Fresh!east Results25th July 2006
FEATURING: PWC, TERESA TOMAS
AUTHORS: JEFF AND SONYA
Shawn Harris and Kris Krimzon, better known as PWC, are standing just outside the Luzhniki Palace sharing a few laughs about a party they attended over the weekend when something catches their attention; a incredibly loud engine. Not only that, the engine is approaching at an increasingly high rate of speed. The source is a midnight purple, almost black Chevy step-side pick up. The windows are tinted just as dark. A pair of handcuffs is barely seen hanging over the rearview. The all-American truck has a 4 inch lift and 38 inch tires. The Russian fans watching on the screen inside begin an uproar of boos recognizing instantly the American behind the wheel. The truck whips into the parking area squalling tires in the process and nearly tips over as the two passenger side tires lift off the pavement.
Kris Krimzon: Who the hell is that?
Shawn Harris: Holy fuck! Move out of the way.
Shawn pushes Krimzon out of the way as the truck speeds by missing their toes by an inch toward the administrative parking area.
Kris Krimzon: Holy fuck is right. Look where that truck’s heading.
Shawn Harris: Haha! Go for it! Man, if he does do it, he’ll be the most popular person ever, he’ll fuck---
No sooner does ‘fucking’ leaves Shawn’s lips when ‘IT’ happens. What they are watching is this truck speed directly for Sasha Volkyeva’s stretch limousine. It doesn’t stop either. It doesn’t even crash into the limo, rather it RUNS OVER the top of the highly expensive automobile. The Super Swamper tires crushes the hood like a foot to a soda can and the pressure underneath causes the windows to give in. Shards of glass fly everywhere. The two members of PWC have to shield their faces from the flying debris. For a long moment, they stand stunned, and in awe at what just happened.
Kris Krimzon: Woah…
Shawn Harris: Why didn’t WE think of that?
Kris Krimzon: Man, I don’t think that was intentional. The driver was totally out of control. He nearly hit us!
Shawn Harris: I know! How great is that?!
The two men continue to stare for another moment pondering on what exactly to do about this situation. Finally, the driver side door swings open and not a he stumbles out, but a she. The she is Teresa Tomas and this chick is so disoriented, she takes a step out and literally falls out of the truck and lands on her ass. PWC rush to aide the Redneck Princess to her feet. They drape an arm around each of their necks and lead her toward the entrance door.
Teresa Tomas: Shit, man, what just happened?
Shawn Harris: You ran over the top of Sasha’s limo and you reek of liquor too. How much have you drank?
Teresa Tomas: Jack! Take me back. I need to get Jack. I left him in my truck.
Kris Krimzon: Jack? You brought someone with you? Teresa, you’re drunk. We’re taking you inside.
Teresa Tomas: Jack Daniels, he’s my best friend. I can’t just leave him. Someone will steal him. I can’t do that to my buddy. Jack’s all I got right now.
Teresa removes her arms from their necks and turns around facing her truck which indeed is parked on top of what’s left of Sasha’s limo. She takes a step, stumbles and falls on her hands and knees. Kris begins to walk away, but Shawn stops him.
Shawn Harris: We’re not leaving her here on her own, you know that there’s all sorts of perverts and whatnot backstage. See if she has any wrestling gear, I’ll carry her into the arena.
Caged
FEATURING: n/a
AUTHOR: ???
He’d seen the news, or at least been made aware of it – he didn’t read much, and what he did read, certainly wasn’t the news. She was being protected. Protected by a lot of people. How to get to her… how to… “The Voice” as he was now calling the mysterious person on the phone had told him his last week’s work was fantastic, that his last week’s work was exactly what he wanted, that his last week’s work was top drawer, tip top, spiffing, and all that jazz.
So… he didn’t use those words exactly… but The Great Gatsby was taking his language by storm… old sport.
It had been almost a month since he had left the Penguin back in that hole, that little enforcer of the law. He’d been free for a month. Free from the Penguin. Free from all the other little animals that ran that institute. Sure… it had affected his psyche, he had a thing for likening those around him to animals. He’d talk to the animal. Not to the person.
It was a strange feeling. This freedom malarkey. You never appreciate it. Ever. Until it’s taken away from you. Then that lack of freedom becomes routine. A routine you accept. That you enjoy. Well not enjoy. But it gives purpose. Purpose to your existence. Something you lacked before. Obviously. If you end up in the institute, you have no purpose. No purpose at all. Syntax evaporates. Everything, short, sharp. No need for grammar where you’re headed. The routine takes over. Then one day. It goes. The routine you’ve loved. Like that moment in Shawshank Redemption, you can’t cope on the outside. Freedom overwhelms you. So it should. Freedom is in essence what makes a man. So why now, did he feel less free than before?
It was the lack of routine.
The lack of structure.
Strangely. He enjoyed the chase. The pursuit of Ms Sasha Volkyeva. It gave him some purpose. He was a goal orientated being. Hell, he’d even become accustomed to being known as GA… those two letters struck fear and mystery into the hearts of everyone connected with AWC. No one knew who he was. He had come from a different world from them. The world of the cage, and the fists, and the bone breaking, the jaw clenching, the pain, the anguish… he was a cage fighter, pure and simple. He looked around the roster, he’d done his research. There wasn’t an entity on there that could take him, but in a wrestling ring… well… that was different.
It scared him.
He’d felt fear before. The moment before his shoulder popped from its socket. The moment that his knee ligaments ceased to exist. The moment he was cornered… and… he’d never done the crime. This kind of fear was different though. The kind you experience as a child, the fear of the dark, of what the night may bring, of the horrible nightmares that plagued your very existence as a child. He was not only a fish out of water in a wrestling ring, he was one caught in a plastic bag, ready to be farmed out to the next oaf who threw a ball at a coconut shy and got lucky.
Why was he doing this?
Necessity.
Necessity? For what?
Existence.
He’d love to quote Palahniuk on the matter. Though, he was already going tangential enough. Cryptic though his mind was, pure his heart is. The wise words of someone better than I.
…and your fifteen minutes are up…
“Let’s go to work… go to work… indeed.”
Introduction
FEATURING: DAVE KERN, JEFF MARX
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
The flamenco-esque folk guitar of Vladimir Visotsky strums out over the Luzhniki Palace, 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...
The Palace seats 11,500; we’ll later find out that only 2,468 of the tickets were sold. What’s worse, over 200 of those were sold at the last minute at hugely cut prices to punters treading the Moscow streets outside the venue. Pro wrestling hasn’t really penetrated deep into Russia; even Moscow, by some considerable distance the most Westernised of Russia’s conurbations, sees a gulf between the subtle arts of Greco-Roman wrestling, the guttural fury of bear-fighting, and the equally loved and despised glitz of Hollywood storytelling. As such, very few of the fans in the arena really know what to expect. But they evidently didn’t expect Visotsky, and the most famous song from their folk hero has come as a particularly pleasant surprise.
What no one has noticed inside the Luzhniki Palace is that a video has been running on the big screen along with the music. Most are closing their eyes soaking in its splendour; some have never heard of a television screen that shows anything other than standard state-approved fare. So they’re unfortunately missing the wonderful images of AWC-East action that flit across the screen; there is, then, no point in my describing them to you: I won’t.
Instead, we’ll go down to the stage area, where commentators Jeff Marx and Dave Kern – for the first time lacking their third wheel, Steven Smith, whose last show was two weeks ago in Paris – are all set to introduce AWC to an entirely new audience. If this goes well, there are TV deals in the pipelines, merchandising opportunities, extension of the target market... there have even been whispers about another Ivan Stanislav ripoff, this time officially sanctioned, to draw in the Eastern crowds. So tonight, AWC is most firmly in the public eye. Sasha Volkyeva knows nothing must go wrong; but with “GA” on the loose, she’s in no way guaranteed an easy ride tonight. And thousands upon thousands of empty seats... well, it’ll make the journey that much bumpier.
Dave Kern: (quietly) Hello, and welcome to AWC Fresh!east in Moscow. It’s a very sombre atmosphere in here as local folk musician Vladimir Vuhsomethingorother’s music is being played to introduce the show---
Jeff Marx: Bring back Beck! Even freaking Yellowcard!
Dave Kern: ---and the Russian fans, all, er, notthatmany of them, seem to have a slightly different – refreshing, I think---
Jeff Marx: How about retarded?
Dave Kern: ---take on how to watch a wrestling show. Sit back, relax, soak in the music... we’ve got a lot of hot action for ya folks!
Jeff Marx: The return of Pierce Lavelle to active competition... oh yeah. Six months out, and now they’re feeding him a jobber to destroy...
Dave Kern: Josh Marquez is Lavelle’s opponent; he’ll have to work hard on a night that’s all about Pierce Lavelle to a lot of people. Lavelle has meant so much to so many; I met one lady literally in tears with emotion about Pierce’s return---
Jeff Marx: To be fair, I feel like weeping during some of his protracted backstage skits.
Dave Kern: But what he might lack in charisma---
Jeff Marx: He’s BORING.
Dave Kern: ---he more than makes up for in the ring. Pierce Lavelle, AWC Legend, in action tonight!
Jeff Marx: What else... Paddy O’Shea, meh; Anton Assault, yeah!; no Ellis Nash?
Dave Kern: She’s in AWC-West, Jeff...
Jeff Marx: Damn it... alright, guess I’ll sit and doze a while until the battle royal starts up...
Dave Kern: You’ll do no such thing. Folks... here we come... Fresh!east... from Russia... with love!
Fortress
FEATURING: SASHA VOLKYEVA, TYMOSHEKH
AUTHOR: ???
It was like a fortress: walls thicker than the average Irishmen, more security than the President, the beautiful Sasha Volkyeva sat back in her plush leather chair and let her mind wander.
Tymoshekh: Excuse me, Miss Volkyeva, you wished to see me?
Raising an eyebrow, Sasha turned to the direction of Tymoshekh. He was around 6’2, approximately 240lbs, his hair was shaven close to the skull it seemed, as every contour on his face was visible. He had eyes that were a dull shade of grey: they looked as if they had seen much pain, much anguish. No wonder he was a mercenary these days, choosing to serve the almighty dollar over any political regime. All they ever led him into was conflict, war, pain, hurt… all those sentiments that were seemingly entwined in those dull, dull grey eyes.
Sasha Volkyeva: Yes. Please do come in.
She began to speak in a soft Russian accent.
Sasha Volkyeva: How good are your men Mr. Tymoshekh?
Tymoshekh: The best. I can personally assure you of that.
His Russian was coarse… speaking with a thick accent that represented his build as a whole.
Sasha Volkyeva: How many men do you have with you tonight Mr. Tymoshekh?
Tymoshekh took a moment to reflect before continuing.
Tymoshekh: Including myself, there are eight men. Why do you ask?
Sasha’s face broke out into a rare grin.
Sasha Volkyeva: Well, Mr. Tymoshekh, you see… I can guarantee that this “GA” character is in this arena tonight. I stake my reputation on this fact. Now, instead of him finding you, I propose you go and find him. Leave two men outside my door, and take the other five to search for him. When you find him, bring him here.
She paused for just one second…
Sasha Volkyeva: Alive…
Tymoshekh nodded. He understood the command perfectly.
Tymoshekh: I will leave Smith and Thomas outside. They are ex-SAS Ms Volkyeva, you are in the safest of hands.
Lowering his head as a sign of respect Tymoshekh begins to leave the room before turning back to Sasha…
Tymoshekh: …what does he look like…?
Sasha was gripped by a look that screamed “WHAT?”… yet she kept her calm exterior
Sasha Volkyeva: Uhm… you’ll know when you see him…
She mumbled the words as Tymoshekh left the room unconvinced. He’d never fought a faceless enemy. It dawned on her. She was fighting an enemy from within. Someone she did not even know the physical appearance of… how do you fight a faceless enemy? Psychiatry fights psychology, but she wasn’t imagining a thing... was she? The question gripped her.
Taking a large hit of Russia’s finest export Sasha answered her own question.
Looking For A Clue...
FEATURING: JASMINE, TYMOSHEKH, VINCE JONES
AUTHOR: JAY
The camera fades into the locker room where Jasmine can be seen poking around through Vince’s black duffle bag.
Jasmine: He doesn’t wanna come clean and tell me about that LaShonda bitch than I guess I have to find out about her ass myself. Oh, if he’s hiding something from me I’m gonna kill him and her both!
Jasmine begins tossing his stuff out the bag left and right hoping to find something that’ll clue her in as to who this LaShonda girl might be.
All of a sudden the door of the locker room swings open and she freezes. All of a sudden the Russian Head of Security, Tymoshekh pokes his head in through the doorway.
Jasmine: Haven’t you heard of knocking you asshole!?
Tymoshekh: (in a robotic tone) I do not have time to argue with you. I have been hired to protect, Sasha! Your privacy is of no circumstance to me.
Jasmine: Hey! I’m an American and I have my rights to privacy! How dare you talk to me like that! You don’t have the right to just be snooping around all over the place!
Tymoshekh: Oh, so? (points pointedly to the duffle bag that Jasmine was rummaging through) And you are not in America! You are in Russia! Good day!
Jasmine: Why don’t you make yourself useful and help me find out who this LaShonda is, ya jerk!
Tymoshekh ignores her and exits. And Jasmine goes back to rummaging through Vince’s belongings again. All of a sudden the door swings open once again and Vince Jones comes walking in with his Countdown trophy and Louisville Slugger bat in hand. He spots Jasmine searching his stuff and snarls at her.
Vince Jones: Hey! What the fuck is yo problem? What the fuck are you doing?
Jasmine: Organizing your bag…
Vince Jones: Yeah, whateva! V ain’t got time for this shit, Jasmine! V got business he needs to take care of tonight and he don’t need any distractions out yo nosy ass!
Vince Jones walks across the room and snatches his bag from her.
Vince Jones: Now get the fuck over all the LaShonda shit!
Vince exits the locker room leaving there alone. She just shakes her head, folds her arms across her chest, and pouts.
A Drunk, An Angry Boss And A Cup Of Coffee
FEATURING: SASHA VOLKYEVA, TERESA TOMAS, ANTON ASSAULT
AUTHORS: SONYA AND OBINNA O.
“Smith… you and your friend can leave us. Anton is here, too, so…”
“We can go on break?”
“Of course not! Don’t be so stupid; I do value my life! No, just patrol the corridor, if you will!”
The seconds tick away on the small round clock hanging on the wall. Sasha leans back in her fine leather executive chair with her arms cross over her chest and her eyes ice cold staring at the person sitting in the chair across her desk. A light tap is made on the door and a cup of coffee is placed on the table.
Sasha Volkyeva: I would advise you drink the coffee. Consider yourself lucky I don’t have you arrested… Do you realize how much that car cost me? Much more than your checking account will ever see. Now your cheap American truck is parked on top of it. Miss Tomas, is there anything you wish to say that might possibly change my mind?
Teresa sets the hot black coffee on the thick oak desk barely touched. She says nothing as she stares out the ocean painting behind Sasha’s desk. This lack of respect of course doesn’t bode well with Ms Volkyeva. She throws her hands in the air, stands and begins to pace her office.
Sasha Volkyeva: Bah! All you Americans are the same! Rude, irresponsible, and lack respect of authority! Your careless act will not go unpunished.
Teresa Tomas: Wait Sasha, I can explain this…
Sasha Volkyeva: There is nothing to explain. I am so close to terminating your contract right here and now.
Teresa Tomas: Why don’t you then? Fire me. I dare ya. I’m sure Pearl would love to have me working for him.
The thought of losing anyone to David Harber gets to Sasha. She tightens her fists, and then releases a deep breath slowly.
Sasha Volkyeva: Fine, for the next year, you will be paying for my replacement limousine from your salary.
Teresa Tomas: What? You can’t do that… My mother... She needs that money.
Ms Volkyeva gives Teresa a sarcastic smirk as she settles herself back in her chair as she regains her composure.
Sasha Volkyeva: You should have thought of that before you put that bottle to your lips. You are free to go.
Teresa stands from her chair and places a hand on the desk for support. As she does so, her hand knocks over the cup. Coffee spills out and begins to drip over the edge into Sasha’s lap.
Sasha Volkyeva: MY DOCUMENTS!! MY SKIRT!!
This time, it is Teresa’s turn to smile. She places both hands on her boss’s desk and leans closer to the Russian. Teresa spoke as clear as her drunken Southern U.S. accent would allow.
Teresa Tomas: You should’ve thought of that before you placed a cup of coffee in front of a drunk.
Sasha watches as Teresa turns her back and begins to stagger toward the closed door. The intoxicated redneck takes two steps, trips over her foot and collapses onto the floor. Sasha releases a deep sigh.
Sasha Volkyeva: ANTON!!
The door opens immediately. The Lion knew as he watched Teresa enter his boss’s office, that there would be some sort of problem. He noted the frustrated expression on Ms Volkyeva’s face then averted his eyes to Teresa, who is attempting to get to her feet.
Sasha Volkyeva: Get HER out of my office. The sight of her makes me nauseous.
Anton Assault gives a quick nod and without a word picks Teresa Tomas off the floor and swings her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes escorting her out of the room.
A Helping Hand
FEATURING: TERESA TOMAS, ANTON ASSAULT, PIERCE LAVELLE, ???
AUTHORS: LARA C. AND SONYA
Teresa felt his strength as he trailed her kicking and screaming from Sasha's office. Unwilling to let go, Anton swung his body slightly, grappling Teresa's waist for leverage he moved a safe distance from Sasha's office and released Teresa, flinging her to the ground much to the interest of Smith and Thomas, the guards who watched from the end of the corridor. Her eyes gazed with a burning anger toward Anton, who turned on the heels of his boots and marched back to his post, thinking nothing of it. A figure watched in the distance, looking toward Teresa being flung carelessly to the ground.
She rose with great difficulty, feeling drained and worn; she dusted off her clothing and stumbled against the wall down the corridor.
Teresa Tomas: Jus' great!!!
Her eyes fluttered a moment, her momentum unraveling as she tipped along the floor and flew into the wall, her shoulder breaking her fall. Rising up again, she felt unusual, she couldn't recall drinking, but she was woozy - her vision blurred. Stumbling forward now, the hall around her spun in two’s, a firm grip caught her before she hit the floor, the hands coiling around her waist until she was perched against the figures shoulder, using the person’s body for leverage.
Cursing and shouting a wild array of names directed toward Anton and Sasha she held her hand out in front of her steadying her focus. Thinking it was Anton Assault again she turned but met a very unexpected face.
Pierce Lavelle: Thought you might need a hand!
He smiled and helped carry her toward her locker room. Teresa still a little shocked by his presence remained unusually quiet the rest of the journey. Pierce, struggling to hold most of her weight and open the door with his one foot eventually got a little push, the door moving enough for him to enter. The room was a mess - clothing strewn onto the floor, empty beer cans lined the remaining patches of carpet and a small bench lay privy to a bed. Holding her hands he helped her down onto the bench.
Teresa Tomas: If I'd known I was havin' company, I would've cleaned up.
Teresa muttered waving her hand around the room. Pierce found what he was looking for - a bottle of water.
Pierce Lavelle: Here, drink this.
He sat next to her a while, noting the untidiness and blood shot eyes. Teresa knocked back the entire bottle of water, crumpling the plastic in her hand she threw it towards a bin, but seeing double, the bottle missed, colliding with a small photo stood gently over a unit.
Pierce Lavelle: You alright?
Teresa Tomas: Sure...
Pierce didn't seem as sure as Teresa seemed to be, his eyes gazing quizzically on her, but rather than prying he sat in silence.
Pierce Lavelle: You want me to get the doctor? Might be a little dehydrated...
Teresa Tomas: I'm fine... Jus' fine.
Pierce Lavelle: Alright, if you insist.
Pierce rose onto his feet, a slight hovel in his step from his wounded calf, he turned back to Teresa who looked up - a small bead of sweat trickling down her hair line.
Teresa Tomas: I could use somethin’ else to drink. I got a bottle of whiskey in my duffel bag. Mind fetchin’ it for me?
It would be simple to just walk out of the room and shut the door, but Pierce didn’t. Teresa sat on the wooden bench surrounded by empty bottles, cans, and even varied articles of clothes. Her long sandy blonde hair was a mess, her clothes were wrinkled and slightly torn in places.
Her eyes were no longer baby blue, but rather red, puffy, and appeared tired. The sight of her brought flashback of an addiction he recently overcame. He released a sympathetic sigh and shut the door.
Pierce Lavelle: Is it what you really want?
Teresa gave the man a confused look, then dug into her front pocket for a pack of smokes. She then dug a cheap BIC lighter from her other pocket. Pierce shook his head when offered a cigarette and watched silently as she lit her own and exhaled the first puff of smoke.
Teresa Tomas: What do you mean what I really want? I really want my damn whiskey. Hell, it’s the only thing keeping me in tack right now.
Pierce Lavelle: Is that so?
Unbelieving, the large man crossed his arms over his chest. Teresa averted her eyes from him and took another drag from her cancer stick staring at the small photo she knocked over with the crumpled water bottle. The photo held two smiling faces, Teresa and a man with shoulder-length dark hair and green eyes. They appeared very happy.
Teresa Tomas: What do you care what I really want anyway? You’re some big freaking legend with the perfect relationship, perfect life. I’m just a drunken redneck smoking Winston Lights barely hanging on to what life I actually do have left.
He didn’t know how to reply to the words she just spoke. He could sense her anger, but remained rigid where he was, unwilling to fetch her liquor to calm her nerves. Teresa sensing the silence, rolled her eyes as she stubbed the finished cancer stick on the end of the bench and coiled around her clothing as she rummaged for the bottle of whiskey.
Pierce Lavelle: My life ain’t perfect. Far from it…
His words fell on deaf ears as she unscrewed the top and knocked back a little of the liquor.
Pierce Lavelle: I get the alcohol addiction thing, I do. I had my own problem with substance not too long ago and alcohol helped me with problems, but it doesn’t solve them, Teresa.
She didn’t respond, just gazed sorrowfully into the liquid circling the small shoulder of whiskey.
Pierce Lavelle: Anyway, if you ever feel like talking, I’m around…
His hand gripped the door handle and he didn’t utter another word taking a breath of air conditioning as the door opened ajar. Teresa flung the bottle of whiskey away, her hands shaking as she broke down into tears. Pierce stood, surprised by the outburst unsure what to do as he stood between the hallway and her room.
Teresa Tomas: Please… Don’t leave… Everyone’s leavin’ me…
Pierce hesitates a moment, closing the door slightly as he moves back toward Teresa, sitting next to her he places an arm over her shoulder as she delves her head into the crook of his neck and shoulder, crying tears into his t-shirt.
A figure stands outside the door, her blue eyes gazing angrily toward the man seated on the bench, a pain in her heart as she storms off in the other direction.
Delta Upsilon Iota vs Pleasure And Pain
STIPULATION: DUO TAG
REFEREE: LARS LARSSON
AUTHOR: DAVE LARKIN
Dave Kern: Moscow’s Luzhniki Palace is absolutely packed to the rafters tonight!
Jeff Marx: No, no it isn’t.
Dave Kern: Hmm… OK, you’re correct… There is a buzz in this arena – or palace, to be more specific –
Jeff Marx: No, no there isn’t.
Dave Kern: Hmm… OK, you’re correct. We’re about to kick off the show that puts Fresh!west to shame…
Steven Smith: Queer Eye For The Straight Guy!
Dave and Jeff do simultaneous double-takes.
Dave Kern: What the hell?!
Jeff Marx: Hey, Queer Eye is decent – I mean, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE?!
Steven Smith: It’s OK guys! I’m my ghost! Look, I’m all sexy and transparent!
Jeff Marx: No you’re---
Dave Kern: Okay, before we descend into another Smith vs. everyone else battle, can we please do our bit on the match? It’s the brand new team of the Alliance division - a quickly expanding division, it has to be said – Delta Upsilon Iota, against the married couple of Pleasure And Pain.
Jeff Marx: This team Pleasure And Pain is, quite frankly, a joke to me. They prance around like dogs in heat proclaiming their love to each other. It’s sticky, it’s horrible, it’s – it’s…
Steven Smith: Love?
Dave Kern: You see, Steven, poor Jeff here never had love. He’s like one of those depressed puppy dogs on television who just want a home and someone to look after them.
Marx stays silent.
Steven Smith: Well, if you’re talking about this new team of Delta Alpha whatever, you’re talking about two large men dressed in leotards who will be wrestling in a ring for all to see. Who knows, guys, we might get a sneak peek of one of their---
Dave Kern: Best moves! Yes, finishers. Those things. Now that we’ve calmed down, we’ll send you down to ringside where James Brunt is ready to announce the arrival of our debuting team tonight, Delta Upsilon Iota!
Jeff Marx: This guy Brunt reminds me of a dictator. It’s the way he dresses!
Steven Smith: I like his style. Very tight where it matters.
The Metallica classic “Master of Puppets” begins to emanate from the speakers in Luzhniki Palace and the fans come to their feet, more out of curiosity and enjoyment of the music than to cheer for the new team. Colby Korver and Hank Cobb appear from behind the curtain, pumping up the crowd by raising their fists. The crowd respond with generous applause, though they are still wary of the new arrivals. Korver and Cobb enter the ring and begin to prepare themselves for the contest.
James Brunt: In the ring, at a combined weight of 580 pounds… Colby Korver and Hank Cobb… DELTA UPSILON IOTA!!!
Dave Kern: A highly physical team we’re looking at here in Delta Upsilon Iota. I just wonder if that alone gives them the edge against the physically weaker Pleasure and Pain.
Jeff Marx: Where’s the spice in this match? These guys are clearly pussies with all this playing up to the crowd stuff, and the other team is made up of a couple of horny people. What is up with the world?
Steven Smith: Just calm down, Jeff.
Smith places his hand on Marx’s leg, which causes the latter to jump suddenly. Marx shoots an angry gaze at Smith as the team of Wayne and Tiara Belle Russell appear at the top of the rampway to a decent reception from the crowd. Wayne kisses his wife passionately as the two share some words of advice for the match. Wayne Russell enters the ring first of all, though there is no assault by DUI. DUI choose between themselves who is to compete first, and Cobb is chosen. Wayne waves his wife in and decides to take the ring before her against Cobb.
James Brunt: Now entering the ring, at a combined weight of 451 pounds… Wayne and Tiara Belle Russell… PLEASURE AND PAIN!!!
Not wasting any time, the bell rings and the match begins with the massive Cobb and Wayne Russell exchanging fists. Cobb gets the better of the exchange and takes Wayne by the throat, choke tossing him into his own corner. Cobb pounds on Wayne with stiff right hands to the solar plexus. Wayne recoils in pain, but with a rush of adrenaline, fights back with what can only be described as a rugby tackle, taking Cobb down by the legs. Wayne Russell pounds on Cobb before Cobb pushes the slightly smaller man off of him.
Dave Kern: It’s a fast-paced start here from two eager teams who are desperate to impress in a last-gasp attempt to stake their claim for the Alliance championship!
Jeff Marx: I’m sorry, but as soon as Wayne tags in Tiara Belle, this one’s over. I mean, look at the poor girl. She’s shaking like a leaf. I wouldn’t be surprised if she refused to tag in.
Steven Smith: She’s dedicated to her husband, Jeff! It’d be more entertaining if she hit him in his jewels, then tagged in. I mean, that would be great, wouldn’t it?
Dave Kern: I wouldn’t put it past Tiara Belle…
Cobb takes this opportunity to make a tag to his partner, Colby Korver. Korver storms into the ring with the proverbial head of steam and goes to clothesline Wayne. Russell ducks the attempt, however, rolling cleverly to the side. Russell meets Korver with a standing dropkick which knocks one half of Delta Upsilon Iota over the top rope and out of the ring. Cobb jumps off the turnbuckle to assist his fallen partner, giving Wayne Russell a chance to tag in his wife, Tiara Belle. The couple exchange a knowing glance and begin to run towards the ropes in the direction of their opponents.
Dave Kern: OH MY GOOD GOD!!!
Jeff Marx: Now we’re talking!
Steven Smith: Your love will go on!!!
In a questionable move, Pleasure and Pain together hit a suicide plancha over the top rope and right on top of DUI. Cobb and Korver are dazed after the impact, with Tiara Belle coming out the best. She helps Wayne up and they re-enter the ring as Larsson begins the count-out.
ONE!
TWO!
DUI begin to stir, as Tiara Belle psyches herself up for the challenge ahead.
THREE!
Finally, DUI get back to their feet, though they are far from one hundred percent aware of their surroundings.
FOUR!
Dave Kern: Here comes Delta Upsilon Iota, and they are by no means happy.
Jeff Marx: Okay, this match just got interesting. Kill her!
Steven Smith: Please, calm down. Are you sure you don’t want a hug or something, Jeff?
Marx shudders at the thought.
DUI re-enter the ring with fury in their eyes and take down both members of Pleasure and Pain with relative ease. Korver, the legal man, takes Tiara Belle, the legal “woman”, and slams her to the mat. Tiara Belle favours her back as Korver stomps on it relentlessly. Korver picks her up over his shoulder and runs towards the turnbuckle, but Tiara Belle reverses, landing behind Korver. Tiara Belle nails a dropkick to the back of Korver’s head and rolls him up into a school boy pinning combination…
ONE!
TWO!
Korver manages to kick out before the decisive three count. Tiara Belle looks to seize the opening she has and plants Korver with a DDT just as he is getting back to his feet. Tiara Belle quickly tags in Wayne and the latter drops the elbow onto Korver. Wayne Russell bounces off the ropes and goes for a leg drop across the throat, but Korver moves at the last second, avoiding the move. Korver crawls across to tag in his partner, but Wayne Russell prevents it, dragging him back into his own corner. Wayne tags in Tiara Belle once again, who jumps over the top rope and nails Korver’s knee with a knee drop.
Dave Kern: You can see the team dynamic of Pleasure and Pain coming together nicely. They’re isolating Korver from Cobb and thus taking firm control of this match.
Jeff Marx: How could he not out-wrestle a woman?! He should have just hit her on the head and hoped for the best.
Steven Smith: Did you say… head?
Jeff Marx: Do you want me to banish you from the announce table? I have the power! Don’t try me, Smith!
Dave Kern: Could you two kiss and make-up, please?
Steven Smith: (eagerly) I would be more than happy to!
Jeff Marx slaps the excitable Steven Smith’s hands away as they refocus on the match.
Jeff Marx: Hey! I can touch you! You’re not a ghost!
Steven Smith: Er… I’m a poltergeist!
Tiara Belle Russell works on Korver’s legs with a series of stomps. She drags Korver to his feet and whips him against the ropes. Korver thunders into the unfortunate Tiara Belle with a spear out of nowhere. Tiara Belle looks as if she has been involved in a car accident. Concern flashes instantly across her husband’s face. Cobb, meanwhile, is tagged in, smelling blood.
Steven Smith: May I make an observation, gents?
Jeff Marx: (facetiously) Go right ahead! I’m sure you have a valid explanation of the current situation to share with us. We’d love to hear it.
Steven Smith: Well, here we see Cobb just eyeing up his prey… his senses heightened… his tongue lashing from side to side, feeling the wet, slippery lubrication of it rubbing his lips. He’s positively –
Dave Kern: I have to stop you there, Steven! Don’t you think you’re acting a little… well…
Jeff Marx: Spit it out, Dave! He’s acting camp and trying to make me uncomfortable with his erotic jibes at my manhood!
Dave Kern: …
Steven Smith: I guess I kind of am doing that, yeah. Let’s keep it up, though. It’s more fun this way, eh Jeff?
Jeff Marx shudders again, this time almost ripping his own ear off in the process.
Hank Cobb stalks his prey and, positioning himself behind an unsuspecting Tiara Belle Russell, prepares to strike. Cobb lifts her into the air with an atomic drop and slams her face first to the mat. Cobb, clinical with his attacks, whips her off the ropes and shoulder blocks her to the mat. Cobb covers.
ONE!
TWO!
The crowd come to their feet as Tiara Belle shoots her shoulder off the canvas. The roars in the arena intensify, as the fans follow Wayne Russell’s lead in supporting Tiara Belle’s revival.
”LET’S GO RUSSELLS! LET’S GO RUSSELLS!”
The chant momentarily distracts Cobb from the task at hand, gifting Tiara Belle her window of opportunity. She delivers a sneaky low blow behind the referee’s back to Cobb, who goes down to his knees. Tiara Belle plays innocent to referee Lars Larsson, who eyes her with suspicion.
Dave Kern: That was a blatant low blow by Tiara Belle on Cobb, but man did it come out of nowhere! Pleasure and Pain have a lifeline. Look at Wayne just begging for the tag!
Jeff Marx: That was disgusting! How she could lower herself to that level, I will never know.
Steven Smith: She probably copped a feel while she was down there. Wrestlers’ packages are usually warm and fuzzy.
Dave Kern and Jeff Marx both ignore Smith’s comment, though disgust registers on their faces.
Tiara Belle makes the hot tag to her husband, who dives into the ring looking to cause some damage straight away. Wayne knocks Korver off the apron with a low dropkick to the knees. Wayne then turns to a rising Cobb and delivers a vicious clothesline. Wayne whips Cobb off the ropes and kicks him in the gut.
Dave Kern: This could be it for the debuting team!
Jeff Marx: REVERSAL!
Steven Smith: I feel extraordinarily horny right now for some reason!
Cobb blindsides Wayne Russell with a poke to the eyes just as Tiara Belle goes to the top rope. Korver deals with Tiara Belle by pulling her legs from under her. Cobb calls his partner over to finish the job. DUI deliver the finishing blow to Wayne Russell in the form of the devastating Blutarsky Bomb. The crowd go silent, though some applaud the awesome move.
Dave Kern: Ouch… this isn’t good.
Jeff Marx: Check out Tiara Belle trying to get into the ring… makes me laugh.
Steven Smith: Go get her, then. I didn’t know you’d moved on so fast…
ONE!
Dave Kern: Here’s the pin…
TWO!
Jeff Marx: It’s inevitable!
THREE!
A victorious DUI exit the ring as Tiara Belle checks on her husband, who appears to be out cold. DUI get a mixed response from the crowd as they head up the rampway.
James Brunt: The winners… DELTA UPSILON IOTA!!!
Anonymous To A Mystery
FEATURING: ???
AUTHOR: ???
The silent vibrations of his cell phone shook Batman from his shadowy dwelling.
“What do you mean you can see me?”
…
“You’re close?”
…
“She’s guarded.”
…
“Hah…”
…
“Yes, I understand.”
…
“Of course.”
…
“Just one question.”
…
“Who… are… you?”
…
…
…
“Hello? Hello? Friendly guy…”
Vince Jones Loves The Fans
FEATURING: VINCE JONES, BACKSTAGE WORKER, IVANA, JASMINE
AUTHOR: JAY
The camera fades into the backstage area where Vince Jones can be seen walking along by himself with his Countdown trophy and Louisville Slugger bat in hand. All of a sudden he his confronted by an AWC staff member who is followed by a beautiful, brown-haired, Russian girl who is smiling brightly at him. Vince nods his head at the sight of her.
Backstage Worker: Greetings, Vince Jones. I am here with a Miss Ivana that would like to meet you and get an autograph from you.
Vince Jones: (nodding) Oh is that so? V a busy man and he don’t usually do shit like this but V thinkin’ he could make some time for a hot ass chick like this.
Ivana: (nods her head in appreciation and smiles) My English is no so good, but thank you.
Vince Jones: Its whateva, baby. You lookin’ too fine for a brutha like V to turn you away and shit. So, where you want V to sign and shit, huh? Your t-shirt?
Ivana shakes her head and lifts up her shirt with her back to the camera. A large grin crosses Vince’s face at the sight of her chest and nods in satisfaction.
Vince Jones: Damn! V likin’ the view from this angle.
The AWC Staff Member turns a bit embarrassed, but for some reason or another cannot help but to turn and take another quick glance which turns into a long stare.
Vince Jones: You mind if V cops a feel? Uh... gotta see if they firm enough for the marker and shit to write on them.
Ivana nods her head and smiles as Vince reaches out and grabs a hand full of one of her breasts. He nods in approval.
Vince Jones: Now that’s some nice shit right there. Milk did yo body pretty fuckin’ good, girl.
Ivana: Thank you.
Vince Jones: (lowers his dark shades and winks at Ivana) Oh no, thank you, Ivana. So, what you want V to write?
All of a sudden Jasmine can be seen walking along down the hallway. She rounds the corner and sees Vince with his hands all over Ivana’s boobs. She flares up in rage at the sight, runs up behind Vince and kicks him in the back of the knee. Vince drops down to the floor on one knee as Ivana pulls her shirt back down and scurries off along with the AWC Staff Member.
Jasmine: Fuck you, V!
Vince slowly turns around rises to his feet and glares down at Jasmine.
Vince Jones: What the fuck was all of that about, huh!?
Jasmine: No, you tell me what the fuck you were doing with your hands all over that girl’s chest! That’s’ what I want to know!
Vince Jones: She was a fuckin’ fan, Jasmine!
Jasmine folds her arms across her chest and appears a bit peeved at his response.
Jasmine: Was that your bitch, LaShonda?
Vince Jones: Huh? Hell nah!
Jasmine storms off down the hall.
Jasmine: I can’t believe this shit!
Vince just watches her walk off and just shakes his head as the camera slowly fades to black.
Piece By Piece
FEATURING: SASHA'S SECURITY TEAM, SASHA VOLKYEVA
AUTHOR: ???
Alexa, Gregan, Smertinski, Safiin and Arlovskov followed Tymoshekh down a narrow corridor. They were the final part in the security jigsaw. The thick Russian accent began in full flow once more.
Tymoshekh: This is where we go our separate ways… good luck… comrades.
The camera pans back to the office of Sasha Volkyeva, she is sitting pining over her computer screen, cogs visibly turning in her head… she had in front of her the calling card of GA… and those clues she’d been given the other week. UR… her thoughts were finally off of those two letters which had fixated her for the past… well… past eternity it seemed. Yet, she was no closer to the truth. The employee file for GA was inconclusive. Everything else about him… also… threadbare… it’s like his existence was minimal. No credit cards, no nothing… nothing to do with AWC to tie him to this reality… except this strange Palm Tree… and the letters MMA…
Sasha Volkyeva: SMITH!
Her voice boomed… bursting through the door faster than any gun shot could possibly have travelled Smith stumbles into the room.
Smith: What?! WHAT?! Is he here?! WHERE?!
Sasha raises a smile… did she really yell that loud?
Smith: Bloody hell luv’, ya scared the fuckin’ granny outta me.
Smith was a true London boy. Cocky, arrogant, vain, and a Chelsea fan to boot. You hate him already don’t you?
Smith: Why in the name of all that is good, did ya yell that loud luv? If nuffin’s the matter, ya don’t yell like ya gettin’ yer cockles rocked. Anyway, ya got a good set a lungs on ya for a bird, must be all that Russian vodka you been neckin’ eh girl?
Sasha looked to her desk and her face flushed red… she quickly hid the bottle into a cabinet under her desk.
Smith: It’s alwight luv’ I know you Ruskies luv a drop of the good stuff. I didn’t adam [adam’and’eve//believe] it until the other night, when old Timmo [Tymoshekh] knocked eight shots of the stuff back in twenty seconds. Top geezer. Anyway bird, what can Smithy do ya for?
Understanding absolutely nothing of what was just said Sasha shakes the dazed look from off of her face and begins.
Sasha Volkyeva: Yes… Smith, what does this mean to you?
Pushing the card toward Smith, a wry grin comes across his face.
Smith: Ya see, Miss Saskia…
Sasha Volkyeva: Sasha…
Smith:: Sure thing Saskia, well see that ol’ tree there, that’s the rugby badge of Fiji me dear. We played ‘em a while back… bloody good mind. Anyway bruv…
Sasha Volkyeva: I am not your ‘bruv…’
Smith: Sure thing sweetheart, anyway those letters mean Mixed Martial Arts. So ya know, putting two and three together the lad, GA is probably Fijian, and probably a fighter. Looks quite tasty… those letters Ff… they were the premier organisation back in the day… they had the most mustard fighters across the planet. Mint stuff it was. I remember summin else about those letters… UR… summin to do with MMA… anyways, can’t leave Tommo by himself for too long, he’ll cry. Catch ya later ducks… next time, just call me, no screaming…
Sasha had picked up a tiny bit of what Smith was saying… she picked the phone up… maybe GA was slowly becoming an enemy she could recognise…
Sasha Volkyeva: Hello… Carly? I have some work for you…
Pierce Lavelle vs Josh Marquez
STIPULATION: SINGLES
REFEREE: AARON DAVIES
AUTHOR: JEREMY J.
Dave Kern: Tonight’s the night we’ve all been waiting for! Pierce Lavelle is making his return to the ring after serving six months of a one-year suspension, courtesy of Adam Dick and the Prometheus Serum. Pierce Lavelle is back, and his first test will be to face Josh Marquez, a newly signed superstar who made his debut a couple of weeks ago here in the AWC. Will one year away from the ring show any ring rust from the two-time Transatlantic champion, or will Lavelle return victorious?
Jeff Marx: I don’t see Josh Marquez winning this match. He’s going against a two-time champ, the 2005 Zero To Hero runner-up and, with what Pierce Lavelle has been going through, he’ll definitely be determined to return to the ring. It’s too bad Steven Smith isn’t here to see this day; he’d be all over Lavelle like white on rice.
Dave Kern: Yeah, it’s not the same without Steve at ringside calling the match with us.
Jeff Marx: That’s right. It’s a whole lot ungayer.
Dave Kern: Oh well, the last East Atlantic tour show was his last show and we must move on. Let’s go down to the ring for introductions.
James Brunt: The following is a singles match...
“Ace of Spades” blares on the PA system as Josh Marquez steps out onto the stage, looking out into the Russian fans as they give him a mixed reaction.
James Brunt: First, making his way to the ring, from Las Vegas, Nevada, weighing 212 pounds... JOSH MARQUEZ!
Josh Marquez enters the ring, goes to his corner and waits for his opponent. From the look on his face, he’s confident, but inside the gambler is nervous, about to take on a Legend in this company.
Jeff Marx: Marquez looks cool, or so he thinks... but he’s about to soil himself!
Dave Kern: I’d feel the same way if I was about to face someone the caliber of Pierce Lavelle.
James Brunt: His opponent...
The lights suddenly go out, plunging the unsuspecting Russian semi-crowd into the darkness. Flashbulbs shutter throughout the arena, trying to illuminate ringside, just in case they’re missing anything. A few seconds later, the Atlantic big screen 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, or what there is of it, is going absolutely crazy.
Dave Kern: Listen to his ovation! The Luzhniki Palace is about to come unglued!
Jeff Marx: Right. Y’know, it’d be nice if we’d actually sold a few more tickets... then maybe your statements would have a little cred.
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, 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 a two-time Transatlantic champion, a 2005 Zero To Hero runner-up and a AWC 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.
Dave Kern: Pierce Lavelle has gone through a transformation of sorts, after being absent from the ring for half a year.
Jeff Marx: I like his new look; makes him more credible. And after what he’s gone through, he’s grown up into the man he’s supposed to be.
The referee assigned for this match, Aaron Davies, calls for the bell. Both Pierce Lavelle and Josh Marquez meet in the center of the ring, about to go for a collar-and-elbow tie-up. Lavelle gets the upper hand, taking Marquez over with a Fireman’s Carry, then locks in a Headlock. Josh immediately kips up, breaking the Headlock and both men are on their feet. Marquez takes down the two-time Transatlantic champion down to the mat with a deep Arm Drag, but can’t commit after that, with Pierce quickly getting to his feet. The gambling man from Las Vegas tries a Hip Toss, but Pierce reverses, twisting Marquez’s arm, gets on one of Marquez’s sides and swings backward, drilling the back of Josh’s head onto the mat with a Side Russian Leg Sweep. The AWC Legend floats over for the first cover of the match, hooking the leg...
ONE!
TWO!
Josh Marquez quickly kicks out.
Dave Kern: Fast paced action thus far, but Pierce Lavelle has the edge over Josh Marquez, taking him down with the Side Russian Leg Sweep. The two-time TA champion hasn’t missed a step yet.
Jeff Marx: Indeed, Pierce Lavelle is looking good in this match. It’s too bad that Adam Dick didn’t hang around when Pierce returned. The King would’ve kicked Pierce’s ass all over again.
Dave Kern: I highly doubt that.
Both men are on their feet again as this match continues. Being the smaller man, Josh Marquez gets the upper hand by delivering a knee into Pierce Lavelle’s solar plexus, doubling the man over. Marquez goes for the double under-hook, going for an impact move. Marquez swings backward, planting Lavelle on his head with a Death-lock (or Double Arm) DDT. He goes for the quick pin, hooking the leg...
ONE!
And Pierce Lavelle immediately kicks out. Josh Marquez palms Pierce’s shaved head and brings him to a vertical base. He goes for an Irish Whip but the two-time TA champion reverses the Irish Whip, sending him into the ropes. After the rebound, Pierce goes for a Clothesline as Marquez launches himself into the air, going for a Hurricanrana. Marquez spikes Lavelle on the top of his head with the Hurricanrana, almost rendering the AWC Legend unconscious. The gambling man from Sin City goes for the cover and Pierce presses his opponent off. Pierce slowly sits up, shakily getting to his feet, clearing the cobwebs and rubbing his neck.
Dave Kern: Whoa! That Hurricanrana has done some damage on the two-time Transatlantic champion.
Jeff Marx: Yeah, I don’t like how Lavelle got to his feet in that shaky manner. He might have a stinger.
Pierce Lavelle swings at Josh Marquez with a Clothesline. Marquez ducks underneath the Clothesline, wraps his arm around Lavelle’s neck in a Hangman’s Noose setup and sits down, delivering a Hangman’s Noose Neck Breaker! The AWC Legend is clutching at his neck, pain registering on his face. Marquez picks Lavelle and whips him into the corner. With a head full of steam, he charges at Lavelle, sandwiching him with a Running Clothesline, causing Lavelle to drop onto the mat in a sitting position. The gambling man runs over to the adjacent corner and runs at Lavelle again. He leaps into the air, building up his dropkick in hesitation, and drives both feet into Lavelle’s face with a Hesitation Dropkick. The Russian fans are now jeering Josh as he does a few Face-wash boot scraps, adding insult to injury.
Dave Kern: Pierce Lavelle looks to be in trouble here! After the Hesitation Dropkick, Josh Marquez disrespects the legend of Lavelle!
Jeff Marx: That won’t bode well for Josh Marquez afterwards. If Pierce Lavelle can recover from the neck injury he may have sustained after that Hurricanrana earlier, Lavelle can pull off the victory.
Josh Marquez, feeling confident with a smug look on his face, picks up Pierce Lavelle and places him on the top turnbuckle. Marquez climbs to the top turnbuckle, balancing himself and then makes a capital mistake: jaw-jacking with the fans. With Marquez wasting time riling up the fans, Pierce sets Josh up and takes him down with a Super Bomb, bouncing Josh off the mat! The 2,000 or so fans in the 11,000-capacity venue are on their feet now, chanting Lavelle’s name...
“LA-VELLE! LA-VELLE! LA-VELLE! LA-VELLE!”
Dave Kern: Good God, what a Super Bomb by Pierce Lavelle! Josh Marquez’s back might be broken!
Jeff Marx: Lavelle is crawling toward his opponent for the cover!
ONE!
TWO!
THR---
NO! Josh Marquez shoots his right shoulder up before the three!
Jeff Marx: Dammit! So close!
Dave Kern: And yet so very far.
Jeff Marx: Hey, leave the smart-ass commentary to a trained professional, Dave!
Piece Lavelle gets to his feet, picking up Josh Marquez to a vertical base and wraps his hand around his throat. Lavelle lifts Marquez high into the air with one hand, takes a couple of steps forward and spikes Marquez with a Choke Slam. After the Puroresu style Choke Slam, Lavelle grabs both of his opponents legs, bends them in a Figure-four fashion and turns him over, sitting on the small of Marquez’s back while pulling back on the Texas Cloverleaf! The fans are on their feet, cheering for the two-time Transatlantic champion...
“LA-VELLE! LA-VELLE! LA-VELLE! LA-VELLE!”
After pulling back on the Texas Cloverleaf for a few seconds, he breaks the submission maneuver, chaining into a, STS, using a Sleeper Hold instead of a Face-lock.
Dave Kern: Texas Cloverleaf into an STS!
Jeff Marx: Choke his ass out, Lavelle! Make that gambling spic your bitch!
Dave Kern: You’ve been listening to George Cassidy’s commentary, haven’t you?
Jeff Marx: Nah, I never liked spics - I mean - Mexicans.
Dave Kern lets out a sigh as he continues to do the play-by-play. Pierce Lavelle is pulling back on the Sleeper, squeezing his arm around Josh Marquez’s carotid arteries. Before Marquez passes out, the AWC Legend releases the hold, getting to his feet, rubbing his neck. He picks up the gambling man, whips him into the ropes and then drives his shoulder into Josh’s midsection with a Running Shoulder Block. When Marquez drops onto his ass, Lavelle hops on the top turnbuckle in a seated position. He lifts up Marquez, locks in an Inverted Front Face-lock and flips forward, sitting down with an Ace Crusher!
Dave Kern: Diamond Dust by Pierce Lavelle, that Sunset Flip Ace Crusher!
Jeff Marx: Lavelle’s going for the cover!
ONE!
TWO!
THR---
NO! Josh Marquez kicks out in time.
Jeff Marx: Dammit! C’mon, Lavelle! You should have beaten Josh Marquez by now.
Dave Kern: Give Pierce a break! He hasn’t been in the ring for a year!
Pierce Lavelle gets to his feet, picking up his opponent to a vertical base. He kicks him in the gut, doubling him over and heading his head in between his legs. The AWC Legend lifts up Josh Marquez for a Power Bomb and runs towards one of the corners, throwing his opponent into the turnbuckles with a Buckle Bomb.
Dave Kern: That’s what Pierce Lavelle calls “Wrecked,” a Running Buckle Bomb set-up!
Jeff Marx: I’ve heard that Pierce Lavelle modified his Whiplash finisher a bit. Can’t wait to see it.
Dave Kern: If the set-up for Whiplash II is essentially a slightly weaker version of the original Whiplash… then I dread to think how devastating the new one is!
After pulling off his setup maneuver, Pierce Lavelle sets Josh Marquez onto the top turnbuckle, folding his opponent over his shoulder and has both legs in each hand. Lavelle walks out of the corner, having Marquez folded on his right shoulder and then sits down, delivering a Muscle Buster! Afterwards, Pierce slaps on a Kata Hajime, wrapping his legs around Marquez’s waist for the Body Scissors!
Dave Kern: Whiplash II, a Muscle Buster into a Kata Hajime!
Jeff Marx: Josh Marquez’s face is turning a bright shade of blue!
Referee Aaron Davies checks Josh Marquez’s condition. Deciding that Marquez can no longer continue, he calls for the bell, and “Happy?” by Mudvayne starts to play on the PA system as Pierce Lavelle breaks the chokehold. The fans are on their feet, cheering for Lavelle...
“LA-VELLE! LA-VELLE! LA-VELLE! LA-VELLE!”
James Brunt: The winner... PIERCE LAVELLE!
Jeff Marx: PIERCE LAVELLE HAS WON HIS FIRST MATCH BACK! I KNEW THAT BASTARD COULD DO IT!
Dave Kern: Indeed he does. His first match in almost a year, and he wins with the new Whiplash II! But give Josh Marquez some credit! He struggled gamely; he had to take the Whiplash and then submitted, but he walks out of the ring with his head held high. I see promise in Marquez.
Jeff Marx: I don’t see shit in him.
Dave Kern: But after having his neck worked on, how will Pierce Lavelle fare in the East Invitational Battle Royal? Can he pull off the victory and be the number one contender for the Transatlantic title belt? Or, indeed, could Josh Marquez, should he be fit to enter after this punishment? We’ll find out in our featured Main Event!
And Now, A Word From A Legend
FEATURING: DARCY CRISIS, TONY LITTLE
AUTHOR: NATE
The camera quickly cuts to the one and only Darcy Crisis, whose face is only inches away from the screen as he cocks his head to the side with his trademarked half-smirk, half-smile.
Darcy Crisis: Ladies and gentleman, boys and girls, say hello to your friendly neighborhood D to the C, D-Masta C Darcy CRISIS!
A barely audible pop can be heard from the cold, mostly empty Moscow arena as the camera pans out to get a better view of Darcy. He can now be seen holding a microphone, as well as that he is standing in the locker room area.
Darcy Crisis: And you can say that the “D” in “D-Masta” stands for DEE-liver, cause I’m pulling double duty tonight! That’s right, not only can you look forward to seeing yours truly in tonight’s battle royal… which I’ll be winning, no doubt… but for the first time in history, the folks here in this fine city and everyone at home get to see me showing off my esteemed interviewing skills. So without further ado, I’d like to introduce to you my guest this evening… he is a renowned fitness guru, a celebrity in all the world over, and a personal hero of mine… ladies and gentleman, Mr. Tony LITTLE!!
Once again only a barely audible noise from the arena is picked up by the feed, but unlike Darcy’s pop it appeared that mostly boos were being elicited by the Moscow crowd. The camera pans up to see Tony Little exercising away on his patented Fitness Quest ® Gazelle. Without a word, he looks as if he’s working out harder than he ever has in his life, with a look of deathly-level focus on his face.
Darcy Crisis: Tony, how does it feel to be a part of the big Fresh!east European tour?
He holds the microphone up to Tony, but Tony doesn’t so much as even look in Darcy’s direction as he continues bounding away on the Gazelle.
Darcy Crisis: Umm… okay then. What can you tell us about this Gazelle you’re working on there? I have to say, Tony gave me a chance to try one of these out for the weekend, and man… never have I had a workout that was as easy on my back. How does it work, Tony?
Darcy holds up the microphone again, but Tony still remains silent, now exhaling sharply as he kicks it up a notch. The look of focus on his 50-year-old mug changes to a look of clear anger as he continues hammering away. Panicking, Darcy tries to defuse the situation into passable television entertainment.
Darcy Crisis: Wow. I’ve never seen the man look so focused. He must really be enjoying himself… not to mention burning a ton of carbs! Just how much fun is the Tony Little Gazelle, brother?
Darcy tries for a third time… no dice. Tony looks mad as hell.
Darcy Crisis: Alright, come on Tony, you’re throwing me under a bus over here. You okay, man?
At that, Tony brings the Gazelle to a screeching (okay, silent) halt. He snaps his head over to look at Darcy, looking like a man possessed.
Tony Little: Okay? OKAY? How the hell could I be okay after what happened to me last week! Nobody talks to Tony Little like that, especially some Mexican piece of---
Darcy retracts the mic just in time, saving Tony from committing an egregious faux pas.
Darcy Crisis: Hey, hey, take it easy man. I assume you’re talking about little rat Ferrara. He’s a jerk, but no reason to get worked up over it. You’ve got bigger fish to fry.
Tony Little: …bigger… fish… to fry?
Darcy Crisis: Or bigger products to hawk, whatever works. Do whatever you gotta---
Tony Little: LISTEN to me, Darcy my boy. You’re a good kid, I appreciate what you’re trying to do. But this cannot stand… I’m Tony F-ing Little! I’m a CELEBRITY, god dammit! I’m America’s Fitness Trainer ®, soon to be Europe’s Fitness Trainer (pending). I don’t have to take that kind of crap from anybody. Tony slaps a hand down hard on Darcy’s shoulder.
Tony Little: So let me give some advice, from one friend to another. When I was your age, this sort of thing didn’t happen to good people. Not huge worldwide personalities like myself, and not up-and-coming stars like you. We knew something about RESPECT. And here’s what I have to say about respect: Sometimes people give you respect, like when you beat a pain medicine addiction and turn your life around by hopping on the Tony Little Gazelle and getting in the best shape of your life. Other times, you earn respect by becoming so good at what you do, you can rightfully call yourself America’s Fill-In-the-Blank. But other times still… if you want respect from the little bastards of the world, you have to TAKE it from them.
As the last of his words escape his lips, Tony shoves Darcy out of his way to exit the locker room area as Darcy appears to be at a loss for what exactly just transpired. However, only a few moments go by before he realizes he’s still on camera, and he turns back to face the screen.
Darcy Crisis: Well, then… umm… that was Tony Little, everybody! And this is Darcy Crisis, here to say, umm...
Darcy looks away, wondering how the hell to make a graceful exit. With no real luck, he goes for the time-tested sign-off:
Darcy Crisis: Uhh… Skynyrd rules!
With a quick grin, Darcy flashes the Freebird sign before dropping the mic and darting off-camera.
Introducing The Greatest Countdown Trophy Holder Of AWC History
FEATURING: VINCE JONES, JASMINE
AUTHOR: JAY
The camera fades into the Luzhniki Palace where a capacity crowd is seated and waiting in anticipation for the next bit of AWC action.
Jeff Marx: Well, what do we have coming up next on the show, Dave ?
Dave Kern: Hmph why should I tell you that? You should be on top of these things, Jeff!
All of a sudden the lights in the arena dim and the audience members begin looking around in confusion as well as Jeff Marx and Dave Kern.
Jeff Marx: I really hope we’re not in store for any more technical difficulties as we endured before.
Dave Kern: Sasha really needs to get it together on this show. I refuse to work under these conditions!
A small mist or fog begins to rise up from the entranceway and down the rampway leading to the ring. Next, a loud, booming, demon- like voice bellows out the message…
PREPARE TO ENTER MY HELL, MY REALM, AND MY GAME...
…as the words flash up on the big screen in pulsing red letters. All goes silent.
Dave Kern: Oh dear...
Jeff Marx: (rubs his hands together in anticipation) Oh, things are about to get interesting now.
Wrestling fans clustered towards the frontward seats of the undersold Palace begin to rise to their feet in anticipation of what is about to go down. The most hardcore wrestling fans around the arena begin to become even more antsy at the familar message that lingers on the screen as well as the familiar voice in the air. The message quickly fades away and the voice bellows out the message.
... ENTER THE VIOLENCE!!!!
The words appear on the megatron screen embossed by flames.
Dave Kern: Uh-oh.
Jeff Marx: Huh? What are you talking about? No uh-oh. This is good, very good.
The most hardcore of wrestling fans recognize these words and become even more amped while others around the arena continue to look on with confused expressions across the faces. All of a sudden a single, loud, gunshot rings out through the arena shocking the fans in the audience. Suddenly the opening chords of 'Thug Luv' begin to play as the oh so familiar voice of 2Pac is heard throughout the arena…
Fool, we doin' this shit from Cleveland to L.A.
,Whatever you bitches want. We bringin' it!
Thug luv, bitch! What time is it?
Yo, I don't give a fuck where you lay at, fool!
It's time to slay these Bitch-ass killas
They ain't even knowin' what type of thugs we is. Where my thugs at?
The sound of a cocking of a gun, followed by gunshot repeated throughout is heard ringing out in the arena.
Bone thugs-n-harmony. I know you fools been waitin' for this shit for a long time.
Well, here it is! Here it is!
What you gonna do with it?
A loud explosion is heard as a bright flash of light appears in front of the entranceway which pierces the darkness in the arena. The entranceway curtains part and the man the wrestling world has come to know as 'The Violence' Vince Jones appears with his trusty equalizer, the Louisville Slugger in one hand and his Countdown trophy in the other. Vince Jones slowly marches his way through the fog to the edge of the ramp way with followed by his lovely valet, Jasmine “The Crown Jewel of Wrestling”, who just watches him a bit peeved at his love for his trophy. The cameras begin flashing from all corners of the arena – well, actually none of them, but at least from where the fans are sitting – in response at what appears to be a rather unexpected guest appearance. Vince Jones stops in his tracks looks around the arena with a rather smug look on his face and raises his trademark, black, Louisville Slugger baseball bat in the air and flashes the hand sign of his old gang from New York. As if on cue red pyro explodes behind him. A loud chorus of cheers begin to ring out from the audience members. Vince appears a bit weirded out by the reaction, but rolls with it and begins kissing the Countdown trophy.
Dave Kern: They’re cheering… for him?
Jeff Marx: Well, what do you expect? He’s the one and only Vince Jones, you ninny!
Dave Kern: NINNY!?
He slowly makes his way down to ringside, nodding his head in appreciation of the rowdy AWC fans along the way. Jasmine follows close behind him, still a bit peeved by his affection for his trophy. Vince slides into the ring, climbs the nearest turnbuckle and looks out at the crowd as if he's in a trance, drawing in from the crowd.
Dave Kern: That guy is just so arrogant!
Jeff Marx: And that’s what makes him good, Dave. That’s what makes him good.
Vince finally comes out of the trance and steps down from the turnbuckle. The lovely Jasmine slides over towards, James Brunt, the ring announcer, smiles a sweet smile, and beckons for the mic. Vince Jones turns and just sneers at the man and James Brunt quickly hands it over not wanting any problems from the thuggish Vince Jones.
Jasmine: Thanks, babe.
She waves goodbye to the ring announcer and blows him a kiss as he quickly exits the ring. Jasmine raises the mic to her lips as the cheers in the arena get even louder. She looks around the arena and begins to giggle to herself. Jasmine signals for the music to be cut and it finally stops.
Jasmine: Wow! You guys have to be the greatest crowd we’ve come across yet. You Russians are smarter than I thought, much smarter then the French…
There is a mix of cheers and boos as they don’t know whether or not they’ve just been insulted or complimented by Jasmine. Jasmine nods her head.
Jasmine: And despite the fact that my man and I are from the U.S you guys almost seem like a much better crowd than our people back home too.
The crowd begins cheering.
Jasmine: Now where was I? Ah yes! You people out there should feel honored to know that you get to feast your eyes on a real athlete for a change, a man that needs no introductions, a man whose reputation in this business will forever proceed him. AWC I, Jasmine 'The Crown Jewel of Wrestling' am proud to present to you tonight…
Vince leans in and whispers something into Jasmine’s ear and she nods her head.
Jasmine: …the greatest Countdown trophy holder this Club has ever seen…
Dave Kern: Oh yeah. He is the greatest alright. Give me a break! He is only the second person to hold the trophy!
Jeff Marx: Mere technicality, Dave.
Vince whispers something else into Jasmine’s ears and she raises an eyebrow at that and just shakes her head.
Jasmine: A god amongst men…
Jeff Marx: Oh my goodness! He’s going a little bit too far now!
Vince leans in and whispers something else to Jasmine and she just shakes her head in disappointment with him and raises the mic to her lips.
Jasmine: The greatest when it comes to sex… (she glares at Vince) just don’t expect him to show up for dinner on time, ladies, because he’ll probably out running around with women named LaShonda! Here’s ‘The Cheater’ Vince Jones!
She shoves the mic into his chest and he just shakes his head at her and snatches it out of her hands as she folds her arms across her chest and makes her way to the corner of the ring.
Jeff Marx: Now that is what I’m talking about.
Dave Kern: Whoooooooooa! Seems like there’s a bit of animosity brewing between those two tonight.
Vince glares back at Jasmine and tries to pretend that she didn’t just say what she just did. Vince Jones nods his head slowly and begins peering around at the capacity crowd who are a bit amused by his presence now.
Vince Jones: You’ll have to excuse Jasmine. She’s havin’ some issues at the moment, kinda delirious in the head and shit. Anyways, how does it feel to know that you people get to feast your eyes on the hottest mahfucka in the A Dubb Cee today? You can say whateva the hell you want right now. People ain’t talkin’ ‘bout cats like Anton Assault! Pierce Lavelle? Hell no! People didn’t come out here tonight to see bitches like Darcy Crisis! You people sure as hell didn’t show up here tonight to see the P Dubb Cee and shit rollin’ around the joint drunk and pissin’ on shit! Paddy O’Shea and Teresa Tomas? Fuck no! You people sittin’ yo asses in those seats right now waitin’ to see The One Man Dynasty do the damn thang like he been doin’ week in and week out lately. And that’s... fuckin’… real!
The crowd erupts with a mix of cheers and jeers as Vince Jones nods his head and begins pacing around the ring.
Vince Jones: When V. Jones went down at Zero 2 Hero bitch mades were quick to jump on the bandwagon thinkin’ it was about time for The Violence to call it quits, thinkin’ V. Jones might’ve been on his last legs and shit in this game. Fuck that shit! That’s far from the truth! V not down and out he risin’ and thrivin’ like never before. Let’s look at the facts, people! Shawn Harris… silenced! Teresa Tomas… silenced! Leviathan… silenced! Lil’ Mikey O’Reilly… silenced! The critics… silenced! Each and every bitch made that was willin’ to lay down money against V. Jones… silenced! Each and every trick that wanted to get down with The Jones after they realized he was back in it to win it… silenced and still walkin’ funny (winks). So, if it ain’t obvious then it should be by now. You fuck with V. Jones and you lookin’ to get yo punk ass lit up and smoked out! And that’s just the way it is.
The crowd begins cheering and all of a sudden an oversized pair of panties is tossed at Vince. He looks at the panties in disgust and sees a rotund, Russian woman smiling back at him and waving. Vince Jones shakes his head no.
Vince Jones: Ah fuck no! V don’t go deep sea divin’ with whales you crazy ass bitch!
Dave Kern: He’s arrogant and shallow… Jeff Marx: I wouldn’t touch her with a ten foot pole myself!
Vince balls up the panties and chucks them right back at her as she frowns. Vince tries to regain his composure and addresses the crowd once again.
Vince Jones: So, now V. Jones steps into the ring tonight ready to defend his prize, (raises the trophy in the air) the Countdown trophy, once again. And you’d think that A Dubb C would have the smarts to give V a real challenge in the ring. You’d think that A Dubb C would wanna cash in when they got the hottest commodity up in A Dubb C today in a fight puttin’ out some hot shit or somethin’. Instead, they give V. Jones a match against some crackish, Rainbow Brite lookin’ bitch named Aimz. Now what the fuck is up with that, huh? You people tell V. Jones that shit! What the fuck? This chick gonna prance her ass down to the ring on the back of a fuckin’ pony and shit lookin’ to whup V. Jones’ ass like he fuckin’ ‘Doom and Gloom’ and some shit? Aimz if yo multi-colored, confused ass can hear V he got somethin’ to tell ya. This ain’t no fuckin’ cartoon you gonna be steppin’ into tonight! Its real up in this ring! Oh, and change your damn clothes! You be makin’ Bozo the Clown look like he GQ and shit!
Dave Kern: Wow! I really hope Aimz lays into him good tonight. I can’t believe he would even say such things about her. She has done way more for wrestling than he can ever imagine doing here.
Jeff Marx: If you say so. Vince Jones is just telling the truth out there! She’s a fucking whore!
Dave Kern: That might be going a bit too far, but she does look like a misfit. And he’s right. She needs to change into some real wrestling gear. Still---
Jeff Marx: She’s a mockery to the industry and wrestlers like Vince Jones!
Dave Kern: Vince Jones, a wrestler? You must be kidding. He is nothing but a heartless brawler.
Vince just shakes his head at the cluelessness of the Russian crowd and his references to American 80’s pop culture.
Vince Jones: Fuck you, drunk ass mahfuckas! You all probably don’t even know what the hell V talkin’ ‘bout here!
The crowd begins to boo him after being snapped at.
Vince Jones: Well, how ‘bout we talk about some shit you people oughta have a fuckin’ clue about, A Dubb Cee’s main event battle royale. Last week V. Jones steps in that ring and went to work like never before. He whuppin’ ass, takin’ names, and tossin’ mahfuckas like it’s a hobby and shit. V gets so close to makin’ the fans proud and then this bitch Ellis Nash pulls magic out her ass and makes this great escape like Houdini and shit while V. Jones get eliminated. It’s a damn shame! Matter of fact, all you drunk ass Russians oughta be holdin’ your heads down and cryin’ right about now! Why? Cuz you people got robbed of seeing a king of kings get his hand raised in victory. Instead we see a ho comin’ out on top.
Jeff Marx: Now that is totally uncalled for. Ellis Nash is…
Dave Kern: Will you let the man continue!
The crowd continues to boo Vince.
Vince Jones: Well, today’s a new day. Turns out they got another battle royale goin’ on tonight. Lightning don’t strike twice people! Let it be known to each and every bitch made in the back! V don’t give a fuck who standin’ in his way from Pierce Lavelle all the way down to the gutter trash on the East Tour! Tonight’s the night that V. Jones gonna get his! And when its all said and done V. Jones gonna get a hold of whateva good shit you Russians be poppin’ and drinkin’ around here and get right! ‘Nuff said!
Dave Kern: Those are some lofty goals from Vince Jones. I honestly believe he’s bitten off a little more than he can chew tonight be calling out all of AWC-East like he has. And besides, I thought he was the gutter trash of the East Tour.
Jeff Marx: I don’t know. I think he is gonna surprise us all tonight.
Vince Jones raises his Countdown Trophy and baseball bat high into the air as the crowd boos. Vince and Jasmine exit the ring and arena as the camera slowly fades to black.
Frustrations Running Wild
FEATURING: SARAH KENNEDY, BACKSTAGE WORKER, PIERCE LAVELLE, SMERTINSKI, CHAINZ
AUTHORS: LARA C. AND MIKE S.
She could no longer stand the interviewing gig as she flung her high heels against the wall of her locker room. Her frustrations were running wild. She had been scheduled to interview Michael Sloan, but when her eyes had wandered into a locker room she could no longer stand to be in the building.
Slumping into the sofa, her blonde hair hung in curls around her shoulders, her eyes blood shot from tears as she crossed her legs and opened a bottle of water - the heat of Europe now getting to her as the air conditioning unit blasted cold air against the small beads of sweat lining the back of her neck.
Before she had time to think, the door opened, another order by Sasha for an interview, but this time Sarah relented.
Sarah Kennedy: Tell Sasha she can stuff her interviewing orders, I've had enough.
The backstage assistant looked on quizzically toward Sarah; who sat exasperated on the chair knocking back the litre of water as though there was no tomorrow.
Worker: But, Ms. Kennedy...
Sarah Kennedy: I don't think you heard me, I’m not doing it.
The backstage worker reeled in shock, hitting against the chest of a man whose blue eyes pierced through the door toward Sarah, leant into the chair, her head facing towards the fan as she inhaled the cooled air. Pierce Lavelle turned to the backstage worker and nodded his head for him to leave. Scurrying along with the shocking orders toward Ms. Volkyeva's office.
Pierce moved slowly toward her, a bemused expression on his face as he gazed toward her. Now kneeling by her side he placed a hand on hers, but she moved it away.
Pierce Lavelle: Hey, you alright?
Sarah Kennedy: No.
Pierce Lavelle: You are really tired of this interviewing thing… You angry?
Sarah Kennedy: Angry? I'm pissed off.
Pierce couldn't respond, Sarah's eyes burning unto him as she flung the bottle into the bin beside her. He stood up, folding his arms in a defensive posture, confused by her rash behavior.
Sarah Kennedy: What the hell were you doing with Teresa Tomas?
Pierce Lavelle: What?
Sarah Kennedy: I saw you...
Pierce Lavelle: Okay, look, what is going on? Yeah, I was with Teresa, because she was unwell and needed a hand.
Sarah Kennedy: Uh-huh...
Sarah waved his rebuttal off before he even had time to explain, frustrated with the lack of time she was having with Pierce, Sarah now moved away from his touch again.
Sarah Kennedy: You seemed a little too close, to be lending her a hand!
Pierce Lavelle: What's that supposed to mean? Sarah, look I'm sorry you're annoyed about this, but she broke down, what was I supposed to do - shut the door and leave her there?
Pierce moved forward, slumping into the sofa next to her, but she sat forward, elbows on her knees, her head bent down.
Sarah Kennedy: No, it's not that. It's just Tracy mentioned what happened when Chainz and Teresa became...
Pierce Lavelle: Chainz would ravish anything with a heartbeat, Sarah. Look, I care about you.
Sarah Kennedy: I know, it's just we never see each other and I'm really confused about us.
Pierce Lavelle: Is this why you are pissed off?
Sarah just nodded her head, it was one of the reasons she wanted to give-up her job as an interviewer. Not only had she become enslaved by Sasha and the long hours, but she no longer had time for friends, family and loved ones.
Pierce Lavelle: Look, we'll figure something out.
His reassurance was broken by the door being opened, an unannounced interruption parted the two as one of Sasha Volkyeva’s additional hired security for the night entered. He moved forward with some reverence ignoring the awkward glances he was receiving, his eyes gazing toward Pierce Lavelle.
Smertinski: Ms. Volkyeva vood like to see you...
Pierce Lavelle: Can't it wait, I'm sort of in the middle of something.
Smertinski: I vos told zis matter is of much urgency. Please make haste.
Sighing with annoyance, Pierce stood up and watched Smertinski leave. He turned to Sarah and saw her eyes advert his, gazing through him without a word. Nodding to the silence and the uncanny frustrations the two were feeling he turned and left once more, closing the door behind him. Sarah sighed heavily leaning into the chair and closing her eyes.
Chainz: Sounds like the marriage is over.
His voice was recognizable even though she couldn’t see him. His menacing and mocking tone shot through the room and tore into her.
Sarah Kennedy: We were never married.
Chainz: It’s just a saying doll.
He walked into the room from the bathroom, brushing his teeth as he stood in the doorway.
Sarah Kennedy: I know, I… What are you doing here?
He continued brushing his teeth as his eyes narrowed in on his fiancée’s best friend.
Chainz: We had a date scheduled.
Sarah Kennedy: We had an interview scheduled, but for some reason spending a night asking you questions wasn’t a priority on my list of things to do.
Chainz: Should'a been, I had a lot to say especially to a pretty girl as yourself.
Sarah Kennedy: What… Are you hitting on me now too?
Chainz: Oh come on Sarah, you know I love ya.
Sarah Kennedy: Ew, don’t ever say that again. I’m already sick to my stomach.
Chainz chuckled as he spits some of the toothpaste out and onto the floor. Sarah looked down at the spit and paste in disgust. Then she looked back up at Chainz who stuck the toothbrush in his mouth again.
Sarah Kennedy: What were you doing in my bathroom?
Chainz: Just waiting for your boy to leave so we could have ourselves a little chat.
Sarah Kennedy: Well I… Oh my god, is that my toothbrush?
Chainz took the brush out and held it out.
Chainz: Looks like it, I’m almost done with it. Gotta have fresh breath in case my red haired honey needs some sugar.
Chainz finished and spits the rest of the paste onto the floor. He approached Sarah and held out the toothbrush.
Sarah Kennedy: Umm, that’s okay you can keep it.
Chainz: Why don’t you use it to clean out that smart ass of yours.
Chainz dropped the brush into her lap as he disappeared into the bathroom again. The sink was turned as water came rushing. Sarah quickly brushed the personal hygiene product off of her lap and began attacking the stain it left on her pants. Chainz walked back into the room spraying some perfume on his body.
Sarah Kennedy: Ugh, that’s my perfume! That’s for women!
Chainz looks down at the bottle; most definitely for women but he doesn’t seem to care. He pulls his pants out a little and sprays his privates.
Chainz: It’s fucking hot here, my balls are so wet it feels like I’ve been swimming in a swamp.
He finishes and hands Sarah the bottle which she immediately discards into the nearest trash bin. Chainz stands in front of the mirror as he begins brushing his goatee, obviously with Sarah’s brush.
Chainz: You gotta take care of yourself cuz no one else is going to do it for you.
Sarah Kennedy: Most people use their own things.
Chainz: Most people don’t have access to your bathroom, I’m sure if you had let Harber in here he would’ve stolen a tampon or something and shoved it up his ass as he jacked off to a ball of your pubic hair he scooped out of the shower.
Sarah looked at Chainz, dumbfounded, at just how crude and repulsive this man could be. There was nothing desirable about him; she had no clue what Tracy and now Aimz saw in him.
Sarah Kennedy: Must you always be so disgusting?
Chainz: It’s the company I keep.
Sarah gave him a fake laugh.
Sarah Kennedy: You a comedian now?
Chainz puts the brush down and approaches Sarah Kennedy who stands her ground, not afraid in the least bit.
Chainz: You’re lucky Tracy has taken such a liking to you cuz I’ve taken quite a liking to you as well, shame I can’t act on it.
Sarah Kennedy: So why do you keep talking to me, why not just leave me alone?
Chainz: Leave you alone? I wouldn’t dream of it… Hey, have you and Tracy talked lately, I’ve been busy with a few things.
His entire demeanor changed as he mentioned her name and questioned her well being. She didn’t feel like easing his worry or helping him out, but she figured lying to him wouldn’t make things better.
Sarah Kennedy: Yeah we talked yesterday. She asked about you a lot and for the life of me I don’t know why but I didn’t mention the whole Aimz thing.
Chainz: Oh that, that’s nothing serious. Miss Campbell just needed a reminder who the fuck she was dealing with.
Sarah Kennedy: Or you needed some sexual relief?
Now it was Sarah who was toying with Chainz.
Chainz: If I needed sexual relief I would’ve had it, besides Tracy and I will be together soon.
Sarah seemed surprised.
Sarah Kennedy: What do you mean?
Chainz: I mean, Sasha is either going to trade me or trade for her.
Sarah Kennedy: Says who?
Chainz: Says me and my two fists which will find themselves halfway down her throat if she doesn’t.
Sarah Kennedy: I don’t think she responds well to threats.
Chainz approached Sarah and stood inches from her; he now spoke with a soft voice.
Chainz: And what do you suggest I do?
Before she could answer, the door burst open and Pierce Lavelle walked in.
Pierce Lavelle: Sarah I couldn’t leave things like…
He saw Chainz slowly back off of Sarah and stare at him.
Pierce Lavelle: What are you doing here?
He turned to face Sarah.
Pierce Lavelle: What is he doing here?
Chainz: Relax hot head, I’m just here to make up for the interview your honey canceled at the last moment.
Pierce Lavelle: If she canceled it meant she didn’t want to have it.
Chainz: Well I did.
Pierce looked at Sarah who just slumped back in her chair with a sigh.
Pierce Lavelle: That’s it, I’m taking care of this right now.
Pierce Lavelle storms out of the room.
Chainz: Oooooo, I think Mr. Lavelle is going to have a chat with Volky. Maybe I should go and listen in.
Chainz followed Pierce Lavelle out of the door leaving Sarah alone in the room. She rubbed her head, fearing a headache she knew would down her by nightfall.
Paddy O'Shea vs Kris Krimzon
STIPULATION: SINGLES
REFEREE: SELENA SUMNER
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: The following is a singles match. 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 as he gets to the bottom however his music is cut off, PWC shows up on the screen and “Know Your Enemy” by RATM starts up to an equivalent-sized reaction from the crowd, but with the arena very empty, the sound is tinny against the music.
Jeff Marx:How disrespectful.
Dave Kern: When have the PWC ever been respectful?
James Brunt: His opponent from St. Louis, Missouri, weighing in at 230 pounds, “MR. PACIFIC” KRIS KRIMZON!
O’Shea gets in the ring as Kris Krimzon rides out on a skateboard that has been decorated to look like it has waves on the side of it, Krimzon jumps off the skateboard before hitting the ring and slides into the ring.
Dave Kern: That was… unique.
O’Shea and Krimzon start to slowly circle the ring. Krimzon cuts it short when he charges O’Shea, taking him down with a Lou Thesz press. He tries to immediately lock in the ankle lock, but O’Shea refuses, ducking out and making his way to his feet. Krimzon gets up too, and O’Shea drops his back down to his knee with a swift kick to the gut. He grabs his right arm and kicks his stomach again. He reaches over with his free arm and gives him a crotch shot. O’Shea lets go of Krimzon’s arm and bends over, holding his groin. Krimzon gets up and delivers a DDT to O’Shea. He tries again to lock in the ankle lock, but O’Shea escapes again.
Dave Kern: Krimzon going for a couple of ankle lock attempts there, I didn’t think it was his style.
Jeff Marx: Krimzon has a style?
Dave Kern: I’m sure he does. Most wrestlers do.
Jeff Marx: I thought the only thing that made him have style was pissing over everything.
Dave Kern: Not that sort of style.
O’Shea whips Krimzon into the ropes. When he comes back, he catches him and hits a spinning spinebuster. O’Shea hops up and quickly gets up onto the second rope. He leaps off, attempting a leg drop, but Krimzon rolls out of the way! He connects on a flipping neckbreaker on O’Shea, who was sitting on the mat. He goes for the pin. The ref falls to the mat and counts.
ONE!
TWO!
Krimzon gets up and gets up onto the top turnbuckle. O’Shea follows him over, but gets met with a right hand to the face. He tries to get him in a headlock, but he shoves Krimzon off and delivers a forearm up to his chin. He climbs up and puts his arm around his neck. They both come down as O’Shea delivers a superplex. He gets up and stomps away at Krimzon as he rolls out of the ring. O’Shea walks over and leans over the ropes, talking trash to him as he catches a breather.
Jeff Marx: That’s it; you tell him you are the man! Mwaha!
Dave Kern: He should concentrate on trying to win the match rather than running his mouth.
Jeff Marx: Hey, Krimzon is outside taking a breather; O’Shea has the right to shout at him.
Dave Kern: He should go after him!
Jeff Marx: Ah, so you’re supporting O’Shea in this match yeah?
Dave Kern: I am impartial, Jeff!
Jeff Marx: Heh, don’t worry I won’t tell anyone, it can be our little secret… And the millions watching at home will keep it a secret too.
Dave Kern: Oh shut it.
Tired of his mouth, Krimzon yanks Paddy’s feet from under him and pulls him onto the floor. Krimzon hops on top of O’Shea and delivers a couple of punches to his face. He quickly gets up on the apron and readies himself. The referee comes over and tells both of them to get in the ring, and Krimzon turns around briefly to argue. In the meantime, O’Shea gets to his feet, stumbling backwards a bit before standing up straight. Krimzon turns back around and goes for a flying body press, O’Shea catches him, and tosses Krimzon back over his head with a reverse slam into the barricade. The ref starts to count out both of them.
ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR!
O’Shea gets up and brings Krimzon with him. He shoves him back into the ring and rolls in, himself. He whips Krimzon into the corner, then picks him up and puts him on the top turnbuckle. He snaps out of his daze and blasts him with a right hook to the temple. He pulls him closer, grasping him in a headlock and leaps off the turnbuckle, executing a tornado DDT. No crowd reaction.
Dave Kern: TORNADO DD--- hold on. What’s going on?
Jeff Marx: Doesn’t look like these Ruskies are too impressed...
Both contestants lay on the mat, until Krimzon crawls over and locks in the sharpshooter again. Big pop.
Jeff Marx: But they like the art of the submission!
He’s able to fully lock it in this time and O’Shea cries out in pain. The ref rushes over and checks for the tap. As best as he’s able to, O’Shea tells the ref ‘no’, so Krimzon pulls back harder on his legs.
Dave Kern: Krimzon has the sharpshooter on! Ah! Come on Paddy, these fans are urging you: get to the damn ropes!
Jeff Marx: O’Shea not doing too well is he?
Dave Kern: Oh well done, you have just proved to everyone around the world that you do indeed have a pair of eyes.
Back in the ring, O’Shea is slowly but surely inching his way toward the ropes. The ref standing there waiting for a tap out, but O’Shea slowly reaches his left hand up and grabs a hold of the bottom rope. The ref makes Krimzon release the hold, but he initially refuses. The ref tells his a second time to release the hold, and he does. He gets up and glares at the ref as O’Shea holds his neck and tries to pull himself up, using the ropes. Krimzon walks around the ref and stomps on O’Shea’s side. He wraps his arms around his waist and performs a German suplex. He goes for the pin.
ONE!
TWO!
KICKOUT!
Krimzon can’t believe it. He gets up and waits for O’Shea to get to his feet. He gets up on one knee, then thrusts foreword and knocks Krimzon down with a clothesline! O’Shea slides over and puts Krimzon in the Sharpshooter, but they’re too close to the ropes. He reaches up and grabs the bottom rope, as the ref tells O’Shea to let go. He springs up and as Krimzon gets up, he grabs him around his waist. He hits a piledriver on him. He lifts him to his feet and whips his into the ropes, he bounces off and slides down through his legs and pops up to his feet. Before he can turn around, he nails him with a dropkick to the back. He follows up with a double knee drop to O’Shea’s back. Krimzon continues his attack by putting O’Shea in an inverted surfboard. He drops him to the mat and grabs a handful of his hair, begins to pound away at the back of his head. He goes over and climbs the ropes, waiting for his opponent to get up. O’Shea gets up, groggy, he turns to face Krimzon. As soon as he does, he leaps and hits him with diving spear! He goes for the pin, yet again.
ONE!
TWO!
KICKOUT!
Krimzon is in shock. He throws his hands up in the air in disbelief. Krimzon grabs O’Shea’s head and slams it back down on the mat.
Dave Kern: Kris Krimzon putting on an impressively focused show tonight, but still not being able to pin former alliance Champion O’Shea, it seems that O’Shea has tremendous resistance.
Jeff Marx: Of course he has, he’s Irish!
O’Shea charges at Krimzon, trying to catch him off-guard, but Krimzon is ready and counters with a drop toe-hold that sends O’Shea face-first into the middle turnbuckle! Writhing as a result of the unexpected and sudden pain, O’Shea' hands shoot up to shield his now tender face as Krimzon grins deviously at him. Using the ropes to pull himself to his feet, O’Shea staggers backwards as he turns around and is met by a huge piledriving DDT from Krimzon! Pressing his body across O’Shea', Krimzon folds his leg over and makes the cover as the ref has the count.
ONE!
TWO!
THR---
O’Shea gets his foot on the bottom rope and barely stops the pin! Shaking him head from left to right in frustration, Krimzon picks O’Shea up by his hair and drives his spine into the nearest turnbuckle. Breaking into a run, Krimzon lines himself up and comes charging towards O’Shea with an attempt at a turnbuckle clothesline, but at the last instant, O’Shea hoists himself onto the top turnbuckle and, unable to stop, Krimzon runs straight into the turnbuckle! Signalling for a big move that may end the match, O’Shea reaches downward and hooks Krimzon's head up as he comes flying off the turnbuckle with a devastating and powerful Reverse Tornado DDT!
Dave Kern: Paddy O’Shea crosses the right wires at last!
The crowd again no-sells the tornado move, but as O’Shea drapes his arm across the torso of Krimzon in a strained attempt at a pin, they suddenly come to life. For their best efforts, though, the noise of just a few thousand cannot fill this arena. The ref drops to the mat and makes the count.
ONE!
TWO!
KICKOUT!
Jeff Marx: PWC power won’t give in! Kris Krimzon doesn’t want to lose face with Shawn Harris to answer to...
The crowd continues to cheer, as O’Shea tosses his hands up to his face, shaking his head from left to right as if saying "What more can I do?", to himself. Reaching down, he pulls Krimzon to him feet by him hair and positions himself alongside of him, picking him into a pumphandle position as he goes for a pumphandle powerbomb! But, as he sends Krimzon off of his back, he slides down his shoulders and hooks his arm between him legs in mid-air! The two battle-weary gladiators collapse to the canvas as Krimzon locks his fingers across O’Shea's face and applies the camel clutch! The crowd cheers as O’Shea's face becomes very strained while he somehow tries to feet his way out of the move. Using even more strength than he was aware he had, O’Shea slowly begins to inch and pull the weight of both himself and Krimzon towards the closest ring rope. The ref constantly remains perched over O’Shea, waiting for him to lose consciousness... but O’Shea won't give in, he can't give in.
Dave Kern: Kris Krimzon is breaking out submissions we never knew he had!
Jeff Marx: Oh, if Paddy won’t give into this, Krimzon’ll just pee on him.
Outstretching his arm, perhaps ready to submit to the pain, O’Shea uses the last amount of strength that he has left to push off with his legs and launch himself towards the ropes as his hand comes down... O’Shea gets to the ropes.
Dave Kern: He got them! Krimzon is, however, proving a solid test for the Irishman!
Crying out in pain, O’Shea hangs on as the ref utters the five count and finally forces Krimzon to break the hold. Immediately sensing the win in his reach, Krimzon reaches down and swiftly rolls O’Shea over and pins him with a vertical press. The ref makes the count as audience suddenly becomes disinterested and talks amongst themselves.
ONE!
TWO!
KICKOUT!
A look of pure shock comes over Krimzon's face as him jaw gapes wide open, stunned at how O’Shea managed to escape the pin.
Dave Kern: PADDY KICKED OUT!
Jeff Marx: He’s got resilience in his blood, Paddy O’Shea.
Krimzon’s look quickly becomes one of anger as he reaches down, grabbing O’Shea's legs in him hands, and pulling O’Shea away from the ropes and positioning his prone body in the centre of the ring. Staring down at O’Shea, Krimzon gives him the "Thumbs Down", signalling that he plans to end it all with one fatal blow.
Jeff Marx: Man... we’re really seeing a new side to Krimzon tonight.
Making him way to the corner, Krimzon points outward to him beloved fans as he ascends to the top turnbuckle with him back facing O’Shea. Closing his eyes and clearing his mind of any distraction, Krimzon flips backwards and comes flying towards O’Shea with a picture-perfect moonsault... But O’Shea bends his legs and blocks the blow as Krimzon's chest smacks directly into his knees!
Dave Kern: KNEES-UP!
Jeff Marx: Not yet Dave, he hasn’t finished the match...
Clutching his mid-section, Krimzon writhes in pain as O’Shea kips to his feet to the tremendous boos of the crowd!
Jeff Marx: Oh... looks like blocking an aerial move offends the Russians!
Looking upon the defenceless Krimzon, O’Shea steps towards the same turnbuckle which Krimzon just ascended and removes the protective covering, exposing the unforgiving metal underneath. A sadistic look comes over his face as O’Shea pulls Krimzon to his feet by him hair and sends him towards the exposed turnbuckle with an Irish Whip, but Krimzon reverses the move and instead sends O’Shea into the exposed metal! While O’Shea staggers backwards, Krimzon quickly grabs O’Shea and nails him with a neck breaker. Krimzon distracts the referee and Shawn Harris comes running down the ramp.
Jeff Marx: What the hell is Shawn Harris doing out here?
Dave Kern: I don’t know, to watch maybe?
Jeff Marx: Don’t be an utter retard.
Shawn slides in the ring, waits for Paddy to get back to his feet. As he does Shawn Harris moves for the Natural Causes, Paddy reverses and slams Shawn to the floor, Shawn gets up and Paddy hits a few Dirty Tricks, Shawn clutches his balls and drops to the mat, he then rolls out of the ring.
Dave Kern: Paddy O’Shea won’t take it from Shawn Harris!
Jeff Marx: That backfired hard!
Krimzon hears the impact and turns around, Paddy cracks Kris hard in the face, places him on the top turnbuckle and gets the Top of the Morn, then goes for the pin.
Dave Kern: TOP O’ THE MORN!
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
Dave Kern: Oh God! That was a brilliant match.
Jeff Marx: PWC has taken Kris Krimzon to new heights... but even they aren’t quite high enough to take out O’Shea.
James Brunt: The winner… PADDY O’SHEA!
Paddy raises his arms over the fallen Krimzon as his music hits and the fans give off a muted cheer.
Mat Taps And Bitch Slaps
FEATURING: CHAINZ, AIMZ
AUTHORS: MIKE S. AND TIRED KATIE
The bald head of Chainz suddenly appears into frame as he storms out of Sasha Volkyeva’s office, pissed off at not getting his wish granted to him once again. He storms into his locker room and throws a chair against the wall as he takes a seat on a bench. Suddenly the door opens and Aimz walks in, not amused in the least bit.
Aimz: You motherfucker...
She punches him square in the face, knocking him off his bench. Chainz falls to the ground, but is back to his feet in seconds and smiling at her.
Chainz: And what do I owe this pleasure to?
Before she responds Chainz slaps her across the face, HARD, and she spits blood without flinching.
Aimz: Sick fuck.
Chainz: Maybe, but that’s why you came here, is it not?
She takes a step closer to him and looks up into his cold eyes.
Aimz: I came here to warn you to stay the fuck outta my match tonight. I don't need to get fucked out of ANOTHER decent match, especially not over you. If you show up out there, you know I'll hunt you down...
Chainz: And what, kiss me all over?
Chainz laughs as he sits back down on his bench. Aimz suddenly smells the air and wrinkles her nose in confusion.
Aimz: Has Darcy been here?
Chainz: Nah I sprayed myself with some of Sarah Kennedy’s perfume. Guess she and your boy use the same brand.
Aimz fakes a laugh, a sarcastic laugh as she paces around the room trying to figure out how she came in so pissed off and how she has lost all of that aggression in a matter of minutes. She had a hot head as she marched over to his locker room, but now she felt hot around the collar. She now regretted coming into his locker room and subjecting herself to the feelings she wished she could keep bottled up inside of her.
Chainz being like a shark in water could smell the fear, the anxiety that Aimz was feeling and was quick to prey upon it.
Chainz: So, you wanna be on top or you want me to be?
Aimz: If you ever come within five feet of any reproductive organs in me, I think I'll actually have to shoot you in the eye.
Chainz: Don’t be so quick to say something like that.
He stands up and circles Aimz, giving her body a good look over.
Chainz: Who are we to predict the future? Maybe one day you’ll be sharing the bed with Tracy and me.
Aimz: That's a world apart from ANYTHING I want to see happening to you two.
Chainz: Look at you shaking, sweating. You just can’t resist me, can you?
She doesn’t respond, but just looks into the eyes of her tormentor as feelings of lust run through her body.
Chainz: I bet you want me to kiss you, don’t you?
Amy darts her eyes away from him, disgusted.
Aimz: Don't you dare assume th---
Chainz leans in and is centimeters from Aimz’s lips, but hesitates...
Chainz: Nah, not tonight. Maybe next time if you ask nicely.
Chainz laughs, hot breath hitting Amy's mouth as he departs and leaves her feeling like she'd just been supremely mindfucked. She hung her head and shuddered at the thought of touching him ever again, but something couldn't keep his words out of her head.
And Now, A Word From Al Pacino
FEATURING: ANTON ASSAULT, TONY LITTLE, LUIS FERRARA
AUTHOR: OBINNA O.
Anton Assault stepped out of the bathroom, cracking his neck and starting down the hall. Hey, even dominating walls of muscle like Anton have to use the john once in a while. He continued to walk, intent on getting back to the doorway that he had abandoned just for the moment. If Sasha called him, he could expect to get dressed down for a good ten minutes. He didn't enjoy the aging — Anton wasn't blind, even if everyone else was — Russian woman shouting at him in the slightest, and she would, even though she had her extra security outside her door anyway. He knew that an "offense" like this wouldn't just be the slightest, either.
As he turned the corner, something solid slammed into his chest. He blinked. No, he hadn't run into the wall. He knew he hadn't. He looked at the wall and saw that he was a good three feet wide of it. So what little thing had he run into?
Oh. That little thing.
Tony Little, to be exact.
And Tony little was aaaaangry.
Tony Little: You! I know you!
Anton arched an eyebrow at the little man.
Tony Little: You're. That. Guy. Who's. Managed. By. Luis Ferrara!
Every word was punctuated by a poke to the chest. Anton finally knocked Tony's hand away, but the man was undaunted.
Tony Little: What the hell, man!? Tell me where I can find the creep!
Anton was stone. Tony Little threw his hands up in the air.
Tony Little: Do you know who I am!?
Anton blinked.
Anton Assault: Mister Ridiculous?
Tony Little screamed. Anton thought he sounded like a girl.
Tony Little: I am America's Fitness Trainer®! I am a celebrity! No, no, I am the celebrity! I am the best celebrity ever! Do you know who I am!?
What was this, a game show?
Anton nodded.
Anton Assault: …you are Mister Ridiculous. Yes?
Tony Little screamed again. Definitely like a girl. Anton wondered absently if he and Darcy Crisis were affiliated.
Tony Little: I AM TONY F'N LI---
His voice cracked. Tony Litle blinked.
Tony Little: TONY F'N LITT---
Again. Anton didn't smile. He wanted to, but he didn't.
Tony Little: TONY LI---
Hat trick. Tony stamped about.
Tony Little: It doesn't matter! I'm looking for Luis Ferr---
Like thunder, a blunt object came down and crashed over the back of Tony Little's head. America's Fitness Trainer® had fallen…
To the power of the tonfa.
Luis Ferrara lifted his chin as he looked down on the motionless Little. He adjusted the jacket of his white zoot suit and slipped the tonfa back into its hiding place.
Luis Ferrara: Lookin' fuh me, ya jackass? Yeah? Well, I got a message fuh ya, y'understand. I got somethin' t' say. Quit houndin' me, ya queer. Quit rantin' and ravin' about Luis Ferrara. And if you don't, man, I got someone who kin shut yuh up, y'understand. And when he gets done wif yuh, yuh's gonna be done CLEAN.
Luis grins.
Luis Ferrara: With the power of---
Static. Static!? What the hell is wrong with the cameras? AWC-East is having a lot of problems it looks like.
Oh, we're back.
And Luis and Anton are gone.
Reflecting On A Reflection
FEATURING: TYMOSHEKH, ???
AUTHOR: ???
Did she honestly think she could find him? Let’s be honest… he was faceless. It was like searching for a needle in the proverbial haystack. How can you find Batman? He was not going to be found tonight.
Oh no.
She’d have to do much more than this to find him. He could go out and attack them. But nah… that’s what she’d expect. Why live up to expectations? He’d much rather exceed them.
He spotted Tymoshekh, every inch the warrior. He’d be a worthy adversary. Clinging to the shadows with bated breath he made his move…
Nothing?
Tymoshekh felt something… or was it anything? Probably nothing. He wasn’t being paid for probabilities though. Spinning… his eyes caught him…
His own reflection.
Tymoshekh: Come on Tymo… keep your wits about you. He could be anywhere…
His eyes were unable to shift from the mirror. Is this what it all came down to? Hunting down someone he didn’t even know the name, appearance, or much else of…what a way to end an illustrious career. She was just being paranoid…
Why is he staring into the mirror… but he already knew the answer. He’d done it many times before. Staring deep into your own reflection and asking, begging the question is this all life has to give to me. And finding the answer and wishing there and then to stop. His current existence was a sham. He even thought about going back… going back to the Penguin and all his other in mates, part of the in crowd… just another face back in a sense of order. Looking at this Tymo… it brought things into perspective.
He had been given a second chance, but from what crime, he didn’t know… he had been giving a purpose… but more so... he’d been given a chance to shine.
Tymoshekh, for all his knowledge and skill wouldn’t see anything coming… but then, at that moment, his plans had changed for the night. He had something… something far more perilous to undertake.
Vince Jones (cth) vs Aimz
STIPULATION: COUNTDOWN TROPHY
REFEREE: LARS LARSSON
AUTHOR: JEFF
James Brunt: The following is a Countdown trophy match! Introducing first, weighing in at 269 pounds, the Countdown trophy holder, “THE VIOLENCE” VINCE JONES!
The lights in the arena dim and a small fog begins to rise lining the ramp leading down to the ring.
PREPARE TO ENTER MY HELL, MY REALM, AND MY GAME...
...ENTER THE VIOLENCE
A loud gunshot rings out through the arena and “Thug Luv” by 2Pac and Bone Thugs N' Harmony begins to blare throughout the arena. “The Violence” Vince Jones emerges from the entrance and makes his way to the edge of the ramp with a black baseball bat in hand followed by the lovely Jasmine. He stops and raises the baseball bat in the air and flashes the hand sign of his old gang from New York as red pyro explodes behind him. He slowly makes his way down ringside totally oblivious to the flickering camera flashes and the hatred of the crowd. He slides into the ring, climbs the nearest turnbuckle and looks out at the crowd as if he's in a trance, drawing in energy from the hatred the crowd has for him. He finally awakens and points the baseball bat out at the members of the crowd and once again raises the baseball bat above his head and flashes the hand sign of his gang again.
Jeff Marx: V. Jones has built up a fantastic record for himself with that trophy, thanks in no small part to that Louisville slugger of his!
Dave Kern: The bat should be banned from ringside! He somehow manages to cheat with it in every match – it’s despicable!
Jeff Marx: It’s impressive!
James Brunt: And his opponent, from Halifax, Canada, weighing in at 147 pounds, “THE RED RAVER” AIMZ!
“Interlude 12/21” by AFI starts up as the crowd continues booing, Amy Campbell walks out from the back and ignores the reaction from the crowd, she makes her way down the ring and looks at the very cocky Vince Jones, she steps into the ring and the referee calls for the bell.
05:00
Dave Kern: Both wrestlers look ready tonight, Vince has been a brilliant holder of the Countdown trophy so far.
Jeff Marx: That’s right he has, but will the greatly experienced Aimz be able to take it tonight?
Dave Kern: I don’t know Jeff, the crowd doesn’t seem to like either competitor tonight again…
“Trip With Jesus” by The Union Underground starts up as the fans begin cheering loudly, Vince and Aimz both look towards the entrance as Shawn Harris, complete with PWC shirt steps out from the back. Vince begins scowling with anger as Shawn looks back at him with a cocky grin.
Dave Kern: What the hell is Shawn Harris doing out here? Jeff Marx: Time for PWC to get busy on this match! With urine! Wow, they’re really, uh, neat.
Shawn Harris walks down the ramp giving a few fans a high five, Shawn then walks around to the announce position.
Jeff Marx: The son of a legend? My ass; he’s doing a decent job of fucking up so f---… hey, what?
Dave dissolves into laughter.
Shawn Harris walks over to Jeff Marx and Dave Kern, he takes a seat next to Jeff and puts on a headset.
Jeff Marx: Look at him Dave, this man is going to be your next Transpacific champion! Respect him.
Shawn shakes both their hands and sits down.
Shawn Harris: That’s very kind of you to say Jeff, considering I heard you say that you hated the PWC.
Jeff is stunned.
Shawn Harris: I’m not stupid Jeff, just irresponsible.
04:05
Dave Kern: Well we had the bell some time ago and 20% of the allotted time has gone by without so much as a move, thanks to Shawn Harris coming down here after the bell rang…
Shawn motions to both Aimz and Vince to start the match, Aimz runs at the distracted Vince and takes him down with a bulldog. Vince uses his strength to get to his feet and avoid any further attacks from Aimz, he picks her up and throws her across the ring. Aimz gets up and rests on the turnbuckles, Vince runs at her but Aimz quickly gets to the top turnbuckle, jumps off and kicks Vince in the back of the head.
Dave Kern: So Shawn, what brings you out here tonight?
Shawn Harris: Vince Jones of course, this man put me out of action for four months, I come back and suddenly he’s rising the ranks while I am still disrespected. It’s about time he rises up the ranks though considering he’s been at the bottom the entire time I was gone, what he doesn’t realize is that PWC is taking over, successfully might I add.
Dave Kern: It was you and Vince teaming up together in your debut matches taking on the team of Ellis Nash and Aimz.
Shawn Harris: That’s right, Vince bailed on me like a bitch, let’s see how he actually does against Aimz now shall we?
Jeff Marx: Where’s Krimzon?
Shawn Harris: In the back, he had a very trying match you know.
Jeff Marx: Ever thought about getting him a colostomy bag?
Shawn Harris: Indeed I have Jeff, ever thought about buying duct tape for that huge mouth of yours?
Vince Jones gets up and grabs Aimz by the throat, Aimz kicks him in the balls, the referee didn’t catch it however, Aimz then hits Vince with a tornado DDT. She gets to her feet and begins delivering kicks to the chest of Vince, Vince rolls around the ring trying to escape the attacks, he uses the ropes to pull himself up, Aimz then goes for a dropkick and sends him flying over the top rope, Aimz goes after him by hitting a top rope plancha, Vince moves out of the way, Aimz crashes into the security barricade, Vince looks over to Shawn and point at him mouthing something off.
Shawn Harris: That’s right Vince, keep talking, you overgrown Brooklyn reject.
Vince picks Aimz up and throws her into the ring steps, Jasmine cheers him on, Vince then grabs Aimz by the hair and throws her into the ring, Vince goes in the ring as well, he picks her up and hits her with a suplex then quickly goes for the pin.
ONE!
TWO!
Aimz kicks out, Vince locks on a sleeper hold but Aimz slips out of, rolls to her feet and dropkicks Vince in the face.
03:10
Aimz goes to the top rope and launches herself off with a corkscrew moonsault, she lands the move and goes for the pin.
Dave Kern: CORKSCREW MOONSAULT! INCREDIBLE!
ONE!
Vince powers out of the count.
Jeff Marx: Ha, V. Jones won’t sell that showy shit!
Aimz tries going for a Boston crab but Vince kicks her in the chest, Aimz and Vince both get up at the same time, Aimz jumps to the top rope and jumps off with a top rope moonsault, Vince catches her and slams her down on the mat.
Shawn Harris: What power by Vince, it’s a shame that he can only do that to a scraggy prostitute like Campbell.
Dave Kern: You don’t like Aimz all that much do you?
Shawn Harris: Good God no, I think she’s ugly.
Jeff Marx: You’d be the only one that thinks that.
Shawn Harris: Just because you want in her knickers Jeffy boy.
Jeff Marx: Just like I want chlamydia, yeah.
Vince begins stomping Aimz then hits her with a fist drop, he gets back up and lands an elbow drop, he then goes for a Figure Four Leg-lock, but Aimz manages to get to the ropes quickly, breaking the hold, Vince drags her into the middle of the ring and pulls off an STF. Aimz begins screaming out in pain, the referee asks her if she wants to submit but she shakes her head, she begins clawing her way to the ropes, Vince pulls harder on her neck but she manages to get there.
02:12
Vince gets to his feet and picks Aimz up by her hair, Aimz fights back and drop toe holds Vince, Vince lands on the second rope, Aimz goes for the Hemlock but Jasmine pulls Vince out of the way.
Shawn Harris: What a bitch.
Aimz begins shouting at Jasmine, Jasmine responds by flipping her the finger, as she turns around Jasmine is met by a Shadow Kick from Shawn who has quickly left the announce position, Vince gets to his feet and realizes what Shawn has just done, before he can do anything about it Aimz takes him down with a chop block to the knee, she then bounces off the knee and dropkicks him in the chest knocking him down. Shawn looks down at the unconscious Jasmine and sits back at the announce position.
Dave Kern: That was a little classless if you don’t mind me saying.
Shawn Harris: Yeah you’re right, but I can’t let things like that happen in a match such as this.
Jeff Marx: I thought you didn’t like Aimz.
Shawn Harris: I don’t, I hate Jasmine and Jones more.
Aimz goes to the top rope and lands a nice moonsault, then goes for the pin.
Dave Kern: Another COLOSSAL moonsault!
ONE!
TWO!
THR---
Jeff Marx: TRY AGAIN BITCH!
Vince kicks out, Aimz gets back to her feet and goes to the top rope, Vince gets to his feet also, he goes over to Aimz and slaps her hard in the face, he goes up to the second rope and hits her with a superplex, he picks her up and throws her back into the turnbuckle, her head bouncing off the top turnbuckle, Vince goes outside and checks up on Jasmine, he begins snarling with anger and looks up at Shawn evilly.
Shawn Harris: Keep on looking Vince, I don’t care about that bitch and neither should you, this is why you’ll never be at the level where I am at. Pacific Wrestling Club owns you!
Vince gets to his feet and walks over to the announce table.
Vince Jones: You 'bout ready to get yo punk ass served!
Shawn Harris: Is that a fact?
Vince slaps Shawn hard in the face; Shawn drops the headset and walks over to Vince. The two go nose to nose shouting at each other.
Dave Kern: Everything is kicking off!
Aimz runs against the ropes then jumps to the top rope, then flies off with an excellent body splash, she takes down Shawn and Vince.
Jeff Marx: Aimz has gone and ruined it!
Campbell gets up and drags Vince to the ring, Vince grabs Aimz by the head and smashes her against the side of the ring apron, he then throws her into the ring, the referee checks on Aimz who seems to be bleeding where she had her head hit, Vince turns around and Shawn hits him with the Natural Causes! He rolls Vince into the ring.
00:59
Jeff Marx: Harris with the Natural Causes! Come on V., bounce back on that “bitch-made”! Dave Kern: That was a nasty looking bump to the head Aimz took there, I think she’s unconscious.
Jeff Marx: Both competitors are down, Jasmine is still out cold, poor thing.
Vince Jones is able to get an arm over Aimz and the referee goes for the count.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
The bell rings and Vince’s music hits.
James Brunt: The winner, and still the Countdown trophy holder, “THE VIOLENCE!” VINCE JONES! Shawn gets a spray can from under the ring then slides in via the bottom rope; he sprays “PWC” on Vince’s back then throws the spray can into the crowd. Shawn gets out of the ring and walks backwards still keeping his eyes locked on Vince grinning.
Jeff Marx: That match was brutal, I don’t think Aimz is in very good health at the moment, but Vince has retained the Countdown trophy despite that weed Harris’ interference. Dave Kern: Aimz is a bit of a disaster zone with injuries right now! She damn near broke her arm in the Duo Tag main event two weeks ago, and now she’s back in the ring only to get knocked out by Vince Jones!
Jeff Marx: V. and the trophy are gonna take this all the way to Coast To Coast!
Pleasantries Skipped
FEATURING: SASHA VOLKYEVA, SMITH, PIERCE LAVELLE, CHAINZ
AUTHORS: LARA C., MIKE S. AND PIERRE HYDE
Sasha turned sideways on her chair gazing toward the clock, clicking the top of her pen in frustration as he looked again at the clock. Picking up the phone, Sasha didn’t have time to ring her assistant, the door opened with a swift snap, the brass handle clicking back into place.
Smith: Someone’s ‘ere for ya, ma’am.
Sasha Volkyeva: Who?
Smith: Pierce Lavelle, none other!
Volkyeva smiled weakly.
Sasha Volkyeva: Send him in.
Pierce Lavelle sauntered in, hands in his pockets.
Sasha Volkyeva: You’re late, Mr. Lavelle.
Pierce Lavelle: I had more important things to sort.
Sasha Volkyeva: Have you seen Ms. Kennedy? She has wasted my time for the last time...
Pierce Lavelle: Find somebody else to fill in her shoes for tonight then.
Sasha Volkyeva: She is my best interviewer! If you think I am to give Perroquet jobs other than helping the janitors... well, we shall leave it there shall we! I take it you have seen her then. Tell her I want to see her in here immediately.
Pierce Lavelle: Sorry, can’t do.
Sasha Volkyeva: “Sorry can’t do” is not an answer, Mr. Lavelle. Now that you are working for me, you will abide by my rules…
Pierce Lavelle: That might work on your other staff, but I could easily shift shows.
Rolling her eyes, she sat back into her seat, pulling back out her documents and began working once more. Pierce looked quizzically toward her, wondering why he had been brought here.
Pierce Lavelle: Did you beckon me for a purpose? Because I have a request.
Sasha looked up, placing her pen down.
Sasha Volkyeva: Actually, yes. I want to thank you for aiding in calming Sloan down.
Pierce was shocked, Sasha had thanked him and it didn’t seem easy for her as she leant back into her chair, knocking back some lukewarm coffee.
Pierce Lavelle: I wasn’t helping you…
But his attempt to regain a stern purpose, failed. Sasha Volkyeva: You mentioned a request earlier.
Sitting down now, Pierce relaxed slightly, rubbing his temples as a slight headache began to emerge.
Pierce Lavelle: I want you to relieve Sarah of her duties to you…
Sasha Volkyeva: (laughing madly) Are you insane? She’s my best interviewer and she has quite the attitude.
Pierce Lavelle: I’m hiring her as my manager.
Sasha Volkyeva: That’s not what it says here.
Sasha leaned forward, a smug grin on her face as she laughed toward Pierce.
Pierce Lavelle: Actually I am. See, you’re having problems with a loose cannon…
Sasha Volkyeva: I don’t take kindly to blackmail, Mr. Lavelle.
Pierce Lavelle: You’ll find I’m bartering!
Pierce was now the one with a smug grin, his eyes holding hers with a stern glare.
Pierce Lavelle: This loose cannon has it in for you.
Sasha Volkyeva: And what makes you think I’ll let Sarah go?
Pierce Lavelle: Let Sarah be my manager and I’ll deal with your Chainz problem.
The words hit home for Sasha, her eyes gleamed with a deal that could be reasoned. She looked through her filo-fax and found a name she was looking for, and then turned back to Pierce.
Sasha Volkyeva: What makes you think she’ll want to leave?
Pierce Lavelle: Call it intuition, if not, you can regain your best interviewer and I’ll still deal with the Chainz issue.
Sasha Volkyeva: Alright, we have an agreement. Now---
Chainz: That’s fucking bullshit!
Chainz bursts through the door yelling at the top of his lungs. He slams his hands on Sasha’s desk evoking a small shriek.
Chainz: This mother fucker asks you for something and you bend over backwards to give it to him, yet when I ask you to bring Tracy over you give me some bullshit about not being able to.
Sasha shrinks in her chair as Chainz breaths down on her, his veins bulging with anger as blood rushes through his body.
Sasha Volkyeva: I cannot do anything about Tracy as her contract belongs to David! The only reason I could accommodate Pierce’s request is because Sarah Kennedy’s contract is under my control.
Chainz lunges for Sasha, but Pierce quickly grabs his arm and pulls him back. Chainz breaks free and nearly grabs Sasha by the throat, but Pierce once again holds him back.
Pierce Lavelle: This isn’t the way to getting what you want. You think choking the boss is going to bring back Tracy, you must really be stupid!
Chainz snorted, his eyes turning to Pierce Lavelle, a man never too far behind him when a fuse is about to light. Chainz: It’s never failed me before.
Pierce Lavelle: Did you get what you want out of it?
Pierce’s question seemed to register as Chainz backed off slightly.
Sasha Volkyeva: Mr. Lavelle, I hope you remember…
Pierce Lavelle: I remember just fine, but if you’re gonna be a bitch I won’t do a damn thing.
Sasha recoiled in fear as Pierce let go of Chainz’s arm and sat back down.
Chainz: Finally coming to your senses I see. Bout damn time.
Pierce Lavelle: I’ll see you ‘round.
Pierce Lavelle unexpectedly leaves as Sasha looks on in fear.
Chainz: You got till Coast To Coast, after that I’m gonna lose my patience.
Chainz walks out of the room as Sasha regains her composure and tries to calm her nerves.
Brake Time
FEATURING: PLEASURE AND PAIN
AUTHOR: ADAM ST. OURS
The backstage of the Luzhniki Palace is a little different then what Wayne and Tiara Belle Russell were used to. Both coming from the United States growing up in a good family environment is used to a nice environment then they are currently in. However both of them are sitting backstage awaiting their chances to battle in the big main event coming up soon. Wayne looks over at Tiara with a smile, more a smile that is showing affection then anything else and he leans over and gives her a kiss then steps back a moment and looks at her and starts to speak.
Wayne Russell: We had a tough match earlier tonight babe, we did our best.
Tiara Belle Russell: Yeah I know, I mean it could have gone either way.
Wayne Russell: Well now we have to worry about getting our shot at that championship coming up at the main event.
Tiara Belle Russell: Yeah, how do you think you are going to do?
Wayne Russell: I should do fine, I mean I don’t think there will be much of a problem from anyone up and down the roster you know what I mean. I mean hell your biggest competition is not going to be there.
Tiara Belle Russell: Who are you talking about?
Wayne Russell: You know Teresa….
Tiara Belle Russell: That little bitch is not even a challenge for me… you know that.
Wayne Russell: Of course she isn’t a challenge for you babe, but I was just saying it one less person you need to worry about.
Tiara Belle Russell: And why wouldn’t she be in this match again?
Wayne Russell: After what we did to her brakes and causing her to get in trouble with Sasha I would be surprised if she even had a job.
Tiara Belle Russell: WAYNE!
Wayne Russell: What?
Tiara Belle Russell: I thought we agreed to never speak about that…
Wayne Russell: We did…
Tiara Belle Russell: Especially in this building at this time… Wayne you are horrible at timing...
Tiara turns and is definitely agitated, Wayne had just given away information that would have hoped to have never been revealed. Wayne stays standing their dumbfounded, not really worrying about Tiara, Wayne finally decides to walk the other way and get ready for the rumble.
Anton Assault (C) vs Teresa Tomas
STIPULATION: SINGLES
REFEREE: AARON DAVIES
AUTHOR: JEREMY J.
Dave Kern: All right we are back here in Moscow, Russia! We have one match to go before the Invitational Battle Royal, and that match is for the AWC Frontier championship. Teresa Tomas, who has been named number one contender, takes on a man who’s defending his title for the first time, Anton Assault. Earlier in the evening, Teresa has been on a drunken tirade, getting in Sasha Volkyeva’s face and almost got herself fired. With Anton Assault throwing the drunken Redneck Princess out of Sasha’s office, that’ll only add fuel to the fire.
Jeff Marx: I don’t see how Sasha can put up with someone like Teresa Tomas. She should go back on the West Atlantic tour and skank up the roster with her trailer park stench. That woman makes me sick, and I hope Anton Assault pounds her into dust!
Dave Kern: The question remains this: has Teresa sobered up enough to face the Frontier champion, or will this match be Slim Pickens for Anton Assault? Let’s go down to the ring and get this match underway.
James Brunt: The following is a singles match for the AWC Frontier championship!
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 the fence into the crowd for a thirsty fan to enjoy before she completes her journey to the ring. The fans immediately boo heavily and a reedy pigeon-chested teenager picks the bottle right back up and lobs it over the top – it crashes to the floor right behind Tomas and shatters all over the floor.
Dave Kern: HEY! That fan just damn near knocked Teresa Tomas out! Someone get him out of here!
Jeff Marx: Ugh... Tomas reeks of whiskey! Someone oughta throw her out of the building! I mean, look at her, she can’t even stand up straight for god sakes! This is pathetic!
Dave Kern: Give it a rest, Jeff.
James Brunt: Her opponent...
“WAAAAAARRRLOOOOOOOOOOORRRRRRRRD!!!”
The guttural, almost desperate cry from Steven Rathbone announces Lair of the Minotaur's “Warlord.” A long guitar slide sounds and then the song enters a fierce rampage, accompanied by flashing red lights and an image of a lion leaping into a pit of men and tearing into them wholesale, sending limbs flying and terrified bodies everywhere.
Amid the crushing riffage, a form dressed in a multicolored dashiki steps out onto the stage: the one and only Anton Assault. Of course, right behind him is his manager, Luis Ferrara, dry washing his hands and casting an arrogant glance up at the empty seats surrounding him.
James Brunt: Being accompanied to the ring by Luis Ferrara, from Paris France, weighing 229 pounds... he is the AWC Frontier champion... ANTON ASSAULT!
Anton, having tossed off his dashiki and leaving himself in his black shorts, boots, and knuckle gloves, ascends the steps and slips into the ring.
Jeff Marx: Now there’s a man who can conduct himself in a professional manner - Anton Assault! Ever since winning the Frontier title off of Ellis Nash, Assault’s been more aggressive and more determined than ever, and that’s not good for someone like Teresa Tomas.
Dave Kern decides not to say anything. Ring announcer James Brunt leaves the ring. Anton Assault removes the belt and hands it to the referee. Davies steps into the ring, holds it in the air to indicate that the title is on the line, and shows it to Teresa Tomas, the challenger for the match. He then hands off the belt to the ring announcer and calls for the bell. Both wrestlers are out of their respected corners. “Double A’s” eyes are locked on the drunken “Redneck Princess” and Teresa can barely keep her equilibrium. She is swaying back and forth as she goes in for a collar and elbow tie-up. Instead, Assault rotates to his left, lifting his right leg into the air, and blasts Teresa in the back of the head with a spinning reverse roundhouse kick, dropping “THE American Woman” face first onto the mat. The Russian fans applaud politely at the Frontier champion’s kick.
Dave Kern: Spinning reverse roundhouse kick by the Frontier champion, Anton Assault! It looked like Teresa Tomas didn’t even bother to defend herself.
Jeff Marx: She’s too drunk to do anything in that ring. She might as well give up before she gets broken in half by “The Lion.”
Anton Assault picks up Teresa Tomas, throwing a right elbow strike across her face, then throws another elbow strike across Tomas’ face with the other elbow. Anton follows up with a right uppercut and finishes up with a kick to the side of Tomas’ knee, taking her off her feet. “Mr. CKD” sits “The Top Rope Temptress” up and buries a knee into her face. Not letting go of her head, he throws repeated knee strikes into Teresa’s face until referee Aaron Davies breaks up Anton’s malicious attack on his opponent. Luis Ferrara is at ringside, laughing and applauding his superstar, commenting him in Spanish, clearly audible over the paltry noise from the small audience.
Dave Kern: Anton Assault is taking the fight to Teresa Tomas! First he uses his Assault Quad combination and now repeated knee strikes to the face! Teresa’s face must be shattered into multiple pieces!
Jeff Marx: Serves her right for entering Sasha’s office all drunk and ill tempered. If she left things well alone, she wouldn’t be in this predicament.
Dave Kern: Are you insinuating that this is Teresa Tomas’ fault?
Jeff Marx: Well, DUH, Kern.
Anton Assault picks up Teresa Tomas and steps over to her side, locking in a head-and-arm clutch with both arms. He lifts her up into the air for a Suplex. At the apex of the Suplex, however, he turns his body, breaking the head-and-arm clutch and slams Tomas onto the mat with the Uranage Suplex. The Frontier champion then grabs one of her arms, drops backward and wraps his legs around her arm, hyperextending the arm, shoulder and elbow with the Juji-Gatame! “THE American Woman” is screaming in pain, trying to escape the submission hold, but to no avail. Before Assault breaks the arm, he purposely breaks the submission and gets to his feet.
Dave Kern: This match as been all Anton Assault thus far! He executes a beautiful Uranage Suplex on Teresa Tomas and then locks in a Juji-Gatame Arm Bar! Teresa Tomas has not yet mount any offense nor defense against the Frontier champion!
Jeff Marx: That redneck is in a no-win fight against the Frontier champion. She might as well give up.
The Frontier champion, Anton Assault, grabs a handful of hair and gets Teresa Tomas onto her feet. He buries a knee into her gut, doubling her over. He takes both of Teresa’s arms in a double under-hook, pops his hips and throws her over his head with a Butterfly Suplex. Tomas is clutching her back and looks like she’s turning a pale shade of green.
Dave Kern: Devastating Butterfly Suplex by Anton Assault, and the knee before the maneuver added more oomph!
Jeff Marx: I don’t like the way Teresa Tomas is looking. It looks like she’s about to puke.
Anton Assault, the current Frontier champion, picks up Teresa Tomas. Before Anton can mount more offense in this flawless match he’s conducting, Tomas opens her mouth and out come a streaming projectile of vomit (mainly alcoholic beverages), covering most of Assault’s upper body. The fans let out a groan as the “Redneck Princess” spews more vomit on “The Lion,” covering him in sour-smelling alcohol, and other nasty contents Teresa previously ate.
Jeff Marx: Oh my god... I think I’m gonna be sick...
Dave Kern: This is an AWC first! First there’s urine, now there’s vomit! What’s gonna happen next week? Fecal matter?
Jeff Marx: Don’t say...*burp* fecal matter...*belch!*
Anton Assault is staring at himself, visibly shaking with anger as Teresa Tomas’ vomit drips off his body. The smell in the arena is enough to make people gag, barf up their vodka, etc. Finally getting her bearings, but still feeling buzzed and now has a pounding headache, Tomas looks over at her opponent. Without thinking, she points at the Frontier champion and starts laughing. This angers Anton more. He walks over to Teresa and almost decapitates her with a spinning back fist, taking her down to the mat. Luis Ferrara calls Anton out of the ring with a towel in hand.
Jeff Marx: Man, this stench of vomit is nauseating. Teresa Tomas had to puke at ringside!
Dave Kern: Anton Assault is pissed off! He almost took Teresa Tomas’ head off with that spinning back fist. Luckily for Anton, Luis Ferrara has handed him a towel to clean himself off with.
ONE! TWO! THREE! After cleaning off most of the vomit, Anton Assault rolls into the ring, where Teresa Tomas slowly gets to her feet. Before she gets to a vertical base, Assault runs at Teresa, about to execute a Japanese Shining Wizard. Teresa manages to avoid the attack, but she doesn’t have enough time to evade the spinning roundhouse kick that connects in the side of her head, taking her down to the mat once more. “Double A” picks his slowly sobering opponent and whips her hard into the corner. He charges at Tomas, does a cartwheel, into a backhand spring, and throws an elbow into Teresa’s face. Anton then spins, striking Tomas in the solar plexus with a double axe handle. Assault strikes Teresa in the face with a knee, snapping her upright in the turnbuckles in time to strike Teresa in the face with a back fist. To finish things off, he takes Teresa down with a Snapmare and executes a low Dropkick, connecting with the back of her head.
Dave Kern: Good Lord! Anton Assault executed his Wild Arms combination on Teresa Tomas!
Jeff Marx: Stick a fork in her, that bitch is done!
Anton Assault sits Teresa Tomas up and locks in a Kata Hajime. He yanks her up to her feet, swinging and shaking her around like a rag doll, inflicting more pain with the illegal chokehold. He lifts her into the air but doesn’t arch backwards for a Suplex. Instead, he turns and holds Teresa upside-down. Finally he drops Teresa onto the mat, drilling her forcefully, inducing extreme damage on her neck. After performing the Sheer Drop Kata Hajime Suplex, he sits “THE American Woman” up and locks in a Dragon Sleeper. He drops backward, wrapping his legs around her waist with the Leg Scissor.
Dave Kern: Beast Choker by Anton Assault! After that Sheer Drop Kata Hajime Suplex, Teresa Tomas’ neck has got to be broken!
Jeff Marx: Hell, if it’s broken by the end of this match, that means Teresa Tomas’ career is instantly over, and I’ll be a happy man!
Jeff Marx: How can you say that? For god sakes, Marx, Teresa Tomas is a human being, much as Anton Assault!
Anton Assault leaves the Beast Choker locked in for a few more seconds, then breaks the submission maneuver, not allowing Teresa Tomas to submit or pass out. The Frontier champion picks up Tomas, gets behind her and locks both arms in a Double Chicken-wing. He lifts her over his head with a Tiger Suplex, but miraculously, Teresa lands on her feet, grabs a hold of both sides of Anton’s head, does a small leap, placing both knees onto Anton’s back and drops backward, performing a Back Cracker! She goes for the first pinfall of the match...
ONE!
TWO!
Immediate kick-out by the Frontier champion, Anton Assault.
Dave Kern: Whoa! Where did that move come from? Out of nowhere, Teresa Tomas delivers a Back Cracker on Anton Assault!
Jeff Marx: That’s gonna be the only move she’ll pull off on the Frontier champion. That’s the only luck she’ll have against him.
Teresa Tomas gets to her feet, picking up Anton Assault. She kicks him in the gut, locks in a Front Face-lock, and drops Anton on his head with a DDT. She kips up to her feet, feels a little dizzy and then recovers. She runs over to the ropes, jumps onto the top rope, springboards into a backflip and performs a Moon Sault Elbow Drop, connecting with the Frontier champion’s face. A small handful of the Russian fans applaud Teresa, while the rest of them are booing her, obviously taking the side of the Frontier champion. She goes for another cover, hooking the leg, but “The Lion” kicks out before the count was administered.
Dave Kern: Awesome Springboard Moon Sault into an Elbow Drop by Teresa Tomas! She’s getting back into his match, fighting back against the Frontier champion!
Jeff Marx: Aw, c’mon, Anton! You’re getting shown up by a redneck murderer!
Dave Kern: For the last time, Marx, SHE WAS ACQUITTED OF THE MURDER CHARGE!
Jeff Marx: What do those back-ass redneck lawyers know? She’s a murderer, plain and simple.
Dave Kern: I don’t even know how I put up with you, Marx.
Teresa Tomas gets to her feet and picks up Anton Assault. She whips him into the ropes. After the rebound, Anton launches himself into the air, attempting a Lou Thesz Press, but Tomas has the move well scouted, and evades the move by sidestepping. “Mr. CKD” crashes hard onto the mat, clutching at his chest. Keeping the momentum in her favor, she runs over towards her down opponent and locks in an STF! She’s pulling back on the Face-lock as far as she can, trying to make the Frontier champion submit.
Dave Kern: STF by Teresa Tomas! If she can cinch that move in tight enough, she can make the Frontier champion tap out!
Jeff Marx: C’mon, Anton, hang in there! Don’t let that redneck whore beat you!
Teresa Tomas locks in the STF tight, applying more pressure on the Face-lock as she pulls back farther. But that isn’t enough to make Anton Assault submit. Finally, Teresa breaks the STF, jumps into the air and stomps on the Frontier champion’s back, making him bellow out in pain. She grabs one of Anton’s arms, looking for the Southern Comfort, but “Double A” quickly rolls out of the ring, giving him some time to recover.
Dave Kern: Anton Assault is getting a run for his money against the former Countdown Trophy holder. First an STF and now a double stomp on his back. And look at Luis Ferrara, massaging Anton’s back! Does he really need that?
Jeff Marx: Oh, c’mon, Dave! The Lion’s back is hurting him!
Dave Kern: And Teresa Tomas isn’t hurting? Please...
After getting a back rub from Luis Ferrara, Anton Assault is about to enter the ring. The former Countdown trophy holder walks toward Assault, about to bring the Frontier champion in, but Assault grabs a hold of her ankles and yanks her out of the ring and swings her into the security wall. Some of the fans cheer, some of the fans boo at “The Lion” as Assault rolls back into the ring. Luis Ferrara is standing over “The Top Rope Temptress,” reaching into his jacket pocket for his tonfa. After brandishing his tonfa, he raises it into the air, about to strike her with his weapon, but Teresa grabs an ankle and yanks him down onto the ground. She is slow to get up, but she manages to get to her feet. As she pulls herself up onto the ring apron, Luis is on his feet, and clubs Teresa in the back of the neck with the tonfa. The velocity of the strike sends her into the ring. Ferrara quickly places his tonfa back into his jacket pocket and walks away, as if nothing has happened.
Dave Kern: Damn that Luis Ferrara, always sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong!
Jeff Marx: Luis’ attack on Teresa was justified! She tripped him! What else is a man gonna do? Let her get away with it? Not in this world!
Dave Kern: Whatever, Mr. Chauvinist.
After Teresa Tomas comes tumbling in after Luis’ aided attack, Anton Assault picks up his opponent, gets behind her, locks in a Full Nelson, pops his hips and executes a textbook Dragon Suplex, spiking her on the back of her neck. After the Dragon Suplex, Anton gets to his feet, picks up Teresa, kicks her in the gut and does a double under-hook. He jumps up, wrapping his legs around Tomas’ stomach and leans backward, taking both combatants down onto the mat, planting Teresa headfirst. Anton then squeezes his legs around Teresa’s body and wrenching back on her arms.
Jeff Marx: The Fate of Ravaillac! Anton Assault has it locked in, and Teresa Tomas isn’t going anywhere!
Dave Kern: Teresa Tomas is out cold... She isn’t responding at all after getting driven headfirst onto the mat.
As if Anton Assault hears Dave Kern, he breaks his finishing submission and looks down at Teresa Tomas. He smiles evilly at her, as if he has something planned for her. He picks her up and locks in a Front Face-lock with his left harm, raising his right arm up while curling his fingers and keeping his heel palm exposed, as if to do a palm strike. He releases the Front Face-lock, spins around and slams his palm heel into Teresa’s occipital ridge - where the skull meets the spine.
Dave Kern: OH MY GOD! WHAT A STRIKE! TERESA TOMAS ISN’T MOVING!
Jeff Marx: I’ve been hearing about Anton Assault wanting to use a new finisher called “Teeth of Lions Rule the Divine.” It’s a brain shake technique if done correctly, it’ll knock your opponent out instantly, and evidently, he’s done it correctly.
Anton Assault covers his opponent, not even bothered to hook a leg...
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
“Warlord” by Lair of the Minotaur starts to play on the PA system as some of the crowd cheers, jeers, and throws bottles of vodka at Anton Assault – the front row fans essentially have a shower of glass upon them as the bottles rebound off the security fence; numerous injuries mean First Aid is overloaded, another disaster for this show. Ring announcer James Brunt announces the winner.
James Brunt: The winner of this match and still AWC Frontier champion... ANTON ASSAULT!
Jeff Marx: HA HA! Anton Assault has retained his title! With Assault as the Frontier champion, there’s no on the AWC roster that can stop him!
Dave Kern: EMT’s are now in the ring, checking on Teresa Tomas. She hasn’t moved since taking that brutal open palm strike! She won’t make it to the Invitational Battle Royal if she doesn’t wake up! Speaking of which, the Invitational Battle Royal is next! Who’s going to face Ellis Nash for the Transatlantic title belt? We’ll find out next!
The Power And The Glory
FEATURING: n/a
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
THE TRANSATLANTIC TITLE BELT
An image of the belt itself floats into view through the grey haze.
SINCE THE BEGINNING, AND UNTIL THE END
AWC’s first ever logo is shown, with the image then morphing between the various incarnations, through “AWC in 2006” to the new AWC-West and AWC-East designs.
AN OBJECT OF INDEFATIGABLE DESIRE
Someone fire the video guy: he’s closed in on a white packet whose label reads “Prometheus”.
SOME HONOURED ITS NAME
Pierce Lavelle delivering the Whiplash; Jack Murphy delivering a promo; Alex Strider laughing at a downed opponent.
SOME TARNISHED IT
The Serum-aided Educator crawling out of the bus wreckage at The Battle Of Britain; Adam Dick watching with gleaming eyes as the original belt is melted down to form his Transatlantic crown.
BUT THROUGHOUT IT HAS REMAINED
A shot of hundreds and hundreds of gleaming, golden belts.
THE NUMBER ONE BELT IN PRO WRESTLING
The Transatlantic title belt begins to rise up out of the pile.
NOW
Light passes across the face of the belt; it shines with brilliance.
MORE THAN EVER, THE RACE IS WIDE OPEN
Fast-changing faces flick across the screen.
EAST AND WEST THEY CRAVE IT
The screen splits in two, action from Fresh!west and Fresh!east displayed either side.
TO RISE TO GLORY...
Darcy Crisis, Mikey O’Reilly and Teresa Tomas are shown prominently.
TO RETURN TO GLORY...
Jack Murphy and Pierce Lavelle replaces them on screen.
TO SELF-GLORIFY...
An image of Vince Jones lovingly caressing his Countdown trophy.
WHO WILL RISE TO THE CHALLENGE?
AWC-East Transatlantic Belt Contendership
STIPULATION: BATTLE ROYAL
REFEREES: LARS LARSSON AND SELENA SUMNER
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
Jeff Marx: Now Dave, it’s time for a big ol’ PCW-style clusterfuck!
Dave Kern: Just your straight over-the-top Battle Royal here; the question is, of those expected to enter, just how many are going to be fit to compete? Teresa Tomas, who would have competed in certainly a few of those PCW clusters Jeff mentioned, arrived at the Palace here in Moscow drunk and just moments ago took a brutal strike from Anton Assault that appeared to knock her out! Aimz, who might’ve been a hot pick for many guessing the outcome of the match, was temporarily unconscious after taking a blow in her match with Vince Jones earlier...
Jeff Marx: And Josh Marquez was the unfortunate first to feel the force of the Whiplash II in Pierce Lavelle’s second spell in AWC!
Dave Kern: Darcy Crisis could have a real chance here, you know – he’ll be fresh, not having had a match scheduled tonight on... um, Fresh!...
Jeff Marx: Haha, not likely! Darcy’ll job right the way through to when she’s carried kicking and screaming to her grave!
Dave Kern: His grave.
Jeff Marx: Agree to disagree.
James Brunt clears his throat in the ring, but before he speaks he starts receiving solemn applause from the couple of thousand fans in this disappointingly empty Luzhniki Palace.
James Brunt: Ha, OK... The following is the Fresh!east Battle Royal, for the number-one contendership to the Transatlantic championship belt!
Dave Kern: The winner here tonight, folks, will go on to face Ellis Nash next week in a Transatlantic title belt match on Huntington Beach, California!
Jeff Marx: I don’t envy them, it’s hot as fuck out there on the US west coast right now.
Dave Kern: Tonight’s winner will certainly have to adapt to some searing heat in an outdoor ring next Tuesday if they want to take home the title...
Jeff Marx: Ellis Nash has her name all over it anyway Dave! This is her time!
Dave Kern: You could well be right; Nash has built up a very impressive record lately and was the wrestler with the most wins throughout quarters three to four of AWC Year 1.
“Ace Of Spades” begins to play, and Josh Marquez, keeping a game face on despite having endured Pierce Lavelle’s fearsome new finisher Whiplash II earlier in the night, appears as the first Battle Royal entrant, absent-mindedly riffling a deck of cards in his hands.
Jeff Marx: What... I thought Chainz was supposed to be first out?
Dave Kern: I'm actually just now receiving word that... that Chainz has pulled out! Mike Sloan has left the building and he’s not gonna be entering this match tonight!
Jeff Marx: He did seem pretty pissed at Mother Russia earlier on. Maybe that’s got something to do with it.
Dave Kern: Who knows? But the upshot of it is, no Chainz in the Battle Royal; and considering his size and brute force he might have been an outside bet to win!
Jeff Marx: It’s clearly between Assault, Lavelle and V. Jones.
James Brunt: Weighing in at 212 pounds... JOSH MARQUEZ!
Marquez stands in the centre of the ring and then, holding his arm out straight, spins in a circle, letting the playing cards fly out with the centrifugal motion. Rolling his eyes, James Brunt wearily begins to pick up the litter from the canvas while the ancient arena sound system creaks into Teresa Tomas’ amalgamation of classic songs that make up her entrance theme.
Dave Kern: Oh and it looks like Teresa Tomas is due out second! But she’s literally just been rushed to the medical room for attention from Dr. Steven Burns after Anton Assault’s palm strike knocked her out, so I don’t think she’s gonna be showing here!
The Russian ticket-holders wait patiently and sip at their bottomless tankards of pure distilled vodka as the hated American music of AC/DC continues to goad them.
Jeff Marx: No sign of the Redneck Princess...
James Brunt: Weighing in at 145 pounds...
Marquez stands in the ring with his hands on his hips, eagerly awaiting to assert himself against an opponent less fearsome than the Legend he faced earlier.
Dave Kern: We’re not gonna see hide nor hair of the Top Rope Temptress; she just got herself KOd and it’s high time we moved on!
Finally, James Brunt switches cue card as from a signal from referee Lars Larsson, the sound technician segues into 112’s “We Going To Be Alright”.
Jeff Marx: Now that’s ironic. Teresa Tomas replaced at the beginning of this battle royal by the woman who knows just how to get under her skin.
Dave Kern: Tiara Belle Russell shocked Tomas last Fresh!east with a cryptic mention of Tomas’ father, and while we’re no closer to uncovering that mystery there, we did see Tiara and husband Wayne seemingly admitting to having tampered with Teresa’s brakes causing her to run over Sasha Volkyeva’s limo earlier tonight!
Jeff Marx: There’s definitely more than meets the eye to the rivalry between Teresa Tomas and Tiara Belle Russell.
James Brunt: As a result of her non-appearance, Teresa Tomas has been eliminated! Now weighing in at 156 pounds... TIARA BELLE RUSSELL!
Russell nods self-gratifyingly, sneering out at the Russians – bears and weeds, no in-between – who boo her entrance, probably for some complicated reason relating to the Bering Strait.
Dave Kern: Pleasure And Pain picked up another defeat earlier on, losing out to Delta Upsilon Iota who were competing in AWC for the first time. Tiara Belle is looking to make a splash solo in the Battle Royal.
Tiara slides into the ring, and when she has composed herself, Lars Larsson, the more senior of the two officials at ringside, has the bell rung to start the match.
DING DING DING!
The familiar timer appears on the big screen, already counting down the thirty seconds to the next entrance, as TBR moves bullishly towards Marquez. Not inclined to show any respect to the newcomer, Russell balls her right fist and punches Marquez square in the face. Surprised by his opponent’s immediacy, Marquez is forced to stagger backwards, and Russell marches forward to try the same again. This time Josh Marquez is more prepared, and dodges backwards out of her range. As Tiara follows through, Marquez steps in and delivers a smart hiptoss.
Jeff Marx: Tiara Belle went right for the jugular from the beginning!
Dave Kern: But Marquez showed he’s smart. He isn’t gonna let her mess him around; hiptoss shows Tiara Russell she’ll have to be more innovative than that.
Russell gets straight back up off her back and this time engages Marquez with a tie-up. She grabs a hold of his left forearm and pivots on her right foot, twisting the arm around and slamming her bony elbow down into the back of her opponent’s elbow joint. Marquez cries out and falls to his knees. TBR keeps clutching his forearm and now issues a sharp kick from her adjacent position; Marquez whips his other arm across, wrapping it around Tiara’s leg and taking a hold of it. Russell releases Marquez’s other arm in a bid to keep her balance; it’s a mistake, though, as he is now free to execute a cute leg whip, bringing her to the canvas.
Jeff Marx: This is actually rousing the fans a little. All twelve of them.
Dave Kern: It’s cat and mouse here, these two knowing little about each other’s styles.
Jeff Marx: No one knows about Tiara Belle’s style, because her singles page on the roster is in fact totally empty! Did you know that Dave?
Dave Kern: I did indeed; I was doing my research and---
Jeff Marx: Mark of a jobber.
Jeff nods, satisfied with his analysis, while Marquez leaps over Russell and then attempts to wow the crowd with a standing moonsault. Unfortunately, the Russians in fact boo this manoeuvre; even less fortunately, Russell had the wherewithal to get her knees up and Marquez takes them like two spears hurled into his ribcage.
Dave Kern: Moonsault – no, the knees up! Tiara Belle drew her knees up to her chest as far as she could and Marquez is groaning in pain now!
Having rolled over onto his back, Marquez can do nothing other than lie prone as Tiara calmly gets to her feet.
00:05
00:04
Dave Kern: THREE! TW--- hey, how come no one’s shouting out the seconds!
Jeff Marx: I'm not entirely convinced these Russian spectators know what a clock is, Dave.
BUZZ!
“Raggle Taggle Gypsy” by Christy Moore precedes the burping of a caravan exhaust by but a second. The fans point and mock the caravan; Russians are far too intelligent to ever design anything that unwieldy.
Dave Kern: It’s PADDY O’SHEA!
Jeff Marx: But the crowd don’t seem all that impressed. Can I even call them a “crowd”? Would “small gathering” do better?
O’Shea leaps out of his caravan, brushing his lank hair out of his face and sprinting to the ring.
James Brunt: Weighing in at 180 pounds... PADDY O’SHEA!
Dave Kern: This entrance just isn’t the same if it isn’t backed with chants of “PADDY! PADDY!”
Jeff Marx: “Congregation”...?
O’Shea’s arrival galvanises the ring action; suddenly it’s short and sharp, hard and fast. No sooner has he ducked Tiara Belle’s clothesline and snapped her down with a neckbreaker than he knocks Marquez down with a rising uppercut. Marquez is straight back on his feet, eager to impress; O’Shea gives him a few straight jabs and then thrusts his boot into Marquez’s REGIONS~!; Russell takes O’Shea in a waistlock but Paddy reverses into a Russian leg sweep. Suddenly the fans cheer louder than they have all night.
Dave Kern: Dirty Tricks from Paddy O’Shea---
Jeff Marx: No Dave, I think they recognise that leg sweep!
O’Shea stands and backs into a corner, breathing hard; he’s made the impact he wanted, needing to prove himself after Kris Krimzon gave him a stern test. Tiara Belle rises; O’Shea now looks to slow things down, moving in for a grapple. She disagrees with the change in pace – a reverse elbow to the side of the head, and then an Irish whip to sling O’Shea into the ropes; Paddy feels Tiara following him and spins aside as he hits the cables; Russell goes hurtling into them and on the rebound suddenly O’Shea is there, holding her up as if for a spinebuster, keeping her there...
Dave Kern: Impressive by The Man From The Caravan!
Jeff Marx: I don’t think it ends there...
O’Shea, straining his muscles, lifts Tiara higher and takes a step forward. Seeing what is to come, Russell desperately grabs at anything she can reach; O’Shea ignores the danger as she tugs on his hair to force her over the top rope. O’Shea curses loudly and Tiara hits the floor holding a clump of blonde-brown hair. She drives her fist angrily against the mats and wipes her hands clean of any foreign hair.
DING!
Jeff Marx: Tiara’s gone! But she’s taken a little bit of Paddy O’Shea with her!
James Brunt: Tiara Belle Russell has been eliminated!
00:06
Marquez pops up behind O’Shea and grabs him by the shorts, trying to hoist him up over the top rope. He’s successful, but only in part; O’Shea tumbles over the top rope but hits the apron and quickly grabs the bottom rope. He’s just pulling himself back under when he feels a tug at his boot...
Jeff Marx: What is she doing?!
Dave Kern: Tiara Belle Russell getting involved! She wants revenge on Paddy O’Shea and is trying to pull him out of the ring!
BUZZ!
O’Shea lashes out with his free foot and catches the aggressive Pleasure And Pain member in the face; she falls away into the arms of Selena Sumner, who had been sent over by Larsson to deal with the situation. Sumner tries to ease TBR away; she struggles, but Sumner is firm; service with a smile, but still getting the job done. Meanwhile...
James Brunt: Weighing in at 230 pounds... KRIS KRIMZON!
Dave Kern: O’Shea’s opponent of earlier tonight – Kris Krimzon, who looks to have turned over a completely new leaf after last week’s ridiculous antics.
Jeff Marx: Hung like a baby mouse, huh?
“Our Revolution” by Halifax is accompanying Krimzon to the ring, and is clearly considered an utter cacophony by the fans who are covering their ears in kind. One has even adorned a special piece of headgear which combines earmuffs to shut out the noise with one of those stupid hats that allows you to drink from on top of your head; of course, what he’s slurping through the lurid pink straw is double-strength vodka. Russians don’t drink anything else. Obviously.
O’Shea comes back under the bottom rope to receive a barrage of kicks from Josh Marquez. Sensing the new threat, Marquez now turns to see Krimzon hurtling into the ring; Marquez returns the hurtlage but is leapt straight into by Krimzon with a low dropkick.
Dave Kern: God! Krimzon took Marquez right out!
Jeff Marx: He went straight through him!
Dave Kern: That’s the kind of thing that gets you a year ban from soccer!
Jeff Marx: Dave, we don’t watch that, we’re American.
Dave Kern: Are we?
Jeff Marx: I think so. No one REALLY knows.
Dave Kern: OK.
Jeff Marx: Besides, since we’re on AWC-East we’re meant to call it “football”.
Dave Kern: Man!
Jeff Marx: I know, it’s ridiculous, isn’t it? They think that a game you play with your FEET and a BALL should be c---
Dave Kern: No, I mean, Krimzon! He’s down on O’Shea like a rabid dog!
Perched hastily over the Irishman, Krimzon unleashes a flurry of punches and elbow strikes that don’t give O’Shea the slightest chance to react. His only hope of release is the distraction that Josh Marquez presents, but Lavelle’s opponent from earlier is currently clutching his right knee and groaning.
Jeff Marx: Double K raining down on O’Shea! It’s like a skyscraper caught in a lightning storm.
Dave Kern: Josh Marquez looks in pretty bad shape after Krimzon’s attack on him just moments ago...
00:07
O’Shea manages to grab Krimzon’s forearm and clutches it in a death grip as he tries in vain to block the blows from the other. Marquez sits up. The fans politely clap and sip their vodka.
Dave Kern: I don’t quite know what’s come over Kris Krimzon recently...
Jeff Marx: Steven Smith?
Dave Kern: Oh Jeff...
Jeff Marx: That’s always a good place to start!
BUZZ!
James Brunt: Weighing in at 232 pounds... COLBY KORVER!
Jeff Marx: Who? Bring out the big guns!
Dave Kern: Korver is one half of Delta Upsilon Iota...
Jeff Marx: No Chainz... please at least tell me the Lion’s entering?
Dave Kern: He’s out in... about one minute I think!
Jeff Marx: Thank God.
Metallica booms out from the speakers; suddenly the crowd livens up: they know this music. The unlikely sight of two thousand Russians singing “Master Of Puppets” greets Korver as he breaks cover and nods in that confident college-jock manner at the commentary team, who staunchly ignore him.
Dave Kern: Josh Marquez now up on his feet...
As Marquez steps towards the two, Krimzon and O’Shea break apart, O’Shea having managed to stifle any further attack from the waning Krimzon. Despite O’Shea being the one who’s suffered all the blows in that last exchange, it’s Krimzon who Marquez heads for, hooking both arms and delivering a double underhook DDT!
Dave Kern: Double arm DDT! Josh Marquez lays Krimzon out!
Jeff Marx: He’s trying a whole lotta hard to dominate this ring. I’ll give Josh Marquez that.
Dave Kern: He’s definitely impressing. It’s been a long time since a newcomer genuinely broke through.
Jeff Marx: Yeah, it’s like we have a glass ceiling. I think whoever books these cards should be shot.
Dave Kern: That’s a surreal thing to type.
Jeff Marx: Even more so if he actually did get shot... RIGHT NOW... and this would obviously never be posted, but when he was found dead they’d find THIS on the blood-spattered screen...
Pierre Hyde: *looks around nervously*
Dave Kern: Anyway.
Korver enters the ring and heads straight for O’Shea who is licking his wounds in one corner but Marquez cuts him off, coming from nowhere with a cross body block! Korver goes down under Marquez who rolls with the impact, going under the bottom rope and ending up slipping off the apron to the floor. The Russian crowd immediately goes wild, believing the Vegas man to have been eliminated.
Dave Kern: No, no, NO!... you have to go over the top rope to be eliminated...
Jeff Marx: And both feet hit the floor.
Dave Kern: Well obvy.
Marquez shakes his head at himself and makes to get back in the ring immediately, but then inspiration strikes him and he bends down, lifting up the skirt of the ring and peering underneath.
Jeff Marx: Marquez going for a weapon of some kind!
Dave Kern: Lars Larsson’s heading straight over to nip that in the bud...
00:11
O’Shea, now on his feet, takes an arm each of Krimzon and Korver and hoists both men up. He abandons Krimzon, who stands in a daze (WWF Warzone 64 style!) while O’Shea whips Colby Korver into the ropes. As Korver makes the return run, O’Shea grabs Krimzon and pulls him in front of him; Korver approaches and O’Shea shunts Krimzon forwards. There is an ugly crack of heads and Korver goes down while Krimzon continues to stumble forward, falling against the ropes. O’Shea follows up and draws a knee into KK’s lower back before turning Krimzon around; he then backs up and runs at Krimzon with a clothesline...
BUZZ!
The driving metal of “Happy?” by Mudvayne fills the arena, as an explosion is heard.
DING!
Dave Kern: There goes Krimzon!
Jeff Marx: BUT HERE COMES LAVELLE!
James Brunt: Kris Krimzon has been eliminated!
In this hole,
that is me,
the dead are rolling over.
In this hole,
thickening,
dirt shoveled over shoulders.
James Brunt: Weighing in at 235 pounds... PIERCE LAVELLE!
Even the fans in the Luzhniki Palace who hadn’t heard of the AWC Legend Pierce Lavelle before tonight’s show have picked up on the hype surrounding him during Fresh!, most obviously in his match with Josh Marquez earlier in the night. Now, they rise to their feet; the best efforts of 2,500 half-hearted Russians cannot match those of six times that number of screaming Americans, but having experienced the tepid reaction to pretty much everything else tonight, we can appreciate their effort nonetheless.
Dave Kern: Lavelle on his way to the ring! He looks fresh, focused and better than ever!
Lavelle strides down the ramp in his new, some would say more mature ring attire with an expression of utter concentration on his now-bearded face.
Jeff Marx: The script is set for Pierce Lavelle to go out and win this Battle Royal... it’s up to the others to call for a rewrite.
Korver runs at O’Shea and attacks him with the inside of his forearm. O’Shea reacts by throwing a right hand of his own, and soon the two are happily brawling, each most comfortable in this most primitive style of fighting. But even cruder is what Josh Marquez, emerging from beneath the ring just as Lavelle approaches, is about to bring to the table...
T H W A C K
Dave Kern: THAT’S A LADDER! JOSH MARQUEZ JUST LEVELLED PIERCE LAVELLE WITH A LADDER!
Jeff Marx: Level Lavelle... hahaha.
Dave Kern: JEFF, IT’S A LADDER!
Jeff Marx: Oh come on Dave, you gotta take every break you get when you’re facing Pierce Lavelle!
Holding the ladder horizontally, Marquez looks down at Lavelle, who was knocked clean off his feet by the shot to the forehead. He feels a tug on one end and looks left with spite in his eyes; referee Lars Larsson is insistently tugging on the ladder, trying to get it away from Marquez, who suddenly thrusts it towards referee Larsson. The official is caught brutally in the abdomen.
Dave Kern: GET OUTTA HERE! MARQUEZ CAN’T DO THAT! JOSH MARQUEZ CANNOT DO THAT TO THE REFEREE!
Jeff Marx: He just assaulted old Lars with the ladder; now he’s just taken it too far. Pity; he just got carried away...
Dave Kern: HE’S A MANIAC, JEFF! A MANIAC!
Selena Sumner rushes over and remonstrates with Marquez before checking on Larsson. Meanwhile, Lavelle gets to his feet cautiously only for Marquez to turn and slam the ladder into his face once more; the two-time Transatlantic champion is thrown sideways over the ring steps.
Jeff Marx: LAVELLE TAKEN OUT AGAIN!
Dave Kern: IT’S CARNAGE OUT THERE!
Eyes gleaming with adrenaline as much as anything, Marquez looks around him at the fans, who have suddenly perked up, baying for blood. They’re rewarded; a dark trickle begins to form at Lavelle’s hairline.
DING!
Jeff Marx: Whussat?
James Brunt: Josh Marquez has been eliminated by disqualification!
Well, that shocks everyone.
Jeff Marx: What?! Since when is there disqualification?
Dave Kern: Since now, Jeff! We damn well need it! I don’t even know what’s going on in the ring, I'm so enraged about this!
Oh, it’s not much, really – Korver’s back in the turnbuckle, and O’Shea’s shots are taking their toll. Oh wait, it is much, actually – O’Shea grabs Korver’s legs and hoists him out over the top; the DUI member falls to the floor.
DING!
James Brunt: Colby Korver has been eliminated!
Tymoshekh, Gregan, Smertinski and Arlovskov are heading down the ramp looking grim as Marquez drops the ladder and approaches James Brunt with malice in mind.
Dave Kern: He appears to be questioning HOW Brunt made that decision...
Jeff Marx: And James Brunt is pointing to Selena Sumner! She made the call, but I'm not sure telling Josh Marquez about that is a good idea!
Marquez turns to Sumner and glares – that’s as far as he gets, because Arlovskov grabs him by one arm, momentarily Gregan takes the other, and Sasha’s security team, having temporarily abandoned the hunt for GA to do the duty that AWC is purportedly paying them for, escort an unresisting Josh Marquez up the ramp towards backstage, Marquez now starting to panic, wondering over and over: “What have I done?”
BUZZ!
”WWAAAAAARRRRRRRLLLOOOOORRRRRDD!”
James Brunt: Weighing in at 229 pounds... ANTON ASSAULT!
Jeff Marx: NOW we’re getting serious!
Assault barges through the curtain, having barely had time to shower between his successful Frontier title defence against Teresa Tomas and his entry to the Battle Royal now. Suddenly, the curtain rustles again and a dark shape lurches through it – a glimmer in the air –
SMASH!
Dave Kern: TERESA TOMAS CRACKS ANTON ASSAULT OVER THE HEAD WITH A BOTTLE!
Jeff Marx: Her trusty friend Jack Daniels produced the goods!
Dave Kern: Tomas appeared out of nowhere to smash that bottle over his skull! But she’s already been eliminated from this match for no-showing her entrance!
Tomas hops over the Lion’s body as Assault lies curled with both hands to the back of his skull. The Redneck Princess looks an absolute mess, her hair matted and untidy across her face, which is white after her bout of unconsciousness brought about equally by Assault’s violent palm strike in the match, and her state of inebriation that she has maintained all night. In the ring, O’Shea is alone until Lavelle crawls in, woozy after the two ladder attacks by Josh Marquez.
Dave Kern: Lavelle and O’Shea together in that ring, one-on-one for just a little while... Lavelle’s had the better of their encounters in the past; he holds three wins over the Irishman, but after Marq---
Jeff Marx: Never mind about that!
Tomas bursts past Selena Sumner (Lars Larsson, incidentally, is now on his feet but gingerly feeling his ribs) and leaps unsteadily up onto the apron and then the turnbuckle...
Dave Kern: TOMAS – HURRICANRANA!
The crowd boos vehemently.
Jeff Marx: O’Shea didn’t know what hit him!
Dave Kern: Teresa Tomas shouldn’t even be in that ring!
Determined not to let any further illegal antics fly, Lars Larsson slides decisively into the ring and grabs Tomas from behind, dragging her away from the downed O’Shea and forcing her through the ropes. Very white-faced, the Top Rope Temptress gags multiple times as she sits against the side of the ring but manages to hold it down.
Dave Kern: She certainly looks unwell...
Jeff Marx: Damn straight; that rana was ill!
Lavelle backs against the ropes and sportingly waits for O’Shea to get up himself, not willing to take advantage of Teresa Tomas’ interference. O’Shea does so – his recovery from the hurricanrana is quick after he gets over the initial shock of what actually happened – and fiercely eyeballs Lavelle, who stares straight back.
Dave Kern: Both are fan favourites... both looking to relive and extend their past glories...
Jeff Marx: Lavelle has the edge in terms of achievement, but Paddy O’Shea might just want it more. He’s come a long way from jobber to the stars in PCW.
Dave Kern: Winning Diamond In The Rough was a significant achievement Jeff!
O’Shea moves first, feinting a left hook before lifting his right boot into Lavelle’s abdomen. Lavelle absorbs the mid kick before swinging his left arm to knock the leg away and moving with his right arm; O’Shea is quick to go for another left hook at the same time and the two attempted punches smash into a stalemate. Lavelle moves it on by bringing his other arm through to tie up with Paddy and now tries to move round into an octopus stretch; O’Shea kicks out backwards to force Lavelle to relent and rolls forwards out of the way.
Dave Kern: Neither man able to obtain any significant advantage as time ticks down towards the next entrant.
00:01
BUZZ!
Just as Assault gets himself back up, music begins to blare away behind him; it’s Metallica again, and the crowd reacts excitedly, rising in unison to once more deliver “Master Of Puppets” almost religiously.
Jeff Marx: Um, who’s this?
Dave Kern: Hank Co---
Jeff Marx: HANK~!?
Dave Kern: Unfortunately, this is not the same Hank as that of PCW fa---
Jeff Marx: Damn it! Why can we never hire anyone interesting?
The Lion ignores the appearance of Hank Cobb at the head of the stage, turning and walking calmly towards ringside. Meanwhile, Lavelle whips O’Shea, but O’Shea reverses, slinging the two-time Transatlantic champion into the ropes. Paddy leapfrogs the onrushing Lavelle and Assault’s eyes grow wide; the Frontier champion is now up on the apron about to enter the match but 235 pounds of Lavelle are headed straight for him...
Dave Kern: LEAPING RIGHT HOOK and Assault falls back to the outside!
Jeff Marx: Lavelle was quick to improvise that one and I think Assault landed awkwardly...
Nevertheless Assault is straight to his feet, cursing as he tries to put pressure on his left ankle. Cobb grabs the Lion and rolls him under the bottom rope and into the ring; the distraction doesn’t help Pierce Lavelle who fails to put up any guard against O’Shea’s kick to the gut. The Man From The Caravan slips his arms under Lavelle’s and launches him overhead in a belly-to-belly suplex!
Jeff Marx: The master of dirty tricks has some textbook suplexing in his arsenal too!
Ghost of Steven Smith: I’ll put my suplex in your arse...nal.
Dave shudders.
Dave Kern: What was that?
Jeff Marx: (drily) The Ghost of Steven Smith.
Dave sighs.
00:12
Cobb moves into the ring after Assault and, having noticed Assault’s struggle to stand outside the ring just a moment ago, stamps viciously on the Lion’s left foot. Assault’s eyes squint just a little, but his face remains expressionless.
Jeff Marx: Assault shows no pain.
Dave Kern: He’s a man of few words, few emotions... and a lot of---
Ghost of Steven Smith: Penis.
Jeff Marx: GET OUTTA HERE!
Dave Kern: FLAPJACK!
Jeff Marx: You’re hungry?
Dave Kern: No – O’Shea just PANCAKED Pierce Lavelle after launching him off the ropes again!
Jeff Marx: I can rustle something up real quick...
Dave Kern: The STEAKS are really rising in this match!
BUZZ!
The Guano Apes rock the stereo – thumbs down from the Russian audience – and Darcy Crisis emerges, clearly having showered just recently; his hair is still wet and glistens in the strobe lights.
Jeff Marx: Darcy’s here to bring some female intuition to the Battle Royal.
Dave Kern: He’s got an APPETITE for destruction!
Jeff Marx: You wanna stop that now?
Dave Kern: Sorry; it’s a little CHEESY...
Ghost of Steven Smith sighs.
James Brunt: Weighing in at 227 pounds... DARCY CRISIS!
Dave Kern: The man from East Bay, California is a favourite here – they call him the new Pierce Lavelle! – and if he wins, he’ll go on to a match with Ellis Nash just down the coast from his home region; what an ideal setting that’d be for Darcy Crisis to win his first AWC gold.
Jeff Marx: God forbid.
Crisis breaks into a run and slides into the ring; his first look is towards Lavelle, but seeing him now brawling with Paddy O’Shea he turns to Hank Cobb, who is still laying the boots to Anton Assault, and engages the big man from behind. Cobb throws an elbow back into Crisis’ chest, but while the impact is considerable, Crisis is dogged and manages a firm hiptoss on the 348-pounder.
Dave Kern: Crisis hiptosses Hank the Tank!
Jeff Marx: That nickname is sure to tank.
00:23
Assault now comes to his feet, eager to engage Crisis, with whom a small rift is developing through manager Luis Ferrara, but D-Masta-C has turned away and after Lavelle scoop slams O’Shea, grabs Pierce by the arm and spins him around. Lavelle and Crisis survey each other fiercely, but the moment lasts but a second before Assault snatches Crisis into a dominating full nelson suplex!
Jeff Marx: BIG move! BIG move!
Dave Kern: Full nelson suplex nearly broke Crisis in half!
Assault releases the arms on impact, there being no point to bridging in a match without pinfalls, and Crisis rolls over on his shoulders before crumpling to the canvas. This was not how he envisioned the first minute of his time in the Battle Royal.
00:10
Cobb rights himself and ties up with Lavelle; initially Cobb’s sheer power looks to be winning him the battle but Lavelle is deft in his fluid movement to a side headlock and then drives a fist into the top of the Delta Upsilon Iota member’s head. Cobb is released and cannot stop himself toppling forward onto the canvas. O’Shea stands and gives Lavelle a look; there is the slightest hint of a glimmer in Lavelle’s usually stony eyes and they each take an arm of Cobb’s and hoist him backwards onto his feet. Cobb’s arms are then thrown over O’Shea’s and Lavelle’s respective shoulders and they lift him as if for a double atomic drop.
Dave Kern: Hank Cobb is being targeted here by two of AWC’s most lauded!
BUZZ!
The fans start to boo at this example of ganging up on Hank Cobb.
Dave Kern: The crowd aren’t happy with O’Shea and Lavelle!
Jeff Marx: I don’t see it as victimisation... I see it as ‘OK boy, you’ve had your fun, now let the men work’. That’s what they’re doing – getting rid of the jobber to leave a triumvirate of class to battle it out.
“Trip With Jesus” by the Union Underground hits. Shawn Harris runs out with his arms raised high as if celebrating, his hands clenched into fists and a wide grin on his face.
Jeff Marx: Famous last words.
James Brunt: Weighing in at 220 pounds... SHAWN HARRIS!
O’Shea and Lavelle perch Cobb on the top rope; just as they are letting go, up comes Anton Assault to snap kick Hank Cobb in the spine. Cobb tumbles over the top, flipping to hit the floor with the small of his back and a thwack. Russians like big men: so they don’t like to see Hank Cobb eliminated: so they make dissatisfied noises and drink their vodka.
DING!
James Brunt: Hank Cobb has been eliminated!
Jeff Marx: Cobb out, Harris in... I almost feel short-changed.
Dave Kern: He shares your first name – you’re practically brothers!
Jeff Marx: No Dave, brothers share surnames...
Pierre Hyde: Anyway, no he doesn’t – good thing I read my work back – Jeff Harris is in jail!
Lavelle and O’Shea turn around as Assault resumes his stance and there is a three-way stand-off of maximum intensity; all looking and daring; nobody moves, nobody gets hurt. Until someone moves – and that someone is Darcy Crisis. He doesn’t move very much, but it’s just the sight of Crisis sitting up in Paddy O’Shea’s peripheral vision that causes his eyes to flicker momentarily, and that fluctuation is all an experienced MMA fighter like Anton Assault needs to take one step in and smash his palm into O’Shea’s jaw.
Dave Kern: Who’s going to make the first m--- Assault! Shotei thrust!
Jeff Marx: O’Shea utterly blitzkrieged! Hurtles back into the turnbuckle!
Lavelle instantly darts past the Lion and drives a right fist into O’Shea’s abdomen. He then hooks up as if for a suplex; lifts the Irishman up and brings him down across the top rope...
Dave Kern: O’Shea’s on his way!
Jeff Marx: Lavelle’s waiting for Assault to finish him off here I think!
O’Shea’s whole body convulses as he desperately struggles to put his body back in the ring, but Anton Assault is on Lavelle’s page and draws back his fist from underneath as he steps towards the fray.
Jeff Marx: He’s gonna send him over with an uppercut!
But as Lavelle relinquishes his hold, leaving the Lion with just a split-second to apply the coup de grace, Darcy Crisis and Shawn Harris simultaneously advance on Assault – Crisis locking an arm; Harris from the other side looking for a side backbreaker – they each cancel each other’s move out, but also cancel out any chance for the Lion to swing his arm at O’Shea, who now topples fortuitously back into the ring!
Dave Kern: A let-off for Paddy O’Shea!
Jeff Marx: Trust those two to mess things up! Crisis and Harris...
With O’Shea vulnerable in his position – chest on the canvas, legs slumped between top and middle ropes – Harris quickly abandons his assault on Assault (ha) and delivers a leg drop to the back of O’Shea’s neck. Lavelle Irish-whips Harris to the opposite corner, to get him out of the way more than anything, while Assault turns and stuns Crisis with a close-range shotei strike. Crisis would fall back if the Lion did not grip onto the arm that had been laced through his; this leaves Assault in perfect position for the Marine Throttle!
Jeff Marx: Aww that’s nice, look Dave, Anton loves Darcy...
Dave Kern: The Marine Throttle is about as far removed from a cuddle as you are from reality, Jeff. He’s really wearing Crisis out!
Darcy struggles gamely, but his advantage of being the freshest man in the ring (along with Shawn Harris, who drops promptly to the mat, face-first, on hitting the turnbuckle) is fading quickly in Assault’s persistent standing triangle choke. The crowd are really getting into it; a repeated ”VOSS! VOSS! VOSS!” seems to be the order of the day when there’s a good submission hold going for the wrestling enthusiasts in the crowd, even though it’s a word that I just made up.
BUZZ!
Dave Kern: Who’s it gonna be?
112.
Jeff Marx: Oh, phew – “We Gonna Be Alright”.
Dave Kern: We are?
Jeff Marx: No, we’re really not; it’s Wayne Russell.
Lavelle now has O’Shea on his feet and is in control, driving repeated knees into the Irishman’s sternum.
Dave Kern: Pierce Lavelle solidifying his position before he mounts a fresh attempt to eliminate Paddy O’Shea.
Assault, still with Crisis in his Marine Throttle, now steps back with one foot, giving himself the leverage to lift Darcy upwards – but Shawn Harris comes out of nowhere with a reverse dragonscrew on the back leg! Assault is thrown roughly out of his position and hits the mat; Harris grins tentatively at Crisis and extends his hand. Crisis, barely standing after the Marine Throttle, wearily takes it – Harris throws it aside and hits a “Twist Of Fate” neckbreaker!
Jeff Marx: Harris used the oldest trick in the book!
Dave Kern: Crisis takes a neckbreaker and looks in some trouble with that area just having been worked on by Anton Assault!
Assault leaps to his feet, fuming after Shawn Harris interrupted his best-laid plans. Harris is heading over towards Lavelle, his back turned; the Lion pulls no punches with the newcomer: one-arm sleeper; half nelson; lift – sheer-drop katahajime suplex.
Dave Kern: OH MY GOD! WHAT A SUPLEX! THE SHEER-DROP KATAHAJIME BY ANTON ASSAULT!
Jeff Marx: HE COULD HAVE BROKEN SHAWN HARRIS’ NECK RIGHT THERE!
Dave Kern: And he’s up on his feet, dusting himself off without a second glance! No remorse!
Jeff Marx: That’s revenge, Dave, revenge for Harris messing up what the Lion had going on Darcy Crisis!
00:11
Wayne Russell enters the ring; Assault sneers and goes to work. Strikes from both elbows, an uppercut, then a kick to the knee and Russell drops to a seated position, helpless.
Jeff Marx: IS HE ON A FREAKIN’ ROLL OR WHAT?!
Dave Kern: The Assault Quad from the Frontier champion!
O’Shea drops Lavelle with a spinebuster!
Dave Kern: Now Lavelle spinebustered down!
Jeff Marx: That’s probably not a verb...
He bounces round onto his front and O’Shea doesn’t need to be asked twice to turn his back and grab the leg and neck...
Dave Kern: SHAMROCK LEGLOCK!
Jeff Marx: O’Shea’s got Lavelle well and truly trapped!
Dave Kern: The ropes are nearby, but any effort to grab hold will put extra strain on Lavelle!
”VOSS! VOSS! VOSS!”
BUZZ!
“Interlude 12/21” by AFI, but let it be known that Katie still hates AFI.
Crisis and Harris still aren’t moving as the latest addition to the Battle Royal, Aimz, ventures tentatively out onto the stage.
Dave Kern: Ouch, Aimz looks banged up.
Jeff Marx: ...it’s too obvious; I won’t even touch it.
James Brunt: Weighing in at 147 pounds... AIMZ!
Dave Kern: It’s doubtful whether she can make any impact whatsoever on this match having been knocked out earlier in the night. She’ll have to move to an even more high-risk strategy than usual, I’d say – that, or stay out of the way –
Jeff Marx: And she’s not gonna be inconspicuous wearing those clothes. Prepare for a spotfest, if she can even pull it off.
Dave Kern: You know, I think Shawn Harris is unconscious in the ring after taking that brutal sheer-drop from Anton Assault.
Wayne Russell finds he is able to get to his feet without a threat; Anton Assault has stalked over to where Paddy O’Shea is straining to crunch his Shamrock Leglock on Pierce Lavelle. Eyes screwed tight shut with exertion, O’Shea doesn’t see the Lion standing straight in front of him until it’s far,
far,
too late.
Jeff Marx: BAM!
Dave Kern: Snap kick to the jaw!
Jeff Marx: Put Paddy right out of commission!
O’Shea falls back like a rock, but before Lavelle can be crushed beneath him Assault grabs O’Shea’s arm and hoists him up into his arms. The Lion takes one step back, lifts O’Shea in the belly-to-belly position, and throws the cruiserweight with all his might.
Dave Kern: JESUS CHRIST! 180 POUNDS OF PADDY O’SHEA JUST SAILED OVER THE TOP ROPE! INCREDIBLE BELLY-TO-BELLY SUPLEX!
Jeff Marx: THAT’S WHAT LIONS ARE MADE OF, DAVE!
DING!
Absolutely incredibly, there is little to no reaction from the fans, who are choosing instead to watch Darcy Crisis’ struggle to recompose himself as he sits up. But Paddy O’Shea’s bump has awed the referees, at least; both Larsson and Sumner hurry over to check on the Irishman who landed flat on his back on the floor at ringside. James Brunt’s announcement is quite unnecessary: it’s pretty clear what happened here.
James Brunt: Paddy O’Shea has been eliminated!
Dave Kern: I still can’t believe what we just saw!
Jeff Marx: And Assault just turned away pretending like it was a regular occurrence!
Aimz slowly pulls herself up onto the apron – and deciding to go for broke, as it’s possibly her only chance, continues on up the turnbuckle.
Jeff Marx: Oh, Aimz is poised to fly...
As the Lion takes on Pierce Lavelle, dropping a rolling knee on the downed Legend, Amy Campbell locks on to Shawn Harris...
Dave Kern: DEAD AIM! She lands it!
Jeff Marx: Aimz skipping several stages and going straight for the blow-off; not uncommon for a girl like her!
Dave Kern: Incredible precision from a supposedly shaky Aimz!
Jeff Marx: Shawn Harris – dead man walking... well... laying.
Dave Kern: Harris indeed looks vulnerable – as does Pierce Lavelle, surprisingly, beneath Assault’s onslaught.
Jeff Marx: The Lion is looking the most dominant in the ring, having been passed that torch by Paddy O’Shea...
Dave Kern: And arguably, before him, Josh Marquez.
Jeff Marx: Psshh. Jobbers can hit lucky. And I'm sure Mr. Vegas knows all about that.
Boos from the small crowd begin to grow in volume as Assault lays into Lavelle, who is now on his knees, with yet another swinging knee.
Dave Kern: Hit lucky, perhaps; Anton Assault can certainly hit!
Jeff Marx: He’s unstoppable right now!
BUZZ!
Dave Kern: Here’s the final entrant!
PREPARE TO ENTER MY HELL, MY REALM AND ALL THAT OTHER CRAP
Jeff Marx: It’s Vince Jones!
Dave Kern: Second place last week; can he better that? But is he allowed to enter twice; is that even fair?
Jeff Marx: Oh shut up Dave, The Violence is one of the greatest things that’s happened to AWC. Besides, he’s Countdown champion, he c---
Dave Kern: Trophy holder.
Jeff Marx: He’s Countdown trophy cham---
Dave Kern: Trophy holder.
Jeff Marx: He’s Countdown trophy holder fuckoffyougay, he can do whatever the hell he likes!
Jones bursts through the curtain, Louisville Slugger in one arm, Countdown trophy in the other, and marches down to the ring.
James Brunt: Weighing in at 269 pounds... VINCE JONES!
Jeff Marx: He’s got vicious intent the way he’s holding that bat, for sure!
Dave Kern: I don’t think Aimz will be all that keen on taking on Vince Jones another time in her condition.
Darcy Crisis, standing at last, is immediately subjected to a straight body slam by Wayne Russell. Crisis steps back up and is whipped into the ropes; coming back, he is grabbed by Russell for a power slam but Crisis pushes into Wayne’s abdomen and manages to spring out of his grasp, somehow landing on his feet.
Dave Kern: SUPERKICK!
Jeff Marx: Crisis blasted Russell’s brains out right there. How embarrassing for Wayne Russell... getting hit by a girl that he isn’t even married to.
Crisis turns and helps his girlfriend Aimz up to her feet. He places his hands on her shoulders and talks gently to her, hoping to ascertain that she is OK; she nods irritably and pushes him away before taking Harris under the armpits and trying to drag him to his feet. Aimz barely has the strength; Crisis helps out and soon enough they have Harris up.
Jeff Marx: This could be the last page of Shawn Harris’ script.
Across the ring, Vince Jones slides in and runs straight at the Lion, clotheslining him down. With that done, he swivels round and spots Shawn Harris being propped up by Crisis as Aimz gives a firm knee to the abdomen. Harris looks ready to crumple; The Violence quickly looks to negotiate himself a shot at the man with whom he shares history. Crisis looks at Aimz and shrugs, shoving the inanimate New Evolution towards Jones, who swiftly shapes himself and lifts Harris high overhead in a gorilla press!
”OOOHHH!”
Dave Kern: Vince Jones wowing the crowd with his strength, lifting Harris up high...
Jeff Marx: It ain’t just for show!
Jones steps towards the ropes and channels all his strength to his shoulders, bodily throwing Shawn Harris out of the ring. Harris crash-lands on the ring steps, yelling in pain as his arm is crushed beneath his body.
DING!
Jeff Marx: Jones tossing Harris right out of the ring!
Dave Kern: But he took no prisoners! A landing on the ring steps – Harris could easily have injured himself!
Jeff Marx: Let’s pray.
Dave Kern: Yes folks, we certainly hope Harris is gonna be OK---
Jeff Marx: No, fool! This could mean the end of PWC!
Dave Kern: Do I detect glee in your voice Jeff?
James Brunt: Shawn Harris has been eliminated!
That dealt with, Jones bends to grab his bat. In the meantime, Aimz has taken control of Wayne Russell, stomping away at his cowering body, and with Assault at last laid out, Crisis and Lavelle set eyes on each other again...
Jeff Marx: Enter The Violence!
Jones thumps Crisis in the side of the head with his Slugger! A moment later Lars Larsson is on the ring apron and rushing into the ring, but the damage is done.
Dave Kern: VINCE JONES WITH THE BAT! COULDA SLUGGED DARCY’S HEAD CLEAN OFF!
Jeff Marx: That dainty little head...
Lavelle rushes Jones and wrenches the bat from his grasp, tossing it aside – Larsson determinedly retrieves and exits the ring. Lavelle then brings Jones to the mat with a headlock takedown.
Dave Kern: Pierce Lavelle returning some sanity to proceedings.
Aimz, backing away from Russell to let him rise, knocks blindly into Lavelle. Lavelle, ever the gentleman, apologises; Aimz punches him in the face and hits a DDT.
Dave Kern: DDT! DDT!
Assault gets to his feet and heads straight to Russell; before Wayne is up fully Anton has the 295-pounder in a waistlock. Already backed up against the ropes, the Lion strains to lift Russell...
Dave Kern: Perhaps Assault is a little ambitious here in his efforts to eliminate big Wayne Russell.
Jones gets to his feet and rushes over, grabbing Russell’s legs and hoisting them up then following through with the push, and with Anton Assault’s lift the two combine – Russell tumbles out onto the apron and then to ringside.
DING!
James Brunt: Wayne Russell has been eliminated!
Jeff Marx: Assault... Jones... Aimz... Crisis... Lavelle... who’s it gonna be?
Dave Kern: On recent evidence, Anton Ass---
Dave Kern’s words die in his throat as Vince Jones takes a step and then clotheslines Anton Assault over the top rope. The Lion falls on top of Wayne Russell and his fearsome eyes stare up at Jones with something approximating to loathing.
DING!
James Brunt: Anton Assault has been eliminated!
Jeff Marx: Did NOT see that coming! Jones took advantage of Assault’s vulnerable position at a time when the Lion was looking like he could go on and win this.
Dave Kern: Now it’s Pierce Lavelle, Darcy Crisis, Aimz or Vince Jones to meet Ellis Nash, with Lavelle by far the longest serving who’s still left in the ring.
Jones turns from watching Assault fall and Aimz is helpless, a statue as Jones heads towards her...
Jeff Marx: SPEAR! Haha, you tell that bitch!
Dave Kern: Jones just OBLITERATED Amy Campbell!
Crisis, not having risen since the baseball bat shot stunned him, saw the attack and now leaps to his feet with renewed vigour. Lavelle, who was preparing to engage him, steps aside as Crisis rushes blindly at Vince Jones, thinking of nothing other than beating that dick’s fucking face in.
Dave Kern: Pierce Lavelle makes way for Crisis to avenge the attack on Aimz---
Jeff Marx: Oh I'm not sure he’s being all that gentlemanly Dave!
Lavelle grins as Crisis and Jones start to throw fists like there’s no tomorrow; it gives him carte blanche to hoist a certain Aimz to her feet.
Dave Kern: What’s this... is this a different side to Pierce Lavelle? He tricked Darcy into giving him a free run at Aimz!
Lavelle grips the back of Aimz’ top with both hands and runs her to the ropes, lifting powerfully to throw her over the top! Aimz slams into the apron with her upper body and is twisted round to hit the floor.
DING!
Dave Kern: I don’t believe it!
James Brunt: Aimz has been eliminated!
Jones is thrown against the ropes by a hard shot to the jaw by Crisis.
Dave Kern: And could this be the end for Jones too?!
Crisis, red with rage, backs up and charges, intent on delivering the clothesline that will be but part-punishment for The Violence’s attack on Aimz. Jones drops away at the last moment, taking the top rope with him.
DING!
James Brunt: Darcy Crisis has been eliminated!
Jeff Marx: Haha!
Dave Kern: Incredible! Crisis and Aimz out within ten seconds of each other!
Jeff Marx: Vince Jones makes the last two for the second week in a row! He lost out to Ellis Nash---
Dave Kern: So can he eliminate Pierce Lavelle to get the chance to make that right?!
Clinging to the top rope still, “The Violence” Vince Jones pulls himself upright as Lavelle advances, a glint in his eyes. He ties up – well, tries to, but Jones knocks his arms down and spits in his face.
Dave Kern: Nooo...
Immediately every fan in the venue stands up and smashes their vodka bottles over their heads. It’s the universal symbol for outrage throughout the old Soviet Union, don’t you know.
SMASH
THUMP
Jeff Marx: Dave... I think every fan in the Palace just knocked themselves out.
Dave Kern: Who cares?! Jones spit in Lavelle’s face! That’s far more monumental!
Lavelle wheels around, brushing his arm across his violated cheeks (...shit, that wasn’t even intentional). Jones grabs Lavelle in a waistlock and heaves.
No, he’s not vomiting, he’s trying to lift his opponent.
Jeff Marx: HERE WE GO! GERRRRMAN---
Lavelle flicks a boot up between Jones’ legs!
Dave Kern: REGIONS SHOT! REGIONS SHOT BY LAVELLE! What is it with the new Pierce Lavelle?! There’s something not quite the same... not quite pure, not quite honest, not quite---
Lavelle, having ducked behind Jones, lifts him in a pumphandle position... swivels...
Jeff Marx: WINNER!
...drops The Violence onto the apron...
Dave Kern: WAIT!
...Jones grabs the bottom rope and stops himself from falling...
Jeff Marx: He’s safe!
...Lavelle grabs the top rope and leaps between the bottom two, connecting with Jones’ body with both boots in a kind of standing baseball slide...
Dave Kern: No he is not!
...Jones hits the floor.
DING! DING! DING!
James Brunt: Vince Jones has been eliminated! The winner... to take on ELLIS NASH at Fresh!special: Live On Huntington Beach... PIERCE LAVELLE!
The Snag
FEATURING: SASHA VOLKYEVA, SASHA'S SECURITY TEAM, ???, DAVID "PEARL" HARBER
AUTHOR: ???
The night had surprisingly gone off without too much of a snag, ignoring the financial implications of having sold barely a fifth of the tickets… and Sasha was more surprised than anyone. She’d nailed the night’s show. GA was nowhere to be found, seen, heard of, smelt. His initials weren’t etched into the walls. There were no technicians’ bones popping. No cameras being crushed. Best of all… she’d had no contact with him whatsoever. A good night she felt.
Sasha Volkyeva: Mr Tymoshekh, will you please bring your men in here please, I would like to offer my personal congratulations to them.
Tymoshekh nodded and left the room.
BUZZ!
The distinctive ring of the office phone brought Sasha’s thoughts back to the matter at hand. Who was GA? This had to be Carly… maybe she had the answers.
Sasha Volkyeva: Hello Carly, that was quick of you.
No response as Mr. Tymoshekh and his band of brothers entered the domain of AWC’s Russian controller.
“Good evening Sasha…”
She froze.
Sasha Volkyeva: How… how… did you get this number…?
“I bet you think you won tonight. Didn’t you?”
The voice had that disturbing gravel quality to it… it had to be him.
Sasha Volkyeva: Who are you… and where… are you?
“Who I am, what I am, where I am, like I have said many times before are inconsequential. I could have ruined this show tonight… at will…”
Sasha Volkyeva:: MY MEN PUT A STOP TO…
“Your men? Your men?! Hah… ask each of them… apart from that… that cockney idiot to check their pockets. Ask Tymoshekh. ASK HIM!”
Sasha cradled the phone in her hand… her face pale as the light of the moon…
Sasha Volkyeva: Tymo… empty your pockets… please…
Tymoshekh: Why…
Sasha Volkyeva: JUST DO IT!
Fiddling around in his pockets Tymo’s face turns… his dull eyes sink… he places on top of Sasha’s desk a tiny carved palm tree, made from a single stone.
Smith: That’s the Fijian palm tree luv’…
Sasha Volkyeva: SHUT UP, I am well aware of this. Tymo, where did you get this from? Tell me! TELL ME!
Tymo begins to shake…
Tymoshekh: I… I have never seen this before until now…
Sasha Volkyeva: The rest of you, EMPTY your pockets. Do it NOW!
One by one, the same Palm tree carving is placed on the table, each made from a single stone, each being sworn that they have never seen the object before, each slowly crumbling Sasha’s world that bit more… each placing more doubt.
“You see…” the phone began once more, “I can get at you any time I wish. Every single one of these men could have been mine tonight. Every single one. I am the curse which will destroy you Sasha… I will take you and break you. Tonight wasn’t about the AWC, oh no… tonight was about you.”
Sasha Volkyeva: Why… why are you doing this?
“You ask too many questions Ms. Volkyeva. Too concerned with the material facts of the situation… and indeed what you should be asking is who wishes this done to you?”
Sasha is slightly sobbing.
Sasha Volkyeva: I don’t know… I just don’t know… please leave me alone… Tymo… leave… everyone JUST LEAVE.
Her room is filled with nothingness once more. Nothing.
“You stayed on the phone… why?”
Sasha Volkyeva: Please stop… please…
“I’m afraid I can’t do that. I have far more at stake than this… promotion. You will understand in time.”
Sasha Volkyeva: Who are you working for?
“Even I do not know the question to that. All I know… all I know is that your lack of respect for freedom and the freedoms of others… shall be your downfall. Being incarcerated teaches you a lot of things my squirrel. Again… you will see this in due time.”
Still sobbing… softly… like a child…
Sasha Volkyeva: Have you not caused enough disruption already? This tour is a mess…
“It stops when he says…
“You cannot beat me Sasha, the sooner your fate is accepted, the sooner it will become easier. Goodbye.”
The phone goes silent leaving a nerve ridden Sasha Volkyeva curled up in her chair sobbing silently – no one will hear her cries… a new email pops up on her screen from Carly – she has some news…
“Sasha…?” the voice is familiar…
Sasha Volkyeva: DAVID?
She wheels around to see David “Pearl” Harber, AWC-West Entertainment Manager, in the doorway.
Pearl: Sasha, what’s wrong?
Sasha Volkyeva: What on earth are you doing here… I never thought I’d say this, but I am glad to see you.
Pearl: I’m in Europe on business, sorting out promotions and stocks and the like for AWC, thought I’d check out the show. Did you just say you were glad to see me? Go on… say it again…
Sasha Volkyeva: Do not push your luck, David.
Sasha composes herself.
Sasha: I need some assistance with a dilemma I have.
Pearl: Involving… let me guess… Sasha nods knowingly… she hated doing this. Asking the help of David Harber… the man she detested… but he truly was her last hope…
Her last hope… the tour rested on the identity of one individual who seemingly could not be stopped, found or identified or even spotted.
Great, she thought… just great…