Fresh! Results25th October 2005
Unravel The Lies, Truths Be Told And Riddles To Solve
FEATURING: PIERCE LAVELLE, ANALYST, DAVID "PEARL" HARBER, ADAM DICK
AUTHORS: LARA CLARKE AND JOE SCHMIDT
The fans are cheering endlessly in the Reed Green Coliseum, Hattiesburg, Mississippi. A scene of elemental proportions is seen unfolding with the amount of energy surging through the main stage area. The silence backstage acts as an eerie control, to the elevation behind the walls. Pierce Lavelle passes by the camera, dressed in his ring attire. He walks hurriedly toward the video storage room.
Inside we are greeted by TV sets, upon TV sets. Four men are seated in black clothes, analysing each different film strip from various Fresh! shows. Pierce stops at the door and has immediately caught the attention of one of the analysis workers.
Pierce Lavelle: You said you had something for me.
Lavelle folds his arms and looks around. The analysis worker stands up and pulls up a video.
Analyst: You said you wanted any footage from two weeks ago, to incriminate Adam Dick.
Pierce Lavelle: And?
Analyst: That night, Testimony, when you ran backstage, we had one camera and it caught you being jumped by a man. Well, I enhanced the picture and the man is Adam Dick.
Pierce Lavelle: Is this the video?
Lavelle says staring at the black cassette.
The analysis worker nods and hands Pierce the tape. Pierce nods his head and thanks the analysis worker. Walking through the backstage area, Lavelle acknowledges the cheers from the fans and walks straight down the corridor toward David "Pearl" Harber’s room.
Pearl is seated at his desk, scribbling something down. He looks up at Lavelle and stops what he is doing.
Pearl: Pierce?
Pierce Lavelle: You wanted to see me. Sarah Kennedy passed on the message.
Pearl: Yes, you're late.
Pearl says staring at the clock on the wall.
Pierce Lavelle: I know, I just needed to check on a source.
Pearl: Speaking of sources, how is the work in LA going?
Pearl folds his arms and sits back into his chair.
Pierce Lavelle: Eh, not too good – well – sort of.
Pearl: Do you have anything?
Pierce Lavelle: I was set up.
Pearl: Set up?
Pierce Lavelle: Somebody, claiming to be Adam Masters’ manager, rang me and sent me on a man-hunt. Turns out, Adam Masters isn't missing, he's in rehabilitation.
Pearl: I see, who would know what you are doing?
Pierce Lavelle: That's my point. You knew I was going to LA, but that's it. Then I got jumped in my hotel room, by a man constantly repeating the name G-O-O-N-E.
Pearl: GOONE?
Pierce Lavelle: Yeah, I have no idea what it means. I believe its linked, because whatever or whoever this GOONE is, didn't want me arriving in LA.
Pearl: I –
Before Pearl can even start his sentence, Adam Dick strolls into the room, a large grin on his face, which is soon washed away once he sees Pierce Lavelle stood before him, also with a large grin on his face.
Pierce Lavelle: Just the man I wanted to see!
Lavelle smiles.
Adam Dick: What's so funny, Purse?
Pierce Lavelle: Nothing, Duck. Only, remember our conversation last week, when I accused you of jumping me at Testimony after the match. Turns out, I was right.
Adam Dick: Yeah!
Dick laughs, but Lavelle shoves the tape into his chest.
Pierce Lavelle: You forgot about video cameras.
Lavelle smiles.
Adam Dick: Uh… SO! Who frickin' cares?
Pearl: That would be me.
Pierce Lavelle: It leads to one question. We were both in a dash to save Wade and O'Shea, but instead you assault me and let the cage fall, so here’s the question, if Wade's your partner, why risk his life like that?
Adam Dick: He's fine, isn't he!
Dick is no longer impressed with the third degree and the truth of Lavelle's attack and folds his arms, throwing the tape onto Pearl's table.
Pearl: Is that why you jumped a plane immediately after Testimony had ended?
Adam Dick: Listen, Pearl, this doesn’t concern me. We all know that Purse is delusional.
Pearl: The only one delusional is you, Dick.
Adam Dick: How formal of you, Harb.
Pierce Lavelle: It seems, truth’s been told, eh, Adam!
Adam Dick: Don’t mess with me, Purse. This week hasn’t exactly been a fucking peach, if you know what I mean.
Pierce Lavelle: Actually, I don’t, Adam. Why don’t you tell me?
Adam Dick: I don’t need to tell you what you already know, Pierce.
Adam turns around and begins to leave. Harber is left with confusion painted on his face, but Pierce seems to have a clue as to what he’s talking about.
Pierce Lavelle: Where have you been, Adam?
Adam stops in his tracks.
Adam Dick: What?
Pierce Lavelle: This past week; where have you been?
Adam Dick: ...That’s half the mystery, right?
With that, Adam Dick leaves “Pearl” Harber’s office.
Pearl: What was that about?
Pierce Lavelle: I want you to check on him, find out where he was this past week and see if he travelled with the company.
Pearl: As far as I know he did. Why? Is something wrong?
The Transatlantic champion looks his boss straight in the eyes.
Pierce Lavelle: I think Adam Dick may have been following me in L.A..
Happy Hallowe'en
FEATURING: MIKE WADE, RANDOM KID (we promise), STAGEHAND
AUTHOR: MICHAEL DOHERTY (giveaway?)
The scene opens in the lobby area of the building. The lobby is fairly small and disorganized what with various carry cases lying scattered about used to no doubt cart the huge number of equipment around. This cream painted area is empty but the sound of footsteps are heard slowly coming closer. To the left of the camera comes two figures – a male in a wheelchair and a woman pushing him along. The women is a stagehand and there is no doubt about that with the headset and AWC T-Shirt giving her away. The male however looks a little out of place.
Dressed up in an AWC branded replica of Hate’s costume, he stays silent. He even wears the gasmask associated with The Fifth Horseman. The attractive stagehand with her blonde highlighted hair talks casually with him as she walks along.
Woman: So…you couldn’t wait for Halloween then kiddo?
The boy simply shakes his head in his seat. The woman feels awkward, she doesn’t have kids, too young yet nor did she have any younger siblings. She doesn’t really know how to deal with them to be honest and when they won’t engage in a conversation, it gets tedious.
Woman: So…your daddy’s a shareholder in the AWC? That’s nice…so you like Mike Wade then?
The boy nods fanatically yet he still stays quiet as they progress down a hall, passing doors on each side. Well at least he’s enthusiastic about something, doesn’t have a lot going for him to be honest, stuck in this wheelchair. The woman sighs for a second, feeling genuine sympathy for the boy then pats him on the head.
Woman: Just watch Mike kid. He’s not a very nice person, didn’t think kids would like him actually but what would I know? Haven’t really cared about this sport in years.
The woman seemingly talking to herself now stops outside a door. She then moves to the door and knocks.
Woman: I’ll be just a second kid, okay?
The boy nods, his expression invisible from behind the gas mask. The boy’s big, much too big to be anything less than fourteen. The young woman now has suspicions he’s not quite right in the head and she feels even more pity for the helpless sap. The boy watches the woman enter the room and close the door behind her. Moments pass then she comes back out, a little flustered. She quickly pushes the boy into the room and hurries off obviously flustered.
Woman: Good luck with this asshole kid.
The boy’s gaze turns from the door now to the changing room. There’s a few lockers in here and a wall of the room has a bench on it where a figure sits, his sports bag at his feet. The man is Mike Wade, already kitted up and carefree, ready for action. He begins to talk to the boy without even raising his gaze.
Mike Wade: So they tell me you’re a retard? That sucks. Could have guessed that though, look at you, that look in your eye that you still think it's 1986, fucking tard. And the size of you. What are you, 5’8?
The boy stays silent so Wade raises his gaze confused and a little irked. He gets to his feet and begins walking over.
Mike Wade: Didn’t you hear me? I asked if you were 5’8… and I said you're stupid, retard!
The boy stays silent and Wade advances forward his face now quite flustered he seems ready to shout at the boy but instead he turns his back and walks over to an open locker, his back to the boy.
Mike Wade: Damn retards… what am I some sort of retard icon?
Suddenly the boy gets to his feet and he hobbles quietly towards Mike Wade who is unaware. As he draws near, Mike Wade turns around and confusion quickly appears on his face.
Mike Wade: What the –
Mike Wade is cut off with a swift jab to the forehead. The boy is quickly on him as he bounces off the locker and he begins pounding Wade with straight punches. Wade, momentarily stunned, tries to fight back but he’s cut off with an elbow to the nose and he begins to slide down the locker as the boy starts applying boots to Wade’s body. Wade now lies on the floor, looking up at the boy in the Halloween costume, his Hate suit glaring in the artificial light form overhead.
Mike Wade: H-Hate?
Boy: Guess again arsewipe.
Suddenly the boy pulls off the gasmask to reveal…Paddy O’Shea who stands looking down at Wade, completely solemn and composed. O’Shea glares at the stunned Wade for what seems like an eternity.
Mike Wade: Arsewipe? Nana Wade?
Wade’s suddenly cut off as O’Shea plants a direct kick to his temple. Wade’s head bounces off the locker then he goes limp. Seemingly satisfied, Paddy begins to walk away.
Paddy O’Shea: Hear this Mike. This week an’ every week, ye can expect something along these lines. Ye think tha’ me experience with Hate hasn’t made me a better man? Ye think ye can honestly match what Hate put me through? Ye honestly think tha’ aye would let this game o’ yers continue without me sayin’ anythin’? Well Mike, aye’ve got news fer ye, aye don’t play games. Yer in fer it now, boy. An’ it looks like an Unfuckable jist got fecked.
The camera begins to focus on Wade’s motionless face as Paddy exits through the door.
Introduction
FEATURING: TRUTH WATERS, GEORGE CASSIDY
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
The screen goes to black then fizzles to life suddenly, the letters “AWC” flashing across in a brilliant white light. A moment of silence dominates, then, backed by “Way Away” by Yellowcard, images of AWC's superstars appear, one after the other. The guitar plays softly first, then goes straight into a strong, powerful riff.
I think I'm breaking out
I'm gonna leave you now
There's nothing for me here
It's all the same
Pierce Lavelle is shown delivering his Whiplash finisher on Paddy O’Shea and then holding aloft the Transatlantic title, which he currently holds in his second reign. A pulsating white light continually lights up the screen, with shots of many AWC superstars in action being shown: Red Rock, Alexa Kendericks, Juri Hyobanshi.
And even though I know
That everything might go
Go downhill from here
I'm not afraid
Highlights of last week’s show flash across the screen as the song moves into its chorus. Mike Wade smashing a toilet seat over Hate’s head; Tony Aliso’s Core Wrestling title belt shot on Tim Shipley; Pierce Lavelle climbing out of the cage to retain his title.
Way away, away from here I'll be
Away, away, away, so you can see
How it feels to be alone and not believe
Feels to be alone and not believe
Anything
Truth Waters: Time to… FRESHEN UP!
George Cassidy: Do my weekly SIGHs mean nothing to you, Truth?
Truth Waters: Apparently not!
George Cassidy: It’s late and Hyde can’t be bothered to write this bit, so let’s get straight into things!
The Petition I
FEATURING: JACK MURPHY, BUTTERFLY HAMADA
AUTHORS: FERGUS AND TASO
Jack Murphy walks down the halls, his usual attire clinging to his body. He seems to be looking around hastily, looking for people to ‘petition’ for his ideal of a return to traditional wrestling values. Nobody seems to be around, as if everyone knew, like they could smell him from a distance.
But then again Murphy is a persistent bastard and he’ll get to you eventually.
He strides past the camera following the whole thing and walks up to what seems to be a girl, simply making some coffee.
Jack Murphy: You there, have you got a minute?
The woman turns round and much to the surprise of the audience by their reaction with some major cheers, it is Megumi ‘Butterfly’ Hamada. The teenager’s delicate looks look up at the much taller man and she looks slightly in shock that someone would walk up so brashly to her.
Butterfly Hamada: Yes, I suppose so, why?
Jack Murphy: (pleased) Well I was wondering…you have heard of my cause for the righteous purge of hardcore wrestling haven’t you?
Butterfly Hamada: You’re Jack Murphy?
Jack Murphy: Yeah, that’s me. So have you?
Butterfly Hamada: A little bit, I was surprised by your spectacle last week, although I wasn’t totally against it.
Jack Murphy: Really? You agree with me? Let me tell you, you’re one of the…many, many people to utter that very remark!
Hamada looks quizzically at Murphy, as if completely aware that he’s a filthy liar. She lets it go though and continues.
Butterfly Hamada: Yes, I find it admirable that you wish to return wrestling to more honourable pursuits. I have found that my experiences so far in America have been, violent to say the least.
Jack Murphy: And isn’t that wrong miss? Just pure out wrong to see people hitting each other with 2x4’s and trash cans. Use them for the right purpose people!
Butterfly Hamada: Indeed.
Jack Murphy: Yes! So what I propose is that with your help, I can restore the haven of wrestling to its rightful, honourable, respectful and technically sound pedestal. Is that what you wish for too?
Butterfly Hamada: Definitely, you’ve got an aide in that cause Mr. Murphy…
Jack Murphy: Please…call me Jack.
Butterfly Hamada: Very well Jack. You have a supporter who will lend her wrestling ability should you need it at any occasion.
Hamada sticks out her hand to look for a handshake but at the very same moment, Murphy slides backwards, putting up his hands, looking quite shocked and appalled.
Jack Murphy: You’re…a wrestler?
The Bull laughs heartily at Hamada’s remark, bellowing out and holding his chest with his hands. He slowly stops however as he notices Hamada’s stern expression.
Jack Murphy: You’re kidding right?
Butterfly Hamada: (shakes her head) No.
Jack Murphy: Now that is a joke! You’re just a woman…and a young one at that. Don’t be playing fools with someone like The Bull you young whelp!
Butterfly Hamada: I’m a wrestler…I’m Butterfly Hamada.
Realisation starts to slowly creep over Murphy’s face and he looks revolted to be so near Hamada. In fact, he moves back another step. He brings up his hand now, pointing it directly in her face.
Jack Murphy: You! You’re not only someone who violates my traditions, you pay them no respect by entering the ring. A woman has NO place in my ring! You should be in the back right now servicing the other wrestlers, taking care of them and making sure they can bring in enough money for you to get by on being one of those precious valets.
The Bull steps in closer now and pulls a little hair of Hamada’s out, taking it into his hand.
Jack Murphy: Pretty things like you need to be conserved for the greater good of the population. You’re nothing but a means to an end my lass. Stop fooling yourself by putting on men’s boots. You’ll never be one, and you’ll never be able to compete with one.
At this point Hamada shoves at Murphy, outraged by his statement with the fires of rage burning strongly in her eyes.
Butterfly Hamada: How dare you! I have trained my entire life to be where I am today. You have no right to tell me what I can or can’t do and you, nor your ideals are going to stop me!
Hamada brushes past Murphy haughtily and strides off, obviously annoyed by his lack of respect. Murphy simply stands and stares, shaking his head in disbelief.
Jack Murphy: Must be that time.
Pierce Lavelle vs Harry
STIPULATION: SINGLES
REFEREE: MICHAEL RYAN
AUTHOR: SCOTT PERRY
Senior official Michael Ryan stands boldly along the rear ropes of the ring, sheltering in the darkness away from the spotlight that now shines down upon tonight’s ring announcer, James Brunt, his powder purple suit sparkling a little under the bright spotlight. The crowd falls silent in anticipation of the upcoming match. Introduced first is one half of T.T.S., Harry.
James Brunt: The following is a singles match! Please welcome to ringside, one half of T.T.S… Harry!
The crowd boos as ‘Get a move on’ by Mr. Scruff plays over the arenas P.A. System. Harry makes his way from the head of the ramp towards the ring. The lights spin across the ground in front of him as he edges ever closer to the ring. Using the steel steps to reach the apron he steps through the ropes and into the ring, beginning his pre-match routine as the lights dim and return to a solitary spotlight.
The drum roll begins, tying in seamlessly with James Brunt’s introduction.
James Brunt: And his opponent, from Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, weighing in at 245 pounds... the AWC Transatlantic champion, Pierce Lavelle!
Muse’s “Stockholm Syndrome” rocks out. Lavelle appears at the head of the ramp, for a moment he stands there, looking around the arena allowing the cheers from his fans wash over him. Suddenly, he runs to either side of the top stage, and yells out to his fans. Half way down to the ring, he raises his hands, pyrotechnics exploding into the air. Lavelle jogs towards the ring and slides under the bottom rope, entering the ring. The spotlight expands into an arena-wide light, unveiling the entire ring- An announcer, a referee, and two competitors. James Brunt makes his exit and the two opponents begin circling one another.
Truth Waters: The match is about to get under way.
George Cassidy: I can’t wait to see Harry hand Pierce Lavelle a piece of his own ass.
Truth Waters: …What?
The bell sounds and the two men lunge towards one another. Harry nails Pierce with a tough shoulder block, sending him staggering back into the corner. Quickly Harry follows up with a charging body splash followed up by hard punches towards the head of Pierce.
Truth Waters: Lavelle covering up well there.
Michael Ryan interjects at this point, handing Harry an early first warning about closed fists and backing his opponent into a corner. The few words give Lavelle enough time to shake his head and launch an attack of his own, shifting down to one knee before lunging forwards, grabbing the waist of Harry and driving him backwards in an attempt to knock him to the ground. As Harry is backed into the corner he sends a hard forearm club to the back of Lavelle’s head. He crashes to the ground, kneeling on all fours for a moment before a swift ‘conversion kick’ hits him in the face and sends him flying backwards. Lavelle hammers his head on the mat as he tumbles a second time. Harry swaggers over to his dazed opponent and begins flexing his arms. A foot rises from the ground, landing in an unfortunate place. As Harry arches over Lavelle grabs the back of Harry’s head and slugs him in the face with a hard right hand, sending him tumbling backwards.
Truth Waters: Both men are back to their feet now.
The two men approach one another and lock into an old-fashioned lock. Pushing and pulling at one another until finally Harry prevails, sending Lavelle tumbling over with a heavy monkey wrench toss. Harry dives on top of Lavelle, hooking his leg.
George Cassidy: It’s over!
ONE!
TWO!
Lavelle kicks his leg out and runs his shoulder into the air. Harry immediately springs to his feet and begins stomping at Lavelle who lies helplessly on the mat, attempting to shelter his body from the blows. Michael Ryan interjects and pushes Harry back, giving him a further warning, coaxing a negative reaction from the audience.
Truth Waters: Lavelle back to his feet now, and OH! What a boot!
Lavelle catches Harry square in the nose with a big boot to the face, sending him tumbling to the ground. Lavelle then sets to work on Harry with an onslaught of his own stomps and kicks. Harry rolls out of the ring to the safe haven of the outside.
George Cassidy: What great ring awareness.
Truth Waters: More like what a great chicken shit.
Harry taunts Lavelle from the outside of the ring, leaving him hanging over the top rope beckoning him back into the ring. A pair of unfriendly fingers are held into the air as Harry turns to depart the ringside area. Heading up the ramp it seems that he simply does not care about the match anymore.
Truth Waters: This is exactly what I was saying. Chicken shit.
The crowd heckle the departing member of T.T.S but after a few more moments pass a flash of cameras dazzle Harry before a sickening crack sounds behind him. Seconds later he finds himself face down on the cold steel ramp, his eyes feeling heavy.
Truth Waters: That’s right Pierce! Drag his ass back to the ring!
Harry is dragged by his hair up to a vertical base. Meeting the eyes of Lavelle for a second, but only long enough to realise that the head of Lavelle is hurtling towards him at a shocking speed. Harry could taste the blood in the back of his throat as he hit the ground.
Lavelle stands over the top of his downed opponent and raises one arm into the air. A small pop from the audience arises before Lavelle reaches down and drags Harry to his knees. A right knee to the side of his face sends Harry rolling back down the ramp towards the ring.
George Cassidy: This has gone on long enough. Come on referee, call it.
Truth Waters: Are you kidding me? This has barely even started.
Lavelle rolls Harry under the bottom rope before sliding onto the apron and stepping into the ring via the middle ropes.
Stepping towards the centre of the ring Lavelle feels a sudden surge of pain through his jaw. A hard right fist crashes into his face. Harry then kicks Lavelle in the stomach and delivers a spiked DDT. Lavelle is suspended in a tripod shape for a moment before rolling over onto his side grasping at his neck. Harry takes the opportunity to roll over across the back of Lavelle and lock in a headlock.
Truth Waters: Cutting off the oxygen supply and working away further on the neck, following up on his DDT. Though he could be on shaky ground here. Lavelle is the submission expert, not Harry.
Moments later Harry is rolled over, landing on his back. Lavelle’s head is lying on top of his chest, but slides from the grasp. A quick shift before Lavelle locks in a full body scissors.
George Cassidy: Something we don’t see very often. Surely that’s illegal!
Truth Waters: A rare hold means it is an illegal hold?
Harry gasps for air, hissing whilst using his free arm to try and push the strong legs of Lavelle away from his chest cavity in order to relieve the pressure on his lungs. To no avail.
Still gasping for air Harry begins to crawl to a kneeling position. Soon enough he is up to one knee and then pulls himself up, Lavelle still holding onto the body scissors. Harry uses his free arm to reach across his body and grab his other wrist. Using the triangular shape as a little leverage he yanks Lavelle up into the air, using all his strength. The boot of Harry slips from under him and he finds himself falling to the ground on top of Lavelle. The hold is unlocked and Harry rolls over onto his back. Both men are now staring at the ceiling.
A stir in both men as they attempt, in their own individual ways, to get to their feet. Harry is the first to his feet; he rushes across the ring and gives Lavelle a kick to the stomach to ensure that he stays low enough to step over. Harry then pulls on the belt of Lavelle and drags him up into a piledriver position before jumping backwards and allowing Lavelle to drop to the ground. Harry covers.
ONE!
TWO!
Lavelle kicks out once more, this time with enough authority to send Harry rolling over into the centre of the squared circle. Lavelle shoots to his feet and, as Harry races back towards him, sidesteps him and delivers a drop toe hold before locking in an ankle lock.
Harry screams in pain, his arms reaching out with mangled fingers towards the nearest bottom rope. A burning sensation shot through the twisted muscles, tendons and ligaments in his ankle and foot. The hold is tightened by Lavelle who lets out a grunt of his own. Michael Ryan slides down in front of Harry asking him for a decision. A shake of his head tells not only Michael but the audience both in the arena and at home that Harry is not finished. That is until
“ARRRRGGGH!!! YES! YES!!!”
The jolting nod of Harry’s head sends the timekeeper scrambling for his bell.
Truth Waters: This is over! Pierce Lavelle dominates the match, another victory under his belt!
George Cassidy: No! Fix!
Main Event Status
FEATURING: ALEXA KENDERICKS, MADDY ESTELLE
AUTHOR: KRIS
The camera opens up in the backstage area of the Green Coliseum, more specifically in a completely empty locker room. After what seems to have been forever, but realistically could’ve only been a few seconds or so, the locker door opens and we see the relative newcomer Alexa Kendericks enter the room, with a rather bulky-looking travel bag draped across her shoulder. She makes her way toward the nearest bench and slumps the bag down, accompanied by a instinctive grunt of relief. Then, suddenly, her locker door swings back open and AWC backstage reporter Maddy Estelle enters the room. Alexa glares at her, desperately resisting the urge to rip the annoying woman’s face off.
Alexa Kendericks: What in the hell do you want?
Maddy Estelle glances around the locker room hopefully at first, but when she’s not found what she’s looking for, she seems a little deflated.
Maddy Estelle: So he’s not here is he?
Alexa continues to glare at the woman angrily, but Estelle manages to ignore her quite convincingly. Initially at least.
Maddy Estelle: Well, is he?
Alexa Kendericks: Is who here?
Maddy Estelle: Jonathon Winters? Is he here tonight?
Alexa sighs.
Alexa Kendericks: No. Will you go away now?
Estelle clearly looks deflated.
Maddy Estelle: I can’t. I’m supposed to get a couple of comments from you about your match in the main event this evening. I was just hoping that Winters would be here and I could get a better story.
Alexa simply glares at the woman, rendered speechless by Estelle’s crystal clear bluntness.
Alexa Kendericks: No story here, sorry.
Estelle draws closer to Alexa, pushes her bag off the bench and sits down next to her. The bag makes a heavy clunking sound as it hits the locker room floor with force.
Alexa Kendericks: Hey!
Maddy Estelle: I guess so. I’ll just have to settle with an interview from you.
Alexa shakes her head in disgust.
Alexa Kendericks: Go away!
Maddy Estelle: Last week Alexa, you defeated a fellow AWC female Laura Winters in order to secure your spot in tonight’s battle royal main event…how do you feel about that?
Alexa Kendericks: I feel as though I won. Next question.
Estelle sighs.
Maddy Estelle: That’s your answer?
Alexa Kendericks: Correct.
Maddy Estelle: That was pathetic!
Alexa Kendericks: I’m not much of a talker.
Maddy Estelle: Well that much is apparent. Now, you’re in tonight’s main event, pitted against some of the AWC’s most respected superstars such as Red Rock, Tony Aliso and Juri Hyobanshi. How do you feel about going into this match? And are you nervous to be involved in your first AWC main event?
Alexa Kendericks: How do I feel about going into this thing? I think that I’m going to win and to answer your second question, no, I’m not in the least bit nervous.
Maddy Estelle: Cocky little bitch aren’t you?
Estelle then glances at the bag on the floor, or more specifically some of the items spilled out onto the floor. She picks one of them up, something that looks like a small metal star, and regards it carefully. Alexa grins and stands up.
Maddy Estelle: What the hell is this?
Alexa makes her way to the locker room door.
Alexa Kendericks: I’d be careful with that if I were you.
Alexa opens the door.
Maddy Estelle: Why?
Alexa steps into the corridor.
Alexa Kendericks: Because it’s explosive.
The feed ends as we see Estelle glaring at the item, eyes wide and terror thickly spread across her face.
The Herald
FEATURING: JACK MURPHY
AUTHOR: FERGUS
Outside the arena it’s a bitter cold evening in Mississippi and not much seems to be going on. A few cars are driving by, blissfully aware of the exciting wrestling action taking place inside but that’s not why we’re out here. As the camera fixes on a certain backdoor, we see Jack ‘The Bull’ Murphy bursting through, unconcerned with whoever can see him. As the camera man rushes to get up close we can hear the faint sounds of a mobile phone ringing. Murphy fumbles in his pocket and pulls it out, glancing at the name before answering.
Jack Murphy: Hello? Yeah speaking…ah, I’m glad you called back I had a feeling you weren’t interested in a job…of course you are.
Jack paces on the spot, not moving very far, but you can see through his eyes that he’s moving a mile a minute.
Jack Murphy: (smiles) So you’re interested in doing it? Excellent, I knew you’d pull through in the end…(pause)…no not next week, I have to announce your glorious return first…you just wait and all will fall into place OK? Alright I’ll talk to you during the week. Goodbye.
The phone clicks and Murphy ends the call. A quick look around (at which the camera crew ducks to avoid being seen) and then he disappears again, back into the cauldron of the arena.
Crimson O'Malec vs Butterfly Hamada
STIPULATION: SINGLES
REFEREE: AARON DAVIES
AUTHOR: JAAKKO OKSA
Might have been sent in... might not. Blame Gmail not working or blame Jaakko. It's your choice.
Will be added when accessible.
An Unsettling Confrontation
FEATURING: CHAINZ, TRACY, JACK MURPHY
AUTHORS: FERGUS AND MIKE SITNIKOV
A drip of rain filters through the ceiling of the Reed Green Coliseum, not exactly appealing itself to future attendees of any events. We’re just on a normal corridor in the arena and a couple of people are wandering around, mostly technicians putting wires and such together, getting ready for more of the action tonight and adapting on the fly. As the camera passes along it immediately spots someone who looks totally out of the ordinary walking down the corridor.
A tall, muscular man walks purposefully down the hall; a tight black t-shirt clinging to his body, fully showing off his defined physique. He’s wearing simple basic clothes and looks like he’s heading for the locker room. A bald head enters view characterized by his pierced ears and overall size.
The man is absolutely huge and built like a human steroid advertisement. His suit brings an air of professionalism and intellect that normally wouldn’t be associated with him.
The man is not alone; someone else is walking with him.
Technicians literally stop and gawp as the man’s female friend sways alongside with him. A red dress sticks to this woman and pushes her ridiculous ‘voluptuous’ cleavage to the fore. Her pretty face and golden blonde hair go perfect with her smile, though no one seems to notice.
As they continue they reach the locker room and are about to head in when Jack ‘The Bull’ Murphy pushes out. He’s calling back into the locker as he bumps into the man.
Jack Murphy: Yeah don’t you worry…(bumps into man) yes?
Man: You’re in my way.
Jack Murphy: Well, it seems you’re in my way…and since you’re not exactly in a rush it seems it’d be nice if you moved.
The man rears back a little with a scowl on his face, he doesn’t seem amused. He looks at the woman, who’s smiling, beaming even at him and couldn’t look happier. He seems to take strength from this and calms a little fixing his tie before giving Murphy a second chance. He doesn’t move though.
Man: I’m Chainz, I’m new here.
Jack Murphy: Oh…well you’ll get used to things around here pretty soon.
Chainz: And who are you?
Jack Murphy: I’m Jack Murphy.
As he says his name, both men get up closer to one another, squaring off. Their heights are absolutely equal and they get right in each other’s faces. Both men have rubbed each other the wrong way and neither willing to back down.
So it’s up to the woman to solve things.
Woman: Hey! Take it easy, you’ve only just met. Mike, please calm down.
Chainz immediately pulls back, listening only to her.
Chainz: Alright Tracy.
Tracy: Thank you. (turning towards Jack) Pleased to meet you Jack, I’m Tracy.
Jack Murphy: (glancing) Likewise.
It’s only then that Murphy notices the bulging chest before him and his eyebrows rise a little before he shakes his head and tries to forget about them. It’s pretty hard though. Tracy, aware of her distractions steers the conversation as best she can.
Tracy: (pointing to a couple of bits of paper in his hands) What’s that Mr. Murphy?
Jack Murphy: Call me Jack lassie…and it’s a petition. It’s my desire and goal here.
Chainz: And what’s that?
Jack Murphy: To eradicate the garbage, trashy hardcore wrestling that pollutes this sport. It is a sickening, disgusting disease that needs to be cured, otherwise we shall kill our careers off…
Chainz: Like mine?
He flexes his muscles a little, a glint in his eye to let Murphy know what he’s on about. The Bull doesn’t exactly take the hint though.
Jack Murphy: Exactly! Do you want to be ridden with injuries that not only kill your career off but also your life? So I’m looking for upstanding, honorable men who want to bring traditional, exciting, technically gifted men to restore the values of wrestling.
Tracy: Jack…
Jack Murphy: What?
Chainz: (winking) I think she was about to tell you I specialize in that technical wrestling you’re talking about. Now I completely agree with you about the upstanding, honorable part, but bring technically gifted men back to wrestling? Please, bring all the gifted men back you want and I’ll bust their ass with a chain or a bat, or whatever my heart desires.
Jack Murphy: I see, so you’re one of them?
Chainz: No, I’m not one of them. I’m as different from you’re average hardcore wrestler as you are from them.
Jack Murphy: So what are you saying?
Chainz: I’m saying that I’ll do whatever it takes to come out ahead. If that means using weapons well that’s fine by me, don’t you just love the taste of another man’s blood?
Jack Murphy: …
Chainz: Don’t you love to see the agony in their eyes as you reign down hell on them? I think it’s empowering, makes me feel like their life is in my hands. To do with whatever I please.
The Bull snorts at this and his eyes glare back at Chainz. It looks like he’s going to say something, but he simply spits on the ground and shoves his way past, striding off to find somebody else. Chainz looks around as he sees him go. He puts his shoe on top of the spit and smears it into the ground.
Chainz: Thanks for the welcome…Jack. Maybe I’ll see you around.
Tracy hooks her arm in Chainz’s and the two enter the locker room.
The Unfuckables vs Noble/Bomber
STIPULATION: DUO TAG
REFEREE: LARS LARSSON
AUTHOR: JOE SCHMIDT
George Cassidy: Ladies and gentlemen, the moment you’ve ALL been waiting for… THE UNFUCKABLES TAG-TEAM INVITATIONAL EXTRAVAGANZA BONANZA WORLD TOUR OF DEATH!
Truth Waters: You made that up, just now?
George Cassidy: Actually, they paid me to say that.
Truth Waters: Well the Unfuckables have impressive singles records, while Adam Dick’s tag record back in Core Wrestling isn’t exactly solid.
George Cassidy: Have you even SEEN William Curr?
Truth Waters: Point taken.
George Cassidy: It’s all good, because the Unfuckables are exactly that; Unfuckable, and it will take more than the British Bomber and Johnny No-one to beat them.
Truth Waters: Oh yeah? You’re so sure about that?
George Cassidy: Sure enough to put my money where YOUR mouth is.
Truth Waters: Let’s make it interesting then!
George Cassidy: Alright, fine! How about this; if the Unfuckables get the first advantage, YOU can’t commentate for the rest of the match! But if No-one and Bomber get the first advantage, than I won’t commentate for the rest of the match.
Truth Waters: Isn’t this just some cheap cop-out for the writer of the match to only use one of us throughout its progress?
George Cassidy: You’re saying you DON’T want to take the chance of getting me to shut my mouth for once?
Truth Waters: ...YOU’RE ON!
The two shook hands, and finally, we went to James Brunt in the ring.
James Brunt: The following contest is a Duo Tag match, and is the first event in the Unfuckables Team Invitational Tour Bonanza! Jesus, I can’t believe I just said that.
Brunt’s face erupted in to tears. He quickly regained his composure, as if it never happened, and continued announcing.
James Brunt: Introducing first, he is one half of the challengers in this Invitational. A WFA Regional Hall of Famer and legend to this sport… JOHNNY NOBLE!
“Gonna Fly Now.” And if people weren’t cheering for Rocky, they were on their feet in a surprising amount of cheers for the returning superstar. The fans knew of Johnny from his touring days with the Wrestling Federation Alliance (redundant?), and were happy to see him in the ring once again.
Mr. Incredible appears from behind the curtain, and immediately throws his hands in the air to work the crowd. With each fist pump, their cheers get louder and louder.
George Cassidy: He STILL isn’t dead?
Truth Waters: What are you talking about, you’ve seen him before! You knew he wasn’t dead last week.
George Cassidy: I thought things might have changed L.
Johnny climbed in to the ring, mounting all four turnbuckles to get the entire arena on his side.
...and they might have kept cheering, hadn’t the British Bomber entered the arena.
The chords start, and everyone in the fucking world knows what song it is. “Enter Sandman.” The problem is, they just don’t know what to think of the fellow coming out.
Truth Waters: The British Bomber has seem to disappoint a few of his fans lately, what with the battle taking place with Red Rock, the Livewire champion.
James Brunt: His partner for the evening, a Hall of Famer of the late Furiously Addictive Wrestling… THE BRITISH BOMBER!
Jeers, cheers, he didn’t really pay a mind to any of it. He was rocking to some fucking Metallica.
The Bomber meandered down the ramp and climbed into the ring. Face to face with his partner, Johnny and the Bomber shake hands and share a few words, a final preparation of their forthcoming match in keeping strategies fresh in their mind.
The only problem is, how can you prepare to face a force that is so... unorganized? Chances are, that these two have no idea what they plan on doing in this match.
We’re more than static and dial-tone
WE ARE THE IMAGE OF THE INVISIBLE
We’re emblematic, of the unknown
WE ARE THE IMAGE OF THE INVISIBLE
So raise the banner, bend back your bows
WE ARE THE IMAGE OF THE INVISIBLE
Remove the cancer, take back your soul
WE ARE THE IMAGE OF THE INVISIBLE
We all were lost and we are found
No one can stop us or slow us down
We all are named and we are known
We know that we’ll never walk alone
Though all the world may hate us, we are named
The shadow’s overtake us, we are known
“Image of the Invisible” by Thrice played to a tune unfamiliar to most viewers. But those who’d been paying attention to various aspects of the card would catch that this was the music of none other than...
Yep, your favorite buds. Mike Wade, and the Illustrious Face-Eater; Adam Dick.
The Unfuckables are in the building.
George Cassidy: This is the thirst of life that keeps me so youthy!
Truth Waters: Huh?
James Brunt: And, at a combined weight of… COME ON! That isn’t a real weight! Oh, who gives a shit, it’s the Unfuckables, weighing in at “the Sexiest pounds on the planet”. Jesus, I hate my job.
Wade and Dick high five each other, before sprinting fully into the ring and sliding under the bottom ropes. Noble and Bomber back off a bit, weary of the two’s reputation. Instead of getting the match going, however, Mike Wade grabs the mic from Brunt.
Mike Wade: First off, old man, you’re out of your element! And we’re going to make this as painfully quick as possible.
Adam Dick: Yeah, and you, Bomber! You should have played in Table matches with Red Rock some more, because I can guarantee, you’re going to get hurt playing around here.
The British Bomber steps forward to fight, but Noble places a hand over his shoulder.
Mike Wade: See, Adam and I have a strategy to this match; SPEED. We’ve got shit to do, female interviewers to bone, so we’re going to finish this as soon as possible.
Adam Dick: SO BRUNTY, ring the bell. Lars, start the fucking match!
The Illustrious Face-Eater crawls through the ring, standing on the side apron. Mike just looks at his opponents as if they were his prey.
The British Bomber, however, was just waiting to get a piece of him.
The bell rang.
Deciding who the starting man was, Noble takes Adam’s cue and goes to the apron.
Mike Wade and the Bomber sprint at each other in full speed, meeting in the ring with a series of right hands that are exchanged back and forth very quickly. The crowd immediately responds to the quick reactions with cheers.
Lars Larsson tries to warn them of their closed fists, but neither take cue. That is, until Mike Wade reacted with jamming his thumb in the Bomber’s eye. Wade smiled, but that wasn’t the reaction he wanted.
Bomber: FUCK! That hurt!
So, through one squinted eye, he grabs Mike by the head and slams his forehead in turn.
George Cassidy: I so won that bet!
Truth Waters: What?! How! The Bomber just gave him a nasty headbutt –
George Cassidy: I think you mean, THE EYEPOKE OF DOOM!
Truth Waters: Shit, fine.
George Cassidy: Yes! YES! VICTORY IS MINE!
The Bomber takes Wade by his arm, and spins behind his back. He attempts to lock a Crossface Chicken Wing, but Mike squirms so his neck can’t be caught, and manages to get an early tag to Adam Dick.
Mike drops to his knees, confusing Bomber for a second as to why he’d put more pressure on the arm-wrench he had him in. Oh, because he had this planned and was luring you, stupid.
Springboard dropkick, over Mike Wade, in to the Bomber’s chest. Wade rolls out of the ring, while Adam mounts his opponent and begins to slam his head into the mat. Lars stops the brutish move very quickly, leaving Bomber just enough time to get up.
George Cassidy: SCHWEET!
Adam and the Bomber lock up in the center of the ring, Bomber wrenching Adam’s neck. Adam sends him flying to the ropes, and as he returns, drops the Face-Eater with a shoulder block. When he hopes over Adam to dart to the ropes again, he makes the mistake of running to the wrong side, Mike Wade hits him in the back.
Bomber becomes angry at Mike’s interference, and proceeds to approach his corner. Wade merely smiles and motions for his presence, giving Adam just enough time to sneak up with a roll-up!
Lars counts the pin, ONE!
TWO!
Okay, it didn’t even get past one. Bomber used the momentum of his kickout to roll overhead to his feet, darting at Adam and taking him down with a clothesline.
George Cassidy: Bad form!
Adam immediately springs to both knees, ducking another attempt at a lariat by the Bomber, and sending a boot to his gut. DDT! Adam hooks the leg for the cover.
ONE!
TWO!
Only a two count.
George Cassidy: They weren’t lyin,’ these guys wanna go home. Eh Truth?
Truth Waters: ...
George Cassidy: That’s right!
Adam picks the Bomber up and whips him to his own corner. A tag to Mike Wade, and both men use all their force to whip Bomber to a different corner. Not his corner, they’re too smart to allow a tag.
Wade then charges at the Bomber, crashing with both arms forward. He immediately steps back, leaving Adam just enough time to get a dropkick in the corner as well, right to the Bomber’s gut. He falls to the mat, sitting in the corner while Lars ushers Facey out of the ring.
Mike lifts the Bomber to his feet, and sits him on the top corner. When placing his body over Mike’s shoulder, the Bomber regained his sense of composure and begins to send fist after fist digging into the back of “His Swerviness”.
When Wade backs off, Bomber sizes up one final punch to the dome, that sends Wade from the standing on the middle post to landing back first to the mat in a sick thud. The British Bomber is quick to follow with a bomb of his own to drop.
TOP-ROPE ELBOW DROP!
The British Bomber goes for the cover, but Wade kicks out at the two count. Frustrated, he lifts Mike and gives him a taste of Unfuckable medicine of his own, whipping him to the corner where his partner, Johnny Noble stands.
Bomber tags Noble in, and begins to lay the boots to Wade who sits helplessly. When Johnny Noble gets in, he puts a restraining hand on the Bomber’s chest, telling him to back off.
George Cassidy: What?! The guy’s such a face that he CAN’T do double teams?
Bomber, very confused, takes his partner’s heed, but shakes his head of course. Johnny instead, goes straight for the reactions. He stands on the middle turnbuckle, high over Wade, and drives his fists straight down to the top of his head. He egged on a count from the fans with every hit.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
FOUR!!!
FIVE!!!!!
Nope, no Six.
Instead, how about UNFUCKABLE SIDEWALK SLAM!!!!
Despite making an early cover on such a fresh man, Mike tries his hand after that massive assault. Sorry, Wadey, only a two count. That’s okay, apparently, as Mike Wade lifts up Johnny Noble, he whispers into his ear...
Mike Wade: You shouldn’t have tagged in; that’s exactly what we wanted.
Mike takes Noble into a lock-up, forcing him back into Unfuckables territory with brute force. He then locks in shoulder and neck, hoisting him high overhead in a vertical suplex manner. While hanging there, suspended, he gives Adam a look. Adam slaps him on the back, the referee acknowledges the tag has been made.
George Cassidy: TEAM WORK!
Adam joins in, helping Wade hoist up the old man by taking the other side. This quickly turns into a double suplex, which drops into a double hanging brainbuster.
George Cassidy: Wow, that was somewhat sickening.
Adam covers.
ONE!
TWO!
Kickout, by Mr. Incredible.
Adam Dick didn’t hesitate a moment. He whips Noble to the ropes, and upon return, leaps into the air and capitalizes off Noble’s momentum, flipping him over in a hurricanrana.
Adam takes to the ropes as well, drops on the fallen Noble with a body splash. Another premature pinfall, and Noble kicks out.
Adam stands, obviously frustrated, but somewhat fragmented. He begins to play up the crowd’s emotions, gathering a few boos, but for a second becomes distracted. By his own train of thought, he stands still in one place. Leaving Noble enough room to…
BACK BODY DROP!
The crowd explodes, and Noble lifts Adam for more punishment. He drives Adam across the chest with a series of knife-edge chops, each one garnering the attention of all the Ric Flair Whoo’s in the world.
George Cassidy: He freakin’ tosses Facey to the ropes… Ooh, good form!!
While the fans at home who for some reason can only hear the show, they will have to go without knowing about the overhead toss Noble delivered to Adam Dick.
Err, tried to deliver to Adam Dick, whom happened to utilize the speed and his own acrobatics to somersault cleanly to his feet with the help of Noble’s attempted strike. The thud gave Johnny a satisfying sound, so when he turned around, he expected Adam on the ground.
Not Adam still running, towards him, until he leaps into the air.
George Cassidy: FLYING HEAD SCISSORS!
Noble’s body impacts and slides in the center of the ring. Adam rolls to his corner, giving a tag to Wade. The Irishman doesn’t enter right away, instead he climbs the turnbuckle to the top.
Waiting there, Wade watches as his partner lifts Noble in the center of the ring, Adam’s back towards Wade.
Mike Wade: I don’t know, man!
Adam Dick: Come on, do it!
Mike Wade: I haven’t done this in forever –
Adam Dick: DO IT!!!!!
Mike Wade: ALRIGHT!
Adam hoists Johnny from behind his back, who has no idea what the hell is going on. And then Mike Wade leaps from the top, and lands on Johnny’s shoulders.
Yes, his sixty year old shoulders. Impressive athletics.
Mike Wade: Don’t give out on me, old man. Not yet.
The Duke of Wade-E-Ness flips backward, sending the older superstar flying across the ring with a hurricanrana. The crowd erupted at the cruiserweight ability Mike has displayed here, but the bump did not come without cost. Noble’s knees took most of the impact the first time, the hurricanrana was merely icing on the cake.
Wade climbs over to make the cover.
ONE!
TWO!
Kick out.
“Fuck” can only be muttered in this situation. Wade lifts Johnny above, hoisting him around the waste with a belly-to-belly suplex and driving him on his back.
Truth Waters: God, Johnny Noble really needs to make the tag.
George Cassidy: ESS TEE EFF YOU!!!
Johnny withers and stirs on the ground, while Wade merely laughs at his broken state. Pointing and laughing at the old man, he turns to Adam. Who is also, pointing and laughing.
Adam Dick: LOOK AT THE OLD FART!
The crowd boos, but the Unfuckables don’t really mind. YOU THINK PEOPLE THIS BAD ASS SHED TEARS?!?!? NO, THEY SHED SKIN MOTHER FUCKER!!
Mike lifts Noble up, who tries his hands with a jab. Nope, no jab. Mike Wade is invincible and kicks you in the gut for your troubles. He puts your head between his legs, and he hooks your arms.
TEE EFF DOUBLE-YOU. For you idiots, it’s a fucking bad ass move.
Mike Wade: Night, old man.
Mike goes to lift Noble, but no go. He lifts again, but still, Noble struggles. And then, as you’d expect in any video game, Noble powers out of the hold, using the strength he has left in his legs to power Wade over his shoulders and on to the mat.
George Cassidy: WHAT?!? Noble just reversed the TFW, wow! Old man strength like WHOA.
Noble cheers, and the crowd eggs him on. Everyone is on their feet. He begins parading the ring as if it were 1985. When Wade’s at his feet, he plants lifts him over head, and plants him down with a body slam.
Ladies and gentlemen, Johnny Noble is back.
He turns to see Adam Dick, mounted on the top turnbuckle, and quickly darts to the top rope to thwart his intentions. Adam drops, crotch first, and the crowd goes nuts. Then, Johnny Noble turns to the British Bomber, hand extended, and on-fire to be tagged in.
Oh, is he EVER begging to be tagged.
George Cassidy: He’s gonna make the tag!
Noble begins to make his way across the ring, not noticing that Mike Wade didn’t stay on the mat. Instead, Mike rolled around and hooked Johnny by his waist.
Mike Wade: Whoop, too late!
GERMAN SUPLEX! Wait, BRIDGING GERMAN SUPLEX!
He covers – wait, no he doesn’t. Wade rolls Johnny over, still hooked around his waste, and…
GERMAN SUPLEX!
He rolls over again, Noble’s eyes barely conscious, but Wade loves every second of this. He glances over to Adam as he makes way to his feet again, still hooking Noble, back to Adam who positioned himself with them and gripped the top rope.
GERMAN SUPLEX, BRIDGED!
Only Lars can’t drop down to make the count, now. Despite Noble’s shoulders touching the ground, Lars was concerned with, uh, FLYING OBJECTS.
Like Adam Dick.
SLINGSHOT GUILLOTINE LEG-DROP, to BRIDGING MULTIPLE GERMAN SUPLEX.
Once Dick’s leg fell on top of Noble’s neck, it was over. Dick sprinted to his feet and over to the corner, knocking Bomber to the outside barricade, while Wade continued to hold the bridged pin from the last German Suplex. Johnny Noble was not going to kick out of this.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
Murder we wrote, kids.
“Image of the Invisible” plays, as the Unfuckables get to their feet. The two raise their hands with Lars Larson, then high five and party all the way to the back. Yes, they party. That’s what fucking bad-asses do.
Truth Waters: Hell of a match from a team that was ‘slapped together’.
George Cassidy: Were you watching the same match? Or did you space out from keeping oxygen out of your mouth. Noble got DESTROYED out there! They kept him in the match the entire time!
Truth Waters: Yes, a cheaper tactic in terms of tag-team wrestling, but it worked. I’m more wondering about that move they used, with Wade doing the suplexes and Adam with the leg-drop.
George Cassidy: That, my friend, was the world premier of The Skullfuck Express.
Truth Waters: THE WHAT!?
The Petition II
FEATURING: JACK MURPHY, TIM SHIPLEY
AUTHORS: FERGUS AND PIERRE HYDE
Voice: But you don’t seem to understand my point!
The camera is fading into view and we see that the one who just spoke roughly is ‘The Bull’ Jack Murphy, still on his trail to find recruits for his crusade to fight the evils of hardcore wrestling. Murphy is standing in his usual attire, the slogan of ‘I’m…as good as it GETS!!’ once again emblazoned across his chest on the black t-shirt.
Arguing across from him is Tim Shipley, looking a little worse for wear (possibly due to the troubles with Tony Aliso) but he’s flexing his brainpower now in this argument with Murphy. Both men seem quite heated about it, particularly Murphy who is trying his hardest to convince Shipley.
Jack Murphy: (calming slightly) You’re missing my point…irrespective of what organisation the wrestler is parley to, if he believes in the position of there being an eradication…a purge if you will, of the hardcore trash wrestling that pollutes wrestling today, shouldn’t he do all in his power to try and follow his heart?
Tim Shipley: Look, you know my style. I’m what would be considered a “technician” in the current climate. I can see why you don’t like these other styles… but each to his own, you know what I mean? I have no problem with wrestlers believing in something, but there is a big difference between beliefs and methods!
Jack Murphy: How?
Shipley sighs, exasperated with the brash man in front of him.
Tim Shipley: Think of it this way – last week you brought out an overweight ‘wrestler’ in order to garner publicity for your message. But this isn’t wrestling, is it? This is playing to the crowd. This is the dreaded SPORTS ENTERTAINMENT. Didn’t you spotlight something you so despise by bringing that guy out in front of the whole viewing audience?
Murphy goes quiet for a little moment, Shipley looking earnestly at ‘The Bull’ and quite pleased that he’s managed to talk some sense into the older man. However, he does not expect the answer he receives.
Jack Murphy: Certainly it gives them publicity but in the end it’s all for the greater good of my cause.
This time it’s Shipley’s turn to reply with…
Tim Shipley: How?
Murphy now triumphantly folds his arms across his powerful chest and looks smugly at Shipley.
Jack Murphy: Because when you think about it, it only makes my cause all the more powerful doesn’t it? When the saviour finally crests the peaks of the wrestling arena and claims that belt, not far ahead of your own in fact, everyone will have to admit that I have conquered something considered unconquerable, no?
Tim Shipley: Well…that’s certainly an interesting way of looking at it…
Jack Murphy: Thanks.
Tim Shipley: But I still don’t agree with what you’re doing.
Jack Murphy: What?
Tim Shipley: Yes, Jack, I like the idea of AWC being packed with technically sound, exciting wrestlers who don’t have to resort to garbage wrestling to get things done. HOWEVER, I do not agree with the way you do things, your heavy-handedness on the matter – the wrestling should speak for itself! Don’t you agree, Jack? Can’t you see that? We don’t need the drama, we don’t need the weapons, we don’t need any of it – but it’s not our place to get rid of it. If it’s what people want to do and it’s what others want to see, then as long as we’re in jobs it’s not our problem.
‘The Bull’ is incensed at this and he snorts loudly, getting right in the face of Shipley. He pushes his face, almost tipping his nose with his own. Shipley, well past his green rookie phase, looks completely at ease with this.
Tim Shipley: Besides, I’ve got more pressing issues to deal with…like a formerly dead tag team partner coming for my guts and a belt that I have to take care of. Which I see you’ve noticed.
Shipley lets a little smile creep across his lips, but it’s a poor veil for the fear crippling his insides. His confident voice, though, puts on a good parade.
Tim Shipley: Is that envy in your eyes, Jack? Well, take a good look at this belt, my friend, because the way you’re going about things, you’re getting nowhere near it.
With that Shipley turns to leave, but Murphy steps into his path, pushing his arm up into his face, shoving him backwards. Shipley stands upright and breathes in slowly. In the background, the crowd is screaming his name. Eventually Murphy answers.
Jack Murphy: I think I’ll be the one to walk out on this. Take care of my belt…I’ll be looking for it soon.
Without another word Murphy leaves the room, and Shipley drops the façade, allowing worry to furrow his brow. But it’s not The Bull causing his stomach to churn… it’s Tony Aliso. The minimal contact they’ve had, the questions left unanswered… Shipley’s going to cave in if he doesn’t sort this out.
So sort it out he will. But first… he needs to talk to Adam Dick.
Fucked On Video
FEATURING: THE UNFUCKABLES, TIM SHIPLEY
AUTHORS: PIERRE HYDE AND JOE SCHMIDT
Adam Dick: Dude, that was totally...
Mike Wade: Fuckworthy?
The two members of The Unfuckables come through the curtain, sweaty but confident following the first match of their Team Tour Bonanza against two veterans, Johnny Noble and The British Bomber.
Adam Dick: Hold it...
Dick and Wade stop as Tim Shipley comes into view, already attired in his gear for his upcoming Frontier title defence against The Farmer. His eyes set on Adam Dick, he heads over hurriedly, trying to be spontaneous for a change.
Tim Shipley: Adam...
Adam Dick: DICK!
Tim Shipley: Yeah... er... I was wondering if I could ask you a favour.
The Unfuckables stare at him. Tim Shipley has just come through a bitter feud with The Illustrious Face-Eater, who, after the brutal 10-Count match at Testimony which was won by Shipley, turned out to be Adam Dick in a mask and cape. He still wears those remnants of the Face-Eater now, but perhaps his going by his real name has made him more approachable for Shipley. Or perhaps it’s the knowledge that he outranked Dick in Core Wrestling over six months ago, when Shipley was just starting out in the business.
Adam Dick: What KIND of a favour? I work in the Ass Kicking Department; for what you’re looking for, you might want to talk to Maddy Estelle...
Tim Shipley: I don’t think –
Adam Dick: MADDY! MADDY!
Wade joins in.
Mike Wade: MADDY! MADDY!
Tim Shipley: Shut up.
Both men smile and bite their lips.
Adam Dick: What’s the deal, Shitley?
Shipley sighs.
Tim Shipley: You know that... video you showed me a while ago...
Adam Dick: No.
Dick surreptitiously takes a video tape from the table behind him, without Shipley or Wade seeing.
Tim Shipley: Yes, you do. The Pioneers against Adam Dick and William Curr... remember? When you were trying to scare me.
Dick sneers.
Adam Dick: I think it was more than trying.
Shipley waits patiently.
Tim Shipley: So do you have it?
Mike Wade: (cutting in) What do you feckin’ want it for?
Shipley remains silent, noticing something behind Adam’s back.
Adam Dick: Sorry, homo, I don’t have any tapes. I think I destroyed it along with other items related to you during my voodoo obsession.
Tim Shipley: Then what’s behind your back?
Adam does a double take.
Adam Dick: THIS?!
He withdraws a tape.
Adam Dick: I don’t know, BUT I’M NOT HELPING YOU!
Tim Shipley: Please, I need it to show Tony – I just need it, that’s all.
Adam Dick: Trying to win back your friend, huh?
Tim Shipley: I’d hardly call that the case, but sort of. Now if you have the video I’d really like –
Adam Dick: Okay, fine, but only because I have a soft spot for vagina, and you’re the biggest one I know. I have the video, right here, in my hand.
Wade turns to his partner in confusion.
Mike Wade: No you don’t...
Dick takes his hands from behind his back and holds the tape up.
Adam Dick: Actually, I'm not sure this is the right one... check the label, Shitley.
Shipley cranes his head; Dick is holding the video tape at the least convenient angle possible.
Tim Shipley: I can’t make it out... It’s all grimy...
Adam Dick: Better take a closer look.
Shipley peers closer, and suddenly Dick brings his head crashing forward into the tape in a ferocious headbutt, knocking the corner of the black plastic into Shipley’s forehead. Shipley reels away, letting out a grunt of pain, and, unable to hold his balance, stumbles to the floor. Dick stumbles for a second, and Wade catches him from falling. Once he remembers what happens, Adam points.
Adam Dick: NO MAN ESCAPES ALIVE!
Dick and Wade pounce on Shipley, who honestly should have seen it coming. For a second, opposing hands and flailing limbs try to prevent the series of fists that the Unfuckables bring upon him collectively. Neither man could anticipate how much they’d beat on Tim, but until he learns not to mess with them...
Adam Dick: WE DON’T LIKE YOU, TIM!
Mike Wade turns around, and grabs a conveniently placed steel chair. He taps the ground, and Facey smiles.
Dick leans over and picks Shipley from the floor, hoisting him up by locking his arms behind him.
Mike Wade: We thought you knew, Tim. The leaves are changing, it’s getting colder; SUMMER’S OVER.
Crack.
Tim Shipley falls to the floor, again. Not the first time tonight, and definitely not the last.
The Farmer should be thanking the Unfuckables, if they aren’t already.
Immortal Blood
FEATURING: ALCAEUS
AUTHOR: JONATHAN
The sound of a pen, scribbling words is all that is heard, as the camera comes into focus. A dark room, lit by two candles sitting side by side on a desk. Sitting before the desk, a figure dressed in a black robe, the hood of which is covered over his face. He sits, at work, fountain pen speeding across the parchment…he is vehemently writing what he feels he needs to write.
The camera approaches, and the scribbling stops. The figure’s head spins round, effortlessly, but swiftly as to appear unnatural. His face obscured in the shadow of the hood, all that can be seen is the gleam from the eyes, reflecting the candlelight into the lens. He lays the fountain pen down by his unfinished work, before sitting comfortably, so as to be able to see the camera more amiably. This figure is Anacletus Alcaeus. Recent addition to the AWC roster, and the prince of nocturnal preference.
Alcaeus: Forgive my surprise. When my mind is otherwise occupied, my abilities of kinetic precision are some what compromised.
He lets out a cheeky chuckle, to let us know he was joking around. He pulls one of his black gloves off of his hand, and his eyes move to his slender white fingers.
Alcaeus: It often strikes me as strange, that when you think about it…I have not trimmed these nails in twenty five centuries. For, when one is dead, what need does one have for growth? I am captured immaculately in my form, albeit slightly more refined, and sculpted as if of marble…from when I last breathed a mortal breath.
He sighs, as his hand reaches down, and rests on the desk. He crosses one leg over the other, as his eyes return to the camera. He rests his other hand on his knee, and sits back against the backboard of the chair, silent for a moment. It is almost eerie how still he sits, until a simple gesture of scratching his knee brings life back into his form.
Alcaeus: I hope you’re enjoying them. These chronicles of my life I mean. I feel it prudent to remind the world of the existence of things older than their slavish wonders and desires. It also gives me some reprieve. Never have I truly recounted the history of my life with such clarity, from start to finish, as I am endeavouring to provide unto you now. But where I step out into the open, I am still held in darkness. For, I know, there are those of you who will dismiss my tales as regurgitated gimmicks of an incredibly creative team of writers. There are those of you who may deem me mad for believing the dribble that comes out of my mouth. Perhaps there are those of you who believe that I am speaking riddles and metaphors…for something that they believe only they can figure out…in order to exercise the intellectual viewers of this noble sport. However, I must confess, it is nothing as clever as that. I am merely remembering, and committing these memories to paper. Something that is done so very rarely in these times…and when it is, it is done so poorly. Even the dullest of lives are celebrated…those of actors, musicians. The lives of mere boys, in a world of giants and lions. So why not me? Why don’t I add my words to the list of those unimportant self-admirers? Surely I should fit into the category of the self-obsessed? What with twenty five hundred years behind me…I think I may have a little knowledge to impart.
He chuckles at the sarcasm in his own words. He uncrosses his legs, and crosses them the opposing combination. He lifts the hand that lay on his knee to his chin, and strokes it contemplatively.
Alcaeus: But, it is not all for my chronicles, this revelation in the wrestling arena. No. I come here to serve my ego, as well as to remember myself through action and experience…but there is more. I have been watching. There is one here, who reminds me so much of myself…in the years after my father’s dismissal, as a mortal. There is one, who has the same venom in his eyes, and the same fire in his heart…but these tools he misuses, where he could raise himself so much higher on this pedestal of life. There is one, who I shed my sympathy for. But, I watch…I watch and I wait. As I have always done…a silent witness to the centuries. Identities changing with every new beginning.
He looks down at the ground. He reaches one hand over, and pinches out the light of the two candles, completely obscuring the view. Darkness holds the camera hostage, and nothing is heard. It is as if he has disappeared…not even breathing can be heard. Not the sound of any life, human or otherwise. The only sound, is that of the extremely quiet camera, rolling on with its observations. This wedding of silence with the darkness, continues for a few moments…then…
Alcaeus: And, in the darkness, I will watch and wait for centuries to come. The silent witness to the cruel game of humanity…and the cancer of my immortal blood.
Then…silence…fade out.
Tim Shipley (C) vs The Farmer
STIPULATION: SINGLES
REFEREE: MICHAEL RYAN
AUTHOR: MICHAEL DOHERTY
Truth Waters: Time for the Frontier championship match. I do have to question Pearl’s booking, I mean, why is he rewarding the Farmer after the brutality he’s shown these last few weeks?
George Cassidy: Harber’s finally seeing that this is how you gain ratings. Farmer has also helped that Paddy O’Shea fellow shut his mouth for a while, that can’t be a bad thing.
Truth Waters: Sigh. Let’s just go to the match shall we?
“Not Far Away” by Pennywise blares from the speakers almost on cue and Mickey Fitz-McCarthy comes out on to the stage to an absolute flurry of boos. He begins to walk to the ring, shouting abuse at his once dedicated fans, then slides into the ring ready for the match
James Brunt: The following is a singles match and is for the AWC Frontier championship! Introducing first, the challenger, from Dowra Co. Leitrim, Ireland, weighing in at 236 pounds, Mickey Fitz-McCarthy… THE FARMER!
George Cassidy: Mickey looking mean and lean tonight. Well not the lean part, the fat f-
Truth Waters: Thanks Cassidy. Okay, looks like Shipley’s about to come out.
All the arena lighting goes out. The big screen flashes into life, with a piece of rapid video taking a first-person trip through a conceptual maze of light in space. The text "Astral Conversations With Toulouse Lautrec" buzzes repeatedly across the screen, as the song of the same name by Northern Irish rock group Ash starts up with a re-recorded robotic voice-over announcing: "Please welcome: Tim Shipley. Error. Does not compute. Does not compute..." The basic two-chord opening begins, with Tim Wheeler's melodic "Uh. Uh uh" leading the song into the slightly heavier section as the guitar joins in.
James Brunt: And his opponent, from Milton Keynes, England, weighing in at 201 pounds... the Frontier champion… TIM SHIPLEY!
White spotlights dance around the arena, and now two blue spotlights, emitting light from the ringposts, slowly rotate down from the arena roof to focus on the stage, where Tim Shipley is now standing, his expression firm. The fans cheer loudly for the man who they have grown to like. The white lights dance more and more frantically before simultaneously all coming to a stop to also focus on the stage and Tim Shipley, just as another piece of robot-squawk ends to be replaced by the more simple "Uh. Uh uh" and the video feed changes to a shot of a conceptual spaceship racing through a tunnel. Shipley strides down to the ring, Frontier title belt around his waist, smiling appreciatively and applauding the fans. He then slides in, while Mickey stands on the apron.
Truth Waters: Shipley seems in confident mood.
Shipley unbuckles his belt and gives it to James Brunt as he exits the ring. The two competitors stand in the ring now, staring at each other from each corner. The two now come out and begin circling each other, the quicker Shipley moving fluidly and smoothly around the larger Farmer. Mickey suddenly lunges for Shipley but he drops from the Farmer’s flailing arms and puts him down with a drop toehold. Once on the mat, Shipley moves quickly and drops an elbow before wrenching Mickey’s leg for a few seconds.
Truth Waters: Nice start from Shipley, using his speed and technicality to his advantage early on.
George Cassidy: All it takes is a random haymaker to change things though…
Shipley lets go of the hold and runs off the far rope, returning with a speedy leg drop. The Farmer slowly gets to his feet but Tim is on him like a flash, pulling him vertically by the ankle then dropping him hard onto his knees. The Farmer rolls out of the ring quickly before Shipley can reach him. The ref tells him to come back in but he refuses so the count is started.
ONE!
TWO!
George Cassidy: Good tactic by Farmboy. He’s mustering a fart to knock Twigley over.
Truth Waters: That’s so poetic George, but from where I’m standing, that just looks cowardly.
George Cassidy: Ah, tomato tomato.
Truth Waters: The reader isn’t going to know you pronounced those two words differently…
George Cassidy: Potato potato.
THREE!
FOUR!
FIVE!
Shipley starts calling for Mickey to re-enter the ring who kindly rejects the offer with his middle finger. Shipley looks a little taken back then he analyses the situation and leaps over the top rope, splashing The Farmer hard who crumples to the concrete floor.
Truth Waters: Shipley, taking it to Mickey on the outside!
George Cassidy: Yeah and the idiot hurt himself in the process.
Truth Waters: Uncharacteristic of the young Brit.
SIX!
SEVEN!
George Cassidy: Doesn’t the referee know that the count should restart?
Truth Waters: No. Nor does the match writer.
True enough, Shipley is now rubbing the small of his back with the back of his hand. Gritting his teeth, he gets to his feet, Mickey Fitz still laid out flat on the floor. Shipley now pulls The Farmer to his feet, locking his head in DDT position. He calls to the crowd for the move but instead, Mickey flips him backwards and he lands on the barricade, balanced perfectly on the pivot.
George Cassidy: Ouch, that doesn’t look healthy. But he needs to watch that count-out.
Truth Waters: You’re right there George. I suppose the most dangerous thing about Mickey is that he can spring something like that from anywhere.
EIGHT!
NINE!
The Farmer rolls back into the ring and out again. The referee, seeing the irrelevance of a count-out abandons the option and instead begins hassling The Farmer to get back into the ring. The Farmer, smiling sadistically, slaps Shipley on the back of the head form his raised position then executes a perfect reverse DDT, Shipley’s head crunching off the concrete. Farmer yanks Shipley by the hair who struggles badly to get up so Mickey yanks harder, much to the crowds displeasure who begin booing the turncoat fiercely.
Truth Waters: Oh come on! This isn’t necessary!
George Cassidy: The bitch won’t hurry up, hee hee. Come on Twigley, on your feet!
The Farmer finally has Shipley to his feet and he swings a punch but Tim blocks it and swings one of his own, connecting with Mickey’s jaw. Mickey throws another but again its blocked lazily and followed up with another. Mickey throws a knee instead the third time and Shipley doubles over then is hit with an uppercut, taking the wind out of his sails.
Truth Waters: The Farmer nipping Shipley’s momentum in the bud there folks.
Shipley staggers backwards and is brought immediately to the floor again with a clothesline. Lazily, Mickey pulls him to his feet then rolls him back into the ring. Shipley however athletically rolls onto his feet and leg drops Mickey as he enters the ring under the bottom rope. Shippers wastes no time in stomping Mickey to the mat. He allows Mickey to get slowly to his feet then runs off the far rope and comes back with an intended cross body splash but Mickey catches him!
Truth Waters: Uh oh!
George Cassidy: Haha! Break the twig!
The Farmer holds Shipley for another few seconds then slams him down into a backbreaker, maintaining the hold for another few seconds then letting Tim fall to the mat. The Farmer mounts Tim and delivers a few punches to Shipley’s head then delivers a headbutt, busting Shipley’s nose!
George Cassidy: Blood I say~!
Truth Waters: Mickey Fitz drawing first blood for a headbutt there. Really though George, this vicious streak is so uncharacteristic…
George Cassidy: It’s a new asset then!
Truth Waters: That’s debatable…
Thoroughly satisfied, McCarthy climbs to his feet dragging Shipley up with him then he launches him hard into the turnbuckle. The Farmer now charges at Tim but he manages to get a boot up, cutting Mickey off. Shipley now runs at Mickey but he manages to launch him into the air and slam him face first into the mat.
George Cassidy: Nice reversal!
Truth Waters: And the champ isn’t looking in great shape. I suppose the whole Aliso episode could be having a detrimental effect on him though…
George Cassidy: Excuses, excuses.
Mickey contemplates for a second then begins climbing the turnbuckle, which has been quite alien to him in his AWC days. Looking a little shaky, he dives off the top rope and connects with an elbow to Shipley’s sternum who flails about in pain. Mickey, apparently completely unscathed climbs on top of Shipley and hooks the leg, the fans shouting their support for the man who has finally dumped the crappy moniker ‘Summer’s Son’.
ONE!
TWO!
THR-
Truth Waters: Kick out by the champ!
George Cassidy: Yeah and about 0.3 of a second from having a new champ.
A little shocked the Farmer gets to his feet, stopping momentarily to scream at the fans while Shipley stirs from the floor grimacing. Shipley manages to get onto all fours but Mickey immediately sends him flying with a hefty kick to the ribs. Shipley tries to get up again and once more, Mickey nails him below the arm much to the distaste of the fans.
George Cassidy: Bah, these fans wouldn’t know talent if it slapped them in the face.
Truth Waters: He’s treating the champ like a dog, no wonder the Farmer’s getting such a hostile reception.
The Farmer allows Tim to get to his feet. He then points over the referee’s shoulder who looks around, then plants Shipley in the groin. Shipley doubles over and Mickey quickly nails a sit-down piledriver.
George Cassidy: Genius! Genius! I love these Irish fellows!
Truth Waters: What about Paddy O’Shea?
George Cassidy: He doesn’t count, he’s a gypsy.
Truth Waters:…so tasteful.
The Farmer yanks Shipley to his feet once more and hits a quick elbow before launching him into the ropes. Shipley manages however to get a grip of the ropes. The Farmer irked now, runs at Shipley but he’s catapulted over the ropes by the innovative champion. He then collapses to the floor in much the same fashion as the challenger.
Truth Waters: Well done by Tim…but the beating McCarthy has given him isn’t so easy to shake off it seems…
George Cassidy: And look, the Farmer’s getting up already.
Indeed, the two superstars begin to get up at the same time now. Shipley manages to get onto his feet first and he steps threw the ropes, onto the apron. He jumps down with an intended double axhandle, but the agile Farmer sidesteps it then follows up with a short clothesline.
George Cassidy: You need any laundry done?
Truth Waters: No…why?
George Cassidy: Cause there’s another clothesline! He’s hanging Shipley out to dry! Haha!
Truth Waters: Oh. Dear. Lord.
The Farmer, ignoring the referee’s shouts, looks under the ring for a weapon before extracting a kendo stick. He turns around ready to use it but is met with a dropkick from Shipley then with lefts and rights as Shipley unloads! The Farmer tries to retaliate but the blows keep coming thick and fast!
Truth Waters: Let’s go Shipley!
George Cassidy: Bias! Get this ass FIRED!
The Farmer swings a lumbering forearm but Shipley easily ducks it then plants a boot into Mickey’s gut. Shipley picks up the kendo stick without hesitation and strikes the Farmer on the back with it, who staggers forward in pain.
George Cassidy: Cheater! Blatant use of a weapon!
Truth Waters: Oh please! If he didn’t use it, Mickey almost certainly would have.
George Cassidy: Bah. He was only admiring its beautiful structure.
Truth Waters: Sigh.
The Farmer runs back into the ring to avoid another shot from Shipley. Shipley drops the weapon and in a clearly bad move, slides straight in after Mickey. Mickey is quick on the scene with a stomp to the back of Shipley’s head. He yanks Shipley to his feet and puts him in powerbomb position, but Shipley easily flips the larger man over his head!
Truth Waters: THIS is why Shipley’s the champ!
George Cassidy: Big tickle, The Farmer’s a jobber anyway…
Truth Waters: Oh really? What happened to Mickey the fantastic?
George Cassidy: …
Truth Waters: Yeah, that’s what I thought, shad ap!
Shipley stalks the Farmer and then kicks the Farmer in the ribs before following up with a stump pulling piledriver. The Farmers head cracks off the floor. Shipley quickly moves to the Farmers legs and locks him up in Newton’s Paradox.
Truth Waters: Oh here it is! Newton’s Paradox!
Mickey screams in pain, the big brawler apparently ill equipped to deal with such moves and struggles desperately for the ropes. The referee asks him if he wishes to tap. He seems to waver then manages to grab the bottom rope and Shipley breaks the hold.
Truth Waters: Close there. The Farmer looked very close to tapping.
George Cassidy: My freakin’ ass.
Shipley now pulls The Farmer to his feet and throws him into the turnbuckle but Mickey reverses it sending Shipley flying. The Farmer runs at Shipley with an intended splash but Shipley sidesteps. With his opponent in the corner, Tim brings his left knee up into their gut, causing Mickey double up. Using the top rope for leverage, he swings upwards, planting his left foot onto his opponent's back, which he uses as a springboard. In turn, he springs backwards off the top turnbuckle having landed there with his right foot and executes a full back flip while arranging his arm around the head of Mickey, who is still bent over, following into a fluid DDT.
Truth Waters: THE ETERNAL HOPE!
George Cassidy: DAMN DAMN DAMN.
Shipley falls onto Mickey’s lifeless body and makes the cover.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
James Brunt: The winner, and still Frontier champion, TIM SHIPLEY!
Truth Waters: Emphatic win for the fan favourite here. He thoroughly deserved to win after weathering the Farmer’s storm. Shipley retains against the AWC veteran!
Pardon The Interruption
FEATURING: TIM SHIPLEY, THE FARMER, TONY ALISO
AUTHOR: DAVE LARKIN
After the Frontier championship match between Shipley and The Farmer has concluded, the arena goes eerily silent. Shipley sits in the middle of the ring, indifferent after the conclusion of the match. The Farmer has by this time left the ring. Suddenly, “Walk” by Pantera begins to play on the P.A. system. The arena explodes into boos for “The Breaker” Tony Aliso. Aliso strolls out cockily from behind the curtains and slowly walks down the ramp way. Instead of entering the ring, he stops halfway. His music fades out, and Shipley shoots him a glare of contempt as he raises a microphone to his lips.
Tony Aliso: Pardon the interruption, Tim. Really, I’m on top of the world after hearing you actually won your match. Time to come back down to earth, though, Tim. You are nothing short of a big problem for me at the moment in terms of the amount of time you spend whinging about times past and all that. So, in the spirit of fairness, I’ve decided to give you a way out of this little rut you find yourself in.
George Cassidy: What could Aliso be referring to?
Truth Waters: I have no idea, but it doesn’t sound good for Shipley.
Shipley cocks his head in confusion, wondering what Aliso could be talking about.
Tony Aliso: Oh, you look a little baffled now. Understandably so. You never would expect something like this.
Aliso nods to different positions around ringside, and four men emerge from the crowd, quickly masking themselves to cover their identities. The four close Shipley into the middle of the ring and begin to beat down on the Englishman. Aliso decides to enter the ring, finding there to be no danger.
Truth Waters: What is this?!
George Cassidy: Aliso taking advantage of Shipley being alone and friendless!
Truth Waters: This is nothing more than a gang beating!
Boos rain down on Aliso and his men as Shipley takes a beating.
Tony Aliso: Now you understand the punishment I went through when Knucks first took me under their wing, Tim. Harsh, physical punishment day in, day out. I stood up to it, and I’m the stronger man for it. You, Tim…
Aliso grabs Shipley by the chin and speaks right into his face.
Tony Aliso: You are pathetic! Come on, guys. This pipsqueak isn’t worth our time…
The crowd shower the men with boos as they head up the ramp-way. Aliso, on the other hand, stays behind as his music hits again. Shipley reaches up to Aliso’s knee, looking for some help, looking for anything. Instead, Aliso simply spits on Shipley’s face and kicks him right in the face, knocking poor Shipley back down to the canvas. The unforgiving and loathed Aliso proudly walks backstage with a beaming smile on his face.
George Cassidy: I don’t get this, but it’s damn entertaining!
Truth Waters: We may never fully understand Aliso’s motives, but he’s a character to watch. All we know is he’s got a vendetta against Shipley, and it looks like he plans to make Shipley’s life a living hell.
A Simple Thing Called Respect
FEATURING: BUTTERFLY HAMADA, JACK MURPHY, JURI HYOBANSHI
AUTHORS: TASO, FERGUS AND PIERRE HYDE (commentary)
Dean Evenson's "Breath of Sky", a spiritual song filled with birds singing, nature, and a meditative flow follows Butterfly Hamada to the ring. The announcers aren't even sure why she is coming out here. But she climbs in the ring and gets a mic from someone near the apron and stands in the middle of the ring and waves to the fans.
Butterfly Hamada: Konnichiwa! Hello everyone. I am out here tonight because I want to make formal introductions and to thank the AWC for giving me this opportunity. Also to thank the fans who have been very supportive to me already in my first few weeks. Thank you very much.
The fans show respect and cheer.
George Cassidy: If you’ve just joined us, we’re enduring a yawn-fest from Megumi Hamada...
Butterfly Hamada: However, you won't find me out here very often, if at all, talking on a microphone because that is not my job. I am a wrestler. I have trained my entire life for this moment. I am grateful for every second and I plan to make the most out of it. That is why it makes me sad that I have to apologize to the AWC and the fans already, in my first two weeks, because of my behavior inside the ring. Juri Hyobanshi took our match to a different level. And I am afraid I didn't try hard enough to stop her. And I am also not afraid to say, right here in front of all these people, that even back in Japan, we have a name for women like Juri-san. Psycho-bitch.
Truth Waters: She’d better hope Juri Hyobanshi isn’t listening to this, or Butterfly Hamada might not have a voice-box for much longer.
Butterfly Hamada: Juri-san, I have wrestled with women my entire life and you are not the first one that has tried to take advantage of me in the ring. It was not the first time I have seen the blood running down my face like raindrops. It was not the first time I had to deal with a person who thinks that they can walk all over other people... walk all over me, and learned to tread more carefully.Wakari-masita, Juri-san. I understand. I understand very well.
Butterfly Hamada: And I am a forgiving soul, Juri-san. And what happened when we first met is forgotten. But our second match, it stings just a little. I do not like to lose. I am highly competitive. And I don't think you can beat me again. But now I want you to step into my world. I want to challenge you to not be a bitch. I want to challenge you to not cut corners and take short-cuts, I want to challenge you to show your character.
George Cassidy: Aren’t cutting corners and taking short-cuts the same thing?
Most fans stay respectfully quiet as Butterfly Hamada delivers her timid speech; however, some of the hardcore fans have already latched onto a chant of ”BORING! BORING!”. The college students, on the other hand, chant ”HAMADA GIVES HEAD!”
Truth Waters: Haha, Cassidy, you listening to these guys behind us?
George Cassidy: Trying not to. So mature...
Butterfly Hamada: Juri-san. I want to challenge you to a submissions match a-
“Seven Faces” by Slayer hits the PA as "The Bull" Jack Murphy walks out to his music, interrupting Hamada's challenge to Juri Hyobanshi.
Truth Waters: Whoa, whoa, what’s this now?
George Cassidy: Murphy’s going to knock some sense into this viewer-losing promo.
He walks to the ring as the fans boo him for being such a cocky jerk, Murphy's simple response being a look up to the sky and tut-tutting.
Jack Murphy: Now wait one minute little lady. I already told you how it is gonna work around here from now on. There isn't gonna be any hardcore matches. This is a scientific sport. AWC is about bringing back the classic style. Jack Murphy is going to bring it to the AWC, right?! YEAH! Ha ha! We don't need you and your bra and panties matches, or your pillow fight matches. Ninja stars, sumo wrestli-
Butterfly Hamada: EXCUSE ME!
Jack Murphy looks shocked that Hamada would cut him off like that and he sells it well with his facial expressions. The crowd gets in on the act, quite a few of them telling him to shut up while others put their mouths to their fingers.
Truth Waters: You go Hamada!
Butterfly Hamada: You are a creep! I was about to lay down an important challenge. You came up to me in the back and told me everything I needed to know about you. You say you like traditional wrestling. And I agreed. You said you want to bring respect back to wrestling, and I agreed with you again. But then you insulted me as a professional wrestler when you said you did not think women should be inside of a ring. Well, I have every right to be here, and YOU DON'T!
Truth Waters: Well said.
Jack Murphy: I am a wrestler! You my dear, are not a wrestler! I, JACK MURPHY, am a wrestler! I am a ma-
SMACK!
Truth Waters: Haha!
Hamada slaps Jack across the face. He's in shock.
George Cassidy: Such disrespect!
Butterfly Hamada: SOU OMOI-MASEN JACK-SAN! I don't think so!
The crowd cheers. But then a commotion starts as people start to stand up in their seats.
Butterfly Hamada: And if you don't get the hell out of this ring right now I will kick your ass! I am here to make a challenge, and you have dishonored me by ruining it.
Someone is rushing down to the ring.
Truth Waters: Hey look out!
Blissfully unaware, Hamada continues.
Butterfly Hamada: And once I am done with Juri Hyobanshi, I have no problem whatsoever of taking on... "The Bull".
Juri Hyobanshi slides into the ring with a chair. Megumi Hamada completely unaware who is standing behind her.
George Cassidy: This will be ugly...
Truth Waters: Why do you sound so happy about it?
Butterfly Hamada: Do you have the intestinal fortitude to put your BELIEFS on the line, Jack Murphy?
CRACK!
Juri levels Hamada with a shot to the back of the head. Hamada goes down like she has been shot. Jack Murphy stands there over the body of Butterfly Hamada, looking straight into the eyes of "Insanity Girl". Hyobanshi looks at Murphy, then looks at Hamada, and sets the chair up backwards and perches in the seat glaring at Murphy. Hamada flinches and spasms in pain on the ground, cradling her head protectively.
Jack Murphy: You see?! SEE! This is what I’m talking about! This is NOT what wrestling is about! Hardcore wrestling is eating away at the very core of this great sport, and practitioners like this girl in front of me are destroying greatness!
Juri Hyobanshi cocks her head at him, looking at him with a look of confusion and irritation. She steps off the chair and picks up the microphone Hamada had dropped, looking down on the Joshi wrestler before turning to Murphy.
Juri Hyobanshi: Such a delicate creature… this girl… she doesn’t belong here at all.
She kneels next to her and traces her finger along her shoulder blades slowly.
Juri Hyobanshi: I shall inevitably tear the wings from this Butterfly… and send her plummeting into the depths of hell where she’ll face Eien Shifuku… Eternal Rapture. Then what is a wingless thing like her to do?
Jack Murphy:Uh, you’re right. She doesn’t belong here, and neither do you! This is a man’s sport, and a man’s business! No place for little girls like you.
Truth Waters: This guy needs to get over himself.
Glancing back at him, Hyobanshi stands up with her back to Murphy. Then she suddenly snaps around with a kick right for his groin. He flinches late, but finds the foot inches from contact. He glares down at the girl, who now has a sweet smile on her face, a girlish tight-lipped giggle coming from her. Leaning her head to the side, she looks up into the practitioner of Old School.
Juri Hyobanshi: On the other hand… bulls can be castrated, and made weaker than butterflies.
Jack Murphy: Now see here little girl –
Juri Hyobanshi: I AM no little girl, young man…
He looks down at her, her voice going from a whimsical airy girl’s voice and taking on a low, menacing womanly tone.
Juri Hyobanshi: I have seen men like you come and go throughout time itself; men who pride themselves on their appendage as the key to the future… but it is women who hold the lock itself. Inevitably though everyone, men, women, mankind itself… will all suffer the same fate. The future holds pain, young man… pain and torment and suffering the likes many have not yet seen on this earth… and you, and this Insect here… are the beginning. Don’t you understand?
Backing up, she leans back on the ropes and stares Murphy dead in his eyes, a mad expression coming over the Masonna.
Juri Hyobanshi: You are already dead.
Battle Royal
JACK MURPHY VS 'MARE VS ALCAEUS VS RED ROCK VS NORMAN QUIRY VS ALEXA KENDERICKS VS TONY ALISO VS JURI HYOBANSHI
STIPULATION: WINNER ENTERS TRIANGLES MAIN EVENT
REFEREE: MICHAEL RYAN
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
George Cassidy: This is going to be a real mess of a main event... an eight-man, over-the-top-rope battle royal with the winner going into the Triangles main event that we actually know nothing about.
Truth Waters: Eight of the hottest up-and-coming AWC talents qualified for this battle royal by virtue of having won one of the debutants’ singles matches in the last two weeks. As it turned out, six of those were won by the debutants themselves with only two of the established AWC roster members taking their respective victories to enter the following match.
George Cassidy: This should therefore prove which of the latest batch of new signings is the best...
Truth Waters: But a battle royal isn’t exactly the most objective way to go about it. There’s so much potential for corruption via teamwork, victimisation...
George Cassidy: And the heavier guys have a big advantage – Alcaeus, Jack Murphy perhaps, Tony Aliso perhaps.
Truth Waters: Fresh with new moniker “The Breaker”.
George Cassidy: That’s...
Truth Waters: Uncommentable.
The camera switches from a shot of the two announcers to the ring, where all eight participants stand, ready.
George Cassidy: It’s a blessing they’re all already out here. I haven’t the heart to sit through eight consecutive ring entrances.
James Brunt: The following is a battle royal, whose winner will be entered automatically into the unannounced main event of Triangles! Introducing the contestants: ALEXA KENDERICKS! NORMAN QUIRY! JURI HYOBANSHI! ALCAEUS! ‘MARE! Livewire champion RED ROCK! TONY ALISO! And... JACK MURPHY!
Truth Waters: I can’t see either of the ladies lasting too long in this... they clock in at one-twenty pounds apiece.
George Cassidy: Who is your pick to win, then?
The bell rings, and in the crowded ring, four one-on-one brawls quickly develop: Jack Murphy slugs it out with ‘Mare, Tony Aliso focuses his aggression on Norman Quiry, Alexa Kendericks and Juri Hyobanshi naturally gravitate towards each other, and Red Rock looks positively terrified as he blocks a big right hand from Alcaeus.
Truth Waters: My instinct’s telling me Alcaeus; nothing can faze the big man and nothing’s going to shift him tonight.
George Cassidy: Don’t you think he’s a little... old for this?
Truth Waters: No chance; he’s in his prime at... er... two thousand five hundred.
George Cassidy: What about “The Bull” Jack Murphy? He’s fast becoming one of my favourites; I can see him mixing it up with the main eventers before long.
Truth Waters: He’s got potential, but he’s also got one hell of an attitude problem.
George Cassidy: How’s that relevant to the match?
Truth Waters: Alright, alright, his technical style won’t suit the battle royal stipulation. How’s that?
George Cassidy: We can certainly rule out Red Rock...
The two commentators watch as Alcaeus flattens the grounded Livewire champion with a standing splash.
Truth Waters: No, we can’t. He’s an underdog and the fans love that. He can pull out anything from anywhere.
Kendericks swings a fist at Juri Hyobanshi, pushing the young looking Japanese into the turnbuckle. Alexa backs away, looking to obtain sufficient room to run up and flip into the Suicide Charge, but in the crowded ring she knocks into Tony Aliso, who grabs her around the waist and swings her into the path of Norman Quiry, who is just rebounding off the ropes. Quiry’s clothesline catches Kendericks high and she goes down like a shot as Aliso profits from Quiry’s distraction to hook the leg and nail him with a fisherman’s suplex.
George Cassidy: Tony Aliso has excellent awareness of what’s going on around him and he used that to his advantage there, selling Alexa Kendericks as the bait before suplexing Quiry.
Alcaeus props Red Rock up and throws a hard fist into his gut before nudging him against the turnbuckle. He sets him up for a suplex, but Hyobanshi draws Alcaeus’ legs out from under him, and Red Rock diverts into a quick face breaker.
Truth Waters: Improvisation by Red Rock as Hyobanshi took Anacletus Alcaeus’ legs out.
George Cassidy: That’s the thing with a battle royal... the underdogs can work together to topple the strongest candidates. At odds with natural selection...
Truth Waters: Game theory, y’know. But at some point, one gets greedy and wants the biggest prize, and there, it all falls apart.
George Cassidy: Whatever Truth. Watch Murphy and ‘Mare. Look at The Bull go!
Murphy takes ‘Mare down with a textbook snapmare, locking on a dragon sleeper immediately. ‘Mare struggles but fails to escape it, and Juri Hyobanshi, who just happens to be alongside, places an accurate dropkick into his face.
Truth Waters: Oh! ‘Mare just took a totally unguarded dropkick.
George Cassidy: His face is screwed.
Truth Waters: Nice girl, that Hyobanshi...
Alexa Kendericks is back to intercept the Masonna, approaching from behind before locking her head inverted under her arm.
George Cassidy: Here’s Kendericks going for...
She spins into a diamond cutter-esque neckbreaker!
George Cassidy: The Compulsive Crunch!
Truth Waters: That move has a nice flow to it...
George Cassidy: Oh shut up, you homo.
Truth Waters: Cassidy. Fist. Face.
George Cassidy: Mine into yours?
Truth Waters: Deep breaths, Truth...
With Hyobanshi down and Kendericks just righting herself, we have ‘Mare curled up in one corner of the ring seeing to his face and Norman Quiry getting to his feet in another. Tony Aliso and Jack Murphy have locked horns, and Red Rock’s quick feet are angering the 6’9” Alcaeus.
Truth Waters: Red Rock is used to fighting those bigger than him; Alcaeus looks pretty small compared to Red’s sidekick Boolie.
George Cassidy: He could still beat Red Rock to a bloody pulp given the opportunity.
Murphy goes low in the tie-up and takes out Aliso’s leg, bringing him rolling to the mat. Not missing a beat, he hoists the leg up across his own shoulder and straightens up, bending Aliso’s knee joint across his collarbone and lifting the Knucks-allied wrestler partway off the mat in a racked leg lock!
George Cassidy: Murphy with some kind of torture rack crossed with a leg lock...
Truth Waters: Jack Murphy using Aliso’s weight to his detriment! He’s in total agony as a result of this intricate submission hold!
George Cassidy: I told you Murphy’s on the rise.
Aliso’s arms flail as he tries to get in a shot on Murphy, but anything that does connect is just a weak pawing at The Bull’s legs as he arches his back, further tormenting the man who considers himself a master of the submissions.
George Cassidy: Jack Murphy is making light of Tony Aliso’s heritage!
Meanwhile, Alcaeus turns away from Red Rock as the Englishman’s effective defensive tactics begin to frustrate the Ancient Greek. Juri Hyobanshi is the unfortunate victim as a raging Alcaeus lifts the lightweight high into the air in your basic gorilla press before dumping her unceremoniously over the ropes. She falls like a rock and there is a sickening crunch as she hits the mats at ringside.
Truth Waters: There goes Juri!
George Cassidy: Alcaeus just got... annoyed! And that’s the result of it!
James Brunt: JURI HYOBANSHI HAS BEEN ELIMINATED!
Truth Waters: Our first elimination. And it won’t be Juri Hyobanshi going to Triangles.
Norman Quiry sprints at Red Rock, who has turned to glance at Hyobanshi at ringside and is therefore unsighted – or so we think. At the last moment, Red Rock nonchalantly steps aside and throws himself at the ropes, pulling the top one down with all he’s worth. Quiry goes running straight into it and bundles over.
George Cassidy: There goes N. Quiry...
Truth Waters: No! He’s got a hold on that top rope!
Quiry indeed is holding tight to the rope, and Red Rock has already turned away, believing his work done. Alexa Kendericks comes flying in at the 197-pounder looking for a clothesline, which Red Rock ducks, but Kendericks turns quickly to throw Red Rock over her knee in the judo leg wheel. Alcaeus steams in with a raised knee, ending Norman Quiry’s futile resistance and causing him to drop off the apron and to the floor.
James Brunt: NORMAN QUIRY HAS BEEN ELIMINATED!
Truth Waters: Alcaeus making sure it’s the end of the road for Norman Quiry.
George Cassidy: Red Rock foolishly turned away, not finishing the job –
Truth Waters: – and then got thrown to the canvas by the ambitious Alexa Kendericks.
George Cassidy: Ambitious? It’s only Red Rock!
With Kendericks now landing successive elbow drops on Red Rock, Jack Murphy finally relents with his racked leg lock, dropping Aliso to the canvas with distaste.
George Cassidy: That look on his face... disappointment, really, in Aliso not proving what Jack Murphy would consider a worthy opponent.
Truth Waters: He’d do well not to underestimate Aliso. I, for one, remember my heritage, and back in Neon, Tony Aliso was dominant. Heavyweight champion, in the thick of things against Pierre Hyde’s Syndicate and then Tony Stecchino’s Pentavorate... and the fans, always cheering him on...
George Cassidy: But now he’s realised success means more than a cheap pop.
Truth Waters: Whoever he sold out to, I hope they’re worth it.
Murphy once more engages ‘Mare, who has blood trickling from his nose due to Hyobanshi’s cruel dropkick earlier in the match. An armdrag takedown has ‘Mare roll into a seated position, and Murphy pulls him to his feet before locking in an abdominal stretch, to boos from the crowd.
“MURPHY SUCKS! MURPHY SUCKS!”
Truth Waters: The fans have certainly made up their minds about “The Bull” Jack Murphy.
George Cassidy: At least he’s getting things done... unlike Red Rock, who’s just hanging in there hoping nobody sees him.
With Kendericks having gone after Alcaeus (now ducking a punch to thrust an elbow hard into his side), Red Rock uses the turnbuckle to get to his feet, waving weakly to the crowd, who respond with a roar for the Anti Hero.
”LET’S GO RED ROCK! LET’S GO RED ROCK!”
Apart from the small contingent of life-long British Bomber fans:
”RED ROCK LIKES COCK! RED ROCK LIKES COCK!”
Nodding his head at the crowd, Red Rock ambles over to Tony Aliso, who is lying on the canvas gingerly rubbing his thigh after the leg lock from Murphy. Red pulls the heavier man to his feet and hits a hard knife-edge chop. Seeing no reaction, Red Rock rears back and does it again.
George Cassidy: Tony Aliso, exhausted after being caught in the racked leg lock for too long, just can’t summon up any resistance to Red Rock’s body chops!
Truth Waters: Another meaty SLAP across the chest!
Jack Murphy, in a position of dominance over ‘Mare, now carefully draws away his leg and moves ‘Mare out of the abdominal stretch into a front facelock. Tugging ‘Mare towards the ropes, resistance from the 30-year-old is futile, but just to quicken the process Murphy aims a sharp kick at his left knee. This gives way, and The Bull drags ‘Mare further until Jack Murphy’s back is almost on the ropes.
Truth Waters: Murphy has had enough!
George Cassidy: ‘Mare’s going for the most hellacious cartwheel he’s EVER experienced.
Murphy hoists ‘Mare into the air and executes a vertical suplex over the top rope! He breaks contact with ‘Mare’s body at 45 degrees to the horizontal, and ‘Mare follows through to land flat on his back on the arena floor, where he lies unmoving.
Truth Waters: What a bump to take!
George Cassidy: They don’t teach you that one in the training camp, that is for sure.
James Brunt: ’MARE HAS BEEN ELIMINATED!
Truth Waters: That’s the end of ‘Mare’s bid for an instant card elevation.
Red Rock places an arm on either side of Aliso’s neck and holds him as he delivers alternate knee shots to the abdomen. Aliso, grimacing, grabs hold of Red Rock’s left leg with the third shot and sends him spinning to the mat with a rough dragonscrew. Red scrambles to get to his feet before Aliso can take advantage, but The Breaker is ready for him and pulls him in with a basic body slam.
Truth Waters: Aliso takes control...
George Cassidy: Not for long!
Alcaeus, having sent a running Kendericks through the air with a back body drop, turns immediately before the lady even falls to steamroller in and slam a clubbing arm across the back of Tony Aliso’s neck! Totally disorientated, Aliso looks about to crumple, but Jack Murphy moves in to hook his arms from behind and perform a dragon suplex!
George Cassidy: Full nelson suplex! As if he’s weightless! Jack Murphy dropping Aliso down on his neck!
Truth Waters: I'm not even sure he’s aware of what happened! Aliso looked dazed enough after that MONSTER of a blow from Alcaeus.
Murphy looks down on Aliso with satisfaction, but his mistake is ignoring Alcaeus – never the most advisable move to make. The 6’9” behemoth thrusts a hand at his throat and lifts The Bull into the air –
George Cassidy: Choke slam imminent!
But suddenly Alexa Kendericks springs off the top turnbuckle to land her legs precisely either side of Alcaeus’ head, neatly working with the gaps around Murphy, and her momentum carries her through to bring Alcaeus down, breaking the contact with Murphy, in a hurricanrana!
Truth Waters: JESUS!
George Cassidy: Top rope hurricanrana!
Truth Waters: Talk about leaving us breathless... Alexa Kendericks came from nowhere to totally take Alcaeus out!
George Cassidy: Jack Murphy’s got fortune on his side; Kendericks saved him a choke slam.
Truth Waters: I don’t think sympathy is the next item on his agenda.
Massaging his throat, The Bull looks to assert himself quickly, and the nearest potential victim is struggling to her feet in front of him. Grabbing Kendericks by the hair, he marches her over to the turnbuckle.
George Cassidy: Jack Murphy thinks women don’t belong in the ring!
Murphy slams Kendericks’ head brutally into the turnbuckle, and her legs buckle beneath her as she gasps slightly with the sudden pain. Murphy cruelly pulls her back up by her hair, maintaining his original grip, and swings a left fist into her sternum.
Truth Waters: You don’t hit ladies there!
George Cassidy: He’s proving a point!
A stunned Alcaeus begins to rise, and Red Rock, hardly daring to believe his luck, is there to duck round behind him before he can find his feet and drive a knee into his back while pulling his head backwards – the Rusty Junior Hacksaw.
George Cassidy: Red Rock attempts a rough approximation of a submission hold...
Truth Waters: That’s the Rusty Junior Hacksaw!
Meanwhile, Jack Murphy has grown tired of playing with his food. Picking Kendericks up with ease in a simple body slam preparation, he dumps her over the top rope. She lands on the apron and rolls back in quickly, but Murphy just picks her up again and issues the same drop over the top, this time making sure to have her land cruelly on the edge of the ring apron. She knocks the side of the ring and flops to the floor.
Truth Waters: I do not like this one bit.
James Brunt: ALEXA KENDERICKS HAS BEEN ELIMINATED!
George Cassidy: Point very much proven! She doesn’t belong in the ring, and so he ejected her from it!
The Bull doesn’t have long to gloat, much to the relief of the booing crowd, as Red Rock leaves Alcaeus to intercept Murphy with fast right hands.
Truth Waters: The fans are right behind Red Rock – in fact, he’s the last bastion of fan favouritism here! Alcaeus they don’t like, Aliso they don’t like and Murphy they really don’t like... it would be a miracle if Red Rock were to win this, and I also think it might just blow this roof right off.
George Cassidy: Why don’t the three of them band together to rid themselves of this idiot, then we can see a sensible conclusion to this VERY IMPORTANT match?
Caught by surprise a little, Murphy hardly reacts to the first four shots other than to take the blows to the forehead and stagger against the ropes for support. Red Rock can’t keep up the high energy approach, though, and just a moment’s lapse is enough for the alert Murphy to bring up a knee. Red Rock bends double, gasping, and Murphy steels himself to hit a swinging neckbreaker before collapsing to the canvas with him, exhausted.
Truth Waters: Red Rock ambitiously went after Jack Murphy, who was riding the crest of a wave, and nearly pulled it off...
George Cassidy: He just doesn’t know his own limits. A simple neckbreaker from The Bull and there goes Red Rock’s challenge.
Alcaeus stalks over with a grimace, but before his presence can make an impact on the two downed men Aliso approaches from behind with a waistlock. The drained West coaster somehow pulls out a German suplex.
George Cassidy: BIG belly-to-back!
Truth Waters: Aliso strained every sinew to take Alcaeus over. It’s not just a weight thing, though; Anacletus Alcaeus has only 15 pounds on Aliso, his frame tall but relatively slender. Aliso, though, has certainly taken one of the biggest quotas of damage in this battle royal.
George Cassidy: He’s next to go. Trust me.
Truth Waters: Oh, so NOW we rate Red Rock?
George Cassidy: AFTER Red Rock, of course! I was taking his elimination as given.
Truth Waters: A mistake roster members would be wise not to make. He’s not Livewire champion for nothing. Red Rock is a true Livewire... embodying everything the holder of that title should be.
George Cassidy: Alright alright this isn’t the time for a eulogy.
With all four men down, referee Michael Ryan looks despondently out at the fans, whose neutrality is nothing more than a lie. The chants for underdog Red Rock are overwhelming, though a deep-voiced medley of ”RED ROCK LIKES COCK!” is still going strong.
Truth Waters: It’s a matter of urgency now... first person up could effect the next elimination.
George Cassidy: Our two picks to win are still in this.
Truth Waters: We are worth the money, then!
George Cassidy: I'm even more confident in my decision. Jack Murphy looks so, so comfortable in the ring. No one’s dumping him over the ropes.
Murphy is starting to rise now, as is Tony Aliso. The two powerful technicians move slowly towards each other, tension in the air, as Red Rock and Alcaeus now begin the getting-up process. The attention is on The Bull and The Breaker though, as both now jump into action with an angry grapple. Aliso takes a risk, moving behind with a hammerlock, and now brings the arm low, causing Murphy to arch his back as his face flinches at the pain.
Truth Waters: Tony Aliso and Jack Murphy in an intense battle here.
Murphy suddenly ducks down and works a leg between those of Aliso, quickly sweeping them out before the Knucks operative realises what’s happening. Aliso lands flat on his back and Murphy grabs both legs, figure-fouring them before stepping over into a Texas cloverleaf.
George Cassidy: Murphy knows perfectly how much damage he did to Aliso’s legs and back with the racked leg lock earlier on, and now this Texas cloverleaf is a perfect follow-up, taking all the fight out of the 270-pounder.
Alcaeus slings Red Rock into the ropes; his big boot is evaded by the Anti Hero who spins into a back elbow aimed for the face. It actually lands across Alcaeus’ neck, but the supposed vampire was ready for it and holds the arm before dropping into an armbar. The sprightly Red Rock propels himself out of it as Alcaeus lands, though, and drops an elbow between his shoulderblades.
Truth Waters: Red Rock is leading Alcaeus on a real dance.
Murphy tightens the cloverleaf, his nose flaring as he soaks in with pleasure the grunts of pain from beneath him. Alcaeus picks himself up and swings a haymaker, but Red Rock is no longer there, scooting round into a waistlock. Red Rock goes for an atomic drop, but Alcaeus smashes him in the face with an elbow and walks away without a backward look, his eyes set on Jack Murphy.
George Cassidy: Shrugs Red Rock off, no worries. Now what has he got planned?
Alcaeus arranges his arm over Murphy’s worried face from behind, ready for a reverse suplex. The complication, though, is that Murphy still has Aliso’s legs between his arms in a Texas cloverleaf position – Aliso’s body has, however, slipped out of position with Alcaeus’ forcing Murphy to bend backward. With Aliso on the mat staring up at them, Alcaeus shoots a confused look down into Murphy’s eyes beneath him.
Truth Waters: The Bull’s still grasping Aliso’s legs tight!
Murphy gives him a challenging stare in return, and Alcaeus shrugs before executing the reverse suplex anyway. Murphy goes heavily over entangled with Aliso, and rather than the neat flow of two bodies overhead Alcaeus might have envisioned, they all fall together in a clumsy heap. Red Rock meanders over and, grinning, places a foot on top of the pile before posing with his biceps tensed. There is a roar of laughter.
Truth Waters: Red Rock is king!
George Cassidy: What an... innovative manoeuvre that was by Alcaeus!
Truth Waters: Cassidy, it’s called a botched spot.
George Cassidy: It seems he overestimated his strength...
Alcaeus rises quickly and, seeing Red Rock before him, lets out a sigh. Red Rock, though, wipes the grin off his face. Now is time for business. Kicks to the shin, the knee, the thigh. A roundhouse to the chest and a snap kick straight after it. Alcaeus unable to issue a reaction, Red Rock swings into a final punt to the side of the head, and the 285-pounder collapses to the mat. The Anti Hero stares in wonder.
Truth Waters: FUNSTIGATOR! The ferocious kicking sequence!
Jack Murphy arises and puts paid to Red Rock’s spell on top, a Japanese arm drag leaving the Englishman down. He then drops to the mat and puts a front facelock on Tony Aliso before carefully bringing him up, maintaining the facelock. Throwing Aliso’s arm over his shoulders, Murphy now lifts The Breaker as if for a suplex, but at the apex reverses the motion and drops Aliso on his front – except Murphy’s taken two steps forward. Aliso hits the top rope with his torso and rebounds backwards, his ankles catching on the ring apron before he jack-knifes to the floor.
George Cassidy: ELIMINATION STATION!
Truth Waters: Front suplex onto the ropes! Murphy’s intelligence did for Tony Aliso!
Aliso, the fight finally gone from him after all the punishment he has taken, now lies prone outside the ring.
Fourth ain’t bad.
James Brunt: TONY ALISO HAS BEEN ELIMINATED!
Murphy this time is all business post-elimination, turning quickly to face the immediate challenge of Red Rock. The Bull goes to grapple with the Englishman but England outwits Ireland – how often is that the case? – to counter with an armbar takedown. Red Rock then follows into an impromptu armbar.
Truth Waters: Murphy would be proud! Were the move not being performed on him...
But no sooner has Red Rock lain back with the armbar applied than Murphy rolls in and grabs his wrist with his free hand, wrenching it away and pulling his arm quickly out of Red’s grasp. With both men seated, the quick-thinking Jack Murphy puts on a front facelock, subduing Red Rock.
George Cassidy: Sloppy execution of the armbar. Too easily countered by the technically knowledgeable Jack Murphy – OH! And a ferocious kick to the ribs by Alcaeus!
The 6’9”er advances, laying the boots to Murphy who instantly has to abandon the facelock and rolls onto his side, curled up in pain. Red Rock scampers away.
Truth Waters: Wise move, getting out of the danger zone.
However, Alcaeus now turns and beckons to Red Rock. He points to the turnbuckle, an earnest expression on his face, and a murmur goes up amongst the crowd.
George Cassidy: What’s this?
Truth Waters: Time for a collaboration of some sort?
George Cassidy: They’ve seen they can’t beat Murphy on their own so they’re having to join forces. Well, that just sucks.
Red Rock nods slowly and moves out through the ropes – careful to go beneath the top rope – and climbs the turnbuckle. The fans, catching on, cheer loudly, and Red Rock turns to applaud them.
Truth Waters: He knows what’s good for him. Always acknowledging the contribution of his fans.
Alcaeus pulls Murphy to his feet and places a fist into his abdomen. Turning him so that Alcaeus stands between the intended victim and the turnbuckle this victim is facing, the big man draws his head in between his legs and flips him up onto his shoulders as if for a powerbomb.
Truth Waters: He’s stalling the powerbomb...
George Cassidy: Here’s Red’s cue!
Red Rock, something suddenly clicking in his head, leaps forward off the top rope, heading right at the terrified Bull. He sweeps his left leg round anticlockwise, catching Murphy in the head at the peak of its ascent, and as Jack Murphy topples to the side and over the top rope, Red himself lands on Alcaeus’ shoulders, a leg either side of his head but his body inverted. The momentum carries the Englishman straight through and he instinctively tightens his legs around Alcaeus’ neck, causing him to roll through with him in an improvised rana-type manoeuvre! Jack “The Bull” Murphy hits the apron and revolves sideways to land upside down on the arena floor.
Truth Waters: ...Nratws.
George Cassidy: What?!
Truth Waters: No words do that justice...
George Cassidy: So you invented a new one?
”HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!”
Truth Waters: I have never seen anything quite like that ladies and gentlemen! A collaborative jumping crescent kick was the shot catching Murphy in the head and sending him spinning over the ropes, but then Red Rock fell in perfect position to double-cross Alcaeus and land a hurricanrana variation!
George Cassidy: I don’t think he knew what he was doing, though!
Truth Waters: Agreed; no one in their right mind would cross Alcaeus! But he isn’t going to see it like that!
Red Rock gets to his feet, looking a little shaken, and stares white-faced at Alcaeus, who is on his knees and on his way up with a murderous expression on his face. We now get confirmation of the penultimate elimination:
James Brunt: JACK MURPHY HAS BEEN ELIMINATED!
Truth Waters: These two have been battling on and off the whole match, and now they’re left to fight it out for the spot at Triangles!
Alcaeus grabs Red Rock and slings him into the ropes, lowering his head for a back body drop. Red Rock leapfrogs this and hits the opposite set of ropes, Alcaeus turning with a snarl but receiving an uppercut that sends him straight to the mat. Jumping back to his feet, Anacletus Alcaeus looks for another Irish whip but this time Red Rock somehow reverses, sending Alcaeus into the ropes but falling off-balance in the process. No matter, because Alcaeus rebounds back at him and Red Rock improvises a monkey toss.
Truth Waters: Monkey toss out of nowhere!
George Cassidy: He was just falling over! Red Rock strikes lucky again!
Truth Waters: But the crowd are lapping it up.
This last sequence has the crowd on their feet, cheering for their Anti Hero.
Truth Waters: Listen to the fans!
George Cassidy: They don’t care how he wins and they don’t care that he doesn’t deserve it – they’re just desperate to see Red Rock win.
The Reed Green Coliseum is positively pulsing with excitement as Red Rock brings a fist into the air, saluting his army of fans. He then hits the ropes once more and raises a boot into the face of Alcaeus, who is just rising to his feet until the kick comes out of nowhere to set him back down. The momentum means he rolls under the bottom rope and onto the apron, and Red Rock takes opportunity of the rest opportunity to throw both arms into the air and again applaud his fans.
”RED ROCK ROCKS! RED ROCK ROCKS!”
Truth Waters: He can kill this match dead right now! Alcaeus is struggling for a foothold in this encounter!
Alcaeus grabs the bottom rope with his right hand and pulls himself up, using the other ropes in succession to help him. Red Rock grabs hold of his head and looks to drop back, guillotining Alcaeus over the top rope, but this is where it all goes wrong...
Instead of falling with Red Rock’s weight, Alcaeus stands firm, and thrusts a knee between middle and top ropes into Red’s abdomen. He applies a front facelock over the top rope, and there is a pause as Alcaeus summons up the strength for what he’s about to attempt.
Truth Waters: No!
George Cassidy: He’s going to suplex him right out of those boots – and out of the ring! This is the end!
Red Rock struggles, but Alcaeus slowly begins to lift. The crowd watches in dismay as Red Rock rises – but then a sudden twist of the body has him half out of Alcaeus’ grasp and he drops back to the mat! The crowd gives a quick cheer, but it’s short-lived as Alcaeus doggedly lifts again, and this time Red is powerless as his body turns upside down, vertical above the ring apron. Then – Alcaeus holds him there.
Truth Waters: No way.
George Cassidy: He’s stalling on this?
Truth Waters: I admire his nerve...
George Cassidy: Fool’s courage, wouldn’t you say?
Flashbulbs go off from everywhere as thousands of fans capture the moment of Alcaeus exercising perfect balance and immense strength to hold an inverted Red Rock vertical in the air as part of a stalling suplex. Nearly ten seconds have elapsed by the time Alcaeus suddenly raises a foot and slams it against the bottom rope, propelling himself and Red Rock backwards and to the floor. Red Rock hits the mats with a loud smack and Alcaeus follows untidily, having put his own body at risk to maximise the impact of Red Rock’s fall.
Truth Waters: Wait – Alcaeus eliminated himself too!
George Cassidy: No, no, he came out under the bottom rope, remember?
Truth Waters: Ah... damn!
George Cassidy: He just wanted extra impact. He wanted to punish Red Rock. That seems even more important to him than the prize that was at stake – the prize he’s won! And that of course is a place in the Triangles match!
James Brunt: RED ROCK HAS BEEN ELIMINATED! THE WINNER... ALCAEUS!
Truth Waters: This could be the start of a highly significant time for AWC. Alcaeus has proven his dominance among the new crop of roster members, and come Triangles – whatever that match may be – he’ll be pushing for the chance to be duking it out with Hate, Pierce Lavelle, Paddy O’Shea at the top of the card on a weekly basis.
George Cassidy: Don’t forget Dick and Wade, The Unfuckables!
Truth Waters: Oh, let’s not get into a card positions debate...
Three Sides, Three Points, Three Prizes
FEATURING: DAVID "PEARL" HARBER, JAMES BRUNT
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
We haven’t been hearing much Dandy Warhols on Fresh! of late. Fitting, then, that the impending sequence of bickering between the commentators is cut off by the first chords of “Bohemian Like You”.
Truth Waters: Looks like Pearl is on his way!
David “Pearl” Harber comes through the curtain and jogs down to the ring, glancing down at the fallen Red Rock and Alcaeus on his way but is in too much of a hurry to see to them. He slides into the ring and is tossed a microphone by the ring announcer.
Pearl: I feel congratulations are in order... but can Alcaeus hear them?
Pearl pauses, looking for acknowledgement from the battle royal winner. There is none, though we can’t be sure that Alcaeus is simply choosing not to answer the Entertainment Manager.
Pearl: I’ll give him a pat on the back later. Alcaeus, then, becomes the first man to receive a guaranteed spot in the main event of AWC Triangles, November 11th!
The fans pop half-heartedly.
George Cassidy: But what IS it, Pearl?
Pearl: But it’s not going to be just any old main event.
He pauses for effect, looking out at the crowd, some of whom are leaving already to try and beat the traffic.
Pearl: It’s not just a straight singles match, like we saw at Zero To Hero.
There is a small pop from the old-timers who remember AWC’s first event, back in May.
Pearl: It’s not an Inferno match, that was Solarized, or a No Escape match, as seen at Testimony. It’s bigger than those. Bigger even than the Streets Of London match at The Battle Of Britain!
The fans cheer loudly, showing their appreciation of the stunning showpiece of what was probably AWC’s best event to date.
Truth Waters: Bigger than Streets Of London?
George Cassidy: NOW I'm listening.
Pearl: Triangles – the Triangles match – will have not two competitors, not four, not six – but nine. That’s right – nine men – or women – will step into the ring competing for the prize on offer.
He pauses for thought.
Pearl: Actually, that’s not quite accurate. There won’t be a ring in the arena for this match, and there won’t only be one prize on offer, there’ll be three.
George Cassidy: Oh, God. Can you say overkill? DROP THE GIMMICKS!
Pearl: So Alcaeus will fight it out with eight others for one of the three prizes. In fact, I can now reveal the second competitor in the match, since his belt will be one of those trophies up for grabs. Ladies and gentlemen, the Transatlantic champion PIERCE LAVELLE!
The pop is immense for the two-time champion who’s been with AWC from day one, and always at the top – runner-up in the Zero To Hero tournament, and main-eventing every pay-per-view since. This record isn’t about to change.
George Cassidy: So the Transatlantic title is one of the prizes on offer...
Truth Waters: But what’s the match?
Pearl smiles, looking around at all the inquisitive fans staring at him in anticipation.
Pearl: The prizes, then... in no order, since they will be of different value to different superstars here. The first is the Transatlantic championship – the highest accolade there is in AWC.
Truth Waters: I can’t see how anyone could choose another prize over that.
George Cassidy: You haven’t heard what they are yet.
Pearl: Others might prefer to choose the Green Briefcase... which will contain five separate contracts, each valid for a shot at each of AWC’s championship belts and valid for one year from the date of issue. The Grand Slam Package, if you will.
Truth Waters: A sensible choice for newer or younger wrestlers... or those who want the glory of the grand slam, I guess.
James Brunt, stepping into the ring with a case under each arm, holds up the Green Briefcase.
Pearl: The third prize on offer – though again I stress that these are not in order of perceived quality – will remain a mystery until its winner opens the case. The Blue Briefcase is the mystery case! – its contents are unknown to all.
He considers.
Pearl: Except me, of course.
Brunt now raises the Blue Briefcase, which has a silver question mark on one side, above his head.
Pearl: But how to get hold of these cases?
Truth Waters: Yes, that’s what we want to know! TELL US WHAT THE MATCH IS!
Pearl: Well –
Harber stops as Brunt taps him on the shoulder and points to his wrist, grinning as he whispers furiously. Pearl nods conspiratorially and brings the microphone to his lips one more time.
George Cassidy: You can’t be serious...
Pearl: Ah, I'm afraid we’re out of time, everyone. That announcement is going to have to wait until next week!
Before there can be any protest, “Bohemian Like You” hits once more as Harber stands, surveying the capacity crowd with a beaming smile on his face. The camera pans away, swirling, ducking and diving, as the copyright notice comes up and the show ends.