’Reilly’s slowly deteriorating jaw… O’Reilly seeps to the ground.
“COUNT HIM!” booms Assault…
Dave Kern: He’s just not staying down…
ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! FIVE! SIX!
O’Reilly was on his knees… and once more refused to stay down. Anton had had enough, he propped the table up against the guardrail at a forty-five degree angle, setting O’Reilly up against. Anton paced himself about ten strides away from O’Reilly…
Dave Kern: I don’t like the look of this…
Jeff Marx: Your wife says the same thing to you every night.
Anton rages in like a bull possessed, O’Reilly shifts his bodyweight just enough to drop to the ground… textbook drop toe hold. Anton crashes head first through the table, his chin taking a nasty whack against the guardrail, and then the solid floor. He’s not stirring, as O’Reilly rolls out of harms way somewhat. O’Reilly’s face is now solid red with crimson… the stains of bloods pervading his senses somewhat. It takes him some time to utter to Aaron Davies to administer the count.
Dave Kern: O’Reilly could have had this match here if he wasn’t so… well…
Jeff Marx: Beaten up?
Dave Kern: Precisely…
ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! FIVE! SIX! SEVEN! EIGHT!
Anton stirs from his slumber, and hearing ‘8’ quickly jumps to his feet stopping the count. He quickly falls back down against the guardrail to catch his breath… and to regroup.
Dave Kern: Smart move from Anton.
O’Reilly is standing now and looks toward the downed Anton, he charges in with a solid knee. His knee crushes Anton’s nose, and sends the back of Anton’s head crashing into the guardrail. O’Reilly grips Anton by the throat and slaps on a Katahajime Judo Choke hold. Anton flails his arms about desperately but the move is locked in tight.
Dave Kern: This might end it here, O’Reilly’s got that Katahajime locked in pretty tight…
Anton claws anxiously for O’Reilly’s head, but O’Reilly just sits back into the hold. O’Reilly now on his back, with Assault on top, continues to choke the vestiges of air from within the lungs of Anton. In a flash, the roles had been reversed. Anton amazingly performs a backwards roll, breaking the grip of O’Reilly’s arms, and rolling through into a triangle choke with his own legs. His MMA skills shining through in that clinch.
Dave Kern: WHAT a counter from Anton Assault!
Jeff Marx: Ooh… look at me…
Dave Kern: What?
Jeff Marx: I haven’t said anything for a while…
Anton grips hold of O’Reilly’s right arm and continues to work on it by applying a Bicep Slicer. He relinquishes both holds as he gets to his feet once more. Anton grabs O’Reilly, and drags him by the ankle toward the runway. He mounts O’Reilly and drives two elbows into his skull. He returns to the ring, and begins to rummage underneath before finding something… it brought a smile to Anton’s face. Anton pulled a ladder out from beneath the ring, followed by yet another table.
Dave Kern: This match is becoming something extremely brutal…
Jeff Marx: Uh… ya think Einstein?!
Anton threw the table at O’Reilly, as it bounced off of his ribcage. Moving with malign purpose to O’Reilly, Anton clasps the ladder. Holding it by it’s end, he drives the top straight into the right shoulder of O’Reilly, and again for a second time. The sickening thud silenced the nearby crowd. Anton placed the ladder on the ground, dragging O’Reilly on top of it. Interlocking O’Reilly’s legs between various rungs, Anton locks in an excruciatingly complex leg lock.
Jeff Marx:What the hell is this?
Dave Kern:I have no idea…
Anton wrenches back on the legs of O’Reilly as the rungs hyper extend his knee joints beyond a reasonable pain level. Strangely, O’Reilly remains calm… a look of pain across his face… but a strange calm… Anton notices this and releases the hold. He looks down at O’Reilly and shakes his head. He heads back to the ring for something else to continue this malevolent attack with. He spots the dented steel chair and picks it up once more, and makes his way back around the ring to the ramp. O’Reilly hobbles to his feet, and spinning catches Anton unknowingly with a left cross… his right arm by now is shot. Another left jab, before a nefarious left elbow forces Anton to drop the chair – O’Reilly pulls Anton in and slams him to the concrete runway with a DDT.
Dave Kern: Mikey’s making a comeback…
O’Reilly sets the table up with one arm… nursing his right side. Picking the table up, he places it precariously near the table. He throws Anton on top of the table and begins the arduous climb up the ladder.
Jeff Marx: Ooh… this is going to be good. DEATH I SEE!
Anton rolls from off the table, and stumbles into the ladder. O’Reilly looks down to see Anton scaling the opposing rungs. Both men meet at the top, exchanging blow after blow. The lamented look on each mans face, and laboured strikes show how much the match has taken from each man. Anton’s conditioning allows him to take the upper hand, both men are standing dangerously on the run down from the apex of the ladder. Anton grabs O’Reilly under his arm and begins to spin slowly…
Dave Kern: He’s going to neckbreaker him! OH MY GOD…
O’Reilly slips out of the Lion’s grasps and lifts him Crucifix Style in the air…
…
Dave Kern:…
Jeff Marx:…
…
”HOLY SHIT, HOLY SHIT, HOLY SHIT!”
Dave Kern: Good Mother in sweet heaven…
Mikey O’Reilly sends Anton Assault’s skull CRASHING, and I mean CRASHING from fifteen feet in the air through a table to the concrete floor with perhaps the biggest Falling of Christ piledriver in the history of Mikey O’Reilly… everywhere is utter carnage. The scene resembles something to the small crowd of what this country has seen for many years. Utter devastation.
O’Reilly coughs up a chunk of blood, as he looks over at Assault.
Unconscious?
The words seem trapped in his throat as he beckons Aaron Davies to start the count.
ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! FIVE!
SIX!
SEVEN!
EIGHT!
NINE!
TEN!
Dave Kern: That’s it, that’s it!
Jeff Marx: No! No, look!
Aaron Davies shakes his head as Anton Assault is propped up against the guardrail…
Dave Kern: UNBELIEVABLE! Assault beat the count…
Jeff Marx: By a nanosecond…
O’Reilly sits in disbelief… as Anton leans against the guard rail, a large cut on his cranium… anger overcomes O’Reilly… this was it. Time to end things…
Dave Kern: O’Reilly needs to end this now!
O’Reilly sprints into Anton, and unleashes the ONE PUNCH~!
Airshot…
Within a split second, the dazed Anton Assault drops O’Reilly to the ground with the Nigerian Armbar!
Dave Kern: Nigerian Armbar!
O’Reilly’s right arm is close to the point of breaking… as Anton puts all his last efforts into snapping O’Reilly’s arm clean from his body. The wait seems agonising, excruciating, O’Reilly is flushed… the life drained from his body… his body suddenly goes limp… and O’Reilly taps out…
Dave Kern: O’Reilly tapped, O’Reilly tapped!!!
Jeff Marx: NEW FRONTIER CHAMPION!
Anton rolls from off of Mikey O’Reilly… before slipping off into the realm of unconsciousness. Both men are spent.
Doctors and paramedics run to assist both fighters: the efforts of their nights work clear for all to see. Anton, possibly concussed, O’Reilly possibly exhausted… all in all, a return champion was been crowned.
Dave Kern: Anton Assault wins the rematch! The Lion proves to us all that O’Reilly was just a flash in the pan; a fluke in the rain! He’s back with the gold and O’Reilly goes back to the drawing board! Assault versus Crisis at Coast To Coast will be for the Frontier title, ladies and gentlemen! And O’Reilly will go into the East versus West match!
Jeff Marx: What a badass armbar. Seriously. A badass armbar; can you believe it?
Up A Gear
FEATURING: GABRIEL AFEAKI, SASHA VOLKYEVA
AUTHOR: JOE (MAGA)
A jutting scream pierces the sombre air of the Belgrade Arena.
The cameraman speeds around a corner: before him, the unforgettable image of Gabriel Afeaki. He is seen to be breathing heavily… his monstrous frame lifting with each breath… and before him…
A body.
Afeaki spins and pummels the wall leaving a huge indent from his mammoth fist. Spotting the cameraman, GA runs and unleashes a disgusting knee that takes the cameraman’s head clean off (well not really - Ed.)… the camera hits the floor, tilted on its side.
GA stalks back to the body, and with the camera still rolling, Afeaki moves aside and reveals a blood-strewn, bruised…
Sasha Volkyeva.
Bleeding profusely from a wound to her head… her eyes black…
What… had… he… done?
Surely not…
Afeaki turns to the camera and brings that familiar white converse crashing into the lens.
The audio, still recording…
A fist hitting something… a body being picked up… footsteps…
Where was he taking her? What more could he possibly do…?
Silence ensued…
May God have mercy on her… because GA sure as hell would not.