---

One Time Pass
LOCATION: New Jersey
FEATURING: GBJ & David 'Pearl' Harber
AUTHOR: Josh K.

---

Earlier tonight

Before leaving for the island destination of the biggest match in his career, Garbage Bag Johnny is in Atlantic City, New Jersey, sitting in David “Pearl” Harber’s office across from the man himself. GBJ, in a smaller chair looks over the large desk that Harber sits behind, looking three feet taller, the intimidation of an elementary school principal, as Johnny cowers at his lower altitude. Pearl thumps a manila envelope against the desk.

Pearl: Johnny, the reason you’re here, as you may know, is because of the serum you were concocting last week. I’m sure you’re in the clear, but with what’s happened in the past, I couldn’t take any chances, and I had a sample of your serum analyzed.

Garbage Bag Johnny gulps.

Pearl: Now if there are any performance enhancing substances, I cannot allow you to participate in the main event. Shall we take a look at what’s inside?

Garbage Bag Johnny knew the serum recipe by heart, but he hadn’t studied the legality of the ingredients. Situations like this in the past have always landed GBJ in trouble. Harber opens the file and reads over it, listing off GBJ’s secret recipe.

Pearl: Alright, let’s see here. A ham sandwich smoothie, three ounces of Honey Dijon, baking soda, chocolate milk, a deck of pornographic playing cards?

Garbage Bag Johnny: That was for consistency, sir.

David Harber furrows his brow, he stops reading the list aloud, seeing nothing illegal in GBJ’s serum. Still, the serum worked, seeming to give GBJ super strength. What gives?

Pearl: Well, your serum seems to pass, and you seem to be clear. But there’s still one small problem.

Garbage Bag Johnny: What’s that?

Pearl: You have exactly twenty five minutes to get to South Florida.

Garbage Bag Johnny: I had a feeling this would happen, so I’ve got a plan, but I’ll need your consent.

Garbage Bag Johnny tugs at his beard, and with great pains and pained grimaces and grimacing greatness, he pulls out a high speed j4tpack! Harber sighs, holds his head in his hands. He almost can’t believe that this is the man who earned the right to compete in the main event of his business’ grandest event of all time.

Pearl: I’ll grant you a one time pass.

GBJ pumps his fists victoriously before strapping on the j4tpack.

Pearl: Remember… ONE time pass.

And with that, GBJ gives his boss a huge thumbs up… hell, make it a double. And then, right from David Harber’s office, he fires that puppy up, the flames melting the chair behind him. And GBJ shoots out, crashing through ceiling panels as it snows drywall onto the AWC owner. Harber stares forward for a long time.

Pearl: … I guess I should’ve seen that one coming.

---

Motivational Tactics
LOCATION: New Jersey
FEATURING: The Coalition
AUTHOR: Dave Larkin

---

Just moments before The Coalition’s biggest match of their short career, the AWC cameras enter the locker room of the aforementioned team, who are preparing themselves for the challenge ahead. Wesley Reno, dressed in a glittering short-sleeved shirt and black wrestling shorts, appears to be the more nervous of the two. Phil Allen, in contrast, is simply conducting some warm-up exercises on a bench nearby, nerves not overtaking the ring veteran.

Phil Allen: (tentatively) What’s on your mind, Wes?

Reno turns towards Allen’s direction, but begins pacing again, rubbing his hands together as he formulates a response.

Wesley Reno: What’s on my mind? Isn’t it obvious? I’ve had a hell of a lot on my plate for the last couple of weeks, what with Fisher and his antics. Then just a few days ago, I find out the woman I once idolized is now dating my biggest rival in the political world. So you’ll excuse me, Phil, if I seem a little concerned about this match.

Reno pauses, finally calming himself and taking a seat beside Allen, who stares into the troubled eyes of his tag team partner. Allen pats Reno on the back, assuring him.

Phil Allen: Don’t sweat it, kid. I know I’ve given you a tough time in recent weeks since we first met up, but don’t think for one second that my intention was to put you off balance. I was simply toughening you up for what you’d come up against in this wrestling business.

Allen’s face is deadly serious, and Reno regards it as such, nodding to himself and undoubtedly appreciating the work Allen has done to train him to this level. Just as the two seem to be getting along, however, Allen pulls a rabbit out of the hat.

Phil Allen: So, with the toughening you up theme still in mind, I’d like to call in your personal secretary and femme fatale herself, Dawn Davidson! (calling to the door) Dawn, honey, you can come in now!

Reno’s jaw drops as his secretary of three years, Dawn Davidson, enters the room. Reno rarely meets Davidson in person, usually restricting their conversations to the phone. Dawn Davidson was an unattractive woman, in truth. She was the closest thing to ugly as one could imagine for a woman. She had pointy, disheveled hair, which was perpetually tied in a bobbin. She reeked of body odour, and Reno instinctively covered his nose as she walked towards him. Allen grinned with glee as Davidson slapped a sheet of paper on Reno’s lap.

Dawn Davidson: Hey Wes! Um, why are you covering your nose?

Wesley Reno: Oh, no reason! I – I just needed to… because, um, Phil here was working out… and he stinks when he works out.

Phil Allen: Actually, I find my odour quite acceptable, Wes.

Reno checks the printout which Davidson handed him. It is a crude picture from the internet depicting a rabbit holding a sign which reads “Go kick some ass!”. Reno almost shook his head in disgust at the gesture, but managed a smile.

Wesley Reno: Thanks Dawn. Thanks a lot. I think we should probably be heading off for our match now, though. You know, it’s a big, big match for us…

Reno shoots Allen a pointed glance, signaling for him to make his exit so that Reno could follow him. Allen folds his arms, continues to work out, and watches Reno squirm as he is faced up with Dawn Davidson’s massive breasts, which are blocking the view to the door… and everywhere in the room.

Dawn Davidson: Oh, your match. I almost forgot. Well, I’ll be here to congratulate you right after. I know you’re gonna be a winner, Wessie. You always have been!

Allen almost begins to laugh hysterically at her calling Reno “Wessie”, but resists the temptation. Allen whistles at Reno, finally relieving him of the pain of having to hold a conversation with Dawn Davidson.

Phil Allen: Time to go, Wes.

Wesley Reno: Oh, really? Darn, I’ll see you later, Dawn.

Dawn Davidson: (kissing Wes on the cheek) See you later, Wessie.

The scene fades out as Reno and Allen head out of the locker room and towards the ring for the biggest match of their career as a team thus far. Reno is no longer nervous, however, having endured the torture of Dawn Davidson. Now the team exudes confidence. Now they are ready for anything.

---

Introduction
LOCATION: London & New Jersey
FEATURING: Truth Waters, George Cassidy, Dave Kern & Jeff Marx
AUTHOR: Dave Larkin

---

The Atlantic Wrestling Club logo flashes across the screen as the broadcast of what has been billed as the biggest event in AWC history begins to an almighty roar from the fans on both sides of the Atlantic.

The screen turns to complete darkness. Flashing into life suddenly, “Price To Play” by Staind begins to play as several images appear in quick succession. David “Pearl” Harber shaking Sasha Volkyeva’s hand; a stare of intense hatred between Teresa Tomas and Tiara Belle Russell; flashes of finishing moves and highlights from those involved in the East versus West elimination match; the Transatlantic champion Pierce Lavelle parading around the ring, championship in tow.

Fail to see,
How destructive we can be,
Taking without giving back,
‘Til the damage can be seen

A brilliant flash of light crackles into life on-screen, as the images of AWC superstars past and present flood onto the screen, one after another, without stopping.

Can you see?!
Can you see?!

The collage of images meld into each other as a split screen appears, the graphics “Live from New Jersey” and “Live from London” respectively displayed on each screen. The chorus of “Price To Play” bursts into life suddenly.

The more you take,
The more you blame,
But everything still feels the same,
The more you hurt,
The more you strain,
The price you pay to play the game

A dazzling array of pyrotechnics is released simultaneously on both sides of the Atlantic live, as the fans in both the Continental Airlines Arena and Wembley Arena scream their lungs out in excitement for the biggest show of the calendar in wrestling. The lights in both arenas flash into life at once, kicking off the show officially.

And all you see,
And all you gain,
And all you step on with no shame,
There are no rules,
No one to blame,
The price to play the game!

On the left-hand side of the split screen, Truth Waters and George Cassidy sit at their announcers’ table just outside the ring.

Truth Waters: Welcome, one and all, to the pay-per-view extravaganza that is Coast To Coast! Never in the history of wrestling has such a concept been tried. Tonight, AWC is broadcasting a pay-per-view event on both sides of the Atlantic Ocean! I can hardly believe it’s happening.

George Cassidy: Believe it, Truth – it’s the Truth!. Tonight there’s gonna be fireworks on both sides of the Atlantic. And hey, maybe then we can head over to Europe for a little bit. I hear those French chicks are up for anything!

Truth Waters: Putting your fantasies aside for a minute, Cass, can we concentrate on tonight’s matches?

George Cassidy: Up the West team!

Truth Waters: That’s it? That’s all you’re giving me in terms of expert analysis?

George Cassidy: Yes. That’s it. Are we done? Let’s see what those kooks on the East think. Top that, East!

Just as George Cassidy utters those words, Dave Kern and Jeff Marx, representing Fresh!east appear on the right side of the split screen, both of them dressed impeccably for the event.

Dave Kern: Kooks on the East? We’ll have to see what happens tonight, I suppose, Mr. Cassidy. Rivalries will erupt tonight, teams will battle, pride will be put on the line, men and indeed women will fight it out live at Coast To Coast!

Jeff Marx: I’m looking forward to that Teresa Tomas versus Tiara Belle Russell match! Uh, no. But let’s put things into perspective now. We’re looking at the biggest event of the year, and it’s being held right across the Atlantic! There’s a match to suit everyone – just take your pick!

Dave Kern: Indeed. Tonight the Alliance, Relentless, Frontier and Transatlantic championships are all up for grabs! We’re going to see some surprises here tonight in the form of which Entertainment Manager will be named as the boss. It just doesn’t get any better!

Jeff Marx: Dave, you’re starting to bore me with this rant! Let’s get it started, shall we?

---

Playing God, as Usual
LOCATION: New Jersey
FEATURING: Dr. Kassidy Drake
AUTHOR: ???

---

Allow me to set the scene a little:

The Continental Airlines Arena in East Rutherford, New Jersey is absolutely jam-packed with bodies; young and old, big and small, black and white, male and female - the atmosphere is electric. Across the pond the same applies to the Wembley Arena in England’s capital city, London, although with markedly worse-looking teeth and stiffer upper-lips. Somewhere else in the world aboard the Jewel Of The Seas there are drunken, crazy wrestlers… and a whole lot of them at that, but this madness is just what the Atlantic Wrestling Club is all about. This is just what they do – some people, of the undoubtedly cooler echelons of society, would say “this is just how they roll”.

Focusing on New Jersey for a moment, though, where all of those jam-packed bodies are here for one purpose - and one purpose alone: to see the biggest wrestling event of 2006 so far: AWC’s Coast To Coast - probably the best wrestling show you’ll see all year. However, these days you can’t have big wrestling events without big names and big surprises, and boy-oh-boy do we have a double-whammy for you tonight on the East coast:

There’s a guy called Dr. Kasidy Drake, who owns Drakewerx Pharmaceuticals, and therefore, in turn, owns the Atlantic Wrestling Club. He owns Garbage Bag Johnny, he owns Anton Assault, he owns Paddy O’Shea and he owns Pierce Lavelle. As you might have guessed, Dr. Drake is a pretty big deal - he’s big news – and he has an awesome name, to boot. Originally his sole intention for a rare appearance at Coast To Coast was to announce the victorious Entertainment Manager and end the AWC roster divide (not exactly small news in itself)… but then an opportunity arose for a piece of business that he simply could not ignore.

Usually Drake’s appearance alone - and his subsequent decision - would be enough to get people talking, but tonight at Coast To Coast oh-six he didn’t think that it would be enough. Tonight he came to New Jersey with another announcement that he fully expected to shake AWC to its core. Going over the heads of David Harber and Sasha Volkyeva and swaying from usual company policy, Dr. Kasidy Drake was in East Rutherford to announce something special – something he hoped would signal the start of AWC’s last push to become the biggest wrestling company on the planet.

A rare insight into the majesty of Drake’s existence comes with our opening shot of the view from his executive suite at the Continental Airlines Arena, impressively situated directly over the stage area in the uppermost reaches of the building. The main bowel of the arena below is a sight to behold from the balcony, but the real enormity of his wealth only begins to hit home as our focus switches to the interior of the room.

A half-dozen security guards man the lavish oak doorway, with another six outside - “DRAKEWERX” emblazoned across their bullet-proof vests in bold, yellow lettering and they each have handguns firmly placed in over-the-shoulder holsters in undoubtedly intimidating fashion. Three silver-service waitresses, dressed to the nines, hurriedly assemble a dining table in preparation of a presumably lavish one-man feast.

The room, in itself, is also typically extravagant. A fifty-two-inch plasma screen television is fixed to the white-painted wall to the right of the balcony area, three enormous brown leather couches adorn too much floor-space than is surely necessary and numerous exotic-looking plants and ornaments are dotted around in precise locations for “decorative” effect. There is a full bar, a desk complete with a personal computer… and even a mini-spa. Kasidy Drake’s personal suite is more akin to a one-room palace.

The man himself is strangely understated, although a definite air of class floats around him. As the camera settles down to a resting place a few feet from his face, Drake casually swills around the bourbon/ice in his crystal glass, takes a sip and then straightens out his light-grey, tie-less, suit – waiting patiently for the token jeers to die-down from the rowdy twenty-thousand AWC nuts outside below his window.

Dr. Kasidy Drake: Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, I am delighted to take this rare opportunity to officially welcome you to this year’s Coast To Coast and to thank you for your continuing and unwavering support of this fantastic company.

The jeers slowly transmogrify into a brief moment of self-appreciation on the part of the gathered fans, before Drake continues to address his eager public.

Dr. Kasidy Drake: Tonight marks the end of an outstanding year for the Atlantic Wrestling Club and, as Chief Financial Advisor, major stakeholder and – well, I own the place, haha – there is nobody in the world who is more proud of our achievements than I am.

Another relaxed sip of bourbon later and he finds himself back on track, the issue of addressing a worldwide audience obviously having absolutely no bearing on the depressingly self-assured businessman.

Dr. Kasidy Drake: My original intention upon coming to East Rutherford tonight was quite simply to announce whether David Harber or Sasha Volkyeva had won the “race” to become the permanent Entertainment Manager of AWC and to end the roster “split” - but yesterday an opportunity arose that I could simply not ignore.

Not entirely sure what to expect, New Jersey’s underwhelming response doesn’t come close to matching the excitement evident on the face of the owner of Drakewerx Pharmaceuticals, but, unperturbed, he carries on regardless.

Dr. Kasidy Drake: This week an “asset” entered the wrestling marketplace that I felt this company could not do without, and this “asset” is here in New Jersey… tonight.

Bursting free of the shackles of uncertainty the crowd inside of the Continental Airlines Arena briefly erupts at the prospect of a big name joining the already-stacked AWC roster, meaning that Drake has to take a few moments pause before he can close off his announcement with extreme vigour and grandeur:

Dr. Kasidy Drake: TONIGHT, in the ring you all see before you - I, Dr. Kasidy Drake - will offer a wrestling legend two routes into the Atlantic Wrestling Club… because I am a fair man and believe in opportunities for all he can take the “low road” or he can take the “high road”---

Drake holds up two seemingly identical contracts in his right hand as he carries on…

Dr. Kasidy Drake: ---but either way, in East Rutherford, New Jersey – at Coast To Coast two-thousand-and-six – a new era begins for AWC. Tonight we herald a new dawn for this company, as we begin our final ascent to the very top of the wrestling world with the first piece of the oh-six/oh-seven jigsaw…

The megalomaniac grins uneasily as a massive, inspired “A-DUB-C” chant begins echoing around the packed arena, drowning out anything else he was planning to say. The chairman of Drakewerx Pharmaceuticals often gives the impression that there is far more to him than meets the eye - and tonight it seems he intends to show just a little more than he ever has before as he steps into the ring with an as-yet unnamed “wrestling legend”. This is gonna be good…

---

A-Vid: The Coalition
LOCATION: Previously Recorded
FEATURING: The Coalition
AUTHOR: Dave Larkin

---

A TEAM BROUGHT TOGETHER BY THEIR OWN INDIVIDUAL GOALS…

Wesley Reno: If you want this team to work out for you, for both of us, we need to cooperate properly. This team is gonna benefit us both if we quit the petty arguments and just get down to business.

Phil Allen: Boy, do we have a lot of work to do…

Change,
Everything you are,
And everything you were,
Your number has been called

THEIR JOURNEY WAS NEVER SMOOTH…

The Coalition picks Tim up and goes for The Political View but Reno is pushed off the top rope by Liam and goes flying to the outside, Liam gets in the ring and grabs Allen, he whips him into the ropes, Tim quickly jumps to his feet, spins around and nails the Fist of God. Tim then goes for the pin.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

George Cassidy: Oh my! That came out of nowhere!

Fights, battles have begun,
Revenge will surely come,
Your hard times are ahead

BOTH OF THEM FACED CHALLENGES…

A collection of scenes from the Surf City Diner match at Fresh!special on Huntington Beach are shown. Reno delivering The Quota to Vince Jones; Phil Allen acting as a lumberjack throughout the match; Reno and Allen tumbling into the Pacific Ocean together as Reno is eliminated.

Best,
You’ve got to be the best,
You’ve got to change the world,
And use this chance to be heard,
Your time is now

A VICTORY GALVANISED THEM…

Allen rolls Murphy onto his back, The Captain charges but Reno grabs him, belly to belly suplex! The ref makes his count.

Truth Waters: One, two, and three makes The Coalition winners tonight.

“Eye of the Tiger” hits as Allen and Reno raise the arms for a cheering crowd.

Don’t,
Let yourself down,
Don’t let yourself go,
Your last chance has arrived

TONIGHT AT COAST TO COAST…

Images of The Coalition’s preparations for the match, coupled with a highlight package of their journey thus far, plays in the background as the Coast To Coast 2006 logo dominates the screen.

THE COALITION FACE THEIR BIGGEST CHALLENGE YET…

The video package comes to an end on the lingering image of Phil Allen and Wesley Reno walking down a corridor in the backstage and past a camera, the two appearing confident. Muse’s “Butterflies And Hurricanes” is the sole accompaniment to the final message on screen:

THE COALITION VERSUS PACIFIC WRESTLING CLUB… TONIGHT

Best,
You’ve got to be the best,
You’ve got to change the world,
And use this chance to be heard,
Your time is now

---

PWC vs. The Coalition
LOCATION: New Jersey
STIPULATION: Duo Tag
REFEREE: Joseph Reid
AUTHOR: ???

---

Truth Waters: Let’s get this show underway ladies and gentlemen!

George Cassidy: It’s going to be Wesley Reno and Shawn Harris to start Coast To Coast off with a bang!

Truth Waters: No time for introductions as both teams are in the ring and ready to explode!

Reno beckons Harris over to him, offering his fingers in the traditional technical style to lock up. Harris moves gingerly over to Reno, offering his left hand toward Reno’s before bringing it back down again sharply. He looks toward Reno, shooting him a glare of discontent. Looking back to Krimzon, he offers his hand once more toward Reno. Slowly interlocking fingers, Reno motions for Harris’s right hand and is duly obliged as Harris locks his fingers in with Reno’s. Harris though smaller in stature powers through Reno and forces the larger man to his knees. Reno breaks his right hand free and sweeps Harris’s legs from underneath him. From his knees, Reno drops an elbow across the sternum of Harris and quickly bounces to his feet. Harris rises sharply, ducking a running lariat attempt. Harris quickly takes Reno to the floor with a perfectly timed Snap Mare takedown. Harris follows it up with a quick Neck Snap, rolling through to his feet and charging into the ropes. He springs back, jumping over the body of Reno and off into the other side. Harris rumbles back into a Back Body Drop attempt from Reno which he expertly counters by rolling over the shoulders of Reno; again he hits the ropes only to be met with a Drop Toe Hold. Reno moves quickly applying a Side Headlock

Truth Waters: Beautiful technical start to the match up, Wesley trying to get an upper hand at the minute.

Harris moves to his feet backing Reno into the ropes whilst still in the Headlock. Reno flies off the ropes and swats a Running Drop Kick attempt from Harris aside. Moving swiftly he waistlocks the rising Shawn Harris and takes him to the ground with a Belly-to-Belly Suplex. A Standing Moonsault is launched, as the body of Reno slams down onto Shawn Harris. Reno moves to his corner and makes the tag.

George Cassidy: Here comes the Hardman!

Phil Allen makes his way over toward the downed Harris and measures a perfect knee, dropping it to the temple of Shawn Harris. Harris recoils in pain and rolls to his stomach clutching his head. Allen moves swiftly picking Harris up from the canvas: scooping him in his arms he drops Harris across his knees for a vicious Rib Breaker. Maintaining the hold he drops the ribs of Shawn Harris forcibly down across his knee, dropping Harris to the ground.

Truth Waters: Raw power and aggression from Allen!

Allen bounces himself into the ropes and drops a fist down across the bridge of Harris’s nose. Sharply to his feet, Phil Allen picks Shawn Harris up to his feet and slaps a front facelock upon him. Lifting him vertically and hanging him there for what seemed an eternity, Harris’ body falls onto Allen’s shoulder as he charges across the ring with a Running Powerslam. Allen explodes to his feet and begins to taunt the currently helpless Kris Krimzon; Krimzon tries to make his way into the ring, but is stopped by the referee. Allen tags in Reno, as both men pick the hapless Shawn Harris to his feet. Phil Allen whips Shawn Harris into the ropes and meets him with a Back Body Drop…

Truth Waters: OH MY…

Harris miraculously lands on the shoulders of Wesley Reno and spikes his head to the floor with a vicious Frankensteiner. Harris jumps to his feet and stalks the oblivious Allen. Allen spins and tries to lump Harris with a lariat – Harris ducks underneath and nails Allen with a T-Bone Suplex. Harris obviously spent makes his way toward Kris Krimzon… Wesley Reno however has over ideas as he latches on to the right leg of Harris. Reno reels Shawn Harris in toward him taunting him while he holds the hobbling Harris. Harris recoils and then fires away with a nefarious left footed Enzuigiri. Shawn Harris crawls on his stomach toward his corner…

Truth Waters: TAG!

George Cassidy: Here comes Mr. Krimzon!

Krimzon unloads a hellacious right hand sending Phil Allen into the turnbuckle; he follows this up with a charging knee rendering Allen somewhat immobile. Krimzon turns just in time to see Wesley Reno aiming himself toward his direction and moves swiftly aside, launching him into the unsuspecting Phil Allen. It’s a Coalition Sandwich in the corner as Kris Krimzon grabs Shawn Harris and Irish Whips him to the corner. Harris smashes into the Coalition with a Body Splash. Krimzon follows the assault up with a Neckbreaker, taking Wesley Reno to the canvas. Krimzon dives to make a quick cover…

ONE!

TWO!

Truth Waters: Shoulder up after what was a nasty Neckbreaker…

Krimzon jumps to his feet and wasting no time continues his foray launching a series of leaping Elbow Drops to Wesley Reno. Krimzon brings Reno to his feet and takes him to the ground with a Fireman’s Carry Takedown. Krimzon expertly climbs the turnbuckle and signals for something spectacular – he wants to end this as early as possible…

Truth Waters: 450 Splash with AUTHORITY!

George Cassidy: Does this face look impressed?

Truth Waters: Don’t you mean ‘bothered’? Does my face look bothered?

George Cassidy: No, ‘coz I ain’t even bothered.

Truth Waters: Riiiiight…

Krimzon is reluctant to go for the pin instead opting to tag in Shawn Harris who by now has recovered on the ring apron. Harris slingshots from off the top rope and into the ring with a Leg Drop across the throat of Wesley Reno, he rolls through to his feet and launches a cheap shot at Phil Allen, knocking him down from off the canvas. Harris shoots of the ropes and flips onto the downed Reno with a Senton Splash. Harris locks in a Side Headlock and lifts Reno to his feet. Taking Reno to the ground with a swift Headlock Takedown, Harris moves in and applies a Head Scissors reminiscent of a Triangle Choke. The move is held only briefly though as Harris pulls Reno to his feet, he moves quickly to tag in Kris Krimzon once more and takes Reno to the canvas with a well executed Russian Leg Sweep.

Truth Waters: I’d argue George that Shawn Harris is in fact one of the best technicians the AWC has to offer.

Krimzon lifts Reno to his feet and slices his chest almost open with a Knife Hand Chop of Ric Flair proportions. A second reverberates around the arena, and finally a third which sends Reno into the enemies corner. Krimzon distracts the referee ever so slightly allowing Harris to lock in an illegal choke on Reno. Kris seizing the opportunity runs in with a heavily inflicted shoulder tackle knocking the air from within Reno’s lungs. He hoists Reno onto the top turnbuckle and tags in Shawn Harris. Harris climbs the turnbuckles and looks as if he’s going to Superplex Reno onto the bare canvas… at the last minute Krimzon lifts Harris onto his shoulders initiating the SuperSuperPlex!

Truth Waters: By God what impact!

Reno’s carcass crashes to the ground with high velocity as Harris scrambles for the cover.

ONE!

TWO!

THR---

NO!

Phil Allen dives in breaking up the pin for what surely would have been a certain three count. Allen disobeying the referee picks Harris off the canvas and lays him out with a stiffly executed DDT. Allen drives off his downed position toward the corner of Kris Krimzon, dropping him to the floor with a left hand. Allen is ushered back to his corner by the referee. He lies in wait of a tag from Reno…

Truth Waters: If he gets there… this could turn the momentum in the favour of the Coalition.

George Cassidy: I sure as hell hope not…

Wesley Reno reaches out for the tag: but no! Kris Krimzon drops a knee into the spine of the crawling Reno and drags him back to the middle of the ring, much to the dismay of the referee. Harris by now is back to a vertical base and looking to inflict some damage. Dragging Reno to his feet he places a stiff boot to the sternum, causing Wesley to double over in pain. Shawn Harris places Reno between his knees in a standing head scissor before yanking him skyward onto his shoulders, pacing across the ring and dropping him with the Hardkore Bomb (Running Powerbomb). Not content with one Hardkore Bomb, Harris repeats the feat across to the other side, slamming the spine of Reno into the canvas.

Truth Waters: Some things in life hurt, and that’s bound to be one of them…

George Cassidy: Why? How would you know?

Truth Waters: I’ve seen more physical contact than you have George I can assure you of that…

George Cassidy: Not with your wife though Truth, she told me that yesterday.

Truth Waters: You what… ?

George Cassidy: Nothing pookie…

Truth Waters: Pookie?!

Harris slides underneath the bottom rope and drags the head of Wesley Reno toward the edge of the canvas, dangling it precariously over. Marching a few steps backward Harris comes in dropping an elbow across the throat of Wesley Reno. Harris smartly hops onto the canvas and using the top rope as leverage slingshots down across the throat of Reno with a Moonsault Leg Drop. Reno drops to the outside clutching his throat prompting Phil Allen to pursue Shawn Harris around the ring. Harris makes a dash for it as he sees Allen emerge from around the ringpost leaving Kris Krimzon in the ring by himself. Ever the opportunist, Krimzon dashes toward the kneeling Reno and dives over the top rope with a Suicide Plancha attempt. Reno however counters with a Drop Kick, connecting with the airborne Krimzon, sending him crashing into the ringside.

Truth Waters: I’m surprised Reno can move after the beating he’s been taking.

Wesley Reno battles to his feet just in time to meet the oncoming Shawn Harris with a beautiful go behind followed by a release Dragon Suplex leaving Harris crumpled in a heap on the floor. Reno rolls himself into the ring to recover as Phil Allen picks up the downed Kris Krimzon. Allen pulls Krimzon across his shoulders in a Standing Fireman’s Carry and charges at the ringpost, launching Krimzon spine first into the steel. Allen turns but is met with a swift Karate Kick to the ribs and a rising Knee sending him crashing into the barricade. Harris rolls into the ring. Reno has no one to tag as he staggers into his corner.

George Cassidy: Aww… would you look at that. Reno goes all the way over to his corner to make a tag and no ones home.

Truth Waters: Sometimes George you can be so… sarcastic.

George Cassidy: It’s what I live for.

Harris gets to his feet and charges into Reno with an attempted Monkey Flip. Reno counters though, bursting from the corner with a charging Spinebuster, sending Harris to the canvas. He follows it up with a bridge pin…

ONE!

Harris kicks out fairly easily: Reno didn’t possess the energy levels to keep him pinned down for any longer. Reno moves groggily to his feet and meets the rising Harris with a determined right hand, Harris responds in kind with his own retort, again Reno unleashes a right of his own, and again Harris meets this with his own riposte. The two trade blows, neither backing down from the fight: however Harris begins to gain an upper hand. Striking three consecutive blows with send Reno rocking back into the ropes. Harris follows the onslaught up with a jumping Crescent Kick and wasting no time climbs the turnbuckle. Harris goes for a trademark Split Legged Moonsault and connects. He makes a quick cover hooking the leg.

ONE!

TWO!

THR---

NO!

Truth Waters: Reno somehow manages to get a foot onto the bottom rope.

Shawn Harris is perturbed by this latest rejection and jumps to his feet pondering a course of action. Unbeknownst to him, Phil Allen had much different ideas.

Truth Waters: PWC have done pretty well neutralising the power asset of the Coalition by keeping Reno pinned down and Allen out of the ring so far…

He spoke way too soon as Allen manhandled Harris onto his shoulders in a standing Reverse Fireman’s Carry. Allen spins three hundred and sixty planting Harris centre ring with a Sitdown Powerbomb causing the ring to shake. Allen maintains the Powerbomb lock and lifts Harris back onto his shoulders before dropping him a second time with another Powerbomb. The referee interjects and moves Allen away to the corner. Both Reno and Harris are central to the ring… both in need of a tag… Truth Waters: Pivotal moment in the match…

George Cassidy: Well… durr…

Truth Waters: I’d LOVE to hit you sometimes.

Reno begins the agonising crawl to his corner as Harris attempts the same. The seconds feel like hours as both men make it inches from the tag when… SLAM… Kris Krimzon’s boot slaps down on the back Reno’s skull sending him face first to the canvas. He knocks Allen to the floor before rushing back to his corner, dragging Harris with him. The referee issues a warning to Krimzon but it’s of little use now.

Truth Waters: When will Allen legally get into this match?! PWC are pulling out ALL the stops to make sure he doesn’t see any action.

George Cassidy: In truth… Truth… it’s working nicely. Keep the power man out of the ring and work down Reno. Reno’s no slouch though; he’s just being overwhelmed by the tactical game plan of the Pacific Wrestling Club.

Harris finally tags in Krimzon who yanks Reno back toward his corner by the ankle. Krimzon picks Reno up before sending him back from whence he came with a bone crunching Double Underhook DDT. He rolls Reno onto his back and mounts the nearest turnbuckle before leaping off with a Top Rope Splash. Krimzon jumps to his feet smiling to the crowd at his achievements…

Truth Waters: Roll up!

ONE!

TWO!

Kick OUT!

Krimzon barely escapes from a piece of quick thinking from Wesley Reno. 618 looks angered and rifles in to the rising Reno with a swift knee to the gut, dragging Reno toward Shawn Harris he tags in the Natural Selection and whips Reno into the ropes, Harris and Krimzon meet Reno with a double Drop Kick, turning Reno inside out. Harris darts for a pin.

ONE!

TWO!

Shoulder UP.

How?

No idea.

Truth Waters: Reno is STILL here… how, you’ve got to ask yourself?

Harris looks irate as he picks Reno up and whips him into the ropes…

Blind tag.

Reno ducks a clothesline attempt from Harris but is met on the way back with a stiff Forearm. Harris turns and is stunned by the flurry of blows sent his way. Allen lands lefts and rights continuously, berating Harris into the corner from where he drives shoulders straight into the gut of Harris.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

The crowd count along.

FOUR!

FIVE!

Allen stops catching the onrushing Kris Krimzon with a Flapjack, launching Krimzon into the corner and crashing straight into the body of Shawn Harris. Krimzon bounces to the canvas and is booted out of the ring by Phil Allen’s right foot. He lays siege to Shawn Harris now with repeated Elbow shots. Allen effortlessly lifts Harris onto the top turnbuckle and sends him crashing toward the ground with a Top Rope Belly-to-Belly Suplex.

Truth Waters: Phil Allen making up for lost time here!

Allen lifts Harris to his feet and slams him to the deck in an instant with a Full Nelson Slam. Allen unleashes an unholy roar as he once more picks Harris up: again with the same result. An Inverted Atomic Drop sends Harris to his knees and the hellacious running Big Boot to the temple did Harris no favours as he crashed into the mat.

Truth Waters: Reno is out of it on the canvas… and what in blue hells name is Krimzon doing?

Krimzon rolls into the ring carrying a steel chair and raises it to the heavens to strike Allen with… however the referee intervenes at the last second. Big mistake. Allen suspecting foul play whips Shawn Harris behind him toward the direction of Krimzon, sending Harris crashing straight into the referee. The referee is sprawled out on the floor: Allen moves over to check on his health.

Truth Waters: BIG MISTAKE…

Kris Krimzon sends the unforgiving steel of the chair across the skull of Phil Allen, sending him crashing to the canvas. He drops the chair and picks Allen’s lifeless body up, motioning for Shawn Harris to join him. They whip Allen into the rope and absolutely cast iron nail the Pacifier (Double Superkick) almost taking Allen over the top rope with the impact. Harris dives out the ring… and begins to attempt to wake the referee up.

George Cassidy: They’re going to steel (steal) a win!

Truth Waters: Did you think of that all by yourself?

Krimzon stands over the body of Allen looking proud of himself… the referee stirs…

Truth Waters: What the…

Out of nowhere, and I mean ABSOLUTELY nowhere Wesley Reno appears behind Kris Krimzon… WHAM.

Truth Waters: The Reno Readjust!!!

Reno hits the Reno Readjust (Fisherman Suplex) straight onto the steel chair.

Truth Waters: This must be it… 1… .2… 3…

The referee though still isn’t awake as he stumbles toward the pinning predicament.

ONE!

TWO!

THR---

NO! Kick Out! At the very last second…

George Cassidy: The Coalition should have won this by now… that was a clear three count.

Reno rolls to his corner as Shawn Harris enters the ring, Harris charges at Reno who sends him over the top rope with a Back Drop. Reno stumbles up the turnbuckle as Allen slowly stands. Krimzon staggers toward Reno…

The Phil Allen Face Plant (Reverse X-Factor) sends Krimzon’s skull crashing toward the canvas… Allen falls to the ground… Reno… groggily… top rope… airborne…

Truth Waters: Somersault Leg Drop!!!

Allen makes the cover after the immensely acrobatic Wesley Reno lands the exclamation point on the Political View…

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Truth Waters: The Coalition Win!!! They will face the Alliance champions at the next AWC pay-per-view!

---

Git-R-Done and Farewell
LOCATION: London
FEATURING: Teresa Tomas, Tiara Belle & Wayne Russell
AUTHOR: Sonya

---

The London is packed to the rafters. Deciding to lave her infamous Chevy Truck back in the states, Teresa arrives unfashionably in a local taxi-cab. One of the guards patrolling the parking area stops the car as it continued toward the rear entrance. Teresa, sitting in the back, rolls down her window giving the guard an impatient stare. The guard chuckles at the sight of a professional wrestler riding in the back of a local taxi and motions the car to proceed.

At the back entrance, Teresa opens her door and steps out of the car and swings her duffel bag over her shoulder. She gives the driver a twenty and tells him to keep the change, with isn’t but a few dollars.

Driver Gee, thanks. Hey Teresa! Before you go, could you do one thing for me?

Not having long before her match, she’s in a bit of a hurry, but what the hell. Teresa sighs impatiently.

Teresa What?

Driver Say Git-R-Done for me? You remind me of that Larry the Cable Guy and with your accent… I need to hear it just once.

Teresa laughs and shakes her head. Instead of fulfilling the driver’s request, Teresa turns her back and begins to walk toward the door. The driver, obviously disappointed yells.

Driver Come on, please? What’s so funny?

Teresa Hearing YOU say it!

Did I mention this place is packed? Once Teresa opens the backstage door, she is immediately pushing her way through stage crew, London Press trying desperately to get the latest on the stars. None of which give Teresa much more than a second glance. Still dressed in her street clothes, she really don’t give a shit. All those reporters are a pain the ass anyway.

Once Teresa found her locker room, she noticed the door was open. When she entered, she found Tiara Russell sitting on the bench. Her husband, Wayne is standing behind her providing a shoulder massage.

Tiara That’s it Wayne, a little harder. Yes, just like that.

Wayne stops but leaves his hands on his wife’s shoulder once he notices Teresa standing in the doorway watching with slight disgust.

Wayne Honey, she’s here.

Teresa Ya know, you two could find a room for that. Preferably your own locker room?

Tiara opens her eyes and smiles.

Tiara Teresa! What a surprise. I thought you’d never show up. I was beginning think you chickened out on our match.

Teresa Not hardly. Now, unless you want to watch me change, I suggest you get out of my locker room.

Teresa gives the couple no time to leave. She turns around and begins the gather the hem of her grey ARMY t-shirt. Still standing behind his wife, Wayne watches as any normal male would watch a woman undress. When Tiara stood, she turned her head just in time to see the look in her husband’s eyes and gives him a sharp elbow in the gut followed by a threatening glare.

Tiara Teresa, stop, put your shirt down and listen. The reason we’re in your locker room is because we’re leaving.

The grey t-shirt fell back down over her waist and Teresa turned around.

Teresa Leaving? What’s the matter? Cold feet? Afraid I might break one of your nails?

Tiara No, dumb ass. After I kick your ass in a few minutes, Wayne and I are heading back to the state. We’re taking a much needed vacation.

Tiara leans against Wayne’s side as he wraps an arm around her. Teresa smirks wondering what exactly he sees in Tiara. Teresa sits on the bench and begins to take her sneakers off.

Teresa Vacation from what? I’m probably the only action you’ve seen since Nash and Bridges left and that was months ago.

With a nod from Tiara, Teresa soon felt the large hands of Wayne Russell griping her arms at her side. Tiara knelt so that she could get eye level with her half sister.

Tiara Vacation from you. You’re nothing but a low life hillbilly skank. Ever since I found out you were my sister, I’ve been sick every night thinking that we share the same blood. My father is a good man and to think that some trashy whore seduced him almost 30 years ago makes my stomach turn. When I get done with you in that ring, the medics are going to have to scrape your pathetic ass off the floor with a shovel.

Tiara stands up with a triumphant stance as she watches her half sister, Teresa struggle to break from Wayne’s grip. Tiara gives Wayne another nod and before Teresa could react, she is lifted off the bench and tossed into a metal locker. Teresa’s shoulder makes contact with a loud bang and her body slides down the metal door until she is sitting on the floor.

Teresa sits holding her arm and watches as Tiara and Wayne exchange a passionate kiss before departing hand in hand.

---

Wager II: The Return of Wager
LOCATION: Atlantic Ocean
FEATURING: GBJ, Pierce Lavelle
AUTHOR: Josh K. & Lara

---

Earlier in the show

There is a euphoria of cheers that erupts around the grounds as fans enjoy the sight of their Transatlantic champion, Pierce Lavelle. Lavelle, GBJ, and Adam Dick are all on the vessel heading towards Bermuda, Lavelle is dressed in his new ring attire with a smile perched along his lips against his delicately cut goatee.

The cheers swell as he’s met by Garbage Bag Johnny, the red mesh shorts and shaggy hair of the number-one-contender familiar to the passers-bys. Lavelle greets him with a simple nod and cocky grin.

Pierce Lavelle: Got my money yet?

Garbage Bag Johnny: More like you got MY money yet?

GBJ grins, ruffling his already matted and lengthy hair.

Pierce Lavelle: How is our lovely wager – I mean – Ms. Nash?

Lavelle’s question raises the eyebrow of GBJ, a slight shuffle in his step as the very question poses a truer resolve in Garbage. A sense of anxiety flutters through the air.

Garbage Bag Johnny: Oh yeah… she’s, um, great. I was, uh, just going to her locker room to, uh, have sexual intercourse with her.

Pierce Lavelle: Johnny, are you high? We’re on a boat.

Garbage Bag Johnny looks around.

Garbage Bag Johnny: So we are… but to answer your question, yes. I’m high on my serum. It’s far stronger than Prometheus. You want some?

Lavelle inched forward as GBJ holds out a can of some mysterious serum.

Pierce Lavelle: What’d you say?

GBJ stood his ground, undaunted by the muscular stature of Lavelle, flexing his muscles as his veins pumped faster, rage boiling within him.

Garbage Bag Johnny: What with Drake being around and all.

Pierce Lavelle: You’re playing a dangerous game, Johnny.

GBJ moved closer, his dog breath fleeting up Lavelle’s noise making him recoil and hack a cough as he struggled with the overwhelming stench.

Garbage Bag Johnny: I don’t play games.

Pierce Lavelle: You need some serious breath mints.

As Lavelle mentions those very words, GBJ self-consciously breathes on his hand and sniffs it, waving it off as nothing and turns his attention back toward his opponent.

Garbage Bag Johnny: Look, I’ve got to run to the market before our match. Pick up some avocados. It’s guacamole season. So you want to swap bank details now? Or later?

Pierce Lavelle: Johnny, we’re on a boat. But it’s wishful thinking if you still think she’s going to stay with you and not run off with that low-life, Adam Dick.

Garbage Bag Johnny: Now you’re swimmin’ in water, Lavelle.

Pierce Lavelle: It’s deep waters…

GBJ ignores Pierce as Lavelle stood impatiently beside GBJ, as if waiting for the right time to waltz off, having grown bored of his opponent.

Garbage Bag Johnny: Got my lucky shoes on tonight.

Pierce Lavelle: Feeling lucky are we?

GBJ waves the scraggy pair of trainers in front of Lavelle, who smiles, beginning to like the humble and well humoured opponent.

Pierce Lavelle: Look, just be careful with Dick and his Queen, they can turn on you quickly.

Garbage Bag Johnny: Like I said, I got my lucky shoes on, so it’ll be clear sailing for me.

GBJ crosses his arms for dramatic effect, pushing his chest out in a manly and authoritative manner as he matches the stance of Lavelle.

Pierce Lavelle: That right? You expecting the crown, my money and the belt tonight?

Garbage Bag Johnny: I didn’t shave my waist for nothing.

Pierce Lavelle: Well, King Johnny, till we meet again!

---

Teresa Tomas vs. Tiara Belle Russell
LOCATION: London
STIPULATION: Singles
REFEREE: Selena Summer
AUTHOR: Trent

---

Dave Kern: Alright, everybody... we're in for a female wrestling treat here in a match including two woman with a bit of history between each other. Teresa Tomas and Tiara Belle Russell will square off in a match that has been proclaimed a 'sibling rivalry blow-off', and for good reason.

Jeff Marx: Wait! Anyone listening, forget you ever heard that. Actually, forget Dave is even speaking at all times. It's difficult for me to say this during AWC's biggest show of the year, but changing the channel is heavily advised... unless two useless females tugging each other's hair floats your boat.

Dave Kern: I'm not entirely sure I can counter that without going over the edge, but ignore the sexist to my left. This match could come as a surprise, so don't even think about missing it ...

Jeff Marx: Sexist? I prefer opinionated.

Dave Kern: Yes. Against women!

Jeff Marx: I don't know what you're talking about, Dave. I love women! They are the wind in my sails, the rub to my pen---

Dave Kern: OKAY!

Lights grow dim. A red glow emits from the entrance. Within the glow is a silhouette of a long-haired female. The beginning intro to “Breakdown” by Tantric pours from the PA system. White pyros explode from either side of the entrance ramp creating a thick blanket of white smoke. Teresa Tomas steps through the smoke. A cigarette hangs from the corner of her mouth. She is decked out in faded Levi’s and a black ¼-sleeve t-shirt with the words written in metallic chrome “What’s YOUR Excuse?” Teresa stops midway down the ramp to release a final puff of cigarette smoke before removing the cancer stick from her lips. She glances to her right, then to her left giving the fan an empty stare before dropping the burning butt to at her feet, then stops it with her boot. Once the lyrics begin, she resumes her journey to the ring. Overhead, the big screen comes alive to reveal highlights of the Top Rope Temptress’s career for the audience.

Jeff Marx: What the hell is this, Sex And The City?

Dave Kern: Good one, Jeff. Really.

In your life you seem to have it all
You seem to have control
But deep within your soul
You're losing it

A slideshow of photos from days of old pass over the big screen. All of which are of Teresa’s career beginnings in her indy fed, Larger Than Life. The LTL logo is placed in the background of these photos. The first is of a much younger Teresa decked out in a dark blue evening gown standing between two wrestlers with tag-team belts draped over their shoulders. One is a well-built blond-haired man in a black Stetson cowboy hat, jeans, snakeskin boot, and a black t-shirt with his huge arms crossed over his chest. The other is a younger and slimmer OSW legend Scott Taylor. The rest of the photos reveal in-ring shots of the tag-teams with Teresa standing at ringside posing as their valet/manager.

You never took the time
Assume that you're to blame
You think that you're insane
Won't you spare me

The chorus begins with the end of the slideshow revealing the first picture being torn in three; Each falling in separate directions. This if followed by images of Teresa beginning her wrestling career in the PWA then a shot of her short-lived and forgotten NTICW stable Ultimate Opposition featuring herself, Andi the Magnificent, Syn, and Scott Taylor. The image freezes then it too tears as the photo had torn. All individuals fall in separate directions.

I know the breakdown
Everything is gonna shake now someday
I know the breakdown
Tell me again am I awake now maybe
You can find the reason that no one else is living this way

Next is revealed the highest point in Teresa’s career. The big screen reveals shots from Teresa’s debut feud with Jamie Celt one of which is her beating him with a leather belt. Then she stands tall over a defeated Jon Kano for the Television Title. Images of her infamous feud with Tim Walden follow; Teresa putting out a cigarette on the “Taxman’s” shoe; Teresa leaving Tim tied to his executive chair, pants down and a grin on her face; Tim and Brandi humiliating Teresa backstage leaving her in nothing but bra and panties and a pissed off expression on her face.

Yeah your lies
Your world is built around
Two faces to a clown
The voices in your head
Think there's four pawns down
Well in this unity
Fate has found the need
So you better check yourself
Before you check out

The chorus begins with Teresa losing her long reigning TV title to the valet Cyclonica. Next is her yet again short lived redneck stable with Ariz Ona and the legend, Duke Williams. An image of three custom-made monster trucks flattening executive limos is revealed followed by Teresa, Ariz, and Duke walking away with grins on their faces and a huge explosion behind them.

I know the breakdown
Everything is gonna shake now someday
I know the breakdown
Tell me again am i awake now maybe
You can find the reason that no one else is living this way

Final verse reveals turning heel on her then tag partner, Rent-A-Hero then her abrupt departure from PCW and into the realms of Old School Wrestling/Entertainment; Teresa’s second reunion with Scott Taylor; Teresa turning heel on Scott with a crucial chair shot and leaving with his rival Chris “Boda” Sloboda. The image freezes then burst into flames.

If you find yourself
Then you might believe
Then within yourself
You just might conceive

Jeff Marx: Jesus, is this ever going to end?!

Dave Kern: Shutup! I'm enjoying this.

The chorus replays for the final time when the flames burn down and a new beginning forms. The big screen reveals Teresa’s return to the business with her debut to her short stint in the unknown Global Wrestling Alliance, (Not to be mistaken for the GWA most of you know). A brief shot of her holding the Women’s title belt is shown. This is followed by her debut to HSW; Teresa delivering a devastating elbow to Taurus Capone knocking him off his feet. Then her final feud with Jason Ward is shown; an image of the two faces to face determinations to inflict pain on their faces. A plane is revealed crossing an ocean. Teresa is sitting at a window seat. Five seats behind is Jason Ward watching Teresa.

I know the breakdown
Everything is gonna shake now someday
I know the breakdown
Tell me again am i awake now maybe
You can find the reason that no one else is living this way

An ocean’s wave sweeps across the big screen. Behind it is a clip from AWC’s last Christmas party. Patrick Mapleleaf is arguing with a drunken Teresa Tomas. The roster is watching with amusement at Patrick, dressed as Santa, and the uninvited guest. Teresa then is opening a huge present only to have Jason Ward emerge. The clip ends with Teresa nd Jason fighting. The song ends with clips of Nash and Bridges singing with Teresa in their locker room. An angry Tiara Russell stands at the door disgusted. Teresa and Ellis Nash fighting in the women’s rest room. Teresa and Chainz passed out side by side in Chainz’s locker room. Tracy stands over them in disbelief. Teresa runs over Sasha’s limo with her huge four-wheel-drive pick-up. The members of PWC help Teresa out of the truck and in to the arena, Teresa breaking down on Lavelle’s shoulder. Tiara Belle Russell hands Teresa the photo that changed Teresa’s life forever.

You can find the reason that (you can find the reason that)
No one else is living this way (you can find the reason that way)

Pierre Perroquet: Eeeentroducing first, from Nashville, Tennessee, weighing in at 145 pounds .... [with parrot] TERESA TOMAS!

Jeff Marx: GIVE ME A GOD DAMN KLEENEX BECAUSE I FEEL A TEAR COMING ON.

Dave Kern: Okay, it was a little long, but-

Jeff Marx: LONGEST. INTRO. EVER!... I didn't even notice she came to the ring.

Sure enough, Teresa Tomas is already in the ring to the pleasure of the fans, doing her prep for the match. She looks very determined as “Breakdown” fades away.

“We Going To Be Alright” by 112 hits the speakers and Tiara Belle Russell comes out to a mixed reactoin.

Pierre Perroquet: And ‘er opposeeshun, from Newton, Massachusetts, TIARA BELLE RUSSELL!

Dave Kern: Well... erm... that was rather short compared to its predecessor.

Jeff Marx: Well, now I know who I'm cheering for.

Dave Kern: Anyways, Selena Summers is our official for this contest between these sisters.

Jeff Marx: Damn, even the ref is a woman! When did the world turn into a bunch of puss-

Dave Kern: SERIOUSLY!

The crowd is buzzing as both Teresa Tomas and Tiara Belle ready themselves in opposing corners of the ring. Official Selena Summers stands between them momentarily, as if to elongate the anticipation, then steps back and calls for the bell to a response of cheers from the crowd. The women surprisingly don't charge at each other immediately, but are both in a ready position and posed to attack. Tiara Belle Russell, the slightly larger of the two, throws her body forward going for the grapple but her counterpart reads it, dodging the attack and taking her down quickly with an arm bar and holding it in.

Dave Kern: And we're underway! Teresa Tomas showing experience early on with that quick counter... Tiara Belle should try to adjust her gameplan quickly if she has anymore dull ideas like that in her arsenal!

Tiara Belle scrambles out of the armbar and grabs a hold of the bottom rope, forcing Tomas to release the early submission, and gets to one knee. The redneck, however, is right back on her game and with a quick movement smashes her knee into the back of Russell's head, surely inflicting pain and whiplash. The receiver is now hung up on the second rope as Tomas is back on the attack – she rebounds from the opposite ropes in a sprint and lunges with her legs open, landing her crotch directly on the back of Russell's head.

Dave Kern: Now Jeff, you wouldn't see a man do something like that, would you?

Jeff Marx: Phhhh... you wouldn't see a women executing a Powerbomb on a 200-pound man, would you?

Tomas pursues her fallen opponent and lays the boot to her. She picks up her sister and swiftly flips her over in a Snap Mare, leaving her in a sit-down position and executing a low dropkick to her spine. Russell folds over, a hand on her back, clearly in pain. Tomas picks her up like a sac of potatoes, showing no mercy, and tosses her aggressively into the turnbuckle. A set of chops to the boobs later, Tomas has all the momentum she can garner and grabs Russell by the wrist, then propels her into the opposite turnbuckle.

Dave Kern: This match beginning with frantic pace... Tomas may be wearing herself out early here.

Tomas charges across the ring towards Tiara Belle, who seems helpless in the corner. The Redneck Princess springs towards her, attempting a flying elbow but Russell uses her arms on the top ropes to lift her knees into her chest. Tomas has no time to recover and crashes right into the trap, and stumbles away clutching her damaged side. Tiara Belle reacts quickly and swoops towards Tomas, plants both hands on the back of her head and slams it into the ground while landing on her knees in a nicely executed Bulldog, moreso of the 'face-smash' variety. The crowd reacts with a short burst of light cheers, although in larger proportions the volume is greater.

Dave Kern: A spark from Russell now!

Jeff Marx: A spark? You've got to be kidding me ...

Tiara Belle grabs a handful of the Nashville native's hair and hauls her off the canvas. While maintaining her death grip on Tomas's mane, Tiara Belle winds up and hits a vicious slap right across her sister's face, followed by a mid-kick to Tomas's side. Russell continues her assault with a series of quick right hands that forces her opponent into the ropes, giving her opportunity to whip her into the opposite cables. Russell sets up for a Back Body Drop in mid-ring, which typically fails, and this is no exception. Tomas stops dead in her tracks on the trip back and executes a soccer kick to her unaware opponent. The crowd reacts with a long “Oooh”.

Jeff Marx: See, I told you females are stupid! Clearly the less intelligent race, even in wrestling.

Dave Kern: That move never works – men do it to, Jeff.

Jeff Marx: Maybe, but not as often. And my 5 year old son has a harder soccer kick than that!

Dave Kern: Wait... you have a son? Oh dear god, I hope that was a figure of speech.

Tiara Belle Russell is now at the mercy of Tomas, on the ground with her palms covering her face, as if checking for blood from the kick, which would not come as a surprise considering the velocity behind it. Tomas makes quick notice of her opponents situation, and makes quick work of getting mounted on the top turnbuckle. She leaps off backwards, rotating in the air to land a smooth Moonsault, to the delight of the tens of thousands of fans.

Dave Kern: OH MY GOD!

Jeff Marx: Dave, that was the first big move of the match. And hell, even I could do it!

Teresa Tomas remains atop Tiara Belle and hooks her leg.

Dave Kern: And Tomas claims the first pin of the match.

ONE!

Tiara Belle wrestles her shoulder up to counter the early pin. There is a moment of shuffling which ends up with both girls on their feet and ready. They grapple up and push away at each other for a moment, neither woman gaining a distinct advantage. Eventually Teresa Tomas manages to connect her knee into Tiara Belle's midsection, and swings her arm over her head and gets her into a headlock. Tiara Belle musters some leverage on the canvas and forces Teresa into the ropes, but nothing comes of it. Teresa keeps the headlock on strong and tugs her towards the middle of the ring. This proves to do more bad then good, as Tiara Belle frees her arms and jabs her elbow into Teresa's midsection. A few of these allows Russell to pry hear head loose, while continuing to throw elbow-shots. Tomas looks rather dazed against the cables, and Russell leaps in the air with a dropkick directly to the redneck's face which sends her tumbling out of the ring. Tiara Belle follows suit as the ref begins the count.

Dave Kern: Hope Russell knows what she's doing... a count-out could be costly to either superstars.

ONE!

Jeff Marx: Superstars? I wouldn't give them that much.

Tiara Belle Russell makes quick work on the outside and tugs Tomas to her feet, then sends her crashing into the barricade. TWO! Russell is right back on top of Tomas, with her boot crammed against her neck, choking her out. She doesn't anticipate Teresa Tomas to counter, though, and she does by lifting her right leg and ramming its sole into her sister's gut, sending her stumbling backwards, doubled up. THREE! Tomas rolls her opponent back into the ring and follows, only to be reminded of the five-count rule from Selena Summers and how close the call was. Teresa Tomas seems to be more intent on boot-stomping Tiara Belle, however, which she does efficiently. Once satisfied, Tomas heads over to the turnbuckle for her second trip up the top rope, getting the crowd into another frenzy. This time around Tomas leaps off with an Elbow Drop in mind. The results, however, aren't quite as sweet as Tiara Belle reads the move and scrambles out of the way. Tomas eats canvas to a mixed reaction from the crowd.

Jeff Marx: (laughing hysterically)

Dave Kern: Ignore my partner, he forgot to take his pills today.

Tomas squirms on the canvas in pain as Russell takes quick advantage of her opponent's miscue by crawling on her and hooking the leg.

ONE!

TWO!

Dave Kern: Kickout! That was a rather short pin, but a two count nevertheless!

Jeff Marx: A little bias from the female ref, maybe?

Dave Kern: Jeff... BOTH competitors are female!

Jeff Marx: That's no excuse!

Tiara Belle Russell is first to her feet, while Teresa Tomas is on one knee. Russell grabs a handful of hair and pulls her up, only to be shoved away. Frustrated, Russell comes back for more only to be met by a High Kick to a pop from the crowd. Tomas quickly lifts her opponent back up off the ground, hooks her up in a front face-lock and snaps her over in a Suplex to a pop from the crowd. She keeps the face-lock held on, and with smooth fashion brings her back up and executes another Suplex. She completes the sequence with a third Suplex, this time around of the Fisherman variety, holding the leg for the pin.

ONE!

TWO!

Tiara Belle somehow manages a backwards roll before the final count, ending up on top of her adversary and in prime position to feed her punches to the face, which she does adequately. She throws in a few slaps for good measure, and with Teresa's face color of an apple, grabs two good fistfuls of hair and slams her head against the canvas consecutively like every cat-fight we've ever seen.

Dave Kern: Now that is intense animal-like antics from Tiara Belle Russell... we need more of this feisty nature!

Jeff Marx: For once, I actually agree with you – it's the only good thing about women's matches. Unless they take their pants and/or shirts off.

The attack slows slightly, giving Teresa Tomas opportunity to get her claws in her sister's face. She throws Russell off of her and swings herself on top of her to reverse their rolls, and returns the favor with vicious slapping and hair-pulling.

Jeff Marx: Oh boy, these two are really starting to look like sisters!

Teresa Tomas keeps her hands wrapped in the hair of Tiara Belle and gets to her feet, dragging her up along. Tomas pulls her towards the ropes violently and lets go of her hair at the last second, leaving her with enough momentum to slide over the second rope and out the ring to a hard fall. Starting to breathe a little more heavy that normal, Teresa ventures over to the turnbuckle nearest to her fallen opponent. ONE! She climbs to to the top of the turnbuckle and steadies herself in the direction of Tiara Belle Russell. The crowd buzzes in anticipation. TWO!

Dave Kern: Bah gawd, what is this crazy redneck about to do!?

Jeff Marx: Okay there, Truth, don't get your panties in a bunch...

Tiara Belle slowly gets to her feet, obviously still feeling the effects of her fall. As she regains her composure, the noise of the crowd fills her ears as the Top Rope Temptress leaps off the top rope, her feet the ammo and Russell's head the target. She connects. THREE! The crowd explodes.

Dave Kern: OH MY GOD!

Jeff Marx: I was waiting for that ...

FOUR!

Dave Kern: Jesus almighty, both wrestlers are seriously shaken and we're one count away from a double count-out.

Kern is right, but Teresa Tomas notices her predicament and recovers from the steep fall abruptly. It also seems like she isn't done with Tiara Belle so she hauls her off the ground and rolls her in the ring, following suit, just before the extended five-count is up.

Dave Kern: Close one there! A rather long five-count if you ask me ...

Jeff Marx: SASHA! FIRE THAT DUMB BROD RIGHT NOW!

Dave Kern: Dammit, Jeff... these fans want a match, not a double count-out!

Jeff Marx: It's not about what the fans want! It's about what I want!

Tiara Belle, still shaken from the Missile Dropkick, struggles to get to her feet. Theresa Tomas, slowly gaining momentum, goes climbs back up to the top rope for the fourth time of the match to please the crowd even further.

Dave Kern: What the hell is she going to do now?!

Jeff Marx: Think of a different attack, you filthy woman!

Theresa Tomas steadies herself on the top-rope, but she is unprepared for Tiara Belle recovering imminently and bouncing off the nearest ropes. Tomas loses her footing and slips, dropping to her crotch on the turnbuckle, leaving her in a very vulnerable sit-down situation. Russell pursues the situation by climbing to the second rope in front of her opponent. She lays in a few slow right hands while trying to keep steady. Teresa Tomas sways backwards, putting herself in danger. Tiara Belle continues to feed her right-hand-punches. Once Tomas is good and dazed, Tiara Belle steps back down to the canvas and givers her a few good jabs to the stomach. Tomas doubles over, nearly falling right off the cables. Russell hooks her by the arms and falls backwards, pulling the Temptress off the top rope. Russell, now positioned on her back with Tomas tilted towards her, plants a foot into her mid-section and sends her flipping towards the middle of the ring. The crowd gives a mixed reaction, mostly a wave of boos hits the ring, though.

Dave Kern: BEAUTIFUL EXECUTION FROM TIARA BELLE RUSSELL!

The attacker does a kip-up, and moves over to Teresa Tomas.

Dave Kern: If she's smart, she should go for a pin here ...

Tiara Belle doesn't end up falling down for the pin. Instead, she picks up Teresa Thomas and after two kicks to the midsection, rises up on her and brings her back down in an exaggerated DDT. She then rolls over and hooks the leg.

ONE!

Tiara Belle lets Teresa's leg fall and breaks her own pin, to a wave of boos of the crowd and a questioning look from Selena Sumners.

Dave Kern: Oooh, she's getting a little cocky now! Maybe a little too cocky?

Jeff Marx: Typical woman.

Tiara Belle picks up Teresa Tomas once more and steadies her, while winding up for a massive slap, which she follows through with. Teresa Tomas does not stumble away, but her head is force to the side as a result. Russell winds up a second time and tries for the same attack. Teresa ducks the attempt, turns back around and clobbers her sister in the face with a strong punch. Tiara Belle returns it with one of her own. And back. And forth. At first the exchanges are slow, but they pick up the intensity, and the volume of the onlooking fans is contingent. Eventually Teresa Tomas really picks it up, and gets two shots in a row. A third. She has Tiara Belle reeling, and takes the opportunity to move backwards into the ropes, bounce off, and come back with a clothesline attempt. Tiara Belle ducks that, faces up, and in the blink of an eye has Teresa Tomas rolled up in a small package!

Dave Kern: SMALL PACKAGE OUT OF NOWHERE! THIS COULD BE IT!

ONE!

TWO!

Teresa forces a reversal and gets a pin count of her own.

Dave Kern: WHAT A REVERSAL!

ONE!

TWO!

Tiara Belle gets to her feet, so does Tomas. The Nashville native is ready a second earlier and tries for a Spinning Heel Kick, which is caught by Russell. Russell holds her foot with her left hand and takes a wild swing at her opponent with her right hand. Teresa ducks impressively while hopping on one foot. Frustrated, Russell tries the same thing as a backhand. Teresa blocks it with her left and hangs on to leave both wrestlers in a peculiar situation to the excitement of the crowd. Tiara Belle thinks quick and releases Teresa's foot and uses her free hand to grab a hold of Teresa's arm, duck underneath and twist around it to put on a standing arm submission. She tries to convert it into a Russian Leg Sweep, but Tomas holds her ground and buts her elbow into the side of Russell's head. She stumbles away and Tomas charges behind her, leaps onto her shoulders, swivels around and hits a Hurracarana, finishing it with the typical pin.

Dave Kern: WOW! WHAT AN INCREDIBLE DISPLAY OF TALENT! THIS COULD BE IT!~

Jeff Marx: What... talent?!

The crowd counts at a deafening volume with Selena Sumners.

ONE!

TWO!

TH-

Dave Kern: RUSSELL REVERSES! HOW DID SHE DO THAT?!?!

ONE!

TWO!

TH-

KICKOUT!

The crowd reacts with cheers.

Dave Kern: TWO NEAR-FALLS IN A MATTER OF SECONDS... WHAT ACTION!

Jeff Marx: What... action?!

Dave Kern: And Teresa Tomas seems to have won the support of the fans, here. Could be a contributing boost ...

Both competitors have reached a slow crawl, even with the roar of the fans they are having trouble getting up. Teresa Tomas has found the corner of the ring and collapsed into it. Tiara Belle Russell has made her way over to the ring cables, and is pulling herself up slowly but surely. The crowd buzzes as both superstars slowly get to their feet – Tiara Belle wins the slow race and makes her way over to the corner, where she gives Teresa a half-ass shove into the turnbuckle, which is enough. After a couple kicks to the gut, Tiara Belle lights up the Redneck Princess's chest with a series of Knife Edge Chops. The crowd echoes with the clichéd “WHOO!”... it is clear they want more.

Dave Kern: Both of 'em have slowed down considerably after that awesome burst... both ladies need to find a second wind, and find it fast.

Jeff Marx: Second wind? PAH! They don't even have a first wind! Look at those pathetic sacs of dung!

Tiara Belle Russell grabs Teresa Tomas by the wrist and feebly attempts an Irish Whip to the opposite corner of the ring. It is easily reversed and Russell is sent to a slow crash into the corner. Teresa Tomas pursues her at half-speed, sandwiching her against the turnbuckles with a shoulder tackle. Tomas rebounds and has trouble finding her footing while Tiara Belle goes limp and falls face-first on the canvas. Teresa gets back on the job and lifts Tiara Belle off the canvas. She straps on a Sleeper Hold to cheers from the crowd. As soon as she gets it locked in, however, Russell fights back with a couple elbows to Teresa's upper body that cause her to loosen the hold. Tiara Belle spins off, ending up behind her and locks on a Sleeper Hold of her own. She musters enough strength to force the pair to the middle of the ring, where she intensifies her hold. Selena Sumners is on the scene immediately. The crowd is rallying behind Teresa Tomas, but she seems to be losing consciousness, and her already-weary state isn't helping. Selena lifts Teresa's arm. It falls once. Twice. The third time Teresa keeps it in the air, here fingers reactively twitching. The crowd responds with cheers.

Dave Kern: Teresa Tomas held on their... but for how long? She's gotta do something soon or she'll walk out of this arena with a loss to her sister, and that's not going to make her happy!

Jeff Marx: I'll give her something to be happy about ..

More anxious and important seconds pass as Teresa continues to fade away. Selena Sumners grabs her hand again and lets it fall once. Twice. The third time, Teresa keeps it airborne again. Tiara Belle seems frustrated, and this distracts her for the time being, allowing Teresa Tomas to make her move. She falls down to two knees, and Russell takes the bait by leaning forward. Teresa uses basically all the gas that's left in the tank to use her back in lifting Tiara Belle on her shoulders and trudging towards the ropes. She makes it and grabs the top rope with both hands.

Dave Kern: She's got them! SHE'S GOT THE ROPES, DAMMIT!

Jeff Marx: Bet Teresa Tomas wishes she was in the Jewels of the Sea match now!

Selena Sumners starts the counter. ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! Tiara Belle releases just in time. Teresa Tomas, who still locked on the top rope, uses it as leverage to throw her body backwards into her unaware opponent. The Newton native is sent crashing backwards, but not before clobbering the official, who hits the canvas hard also. The Top Rope Temptress looks weak, and falls in a heap on the canvas immediately. The crowd is in a frenzy as all three ladies are on the verge of being knocked out.

Jeff Marx: Ha! Finally, they're all where they belong.

Seconds pass. 10. 15. Selena Sumners is stirring. She gets to her feet slowly and notices the predicament and starts the count. ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! FIVE ! SIX! SEVEN! EIGHT! Both wrestling are stirring. NINE! Both ladies slowly get to their feet with the support of the ring cables. They both square up in the center of the ring. The tension could be cut with a knife as they stare holes through each other. The crowd continues to make noise... nothing in particular. Just noise. Cameras are flashing everywhere. Every second takes a lifetime to pass by, but not a single fan has left their chair.

Dave Kern: Ladies and gentleman, WE ARE BACK TO SQUARE ONE! WHAT A MATCH! Look at the intensity on their faces! Look at the passion they have... if it be for the great thing of wrestling or simply the want to wring each other's necks, it's there, and so are the fireworks!

Jeff Marx: Oh, the love of sisters... perhaps the only element making this match good.

Dave Kern: Well, that's a start. And here we go!

Both wrestlers approach each other. Both in half-crouched ready-positions, Tiara Belle Russell shows a hand in the air as a challenge for a grapple. Teresa Tomas cautiously accepts as she locks her adjacent hand in. They do the same with their other hand, and the struggle is on. Tiara Belle pushes forward with force but Tomas holds her ground. She pushes back like the little bulldozer that could. They joust like this for a good 15 seconds until Russell is forced to one knee. She has her other leg swept out by Tomas's foot, and she's on the ground, face-up. The Nashville native kneels onto her chest and provides a flurry of punches. Selena Sumners is not impressed with the closed-fist nature of the punches, and warns her about it. Tomas gets to her feet with Russell at her mercy. She moves over to the corner and makes a slow ascent to the top rope with the crowd going wild.

Dave Kern: THE REDNECK PRINCESS IS TAKING A RISK! WILL IT PAY OFF?! You could say that the top-rope has worked for Teresa Tomas throughout this contest, but things are different in her current condition!!

Jeff Marx: Well, it doesn't look like Tiara Belle Russell is getting up anytime soon, so unless Tomas has not depth perception – which I wouldn't put past her – it looks like this match is over.

Teresa Tomas steadies herself to the roar of the crowd, but doesn't jump yet. She waits, delaying the delivery while her opponent lays hopeless on the ground in front of her.

Dave Kern: WHAT THE CRIKEY IS THIS WOMAN UP TO?! FINISH HER!! GET IT OVER WITH!!

She continues to wait as the seconds drag on. Tiara Belle is stirring, but still completely unaware of her current surroundings. She crawls her way over to the ring cable, which she uses to get to one knee.

Dave Kern: This is ridiculous, she's letting her regain her composure! Not very good tactical approach from Teresa Tomas ...

Jeff Marx: What do you really expect, Dave? Did I not make the female characteristic clear enough?

Tiara Belle Russell is on her knees, but struggles to even lift her head up. Teresa Tomas stands up on the turnbuckle. Tiara Belle lifts her head as Teresa Tomas makes a huge vertical and horizontal leap towards her, completing a flip and connecting a kick right to Tiara Belle's face! The crowd explodes.

Dave Kern: OH MY GOD! BLOODY HELL! FLYING HEAD KICK! FLYING HEAD KICK! THAT'S HER SIGNATURE MOVE! GOD DAMN FLYING HEAD KICK!!

Jeff Marx: By the way everyone, if you didn't get it already, that was a Flying Head Kick.

Tiara Belle Russell appears to be out like a light. Teresa Tomas doesn't look in the best of shape either after hitting the canvas fairly hard herself as Selena Sumners begins the count. ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR!

Dave Kern: AND HERE WE GO AGAIN!!

FIVE! Teresa Tomas begins to move in the direction of her nearly-unconscious sister. SIX! SEVEN! Teresa Tomas makes one final lunge and lays a single arm over Tiara Belle's chest. Selena Sumners goes down for the count.

Dave Kern: THIS HAS TO BE IT LADIES AND GENTLEMAN! TERESA TOMAS HAS WON THE SIBLING RIVALRY MATCH!!

The crowd counts along at a preposterous volume.

ONE!

TWO!

THR-

Selena Sumners stops the count. The entire arena seems to be in confusion. Teresa Tomas gives her a “What the hell?!” look as she keeps her arm over Tiara Belle.

Dave Kern: What the-... Wait a second, Tiara Belle has her foot on the ropes! GOD ALMIGHTY!

Sure enough, Selena Sumners is pointing to the ropes where Tiara Belle has the tip of her toe propped barely on it. Teresa Tomas is as fuming as possible in her weary state. She gets up and yanks Russell's foot off the ropes, then drags her to the middle of the ring, then lays on top of her with a strong hook of the leg.

ONE!

TWO!

THR-

KICKOUT!

Dave Kern: Tiara Belle continues to fight! WOW!

Teresa Tomas is angry now. She gets up and drags Tiara Belle Russell to her feet. Russell is having trouble standing, but Teresa Tomas feeds her two knife edge chops, followed by a kick to the gut. Tomas grabs her and locks her into a front face-lock. She lifts her into the air, attempting a Vertical Suplex but it is reversed! Tiara Belle flips over and lands on her feet in the typical Suplex reversal. She grabs Tomas by the head from behind and executes a Neck-breaker.

Jeff Marx: Well, maybe these ladies do have a little bit of endurance.

Dave Kern: A little bit?!

Tiara Belle Russell slowly gets to her feet, leaving Tomas on her back in the middle of the ring. She walks over to the corner and climbs to the top of the turnbuckle. She takes a moment to steady herself, but then leaps off and hits Teresa Tomas with a Leg Drop.

Dave Kern: THAT'S THE SECOND HALF OF INDENIAL! TIARA BELLE COULD WIN IT HERE!

Tiara is slow to cover, but manages to flop herself atop her sister.

ONE!

TWO!

THR-

KICKOUT!

Dave Kern: NO!! TOMAS REFUSES TO QUIT!

Even the referee is looking tired now, and the competitors have little life left in them. Tiara Belle is the first to her feet although it takes a while. She grabs Tomas by the hair and lifts her up as well. She hits her with two slow punches, immobilizing her (more than she already is), then bounces off the ropes and comes back with a feeble clothesline. Teresa anticipates it and ducks under, her sister turns around after the miss and receives a knee to the mid-section. Teresa Tomas bounces off the ropes behind her and takes out her knees with a dropkick from behind. She leans over her opponent and locks in the SOUTHERN COMFORT! Huge pop.

Dave Kern: SOUTHERN COMMMMMMMFORT!!! SHE'S GOT IT LOCKED IN!

Jeff Marx: No, really?

Teresa Tomas tugs away on her sister's muscles, putting her in excruciating pain. Tiara Belle Russell has no escape as she is a good distance from the ropes. Selena Sumners is on the ground in front of her, asking her if she wants to give up (she has to scream at her over the loudness of the crowd).

TAP! TAP! TAP!

Selena Sumner calls for the bell.

Dave Kern: And it's over! Teresa Tomas has won the sibling rivalry match!!

Jeff Marx: After a long... very long... fight. I'll give it that much.

Dave Kern: It was a long one, alright. The Coast to Coast ball just keeps on rolling, and we've got some very exciting contests coming up... but for now, the limelight is on Teresa Jane Tomas, the American Woman!

Jeff Marx: I'm not even going to ask how you know her middle name.

Pierre Perroquet: Zee winnair… TERESA TOMAS!

Parrot of Perroquet: SQUAWK!

Dave Kern: Stick around everybody... we have more wrestling and drama for you still... and more parrot!

Jeff Marx: God save us... at least we'll be seeing some male action.

Dave Kern: Oh god, that did not sound right.

---

Door/Bell 2
LOCATION: Flashback
FEATURING: Chainz & Pierce Lavelle
AUTHOR: Mike S. & Lara

---

FLASHBACK TO LAST WEEK’S SEGMENT – DOOR/BELL.

Michael Sloan sauntered down the corridor, dressed in black trousers and a tight wife beater, his eyes glistening against the light as he moved with a melodic pace, oblivious to the boos and comments being made as he passed through the corridor.

Whilst strolling he notices a door ajar, but on closer inspection he realises the door to be missing. As he approaches closer he hears a voice emerge:

Oh… it’s you, you legend

Sliding his feet along the ground, trying to make as little noise as possible, Chainz buried his back against the cold wall and listened intently into the conversation, realising the man behind the voice within the small room.

Are we set?

Chainz’s eyebrows rise intuitively. He leans in closer, interested in the one sided conversation.

But it’s what you do b--- me?! Are you crazy?! I can’t do that!

A clattering sound is heard, foot against floor, as Chainz leans backward, out of the light as his heart patters within his chest, the only thing evident to his hearing whilst he waits. After a second or so, the footsteps lighten and the conversation resumes.

No, I said no. It’s impossible, I can’t, I ---

The voice stopped, a humble humming emerged from the central heating unit as Chainz heard the voice lower in tone, almost creaky.

There was a pause, the person on the other end speaking.

I can’t tell her

Chainz closed his eyes, almost feeling the tingling sensation of truth rolling within the small room as his ears continued to listen.

I’ll… I’ll sleep on it… I..

There was another pause.

A pitter-patter of footsteps and Chainz jolted upright, waltzed away from the wall and stood adjacent to the door, his eyes lingering on the opened doorway, void of any door, the remnants collapses onto the floor.

Bye

Came the solemn words as a man emerged from the darkened room, jumping as Chainz startles him, staring toward him with a sadistic grin.

Chainz: What was that all about?

Lavelle raised his eyes to meet the man, standing casually before him, leaning on the opposite wall, a slight grin in his upper lip.

Pierce Lavelle: Personal stuff.

His response was bleak and void of any emotion as he walked off toward the parking lot, no longer feeling the appetite he once held. Chainz remained standing, feeling the immense cold of the Russian weather as he too disappeared down the long corridor.

---

A Simple Plan
LOCATION: Earlier in the Week
FEATURING: Josh Marquez & Paddy O'Shea
AUTHOR: Gareth & Mick

---

Two Days Ago If there was one thing Josh Marquez knew through his countless years wallowing over poker tables, it was never miss an opportunity; if his opponent made that call just a fraction too early and he could see the bluff, he’d ante up and call the bet, a gamble that would falling favourably would present itself as lucrative.

With the announcement that the Relentless title was up for grabs in the East versus West match (a match he’d used Paddy O’Shea and his initiative to gain entry to) Josh Marquez knew that this opportunity was too good to miss. Before the announcement he’d been looking at a long journey to even get into contention for a title in AWC yet now there was a belt there ready for the taking, like stealing your momma’s freshly pruned pie from right between her legs.

But he needed a scam, a ploy, something to give him that upper hand in a match so crucial for all the right reasons.

Then it hit him, like your auntie slapping you on the brow with her cock whilst you’re engaging in a game of pro evo.

Josh had arranged to meet Paddy at the harbour, quite fittingly really, at half one. The ever gypsy, ever eager to please his new ‘best friend’, was there ten minutes early. And he’d brought doughnuts. Marquez swallowed a laugh when O’Shea presented this to him.

Paddy: So Josh… wha’ ye want t’ meet me here fer? Another master plan!

Josh: Correct my smelly little Paddy-whack, it’s to do with Coast To Coast, more specifically the East vs. West match that we’re going to be in.

Paddy: Aye…

Josh: I’m sure you’ve heard about the Relentless title being on the line in the match?

O’Shea nods in affirmation as Marquez continues.

Josh: I want that title Paddy and to get I’m going to need your help.

Paddy: Aye but what if aye want the title? Aye don’t wanna fight me only friend…

Somewhere, someone was playing a violin solo. Ode to a hermit of a man.

Josh: Paddy, what did we decide last week? Did we not agree that you would help me get to the top and then we’d pretty much own all of AWC?

Paddy looks almost sheepish as he replies.

Paddy: Aye, we did.

Josh: Well then, this is a major step in that plan. If I win that title, we’ll be a force to be reckoned with.

A look of confusion crosses O’Shea’s face as he ponders just how they will be able to accomplish this goal when there are six other people in the match. Luckily, Marquez clears up the details.

Josh: What I want you to do Paddy, is email all the other guys in the match and invite them to a pre-pay-per-view party on the ship.

Paddy: A party? Before the match? But that’d mean all o’them will be drunk and not able t’wrestle.

Marquez looks at Paddy strangely, as if wondering how the gypsy’s brain hasn’t managed to connect the dots by now. Paddy, akward under the Kenny Rodger throwback’s glare, extended a doughnut. Marquez slapped it out of his hand with a scowl.

Josh: No fucking about Paddy! Last week, you gave that laxative to Sasha not Darcy and I LOST THE MATCH…

Paddy backs away from the scowls like a whipped pup, offering an apologetic face.

Josh: Who’d have thought he was a man… .ANYWAY, you’re right, they will all be drunk or drugged and that’ll mean that they won’t be able to wrestle, leaving the path clear for me to win the Relentless title. Can you do that?

Paddy: Aye, course aye can, no problem comrade.

Josh: Good. Give me a call when it’s done, I’ve gotta feed some orphans… somewhere.

And with that, Marquez is gone, leaving the task in Paddy’s dirty pikey hands. Probably not the best idea…

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Just as well he’d learnt how to use computers, thought Paddy as he put the finishing touches on the invitation to the participants in the East vs. West match. It sounded quite good when he read it out; the others would have no idea what Josh had planned.

“To All,

Just an invitation to a pre-show party on the liner before the East vs. West match at Coast To Coast. We might as well have a bit of fun while we’re stuck on the ship. You don’t need to bring anything, just yourselves. See you there,

Paddy”

The spell-check was done and the send key was clicked before Paddy thought to double check who he’d sent the message to. Seconds later the ‘Email Delivered’ text popped up, along with the list of who had received it. It was right then that Paddy realised.

Paddy: Oh shite!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Josh: What do you mean you sent it to everyone? Who is everyone?

Paddy: Everybody on my contact list.

Josh slapped a head onto his brow then gave Paddy one for good measure. He really should have expected it off the fool, should have done it himself. For oen thing he wouldn’t have had to meet him for the fourth time this week; they were sitting in a summer park and he could still smell the stink of shite from him. Through gritted, picket fence teeth and with arm gesticulating madly by his side, he hissed his enquiry.

Josh: And how many people is that?

Paddy: Oh I dunno exactly, maybe a hundred, a couple o’hundred.

Josh: A couple of hundred! Jesus H. Christ! The place is going to look like the fucking Titanic!

Paddy: It won’t be that bad, sure maybe a lot of them won’t come.

Marquez is looking crazed right now, unable to quite comprehend the stupidity of Paddy.

Josh: Of course they’ll come! It’s free food and drink, nobody turns down an invitation like that!

Paddy: Aye’m so-

Josh: Just be quiet Paddy before I whip your ass, fuck, I ask you to do one simple thing and you manage to mess it up! I’m out feeding orphans and making plans to help YOU. Trying to get up the card to give you support against all AWC’s prejudices. You make me sick. Just get out of my sight.

Looking thoroughly ashamed of himself, Paddy turns to walk away then swings back around

Paddy: But I don’t have a car…

Josh: Well get the bus then!

Marquez storms off, getting into his red Mustang and roaring off, leaving a forlorn looking Paddy standing on the dock once again as the rain begins to fall.

---

Jack Murphy vs. Captain Suleimon
LOCATION: New Jersey
STIPULATION: Singles
REFEREE: Michael Ryan
AUTHOR: Tom

---

Truth Waters: Alright, welcome back to the Meadowlands, and it's time for a very interesting match. Two men who've tagged together a few times in the last few weeks and have had a lot of trouble meshing together.

George Cassidy: Yeah, mostly because of Jack Murphy's insanely large ego.

Truth Waters: How the hell can you say that? Most of the problems have come up because of Suleimon's big mouth!

George Cassidy: Of course you'd say that...

Cue up "The Turkish March" by Mozart. Right above the foyer drops a huge banner depicting a relief map of Turkey. Just as the banner completely unfurls, General Rahman comes out, dressed to the nines in a bright white military uniform, red fez and red sash, waving the Turkish flag fervently. Coming out from the back right after Rahman was one Tariq Abdul Wahad Suleimon, dressed impeccably in a black military outfit, garnished with medals, a golden sash, a black sergeant's style hat and a 18th century style rapier.

James Brunt: Introducing first, accompanied to the ring by General Rahman, from Istanbul, Turkey, weighing in at 198 pounds... the Sultan of Smackdown... CAPTAIN... SUUUUUUUULEEEIIIIMOOONNNNNN!

Truth Waters: We all know about the Captain's hardcore tendencies, but I hope he doesn't think he's going to use that...

As Suleimon walks down the aisle, red fireworks shoot up into the air along each side of the aisle. Suleimon marches down and slides into the ring. Rahman is ahead of him, waving the Turkish flag to the boos of every single fan in the Continental Airlines Arena. Suleimon gets up and turns his nose to the crowd before he disrobes down to his wrestling gear.

Truth Waters: Such arrogance from the Turkish captain.

George Cassidy: You call it arrogance, I call it keeping his nostrils away from the unwashed.

Suleimon is ready for ring action as Mozart's dulcid tones fade out.

Truth Waters: You can cut the tension with a knife it's so thick.

As the riff of 'Burn' by Throwdown rips through the arena, the crowd is electric. The house lights have dimmed in the Continental Airlines Arena with a single solitary flame rippling in front of the entrance from backstage. As the riff repeats the crowd is getting pumped for the match up, knowing how much this is going to mean to the man who's about to enter the arena.

The click of the lighter shatters the silence as the riff jolts abruptly.

James Brunt: And his opponent, from Kildare, Ireland, weighing in at 278 pounds, he is the Bull... JACK... MURRRRRPHYYYYYY!!!

And then everything explodes.

Double bass pounds over the speakers and all hell breaks loose as several gouts of flames erupt down the aisle. Several of the crowd on the barrier move back in horror at this but they've nothing to fear, the flame judged to perfection by the road crew. Amidst all this chaos Jack Murphy enters the arena. A single towel hangs over his head, covering his face from the public eye.

George Cassidy: Look at him, he's covering his face, he's ashamed in the face of the greatness of Captain Suleimon.

Truth Waters: He's not ashamed, he's just focused. You've never seen anyone else come down with a towel over their head before?

George Cassidy: Nope. Can't say I have.

Truth Waters: Liar.

Murphy enters the ring and rips the towel off his head, looking as furious as his moniker. He snorts as The Captain just looks at him with a face seemingly carved out of stone. Michael Ryan goes over the ground rules with both men before the bell rings, and they each stare holes through each other. Finally, Ryan backs off.

[DING DING DING!]

Just as soon as the third bell tolls, Suleimon rakes the eyes of Murphy.

Truth Waters: Oh come on now! The bell has barely sounded and this turkey is gonna break the rules already!

George Cassidy: You call it breaking the rules. I call it doing whatever it takes to win.

Murphy holds his eyes and turns around. Suleimon summarily ignores Michael Ryan's rebuke and storms in with a bulldog to take Murphy down to the canvas. Suleimon raises his hands to the crowd as they boo him mercilessly.

Truth Waters: C'mon now, what have you done to get all cocky like that?

George Cassidy: He's got the upper hand. He deserves to gloat.

Truth Waters: Then he deserves to lose too.

Murphy turns over from his stomach and begins to sit up, but... CRACK! Suleimon nails him with a front dropkick right to his face as he's in the seated position on the canvas. Murphy falls back on his back, covering his face. Suleimon drops back, jumps and nails Murphy with a jumping senton splash. The Sultan of Smackdown gets to his feet, once again goading the crowd. The respond to him by giving him a hearty round of...

”BOOOOOOO!!!!!!”

Truth Waters: Too much preening. He should get down to business.

George Cassidy: When you're a winner, you can do what you want. Captain Suleimon isn't a winner.

Truth Waters: He hasn't won a damn thing yet, George, and you know it.

Suleimon puts his arms down then puts the boots to the prone Bull. After five or six boot shots to the chest and abdominals of Murphy, Suleimon drops back off the ropes and baseball slides right into the side of Murphy's head, rotating the Bull's body by 90 degrees on the canvas. The Captain takes the opportunity and covers...

ONE!

TWO!

No... Murphy kicks out. The Captain hops to his feet and lands a soccer style kick to Murphy's head for good measure before continuing the stompage. He stops short on one stomp, then falls back off the ropes again, this time leveling Murphy with a knee across the throat.

Truth Waters: Just a relentless attack from the Turk here. Murphy's in a bad way early on.

George Cassidy: And you expected something different?

Truth Waters: I actually expected Murphy and Suleimon to come out a little more even, but it's still early.

Not content to stop there for a cover, Suleimon drags Murphy to his feet into a corner and ties him to the Tree of Woe. The Sultan of Smackdown goes into the part of the ring caticorner to where Murphy's hanging. He takes a running start and... CRACK! Another baseball slide, this time into the upside down face of Murphy. The crowd lets out a hushed gasp as Murphy, falling out of the corner from the impact, lies prone on his belly, covering his face.

Truth Waters: What a move!

George Cassidy: I guess Murphy doesn't need to spend any money on plastic surgery for his ugly mug. He's getting it done for free.

Truth Waters: Judging by all his female fans, I don't think Murphy needs any.

George Cassidy: Admit it Truth. You LOOOVE the cock.

Suleimon looks down on Murphy, sneering. After a moment, he makes a cover...

ONE!

TWO!

But the Bull kicks out with authority, bruised but still very much alive. Suleimon drags Murphy out to the middle of the ring and then starts climbing the turnbuckles. On the top, he looks out to the crowd then leaps with a guillotine legdrop...

...but Jack Murphy moves out of the way. The crowd pops.

Truth Waters: That was too early in the match to be going for a high-risk move like that. Sully's paying for that mistake bigtime.

George Cassidy: Is there a proctologist in the house?

Suleimon sits on the canvas with a look of abject pain on his face. Murphy gets right behind Suleimon and locks in a sleeper hold, still seated.

Truth Waters: Murphy finally in control of this match. Y'know, he's been taking a lot of flak the last month or so from Suleimon for lagging on the team. The way I see it, he's been carrying that squad.

George Cassidy: You know, they spike that Irish Kool-Aid with Guinness, so you're probably drunk as well as indoctrinated. The Captain is the superior wrestler, and he's been the one carrying the Bull's dead Irish carcass.

Truth Waters: We must have been watching different shows since this split's happened.

George Cassidy: Well, I can't help it if you've BET on your monitor rather than the action in the ring.

Truth Waters: That's hittin' below the belt there, son.

George Cassidy: What, are you going to call Jesse Jackson?

Truth Waters: Naw, but I'll pop your ass out your seat.

During the banter, Murphy held the hold in tightly. Now, Suleimon is starting to wriggle free. He's up to his knees as Murphy's grip on the hold weakens. Finally, he gets to a vertical base as Murphy's sleeper turns into a side headlock. Suleimon shoves Murphy off him into the ropes, but on the rebound, the Bull clocks him with a clothesline.

Truth Waters: WHAM, BAM! Thank you ma'am! Suleimon on dream street!

Suleimon lingers on the canvas, holding his neck, but Murphy isn't about to show mercy. He stands right over Suleimon's head and abruptly drops the knee right across the Turk's forehead. He drops another knee, then a third, and then he steps back two paces and lands a big legdrop across Suleimon's face.

Truth Waters: What a move, brother!

George Cassidy: Oh, don't start that. I just now got the 80s in this business shoved into the back of my consciousness along with those Sally Struthers commercials and the New Coke.

Suleimon's now the one holding his face, but he doesn't have long as Murphy grabs him by his head and brings him to his feet. A front headlock turns into a swinging neckbreaker. Murphy floats over for the pin...

ONE!

TWO!

But the Captain kicks out. Murphy wastes no time mounting Suleimon and throwing punches at his head. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten and finally Michael Ryan steps in and intervenes.

George Cassidy: Yeah, that's not fair at all. He should get reprimanded.

Truth Waters: Need I remind you how Suleimon started the match?

George Cassidy: Oh, but he's allowed to gouge eyes. It's in his visa.

Truth Waters: You're a mess.

Murphy gets off of Suleimon and grabs him by his head, dragging him to his feet while Murphy gets his vertical base back. Suleimon tries to struggle out, but Murphy nails him with ”ONE! TWO! THREE!” forearm strikes to the face. Then, the Irishman with the Irish whip and Suleimon races and rebounds off the ropes. On his way back, Murphy grabs him quickly and nails him with a neckbreaker.

Truth Waters: Murphy really picking apart the neck there.

George Cassidy: Yeah, and I think it's despicable. If he breaks the Captain's neck, I'm taking up a collection for Sully and a petition to get Murphy banned.

Truth Waters: George, no need to make any more fronts for begging for alimony than you already have.

Suleimon rolls over holding his neck, but Murphy doesn't let up, grabbing Suleimon and dragging him to his feet again. A front facelock turns into a vertical suplex, but Murphy doesn't relinquish his grip on the Captain, dragging him up and nailing him with another suplex. He repeats the chain action again, only this time, he nails the Captain with a vicious brainbuster instead of a regular suplex. He floats over and covers...

ONE!

TWO!

NO! Suleimon kicks out. Murphy looks up to the crowd and raises his arm. They cheer.

George Cassidy: So, the Captain gloats and this crowd and you take a dump on him, but it's okay when the Mick does it?

Truth Waters: Well, I don't think he should gloat, but you can't change the sentiments of these fans.

Murphy drags Suleimon to his feet and whips him HARD into the corner. Murphy follows in with a HARD clothesline, his arm impacting right under Suleimon's chin, snapping his head back. As Murphy backs off, he grabs Suleimon's arm and whips him HARD into the diagonal corner. Again, he follows in with a clothesline. Again, Murphy grabs Suleimon's arm and now flings him into the corner on the near side of the ring and again follows in with a clothesline. Murphy finishes it off whipping Suleimon into the other diagonal corner and driving his arm under Suleimon's chin. The Captain staggers out of the corner punch drunk and collapses, almost in a pratfall, in the middle of the ring. Murphy covers...

ONE!

TWO!

NO! Suleimon again kicks out.

Truth Waters: You know, he may be a vile human being, but I'll give him credit. Suleimon is resilient.

George Cassidy: To survive in a business where most guys outweight you by at least twenty pounds, you have to be.

Murphy gets up and for the first time, he doesn't immediately pick Suleimon up to his feet to. The Captain senses this, turns around on his belly and starts crawling out of the ring. Murphy grabs him by his tights and drags him back into the middle of the ring. He grabs Suleimon by the scruff of his neck and locks him in a rear waistlock. He jerks back and hits Suleimon with a back suplex. Murphy pops right back up and hits the ropes, driving a knee into Suleimon's nose. The Pride of the Ottoman Empire rolls over, holding his face, resting himself on the bottom rope. He tries to crawl out of the ring, but Murphy grabs him by his trunks again at the last minute.

Truth Waters: What a coward! He's trying to get away!

George Cassidy: He's just trying to get a breather. This has been an unmitigated beatdown for the last ten minutes or so.

Truth Waters: There are no breathers in wrestling!

Murphy drags Sully to his feet and again with the rear waistlock. This time, he hits a German suplex with a bridge pin attempt...

ONE!

TWO!

NO! Suleimon kicks out, this time closer to three than every other time before. Murphy pounds the mat in frustration at not pinning the Captain. He gets up, drags Suleimon to his feet again and slaps on the cobra clutch.

George Cassidy: I don't like that look in his eyes.

Truth Waters: These fans do. Murphy's about to honor his mentor... FIREBRAND '77!! This one's gotta be over...

Murphy thinks so, so he covers...

ONE!

TWO!

THR---

NO! NO! Suleimon kicks out at the last possible second. Murphy gets up, snorts and raises one arm to the crowd.

Truth Waters: I think it's time for Captain Suleimon to Fall from Grace.

George Cassidy: You're such a tool, Truth.

Murphy yanks Suleimon to his feet and gets him in vertical suplex position. At the height though, Suleimon wiggles out and lands on his feet behind Murphy. Before Murphy catches wind of it, Suleimon yanks the hair and slams Murphy down to the canvas.

Truth Waters: Oh man, another cheap way out for Suleimon! The hair, you can't yank the hair!

George Cassidy: Sure you can. There isn't a rule against it.

Truth Waters: Well, there should be.

Murphy shoots up, turns around and finds Suleimon there with a shit-eating grin on his face. He extends his arm for a lariat, but Suleimon leaps around it onto his back adn takes the Bull down with a crucifix takeover. Suleimon pops up and crushes Murphy's face with his boot before the former Transatlantic Champion can recuperate. Suleimon then runs to the ropes and leaps, springboarding off the second rope and twisting his body to land with a legdrop across Murphy's face. Suleimon gets up and shouts an epithet at the crowd in Turkish.

Truth Waters: Look at him, taunting the crowd like that. He hates them and they hate him.

George Cassidy: Yeah, that's because they're all mouth-breathers.

Truth Waters: Mouth-breathers who pay his salary.

Suleimon stands up and once again curses at the crowd in his native tongue. He drags Murphy over to the corner and props him on the turnbuckles. He exits the ring and stands on the apron outside where Murphy's propped up. He grabs the tag rope there and starts to choke Murphy. Michael Ryan admonishes Suleimon, counting ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! FIVE! before the Captain breaks the choke.

Truth Waters: Good God, enough is enough. When is this ref going to disqualify Suleimon for his blatant cheating?

George Cassidy: Will you stop whining? Suleimon is doing what it takes to win, and I bet he's wanted to choke the life out of Murphy with that rope for the last month and a half.

Murphy staggers out of the corner, holding his throat, and collapses forward. Suleimon grabs onto the top rope, leaps over it and lands on top of the back of Murphy's head. He flips Murphy over and covers him...

ONE!

TWO!

NO! Murphy kicks out. Suleimon gets up and immediately kicks Murphy in the ribs. He looks up at the crowd and kicks him again in the ribs. Murphy lets out a cough, and Suleimon responds to that with a boot to the face. The Captain drags Murphy to his feet and whips him into the corner. Murphy lands back first and Suleimon follows in and turns Murphy around so his chest leans against the turnbuckle. Suleimon then climbs the turnbuckle, looks down at Murphy and leaps, grabbing Murphy's head and neck on the way down and nailing him with a neckbreaker.

Truth Waters: WHATTAMOVE!

George Cassidy: See? How can you hate an athlete like that?

Truth Waters: He may be a helluva athlete, but that doesn't mean he's a helluva person.

Murphy sits up in shock upon impact. Suleimon sees this, turns around and dropkicks Murphy square the back right below his neck. Murphy falls back, Suleimon drags him into the middle of the ring and covers...

ONE!

TWO!

NO! Murphy kicks out. Suleimon slaps the mat and barks something at Michael Ryan. He grabs Murphy by the hair again and cracks him in the forehead. He drops back off the ropes and follows in with a knee drop to the head. He gets up and then looks back down on Murphy. He climbs the ropes and doesn't turn around. Back to the ring, he leaps, flipping around and nailing Murphy with a picture-perfect moonsault. He covers again...

ONE!

TWO!

NO! Murphy kicks out. Suleimon looks even more frustrated than before. He snaps up behind Murphy and sits him up. The Sultan of Smackdown gets behind Murphy, locks his both his arms behind him and flips over.

Truth Waters: Oh my Lord! Turkish Tiger Tamer! It's been awhile since we've seen this one.

George Cassidy: You haven't seen it because he was trying to perfect it! Look at how steady the hold is, much unlike last time.

Truth Waters: I do admit, it looks a lot cleaner than before.

Murphy writhes in the hold, but he can't move very much. He tries to move his leg over towards the ropes, but he can't swing it out too far from his seated position. He keeps trying to swing the leg out, inching his motion further out each time but nowhere near the ropes. Finally, Murphy uses all his might to swing his leg out. He doesn't reach the ropes, but the force topples the Captain from his flipped-over state. Murphy is slow to get up, taking his time getting to a seated position. Once he's there though... CRACK!

George Cassidy: Yes, I think Mr. Murphy will be having the filet of sole! BWAHAHA!

Truth Waters: Very funny George, but that dropkick right in the grill of Murphy ain't no joke!

Murphy is sent back on the canvas staring at the lights. Suleimon picks him up to his feet and whips him hard into the corner. Murphy doesn't turn around and lands chest first into the turnbuckles. Suleimon sees this, then immediately follows in with a high calf kick right to the back of Murphy's head. Murphy doesn't fall back, and Suleimon grabs him and "accidentally" throws him into Michael Ryan. The ref isn't knocked out, but he's tangled up with Murphy long enough so that Suleimon can remove the padding on the top turnbuckle.

Truth Waters: What the hell is he doing?

George Cassidy: I think Gabriel Afeaki is hungry. I heard he's a big George Steele fan and fancies turnbuckles.

Truth Waters: That's... uncalled for George. And so's what's happening in the ring! C'mon ref!

George Cassidy: I think Ryan's too tangled up with Murphy to know what's going on.

Murphy's waltz with Ryan is abruptly cut short as Suleimon grabs the Bull's arm and whips him HARD into the exposed turnbuckle. Murphy screams out holding his back. He stumbles forward and lands on his knees, holding his back and yelping. Suleimon hops up on the second rope and with pinpoint precision, nails Murphy with a dropkick on his back. Suleimon rolls the Bull over and covers...

ONE!

TWO!

THR---

NO! NO! NO! Murphy kicks out. Suleimon is incredulous. He starts throwing a temper tantrum, cursing at Michael Ryan and slamming the mat.

Truth Waters: Hey, dope, why don't you stop crying and get to following up on Murphy?

George Cassidy: Because he's obviously been robbed. Duh. Slow count. I could have counted to 8 in the time he got to 2.

Truth Waters: That count was fair and you know it.

George Cassidy: Don't tell me what to think.

Suleimon viciously kicks Murphy in the head for good measure, then drags him to his feet and over to the corner. Suleimon ascends the turnbuckles and grabs Murphy in a rear facelock from his perched position. He raises his free hand to the crowd to a round of boos before nailing Murphy with the Whirling Dervish.

George Cassidy: Yes! Yes! The match is over! Stick a fork in Murphy!

Truth Waters: Hey, he hasn't been pinned yet! You never know...

Suleimon covers...

ONE!

TWO!

THR---

NO! NO! NO! NO! Jack Murphy kicks out and the fans go B-A-N-A-N-A-S BANANAS! Suleimon pounds the mat again, storms to his feet and gets right in Michael Ryan's face.

Truth Waters: Oh, stop your bitchin'! He kicked out fair and square!

George Cassidy: Murphy's paid you off too, hasn't he?

Truth Waters: Hell no! I'm calling the match how I see it, and I see that Jack Murphy has kicked out of his Whirling Dervish!

Suleimon's face is turning red, which is a feat for him since his skin is a natural brown. The anger on his face turns to shock as Jack Murphy surprisingly rolls him up...

ONE!

Kickout after one. Suleimon darts to his feet while Murphy is slow to get up. Suleimon goes to put a boot to Murphy's head, but the Bull rolls out of the way and under the ropes. He gets up, and Suleimon rushes over. Murphy catches him with a haymaker to the face. Stunned, Suleimon covers his face, but Murphy grabs him...

Truth Waters: Murph's got him by the head he lifts him... SUPLEX! SUPLEX OVER THE TOP AND TO THE OUTSIDE!!

Suleimon is now almost dead from the fall. Murphy's still on the apron. He raises his arms to the crowd before leaping from the apron with an elbow drop across Suleimon's neck. The Captain starts convulsing like a fish. Before Michael Ryan can get his count really started, Murphy rolls Suleimon back into the ring and covers him...

ONE!

TWO!

NO! Suleimon kicks out. Murphy grabs Suleimon to his feet and whips him off the ropes. Murphy goes for the lariat, but Suleimon ducks and bounces off the opposite side of the ring. Murphy turns around to find Suleimon leaping at him with the flying cross-body, but Murphy catches him and quickly plants him with a powerslam. He covers again...

ONE!

TWO!

NO! Suleimon again kicks out. Murphy raises his arm to the crowd then goes over to the corner to climb the ropes.

George Cassidy: What the hell? Who does Murphy think he is? Suleimon?

Truth Waters: I admit, we don't normally see Murph take to the skies, but he's gotta have something big in mind. Going for the kill.

George Cassidy: Yeah, of himself.

Murphy waits on the top for Suleimon to get up. The Turk staggers to his feet, punch drunk. Murphy waits for him to turn around to face him. Suleimon swirls around and Murphy leaps, shoulder first, going for a top-rope variant on his Bull Charge. However, at the last second, Suleimon ducks. Murphy eats canvas.

George Cassidy: See? I told you so.

Murphy is down and so is Suleimon, who is however close to the ropes. Suleimon grabs onto the bottom one and starts to get up. Murphy just lies there, holding his shoulder. Suleimon uses the ropes to get to his feet, then moves his way slowly over to the corner. He slowly starts climbing, unbeknownst to him that Murphy was playing a bit of possum. He gets up quietly and stalks behind Suleimon as he climbs to the top. Making his move as Suleimon is standing on the top, Murphy slaps the top rope, causing Suleimon to lose his balance and crotch himself on the top turnbuckle.

Truth Waters: Yes! Suleimon's in a world of trouble now!

George Cassidy: I can't bear to watch.

Murphy is just about to send Suleimon to the mat with the back superplex when suddenly the Captain reaches his left arm around Murphy's face and rakes his eyes. Murphy loses his grip on Suleimon, but his superior balance helps him stay on the turnbuckle without falling. Suleimon jostles for position, then frees his leg, reaches it back and sends his heel screaming right for Murphy's crotch. The low blow, unseen by Michael Ryan, sends Murphy flying from the top on his back.

Truth Waters: Aww, c'mon! Ref, you gotta see those things! Suleimon's been cheatin' all match and it ain't fair!

George Cassidy: Hey, it's not cheating unless you get caught.

Truth Waters: Aha! You finally admit it.

George Cassidy: I admit nothing.

Suleimon gets to his feet on the ropes, back turned towards Murphy and the ring.

George Cassidy: Oh man... are we going to see... it?

Truth Waters: I think that's what he's going for.

Suleimon takes a deap breath and jumps back, tucking himself forward. He somersaults through the air, still moving backwards before hitting a senton on Murphy. It's the Leap Across Continents, a move that has not been broken out yet in Suleimon's AWC tenure. Until now. The crowd "oohs" at the impact, and Suleimon covers...

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

DING! DING! DING! Amidst a crowd 90% booing at Suleimon winning and 10% respectfully clapping at the amazing move displayed by Suleimon, "The Turkish March" cues up again on the speakers.

James Brunt: Here is your winner... CAPTAIN... SUUUUULEEEIIIMONNNN!!

Truth Waters: I can't believe it. He cheated this whole damn match, all the way to the end, and he gets to win. It's not fair.

George Cassidy: Life isn't fair Truth. You should know that. But in the meantime, let's all sit back and congratulate the newest superstar in AWC, Captain Suleimon.

Truth Waters: I think I'm gonna be sick.

Suleimon looks at Murphy with a smarmy look in his eyes. When he sees that Murphy isn't dead and is about to sit up, the smarm turns mellow a bit. He furrows his brow before turning away and leaving the ring before Murphy regains a vertical base.

---

All Aboard
LOCATION: Atlantic Ocean
FEATURING: East vs. West
AUTHOR: All Competitors plus extras

---

Mikey O’Reilly steps out onto the boat and enters a vista there are throngs of people. The fans are the predominant feature they wander about gleefully on this behemoth of a boat, soaking in the sunlight and drinking in an odd beer to preparation for the match. He pulls out a pen ready to sign autographs and the crowd splits open like Moses dividing the Red Sea.

O’Reilly: I hate it when that happens!

Entering periphery of his vision, a man in a captain’s suit approachs (the captain duh), a smile adorned onto his face.

Captain: Hey Mr O’Reilly, your other competitors are over in the V.I.P. cabin. They’ve already commenced with the party.

He arches an eyebrow at this and his restless eyes drift to the right to the direction of the V.I.P. cabin where indeed, the sound of blaring music seems to be apparent over the commotion of the crowd. There’s a fucking party on this fucking boat? Where the fuck was his invitation?

He lets out a sigh, making his way to the cabin. Grabbing a beer off a fan and a pack of Doritos off another, he ignores their profanity filled wails hoping someone will throw him overboard before the match starts.

Meanwhile in the cabin…

Paddy: Aye can’t… .drink?!

Paddy’s outraged moan resonates up walls and back down, even overshadowing the blaring Ramone’s track being emitted from the DJ’s booth. The cabin was a decent size… perhaps the size of a pub. Cases of beer stacked highly on one side of cream coloured walls (compliments of Josh Marquez) were barely touched and that had created a nasty throbbing in the vein on his forehead. Things were difficult enough trying to get the bastards to drink anyway. What he didn’t need now was a hissy Irishman losing it because he had to sober up for a change.

Josh: Listen REAAAALLLY carefully now Paddy… (whispering) we need to get these fools drunk and we need both of us sober to do it. Then, we need to stay sober to kick everyone’s ass… you think you can manage that tit for brains? Now keep your trap closed before I put you on cop watch.

Paddy: But there’s no c-

Josh: Shut up! Now go serve those drinks over on the table I’ve laced them all with LS-Mikey O’Reilly, how are ya buddy, great for you to join us mate!

Josh swans off now with an arm around Mikey O’Reilly, an offering hand of Absence in the other. Paddy hears O’Reilly’s grumbles of invitations etc. etc. before swanning over to the DJ booth thoroughly peeved. He grabs a tray of the drinks on the way.

Paddy: Wha’ the hell’s LS anyway… sound alcoholic goddamnit.

Using every bit of control he has, he resists the inticing blue liquid under his eyes, and then scuttles off to leave a track request with his old PWA buddy D-Kay Calyx.

Lexicon: Talaina!

Stewing in a corner, Johnny Lexicon was already regretting bringing his wife as she drank and flirted with man that took her fancy. Right now, she was touching the referee’s leg whose already half-monkied demeanour was evident in his lop sided small. She must have waited for him to become available because Josh had barely left the ref’s ear all night. Right now she was ignoring his calls and this only pissed him off further.

The ever happy Red Rock, belt around waist, approaches and is quickly told to fuck off and walk away. Red Rock complied wondering at the tool who came to a party and then refused drinks and social activities of any kind. His wife was a hottie though standing five foot five, blond haired, blue eyed. A Russian little cutie who loves vodka; go figure! He might try his luck with her if Lexicon happened to go overboard and in her drunkenness one of Talaina’s boob popped out.

There was one though who decided he wasn’t in the mood for festives.

GA sat, isolated, ear plugs in, iPod blazing the angst ridden tones of Scary Kids Scaring Kids. Around him a team was being built, tactics being discussed… you know the sort: morale, bonding and all that effervescent jazz.

Shame.

He’d never been much of a team player.

True, he’d had his moments with Team Flatlined – but he was never comfortable with them. Before him stood an eclectic blend of characters, each bringing their own unique flavour to the team, each their own style, each their own personality. They wanted to win this, they really wanted it, the victory.

Their mouths were moving, talking, conversing some sort of plan – he couldn’t care less. He was after that title, he was after the Rock of the AWC. His red tones would only merely act as the antagonistic element for the bull. Fuck the team. Who were they to him anyway? Some LA Playboy? Some Irish buffoon? The other… the other he couldn’t care less about.

Sasha had put him here to make a point, and in doing so she’s handicapped the team. GA wasn’t going to look out for anyone bar himself. He’d been guilty of that all encompassing attitude too many times in the past and in all honesty look where it had got him. A two year ticket to tell: fantastic times, I can assure you.

So, no. While they’re talking tactics, and making arse jokes, and drinking themselves into an early grave, I’ll keep my game face on, I’ll keep my mind sharp. I mean, I’d never touched a drop since… well… you know.

He pulled his hood further over his face, just over the brim of his eyes… time for some shuteye before the big occasion. Anyway… he had places to go long after this was done.

Saij: Oi! Paddy!

Gracefully waltzing up to the waiter of the night, one question was on everyone’s lips… .where the hell did XUW’s Saij come out of?

Paddy: Where the hell did ye come out of?

Saij: Aha! Your invite my friend… I thought I’d come along early. What’s that you got there.

Looking down, Paddy realised how the blue concotions on his tray where begging to him. They WANTED to be drunk.

Paddy: Oh nothing‘… just something fer the competitors… something special.

Saij: oOo well come on, give one here.

Paddy frowns.

Paddy: Josh says they’re fer the competitors. So no.

Saij makes a mad dive for the tray as Paddy ballets around his attack.

Saij: Give it here ya Irish prick.

Paddy: No! Ye can’t have any.

Seeing the mad look in his eyes, Paddyd ecided there was only one thing for it to ensure Josh’s wishes were met. With a joyous heart he quickly gulped down the six drinks as Saij looked on horrified.

Saij: Meanie! I’m out of here!

Tactic plan firmly aborted, Josh Marquez was starting to feel more at ease and allowed himself the pleasure of a beer. Sinking it in one go, he decided he’d have another, questioning why his legs were so wobbly. Must be the beer he supposed… Danish or something. Must be making him be hearing things too because he was almost sure he heard like 50 pairs of feet all collectively approaching the cabin door.

The beer was soon reprieved of blame as the door crashed open and a squad of wrestlers, B-list celebrities and promo girls spewed through the door.

Josh: Oh shit… DAMNIT, those damn invitations. Paddy, look what you’ve done!

Swanning up beside Josh with pupils dilated to the extreme, a girlishly smile plastered onto his face, he throws an arm around Josh.

Paddy: The pink elephant assures me ye’ll die today… no worries, aye’m safe for now. Now aye’s away t’ get me schoolbag… time fer the new term!

Slapping himself on the face as the Pope and Big Bird sauntered past him like they owned the place, quickly followed by Penelope Pitstop and a legion of porn stars, Josh decided there was only one thing to ressurect the plan…

Drink.

---

Slapped Back to Reality!
LOCATION: New Jersey
FEATURING: Sarah Kennedy, Pierce Lavelle & ???
AUTHOR: Lara

---

Lavelle sat perched on a small bench, each leg spread over one side, his eyes closed as he listened and welcomed the tranquillity and silence. His mind fluttered with the daunting possibility that now awaited him, a mobile lay in front of him, the screen flashing as a small CGI animation bounced back and forth, alerting him to the fact it was on stand-by.

Clutching the bottle of water in a vice grip, he loosened the cap and brought the bottles rim to his lips, soaking his parched mouth and wetting his lips. The tranquillity was interrupted by the murmuring buzz of his mobile’s vibration, the CGI animation now vanished as the screen signalled an incoming-call. Gripping the phone, he sighed heavily.

Pierce Lavelle: Hello?

… .

Pierce Lavelle: Oh, its you.

… .

Pierce Lavelle: Yeah, I slept on it –

… .

Lavelle shuffled his feet a bit, the strings of his boots flapping around.

Pierce Lavelle: And what? It’s not like I’ve got a choice.

… .

Lavelle spoke with a glum and relenting tone, his eyes dropping with certain sadness. He raised his head and checked the empty room he was seated in, noticing the slight feminine touches of his partner and manager, Sarah Kennedy.

Pierce Lavelle: No, I’m still here.

…

Lavelle coughed with a tickle in his throat, a weak smile merged along his lips.

Pierce Lavelle: I know, I’ll do it, okay.

… .

Pierce Lavelle: I’ve no choice, right. You’ve left me in quite a position. You owe me for this…

Lavelle shut his mobile with the feint whisper of a ‘goodbye’ and tossed his mobile into his rucksack, strewn on the floor next to him. Sighing heavily with daunting prospects of the night ahead of him, and the strange yet enlightening phone call he hung his head in his hands and closed his eyes, oblivious to the fans cheering around him.

Sarah Kennedy: Geez, don’t look so glum.

The sweet tone of Sarah Kennedy flowed into the silenced room, her voluptuous body entering the frame. Lavelle rose his head, placing a smile on his lips as his eyes lingered on her a moment. Kennedy walked with a swagger in her step, dressed in a lavish gown and strapped heels. Her hair ornately and delicately decorated behind her head as she sat on a small chair, rubbing the back of her legs.

Sarah Kennedy: My legs are killing me. You’ve got me run ragged.

Kennedy smiled and pulled out a bottle of water for herself, making an obvious note of her boyfriends less than amused appearance.

Sarah Kennedy: You okay?

Pierce Lavelle: I am now.

Lavelle smiled at his inevitable cheesy comment, but the fact was, she made him happy and not in the vulgar sense. Kennedy rolled her eyes and tossed him his white tape as he prepared to get changed into his ring attire, still hung and solemn.

Sarah Kennedy: You’ve got an interview for a couple of magazines and a television interview back in the States.

Lavelle just nodded and strapped the white tape around his wrists, prolonging the inevitable choice he’d have to make. Kennedy stood up, placing the bottle of water onto the floor and moved toward bench, pushing one of Lavelle’s legs to the side as she sat next to him, facing him.

Sarah Kennedy: What’s up with you?

Pierce Lavelle: Nothing, I’m fine.

Sarah Kennedy: You’re lying. It’s the biggest night of the AWC and you’re the champion, aren’t you happy here?

Lavelle turned his head away, his jaw muscles tensing.

Sarah Kennedy: Is it the fact that Adam Dick, David Harber and Drake are here tonight?

Pierce Lavelle: Its not that, Sarah. It’s got nothing to with –

Lavelle stopped, realising that he had raised his voice and turned away from her, ashamed. He couldn’t believe how close he’d got to the woman in front of him and now through the instructions given he’d had to make a dire choice.

Pierce Lavelle: Something’s going to happen – I don’t want you to be apart of it.

Sarah Kennedy: What’d you mean ‘happen’?

Pierce Lavelle: Sarah, you can’t be apart of this, its dangerous and I –

Kennedy turned toward him, a pain in her facial expression.

Sarah Kennedy: Are you breaking up with me?

Lavelle stayed silent a moment, but the silence was enough for Sarah to unleash an almighty wallop across his cheek, the tingle in Pierce’s cheek stung as his head recoiled to the side, clasping his cheek he turned back to her. Kennedy stood before him, small tears rising in her eyes.

Pierce Lavelle: No, it’s not that…

Lavelle jumped up and stood next to her, she unleashed another slap but he caught it this time. Lavelle couldn’t do what had been asked of him, he’d need to change his plan of attack.

Pierce Lavelle: Can we talk about this?

Sarah Kennedy: Fine.

Lavelle looked around, his eyes shifting toward the private room to their right.

Pierce Lavelle: In private?

Kennedy stormed toward the door, slamming it shut before Pierce arrived, sighing heavily and rubbing his now rosy red cheek; he opened it and shut it behind him. The click of lock snapped shut as silence emitted throughout the room.

---

Parr-tay!
LOCATION: Atlantic Ocean
FEATURING: East vs. West
AUTHOR: East vs. West

---

Mikey O’Reilly has drunk his fifth beer now and is beginning to feel a buzz. Not one person acknowledged him and that’s okay. They can go on with their party while Mikey gets shit-faced. Mikey doesn’t give a shit if he’s sloshed when this match happens or not; he’s simply not looking forward to something that’s going to degrade his career.

He downs his fifth beer, breaks the can over his head, and reaches for a sixth one. Fuck this match; getting drunk is better.

Josh: Oi! Your holiness! Enough of that shit! With a wobble, Josh ventures over to Pope Benedict whose busy snorting cocaine off Mike Myer’s arsehole.

The referee comes upon Lexicon's broad side with a well intentioned. "I love you!" And receives a palm in the face. Johnny pushes him back, "I will kill you if you hug me.". As Chaos ensues Johnny rises from his seat in what was once a quietly removed section of the ship.

"Don't." Johnny holds his hand up to Red Rock and gives him the same look of death that was given the referee.

Marching through the mess of bodies Johnny shoulders his way with a one track mind. Undettered as a bug eyed Paddy wanders past in a brief moment of calm as he inspects the hairs on his knuckles. It's not until he comes upon the cute blond engrossed in a deep conversation with Gabriel Afeaki that he stops.

"I've had enough."

"What'you talking-" GA starts when Lexicon cuts him off.

"Just walk man."

"I don't think you-"

"I believe I just told you to walk."

"Naw man-" Johnny doesn't let him finish, instead he throws up a middle figner and walks away. This party sucked.

The atmosphere around him was raucous… personalities here there and everywhere. It was like some pathetic Big Brother after party, or even worse… Chantelle’s wedding reception. All night he’d seen people chucking it down them like Vodka was going out of fashion and being replaced by water. It was like the Last Supper… only with more Irish flair.

He’d kept quiet in his corner, occasionally being interrupted by some idiot wanting to feel his bicep, or worse actually converse with him. They got a swift fuck off, or in the case of the referee, a swift kick to the head.

Ever since he’d been so inebriated he’d been put away, alcohol was more than certain the last thing GA would touch. Ever. They said he was boring, that he should drink because it was free and just enjoy himself. They sounded like his old friends… the freeloaders, the ones who were always there for a party and never there for the hard times. It reminded him of the hedonistic lifestyle he once led and in truth, made him feel sick. The beautiful tones of Denison Witmer were his only company on this boat.

As far as GA was concerned, they could all fucking drown tonight. He wouldn’t share a tear.

“AFEAKI!”

GA turned to see Paddy O’Shea with a tray walking toward him precariously balancing what looked like some form of Vodka cocktail.

Paddy O’Shea: From the pink elephant, sir. He said drink up!

GA looked at the drink…

GA: Tell him thanks but no thanks, I’m not in the mood.

Paddy looked despondent but nodded. Afeaki noticed a glint in his eye; O’Shea was a good man, honest and hard working. And drugged out of his frickin‘ eyeballs.

GA: One more thing Paddy…

O’Shea turned round slowly.

GA: Good luck tonight mate.

O’Shea nodded and licked his arm which GA no sells…

Paddy: Aye’m goin’ t’ find Ellis… aye hear she’s makin’ out with the captain.

You’re going to need it…

---

FFGod (c) vs. The New Black
LOCATION: London
STIPULATION: Alliance Championship
REFEREE: Lars Larsson
AUTHOR: Jeremy J.

---

Dave Kern: Are you ready for some Duo Tag action?! In just a few moments, The Furious Fists of God are defending their Alliance titles against The New Black! We haven’t seen much of The New Black as of late, but they’re here tonight, and they’re ready to taste their first Alliance titles reign. This match is going to be a barnburner!

Jeff Marx: Indeed it is, Dave, but I don’t think Angelus Sorrow and Lacuna Debris have what it takes to defeat the Martin Brothers. As everyone knows, their first reign as Alliance champions was cut embarrassingly short at the hands of Celestial Fury. But now, Liam and Tim Martin have held the titles for a couple of months, and they’re looking to hold those straps for a very long time, and the Derbyshire cousins have to pry those belts from Martin Brothers’ cold, dead fingers!

Dave Kern: That could be arranged from the Derbyshire cousins! Anyway, let’s not waste anymore time talking about this match! Let’s watch it LIVE! Pierre Perroquet, take it away!

Pierre Perroquet: Ze following ees for ze AWC Alliance championship!

The chaotic opening chords of The Blood Brothers’ “Ambulance vs. Ambulance” bursts from the PA as Sorrow paces slowly and confidently from behind the curtains, with Lacuna dragging along reluctantly behind him.

Pierre Perroquet: Making zeir way to ze ring, from Durr-bee-shy-arr, England... Lacuna Debris and Angelus Sorrow, The New Black!

Ambulance X extracts several consultants
from the slow gumming death at the office orifice.
Ambulance Y imprisons the sigh of the recent amputee
and dumps her in the xylophone trees.
Ambulance X scours the tanning complex for repunzels
rotting in their skin cooking coffins.
Ambulance Y drops the body off at the doorstep.

Lacuna looks up and surveys the crowd, a smile spreading slowly over her face as the adrenaline kicks in and she charges towards the ring. Sorrow continues his strut, himself smiling too.

Ambulance X pulls you out of the party
and rubs your freckles like a DJ to his records
but Ambulance Y teaches you the word goodbye
and cuts your hands to show you where you stand,
under the monolith of what is love and what is scam,
what is sun and what is tan.
The Ambulance Angels pull up to your doorstep
the sirens flash emergency,
“you’d better come quick.”
The Ambulance Angels chisel a crack in your mouth,
and then they paint a landscape with your regret and shouts.

Lacuna jumps off the turnbuckle and performs a perfect backflip, pointing at the roaring fans as Sorrow stands and smirks to himself, flexing his huge arms and cracking his neck in anticipation.

Dave Kern: Lacuna Debris and Angelus Sorrow have been pretty impressive when they debuted in AWC a few short months ago. Even though they haven’t seen much ring action, they are good enough to have their first shot at Alliance gold.

Jeff Marx: They would make good Alliance champions, but I don’t think it’s their time. Just as long as those PWC retards don’t win the belts, it’s all good.

Dave Kern: Your world would end if they won the belts wouldn’t it?

Jeff Marx: Don’t get me started, Kern!

Pierre Perroquet: And their opponents!

Jeff Marx: OOH! Here comes my team~!

The arena goes dark. On the jumbo tron, a face that is half Liam, half Tim Martin shows up, with the words "The Furious Fists of God" coming up in Bold Letters. Then, pyros burst at the top of the ramp as the song "Hallelujah" hits.

Hallelujahhhhhh...
Hallelujahhhhhh...

Pierre Perroquet: From Boston, Massachusetts, at a combined weight of 607 pounds, zey are ze Alliance champions... Liam and Teem Marteen... ZE FURIOUS FEESTS OF GOD!

Out of the smoke and fire are Tim and Liam Martin, kneeling there in prayer. Above them video of the two executing moves against opponents are flashing by. Once they finish prayer, they walk down the ramp, side by side, to the ring. They climb in there and jump on the turnbuckles to a combination of church music and boos.

Jeff Marx: Here comes the most dominant Duo Tag in AWC history, Dave - Liam and Tim Martin - The Furious Fists of God! You can’t find a Duo Tag Team like these two anywhere else!

Dave Kern: Indeed, Marx! Ever since winning the Alliance titles at Divide and Conquer by defeating The New Black in the Sudden Death Alliance Invitational Battle Royal, Angelus Sorrow and Lacuna Debris have been looking for a little payback by taking the titles away from the Martin Brothers. This match is going to get heated!

The Martin Brothers reluctantly hand over their prized Alliance title belts over to referee Lars Larsson, who’s the assigned referee for this match. He calls for the bell, holds the Alliance title belts into the air to signify that they are on the line, and then show them to The New Black. The Alliance champions are talking strategy for their match as Angelus Sorrow stands in the ring, waiting patiently with his large arms folded over his massive chest. After careful deliberation, Liam Martin has decided to start the match. The brothers hug, wish each other the best of luck and Tim Martin goes onto the ring apron. Liam looks over at his massive opponent with a sneer on his face, both men meet in the center of the ring to lock up. Being the slightly larger and stronger man, Sorrow muscles Liam down onto the canvas with a heavy push. Liam looks up at Sorrow in awe as Sorrow does a lateral flex, accompanied by a triumphant roar. The London fans cheer for the “Derbyshire Demon” while Liam’s sneer becomes more noticeable and ugly.

Dave Kern: Angelus Sorrow is showing off his power against one half of the Alliance champions, and Liam Martin is not amused.

Jeff Marx: Liam’s simply pacing himself, feeling out his opponent before doing anything monumentally phenomenal!

Liam Martin gets to a vertical, keeping his eyes locked on Angelus Sorrow. They meet in the middle of the ring again, going for another collar and elbow tie-up, but Liam switches gears and doubles Angelus over with a knee to the midsection. The London fans jeer at the Alliance champion as he drops “The Unbeliever” onto the canvas with a thunderous clubbing forearm shot to the back of the neck. Liam picks up Angelus, whips him into the ropes and goes for a Clothesline, connecting with it and drops the 6’8” 328-pound monster onto the mat. Liam then drops an elbow onto Sorrow’s chest and does a blatant choke in front of referee Lars Larsson! Larsson forcibly breaks up the choke and gives the Alliance champion a warning. Liam simply waves the referee off and gets Angelus up to his feet. He kicks him in the gut, grasps both sides of Angelus’ head and throws him down face first as hard as he can, delivering “The Lord’s Anger.” He rolls Angelus over and goes for a lateral press, hooking a leg...

ONE!

TWO!

Angelus Sorrow shoots a shoulder into the air.

Jeff Marx: The Lord’s Anger isn’t enough to give Angelus Sorrow a smiting!

Dave Kern: Right, Marx. Easy with the God stuff.

Liam Martin picks up Angelus Sorrow to show everyone that Sorrow is bleeding from his nose. The force of The Lord’s Anger was enough to smash Sorrow’s nose into a bloody pulp. Liam kicks Angelus in the midsection again, doubling him over and sets his head in between his legs. Liam lifts Angelus into the air, spins around and executes a Sit-out Power Bomb. Instead of going for the immediate pin, he rolls backward, walks over to “The Unbeliever’s” head and kneels over it, closing his eyes as if he is praying to himself. A few moments later, he opens his eyes and drops an elbow into Angelus’ throat! The fans are jeering as referee Lars Larsson warns Liam for his conduct.

Dave Kern: Biblical Bomb and Heaven’s Elbow! Liam Martin is decimating Angelus Sorrow, and Lacuna Debris is chomping at the bit to get into the ring!

Jeff Marx: Keep chomping, toots; you’re never gonna see any ring action tonight!

Liam Martin gets to his feet, walks over to his brother and tags him in. They trade places - Liam going out and Tim coming in - and Tim Martin is stalking his opponent with an evil grin on his face. Tim sits Angelus up, about to do an Ear Pull, but Angelus manages to punch Tim square in his face, dropping him like a ton of bricks. The fans are cheering, chanting Sorrow’s name.

“SOR-ROW! SOR-ROW! SOR-ROW! SOR-ROW!”

Driving on pure adrenaline, he rolls away from Tim Martin, gets to his corner and tags in his cousin, Lacuna Debris! The fans explode with cheers as the former UWF Television champion jumps onto the top turnbuckle, balances herself as she walks the top rope. She gets about three-quarters of the way, does a springboard and executes a textbook Firebird Splash on Tim, hooking the leg...

ONE!

TWO!

Tim Martin muscles out of the attempted pinfall.

Dave Kern: What balance by Lacuna Debris for walking on the top rope, then executing a Springboard Firebird Splash!

Jeff Marx: I’ll have to admit that was an awesome move, but it wasn’t enough to put Tim Martin away.

Lacuna Debris gets to her feet, leaps into the air and drives her right knee into Tim Martin’s forehead. She gets to a vertical base once again, lifts Tim up with a grunt and performs a beautiful spinning back kick, forcing Tim to double over. She hooks both arms, hops into the air and executes a Sit-out Guillotine Face Driver (think of it as a half-ass Angel’s Wings w/o the 90-degree spin)! After executing that maneuver, she runs over to the ropes, jumps onto the top rope, does a springboard, executes a Moon Sault, does a twist in midair and lands with a Senton Bomb! The fans explode with cheers as “Miss England” goes for the cover, hooking both legs!

ONE!

TWO!

THR---

NO! Tim Martin is close enough to grasp onto the bottom rope!

Dave Kern: GOOD NIGHT, IRENE! What a move by Lacuna Debris, and the fans are going nuts!

Jeff Marx: That was too close for comfort! Way to go, Tim!

Lacuna Debris gets to her feet, muscle Tim Martin up with a grunt and whips him into the corner. She hops onto the middle rope, does another hop and slams her knee into the side of Tim’s head! The fans cheer wildly, chanting her name...

“LA-CU-NA! LA-CU-NA! LA-CU-NA! LA-CU-NA!”

Lacuna Debris lands on her feet and runs over to the opposite corner. She charges at Tim Martin, does a cartwheel, does a couple of back handsprings and flies at Tim with a handspring elbow, but Tim catches her in midair. He has her cradled in a Backdrop Suplex, steps out of the corner and flips her forward, slamming her onto the canvas tits first with a Sit-out Wheelbarrow Power Bomb!

Jeff Marx: I think Lacuna Debris popped an implant!

Dave Kern: Knock it off, Marx!

Tim Martin rolls Lacuna Debris over, goes for a lateral press and hooks the leg...

ONE!

TWO!

THR---

Angelus Sorrow goes in and rescues his cousin!

Jeff Marx: Get his ass out of the ring, Larsson!

Dave Kern: Here comes Liam Martin!

Liam Martin enters the ring, charging at Angelus Sorrow. He goes for a Clothesline, but Angelus is ready for him, tossing him out of the ring with a Back Body Drop. “The Unbeliever” exits the ring, going after the Martin brother as Tim Martin continues his onslaught in the ring on Lacuna Debris. Tim picks up Lacuna and doubles her over with a massive boot in the breadbasket. He sets her head in between his legs and lifts her up for a Power Bomb. Instead of slamming her onto her back as you would with a traditional Power Bomb, he sends Lacuna backward over his shoulders. Instead of letting her go, he rolls backward, gets to his feet. Lacuna’s head is in between Tim’s legs again. He grabs a hold of her legs and starts pulling back on them, while squeezing his legs around Lacuna’s leg with the Vice Crab, Tim’s variation of a Standing Boston Crab! After torturing Lacuna with the Vice Crab, he sits down, drilling Debris’ head into the mat with a modified Pile Driver!

Meanwhile on the outside, Angelus Sorrow and Liam Martin are battling outside, trying to one-up each other anyway possible. Liam has had the advantage over Angelus for a little while, throwing him shoulder first into the steel ring steps and then back first into the steel ring post, but Angelus retaliates by smashing Liam’s face with the top half of the steel ring steps, busting one-half of the Alliance champions wide open! Liam is bleed profusely as “The Unbeliever” palms Liam’s bald, bloody head and gets him to a vertical base. He wraps his hand around Liam’s throat, lifts him into the air and slams Liam’s spine on the base of the steel ring steps with a Choke Slam! The fans are on their feet, cheering for Angelus.

Dave Kern: Oh my God! Angelus Sorrow might’ve broken Liam Martin’s spine in half on that steel base! He is screaming in pain!

Jeff Marx: BLASPHEMER~! SOMEONE THROW ANGELUS’ ASS INTO THE NINTH CIRCLE OF HELL!

Angelus Sorrow palms Liam Martin’s bloody head again and tosses him up the ramp way. Liam gingerly scrambles to his feet and throws a heavy low blow, dropping Angelus onto his knees, holding himself. Liam slowly picks himself up, grimacing in pain and clutching at his back. He then kicks Sorrow right in the face, dropping him on his back. He grimaces again as he bends over, grabbing a handful of Angelus’ hair and gets him to a vertical base. He kicks him in the gut, gets him in a Front Face-lock and executes a DDT, then follows it up with multiple punches in the back of the head and rubbing Sorrow’s face in the steel ramp. He inflicts pain on himself, however, when he slammed his back onto the ramp.

Jeff Marx: Eagle-DT by Liam Martin! Make that heathen pay, brother!

Liam Martin grabs another handful of Angelus Sorrow’s long hair and pulls him to his feet. Angelus buries a right hand into Liam’s breadbasket and kicks him in the head, sending him onto the ramp. Sorrow palms his head and drags him up the ramp way and slams the back of his head onto the steel stage. “The Unbeliever” picks up Liam and throws him face first into the stage wall, watching him bounce off and fall backward with a dazed look on his face. Sorrow gets Liam up to a vertical base, about to do another attack, but Liam buries a knee into Angelus’ midsection. He palms Angelus’ face with an Iron Claw, picks him up into the air and executes a Spine Buster. (Borrowing a move from his brother’s playbook, no less.) Liam bellows out in pain, clutching at his back.

Jeff Marx: Eagle’s Claw by Liam Martin! The Alliance champion is making a comeback!

Dave Kern: Liam Martin is dragging Angelus Sorrow by the arm and heading towards the edge of the stage! Oh no, he’s gonna do something diabolical!

Jeff Marx: SEND HIM TO HELL, BROTHER!

Liam Martin and Angelus Sorrow are dangerously close to the left-hand edge of the stage. Liam gingerly bends over and picks up Angelus, doubling him over with a kick and sets him up for a Power Bomb.

Dave Kern: NO! DON’T DO IT! YOU’LL KILL HIM!

Jeff Marx: DO IT! DO IT, BROTHER!

Liam Martin tries to pick up the massive 328-pound Derbyshire monster, causing Liam to clutch at his back and yelp in pain. Angelus Sorrow counters the Power Bomb with a Back Body Drop, drilling Liam’s spine onto the steel stage. The fans breathe a sigh of relief and cheer for the “Derbyshire Demon.” Sorrow palms Liam Martin’s head and lifting him to his feet. He grabs him by the throat, talking trash in his face, and turns to the edge of the stage, about to execute a Choke Slam.

Dave Kern: Oh my God! Don’t do it, Angelus! Don’t do it!

Jeff Marx: FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DON’T---

Too late...

Angelus Sorrow lifts Liam Martin into the air and goes for the Choke Slam. Unfortunately for Angelus, Liam grabs a hold of Sorrow, taking him down with him...

CRASHOLAH~!

“HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!”

Dave Kern: SWEET CREAMERY BUTTER! BOTH MEN HAVE OBLITERATED THEMSELVES!

Jeff Marx: AND GODS HAVE SPOKEN FROM THE HEAVENS, AND THEY HAVE PUNISHED ANGELUS SORROW!

Dave Kern: NOT TO MENTION LIAM MARTIN! JESUS, MARY AND JOSEPH!

Meanwhile in the ring, both Lacuna Debris and Tim Martin have pretty much met in a stalemate. Neither competitor can put the other away. Lacuna bounces off the ropes and hurls herself at the Alliance champion with a Cross-body, but Tim catches her in midair, tosses her over his shoulders and executes a Samoan Driver. He gets to his feet, goes over to the closest corner and climbs up the turnbuckles. He makes his way to the top turnbuckle, turns himself around and balances himself. He leaps into the air and does a perfect swan dive, but no one is home on that exchange, forcing Tim to eat canvas!

Dave Kern: Lacuna Debris rolls out of the way from the Eagle Splash!

Jeff Marx: DAMMIT! Why would a 6’5” 306-pound man do a top rope Splash anyway?! Doesn’t make any sense!

Lacuna Debris rolls Tim Martin over and hooks the leg, going for the pin...

ONE!

TWO!

THR---

Tim Martin kicks out! Lacuna Debris gets to her feet, picking up Tim Martin and goes for an Irish Whip, but Tim counters and sends her into the rope. Upon rebound, the former UWF Television champion flies at Tim with a Hurricanrana, but couldn’t telegraph the maneuver. Tim counters with an Elevated Power Bomb. Instead of slamming Lacuna on her back, he flips her around, sits down and drops Lacuna’s jaw across Tim’s shoulder with The Lord’s Wish! He goes for the cover...

ONE!

TWO!

THR---

NO! Lacuna Debris shoots the shoulder up!

Jeff Marx: Son of a bitch! C’mon, Tim! You should’ve easily beaten that bitch!

Dave Kern: Lacuna Debris is still in this match! But how much longer can she go on?

Lacuna Debris is barely moving and Tim Martin is slowly getting to his feet. He picks up Lacuna by her hair, lifts her up onto his shoulders and delivers a Reverse Fall-Away Slam. He goes over to the corner, climbs up onto the top turnbuckle and performs a Moon Sault! He connects with it, hooking the leg...

ONE!

TWO!

THR---

NO! Lacuna Debris gets the shoulder up, and Tim Martin is beside himself. Being fed up with the fact he can’t put Lacuna away, he slides out of the ring and goes underneath the ring and starts rummaging through it. He pulls out a trashcan full of weapons, tosses it into the ring, pulls out a table and sets it up on the outside.

Jeff Marx: What the hell are you doing, Tim? Do you want to disqualify yourself? ...In fact, go for it! Save your titles!

Dave Kern: Don’t tell me he’s going to purposely going to disqualify himself to save the Alliance titles!

Tim Martin rolls into the ring, picks up a steel chair and his Lacuna Debris over the head with it! Referee Lars Larsson calls for the bell.

Jeff Marx: GENIUS! The Furious Fists of God lose the match, but they still keep the Alliance titles! The Martin Brothers are GENIUSES!

Dave Kern: Wait a minute, I don’t think Lars Larsson is going to throw this match out as a result of a disqualification.

Referee Lars Larsson is in between the ropes, speaking with ring announcer Pierre Perroquet about something. When the referee is done, Perroquet nods and makes the following announcement:

Pierre Perroquet: Ladies and gentlemen, referee Lars Larsson has informed me that this match is now under Relentless rules for the Alliance titles!

Jeff Marx: WHAT?! WHAAAAAAAAAAATTTTTTTTTT?!

Dave Kern: What a call by Lars Larsson! The Furious Fists of God won’t be screwing The New Black out of the Alliance titles!

Tim Martin is irate at referee Lars Larsson, arguing with him. He puts his hands on the referee shirt, about the deck Larsson into next week, until Lacuna Debris comes up from behind and whacks Tim in the back of the head with a Kendo stick! The Alliance champion lets go of Lars, the former UWF Television champion drapes the Kendo stick across Tim’s throat and executes a Side Russian Leg Sweep! She goes for the cover, hooking the leg...

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

NO! Oh my God! Tim Martin gets his shoulder up before the three!

Dave Kern: DAMMIT! Lacuna Debris couldn’t put Tim Martin away! What a match this is becoming.

Jeff Marx: EMTs are now checking on Angelus Sorrow and Liam Martin. Took those fucking slowpokes long enough! They were obliterated two pages ago!

Dave Kern: Two pages ago? What the hell are you talking about, Jeff?

Jeff Marx: Hey, that’s what the match writer told me to say.

Dave Kern: THERE’S MATCH WRITERS?!

Jeremy J.: Yes there is. You two are not real.

Pierre Hyde: The Boning One is right, boys. You two are a figment of my imagination. Remember, Jeremy, double your 10-page output!

Jeremy J.: Only if you pay me first, say, $5 a word.

Pierre Hyde: Um... no.

Ghost of Steven Smith: There’s match writing?

Dave Kern: AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH~!

Meanwhile back in the ring, Lacuna Debris cracks the Kendo stick across Tim Martin’s back. She gets him to his feet, drops backward with a Reverse STO. She then lifts her hips up, wraps her legs around Tim’s neck and squeezes them tight, trying to throttle the Alliance champion!

Dave Kern: I’m not real. I can’t believe I’m not real. I need to get out of here. (Removes his headset and huddles underneath the broadcast table in a fetal position, sucking on his thumb.)

Jeff Marx: I apologize for my broadcast colleague. He just found out that he isn’t real and is being a puppet for a match writer of some sort. Anyway, Koji Clutch by Lacuna Debris.

Ghost of Steven Smith: What’s match writing? Is it kinky?

Jeff Marx: GET OUT HERE, GHOST!

Tim Martin is struggling to get to his feet and trying to break free from Lacuna Debris’ powerful legs. The Koji Clutch is putting massive amounts of strain on his neck and he feels himself slipping into unconsciousness. the carotid arties and the trachea are cut off, leaving the brain without any oxygen or blood. Lacuna tightens her legs around Tim’s neck, but it’s too late. By some miracle, Tim gets to his feet, lifts Lacuna into the air and falls forward with the Power Bomb, slamming the back of her head onto a folded steel chair! The back of Lacuna’s head bounces off the chair, forcing her to break up the Koji Clutch and clutches at the back of her head.

Jeff Marx: Tim Martin has countered Lacuna Debris’ Koji Clutch with a Power Bomb, drilling the back of her head onto a steel folding chair! A great move from the Alliance champion.

Dave Kern is heard from underneath the broadcasting table, crying and whimpering and Jeff Marx kicks at him.

Jeff Marx: Get out from underneath there, you big baby!

Reluctantly, Dave Kern comes out from underneath the broadcasting table, puts on his headset and gives everyone a wan smile.

Dave Kern: My apologies, everyone. It’s not exactly easy to accept the fact that you’re not real, and someone is forcing material out of your mouth.

Ghost of Steven Smith: Does’um need a hug? C’mere, big boy, give Uncle Stevie a hug!

Dave Kern gives GSS a hug alright - a Hug of DOOM~! Kern Spears Steven Smith’s ghost right out of his ghostly shoes! The incorporeal Stevens looks at Dave with his big, round eyes, whimpers and then disappears. Kern goes back to his broadcasting table, puts his headset back on and straightens himself.

Jeff Marx: Damn, man! I didn’t know you had in ya!

Dave Kern: I didn’t neither. That felt pretty good!

Ghost of Steven Smith: YOU BIG MEANIE!

Dave Kern: YOU WANT ANOTHER SPEAR, FAGBOY?!

Once again, Ghost of Steven Smith disappears. (Note to Dave Harber and Sasha Volkyeva: Need Ghost Repellent! This is starting to get stupid. J-Bone Ed.)

Meanwhile, Tim Martin is collecting himself after nearly getting choked out from Lacuna Debris’ Koji Clutch. He picks up a chair, unfolds it and sets it in the middle of the ring. He then picks up his opponent, whips her into the ropes, lifts her high into the air after the rebound, and drops her face first onto the steel seat with a Flapjack! “The Lioness’” face bounces off the chair (I think a tooth flew out of her mouth) and Lacuna is on the canvas, holding her face in her hands. Tim goes for the cover, digging his forearm in Lacuna’s face and hooks the leg...

ONE!

TWO!

THR---

NO! Lacuna Debris shoots her shoulder up!

Dave Kern: My God! Lacuna Debris is one tough bitch! How is she able to hang on?!

Jeff Marx: This is starting to become maddening! Someone beat someone already!

Tim Martin is becoming rather impatient with the bitch he’s been beating the shit out of. He picks Lacuna Debris up, about to go for some sort of maneuver that’ll make the White Lord happy, but Debris a knee into Tim’s midsection and executes a sit-out Ace Crusher! The fans are on their feet, chanting Lacuna’s name...

“LA-CU-NA! LA-CU-NA! LA-CU-NA! LA-CU-NA!”

Lacuna Debris gets Tim Martin to his feet, whips him into a corner and catches him right in the face with a Dropkick, snapping his head backward. She extends her arms out in a crucifix fashion, jumps onto the middle rope, does a backflip and kicks Tim right in the jaw with both feet, sending him forward onto the canvas.

Dave Kern: MY WINGS! LACUNA DEBRIS JUST HIT MY WINGS ON TIM MARTIN! WE HAVE NEW ALLIANCE CHAMPIONS!

ONE!

TWO!

THR--- Who the hell? Liam Martin has broken up the pinfall!

Jeff Marx: LIAM MARTIN HAS COME TO HIS BROTHER’S RESCUE! THERE IS A GOD!

Dave Kern: WHERE IN THE HELL DID LIAM MARTIN COME FROM?! HE CAME OUT OF NOWHERE~!

The London fans begin to jeer when they realize that Liam Martin has blown Lacuna Debris’ chances for winning the Alliance titles. Liam grabs her head, lifts her to her feet, and throws her face first onto the mat has hard as he can, trying to break Lacuna’s pretty face. After performing The Lord’s Anger, he picks her up over his head and slowly walks over to the table that is set up on the outside. Unbeknownst to Liam, Angelus Sorrow rolls into the ring, gets to his feet and damn near Spears Liam into next week! The fans explode with cheers, chanting Angelus’ name...

“AN-GEL-US! AN-GEL-US! AN-GEL-US! AN-GEL-US!”

Dave Kern: Angelus Sorrow has saved the day! What a Spear by that monster from Derbyshire, England!

Angelus Sorrow is slow to get to a vertical base, manages, but he couldn’t move out of the way in time when Tim Martin damn near took Angelus’ head off with a Running Boot! Sorrow lands on the back of his hard, bouncing off the canvas and he clutches at it, bellowing out in pain. Tim gets to his feet, picks up Angelus and gets him to his feet. He grabs a handful of hair, goes over to one of the sides of the ring and tosses him outside. The table outside breaks his fall...literally.

Dave Kern: Angelus Sorrow goes through the table! I think he’s out of commission!

Jeff Marx: Now it’s time for The Furious Fists of God to cleanse Lacuna Debris of her sins.

Liam Martin gets to his feet, picks up Lacuna Debris and sets her up for a Power Bomb. Tim Martin is on one knee while he other is out for his brother to use. Liam picks up Lacuna for the Power Bomb, slamming the back of her head across the back of Tim’s knee!

Jeff Marx: BOOK OF REVELATIONS! YES! GO FOR THE COVER!

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

“Hallelujah” by some happenin’ choir ensemble plays on the PA system as the fans jeer at the Alliance champions. Ring announcer Pierre Perroquet announce the winners...

Pierre Perroquet: Ze winnairs of ze match, and steell the Alliance champions... THE FURIOUS FISTS OF GOD!

Jeff Marx: THE FURIOUS FISTS OF GOD STILL HAVE THE DUO TAG STRAPS! THERE IS NO TEAM THAT CAN DEFEAT THE MOST DOMINANT DUO IN AWC HISTORY!

Dave Kern: What a Alliance title match, ladies and gentlemen! You gotta give it up for The New Black for trying everything in their power to stop The Furious Fists of God, but to no avail! I’m sure they’ll be looking for a rematch in the near future! Coming up next, we have East VS West for the Relentless title! Who’s gonna win, and who’s gonna take home the Relentless championship? We’ll find out after some segments and stuff!

---

East vs. West
LOCATION: Jewel of the Seas
STIPULATION: Tag with Relentless Championship on the line
REFEREE: Aaron Davies & Richie Travis
AUTHOR: Pierre Hyde

---

It’s quite nice, really.

The Jewel Of The Seas.

A gleaming installation of white amidst the never-ending blue. The view, as we zoom in from the sky, is so startling that it assaults your senses; an onslaught of aesthetic wonder as the 90,090 tonne boat cuts gracefully through the Atlantic.

It’s almost annoying when Dave Kern starts to speak over it.

Dave Kern: Folks, it’s time for the West versus East match! This is gonna be incredible! We’re gonna be announcing live on satellite from London, England for ya! And here it is, folks! The Jewel Of The Seas!

Jeff Marx: A true wrestlevessel... hmm.

Dave Kern: This may not be the first time wrestling’s met boats; it’s not even the first time it’s happened in AWC. But there’s still plenty new ground to break with this, and if we can be certain of one thing –

Jeff Marx: It’s that Ellis Nash is hot.

We have zoomed so close that we are now streaming across the sun deck, passing over lines of outstretched bodies crowded onto the deckchairs and sunbeds. Ellis Nash, having turned her sunbed out of its perfectly symmetrical arrangement with the others, sticks out like a sore thumb, but that’s because the cameraman wants her to. Slowly, gratuitously, somebody pans across her body, passing over the firm, luscious, tanned legs; her deep red short-short-shorts; her plain white vest, rolled up slightly in uncomfortable reaction to the heat of the sun beating down upon her. In one hand she clasps an issue of a glossy celebrity magazine, looking utterly disinterested in its contents; her mind fuzzy, her head pounding; the other hand lazily wanders across her midriff, feeling for her pager. She flips it over and sighs at the empty screen.

Jeff Marx: Why’s Ellis got an orange pager?

Dave Kern: Standard issue AWC, Jeff. Each competitor’s been given one of those and that’s how they’re going to know that the match has begun! Until then they’ve been told just to enjoy themselves on the ship however they see fit – I think they’ve been dispersed after the antics earlier...

Jeff Marx: You mean they’ve been on the boat since it left Europe, getting drunk for DAYS?!

Dave Kern: No; word has it they were, er, j4tpacked in earlier tonigh---

Jeff Marx: But j4tpacks are ILLEGAL Dave!

Dave Kern: (sighing) Yes, well, evidently they got approval from someone... somewhere! The AWC J4tpack Commission! I don’t know!

Jeff Marx: Got your panties in a bunch?

Dave Kern: (crossly) Oh Jeff, would you grow u---

Jeff Marx: Actually I was asking Ellis...

Nash turns frustratedly over onto her front on the sun-lounger, her orange pager skittling to the deck. She groans, not wanting to make any sudden moves in her state of inebriation, but before she even considers picking it up, a loud beep is heard.

Dave Kern: Aha!

Jeff Marx: That’s what she’s been waiting for!

Nash’s head whips up with interest, and she reaches over the edge of the sun-lounger with her left arm. A large shape steps into shot all of a sudden.

Jeff Marx: Hey! Outtatheway! Don’t you know we’re broadcasting here?! He’s blocking my view!

. Two immense arms reach down and grab Ellis by the back of her vest. Two tanned arms. Two tattooed arms. Two Fijian arms.

She clutches at the cushion of her sunbed. But he lifts her easily. Her arms and legs flail. The arms tense, and heave.

Nash crashes hard into a locked double door, above which is marked the words “FAMILY PROGRAM MEETING AREA – kids must be toilet trained in order to participate”. Hitting the door partway up, her body collapses in on itself and crumples to the deck, knees smashing hard into the wooden flooring. The camera turns to show her assailant,

but he’s gone. Just like that.

Dave Kern: OH MY! OH MY!

Jeff Marx: LIONS AND TIGERS AND BEARS!

Dave Kern: ELLIS TAKEN OUT! WAS THAT GABRIEL AFEAKI, JEFF?!

Jeff Marx: I’d put Mikey O’Reilly’s life on it – so I'm really not sure.

Nash ignores her aching kneecaps and jumps straight to her feet, a snarl of desire for vengeance on her face. Noticing a rip all the way down her vest, she tears it off over her head with a touch of anger, and hey presto, we have Ellis Nash in a black and white striped bathing suit. Jeremy J. comes quietly.

---

DECK NINE,

where a maid’s trolley sits unmanned outside a room whose door is open. The gold lettering of the door reads 9040; these numbers are now obscured as a weighty Filipino maid, sweating through the white polo shirt of her relaxed outfit, bustles tightly through the doorway and off down the corridor to fetch her mislaid mop. As soon as she disappears around the corner, a head pops up from the bin in the centre of the trolley. Plush white towels scatter aside as Josh Marquez hoists himself up and out of the trolley, half-tripping as he collapses through the door of the room. His hair matted against his forehead and dry sweat caking all over his body along with the faint odour of vomit, he looks a little the worse for wear.

Dave Kern: That’s Josh Marquez; he was hiding in the trolley! But why?

Jeff Marx: I'm not sure even he knows.

Marquez peers into the room, quietly impressed at the expanse of space afforded to its occupants.

Josh Marquez: So this is a Superior Oceanview Stateroom, huh?

Marquez creeps further in, his gambler’s instinct overtaking any sort of recollection that he is supposed to be in a wrestling match. The room is swimming before his eyes, but he doesn’t need a focus to be able to tell that the haze of gold he sees as he opens the vanity cabinet is valuable. He dips his hand in...

Voice: Well well well Josh, feeling a bit light-fingered are we mate?

Red Rock laughs heartily at his own joke. Marquez brings his hand reluctantly back out of the occupant’s jewellery and stares levelly at the intruder.

Josh Marquez: You don’t want to gamble with the gambler, Red Rock.

Red Rock: No no, by all means carry on... that’s the only gold you’ll be getting your hands on in this match!

Marquez’s eyes turn to slits, though that could be an effort to focus through the alcoholic haze as much as an attempt to look menacing. Red Rock, meanwhile, has been grasping for the doorhandle with his left hand for some time; having missed it yet again he loses his balance and tips wildly against the wall. He clings to it, wheezing his breaths in and out.

Dave Kern: We could be looking at some kind of stand-off between Josh Marquez and Red Rock---

Jeff Marx: But they’re both drunk as skunks!

Dave Kern: This would be a little more interesting if it wasn’t messing up the biggest show of the year...

Jeff Marx: Don’t worry, this match is jobber-heavy enough to suck however clean their breath is.

Marquez takes a step forward, and Red Rock does the same, but suddenly the bathroom door swings open between them, knocking straight into Red Rock and throwing him back against the wall. Our camera is in the corner by the door, so we cannot see who is emerging from the bathroom, but with Marquez’s face a picture of horror, it doesn’t look like good news for the man from Vegas. Red Rock has noticed the same, and tiptoes quietly to the front door of the stateroom, turning the handle...

Dave Kern: There’s someone in the room! Somebody has been in the bathroom all along, and now Josh Marquez has been caught---

Dave breaks off as a fat, near-naked, ginger Dutchman descends upon Josh Marquez, fleshy white butt-cheeks wobbling ominously as his chubby bare feet pad across the thick carpet.

Jeff Marx: ...with his trousers down?

Marquez begins to scream for help, frozen to the spot as the man grabs his face and begins to kiss it. Hearing the squelching noises, Red Rock turns around and in horror identifies the room’s occupant as---

---

DECK FIVE

DING!

The elevator halts its descent. Its pretentiously-styled, gold-plated doors begin to open, bringing into view a spacious interior, MAX. WEIGHT 1150kg, mirrors and golden handrails and red velvet and ivory buttons for decks two to thirteen. The buttons for decks three, four, six, seven, nine and eleven are illuminated. A drunken wreck is on the floor, sprawled in the corner. The centre of the lift sees its lavish carpet ruined by a spill of liquid; mainly liquid, at least.

Colby Korver rubs his head and stares back at his vomit.

Nobody gets into the lift.

The doors close again.

---

DECK NINE

Red Rock: D’avid?!

Josh Marquez: AAAAARGHHH! Get off me you disgusting – fat – asshole!

D’avid: You want to suck my fat asshole? MmmmmmMMMM!

D’avid turns around and attempts to bend over and back into Marquez; the revolted wrestler gives him a hard shove and D’avid tumbles forward, knocking his head on the bathroom sink.

Red Rock: D’avid!

Red Rock dashes into the bathroom and pulls D’avid up off the floor, gagging in disgust at the close contact with the Dutchman’s naked flesh. He sits him on the side of the bath; D’avid rolls backwards and falls in, sighing deeply and going into a peaceful slumber. Red Rock stands, stumbling to one side slightly, and shoots a finger up in the air.

Red Rock: What... a shitting... gay! He went on a cruise without me! And how – how did he afford –

Red Rock can’t get another word out. Because Josh Marquez has just shunted the whole treasure chest of expensive jewellery into his abdomen.

Jeff Marx: Oh here we go!

Red Rock doubles up as he is blasted backwards against the sink that D’avid crashed into just seconds ago. Seeing the Relentless champion fall flat on his face, Marquez rips out his special orange pager and hits a custom button inscribed with the letter “R”. Marquez then lays into Red with kicks.

Dave Kern: Folks, Marquez is looking for a first pinfall! That pager has a special button to call the nearest referee! We have two officials on board the Jewel; Aaron Davies and Richie Travis have travelled over here by hyperspeed j4tpack to count the pins as West meets East!

We cut back to the corridor, where a red-faced Aaron Davies – j4tpack in hand – is being faced down by a rather large Filipino woman with her hands folded across her chest. A member of security jogs up behind the unamused cleaner and sneers down at Davies.

Security Man: “Lost your key”, eh? That was the story, I’ll bet. Come on, me and you are going to have a little ch---

He breaks off as a loud crash is heard from inside the room. Frowning, the guard dashes in, already radioing for support. The butch Filipino woman suddenly turns chicken and runs away; Davies cautiously sidles up to the door.

Dave Kern: Looks like we have a little trouble getting our referee in there... That’s the problem with our wrestlers going to parts of this ship where they aren’t supposed to be!

Jeff Marx: Are they really meant to be on the ship at all? I mean, did we even get tickets? We flew them in by j4tpack, right? And did we even ask permission from the cruise operator; if not, how did we get all those big-ass cameras on board; what about all our cameramen, all our equ---

Dave Kern: Jeff, would you just stop worrying and watch?!

Security Man: You knocked this poor man out and left him to drown in his own bath?

He barks at Marquez and Red Rock as he drags the pair out of the room by their ears.

Dave Kern: Oh dear...

Jeff Marx: BUSTED!

Red Rock: (twisting to face the guard) No, he wouldn’t have drowned, see, the taps weren’t on, so---

Security Man: So GOOD THING I GOT HERE IN TIME! Oh, we have cells on board, you know... good thing too, because now they’re coming into use for FILTH like you! Betcha don’t even have tickets... oh dear, oh dear...

The security man lets out a short laugh as Red Rock winces in pain and Marquez screws up his face in desperation.

---

DECK ELEVEN

Jeff Marx: So with the Relentless champion on the fast-track to mid-Atlantic custody let’s check on everybody’s favourite wrestler... ELLIS NASH! Yeah, baby!

Ellis Nash: Hey, have you guys seen a big scary dude with muscles the size of small children?

Dave Kern: Not you, Jeff.

Jeff Marx: Over here!

The gaggle of teenaged rich-girls look doubtfully at each other; scornfully at her. The nearest blonde leans close to Nash.

Blonde 1: Honey, you might want to rethink that combo, the red doesn’t do you any favours.

Rolling her eyes, Ellis turns expressively away from her and to the rest of the girls.

Ellis Nash: Hm? Come on, you couldn’t miss him.

Blonde 2: No... no, I don’t think so, honey, unless you’re talking about my boyfriend... AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Blondes 1, 3, 4 and 5: AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Heehee! Hee.

Incredulous, Nash throws up her hands and meanders out into the main thoroughfare of the poolside deck. Her looks immediately win her a host of unwarranted male glances; so intent on catching the eye of Gabriel Afeaki, her aggressor of minutes ago, that the Frontier champion does not notice the hairy, sunburnt, tubby man stood in front of her.

And walks straight into him.

Tubby Man: (turning to face Ellis) Sorry girlie, try to watch where you’re going next time!

Jeff Marx: Stay out of her way, you fat c---

Dave Kern: JEFF!

Ellis Nash: (inspecting the flecks of tanning lotion now in her hair) Like, ew. Try rubbing this shit in next time. Anyways, have you seen a big scary dude with muscles the size of a bus?

Tubby Man: I’ll be that guy, girlie! Ahahaha. You wanna rub my shit in for me, then? Ahahaha.

Jeff Marx: NO SHE FUCKING DOESN’T!

Dave Kern: JEFF!

Ellis Nash: Oooookay.

Turning round, she selects someone from the throng at random.

Ellis Nash: Hey, you; have you seen a big scary dude with muscles the size of a – house...

She trails off as her selected stranger turns around.

Dave Kern: THAT’S PADDY O’SHEA!

The last Countdown trophy holder smiles inanely at her. It’s slightly off-putting, actually; the wideness of his smile, the row of yellowed teeth. In her slightly intoxicated state it looks just a little bit like the Irishman has a banana between his gums.

Paddy O'Shea: Depen’s whose house we’re talkin’ ab’t, sexeh... yer place or mine?

Nash peers quizzically at O’Shea and raises an opened hand up to eye level.

Ellis Nash: He-llo? Paddy O’Shea? It’s me; Ellis. I'm on the other team. You’re meant to, like, fight me. And stuff.

O’Shea gazes in wonder at the palm of her hand.

Ellis Nash: Er, what?

Dave Kern: I'm not entirely positive that O’Shea knows who Ellis Nash is...

She quickly retracts her hand, but O’Shea shoots out his arm to grab it. Nash jumps right into a defensive stance but relaxes when she realises his interest is purely to bring her hand back up again. Cautiously she assists him in raising it, and he looks closely at the lines on it.

Paddy O'Shea: Did I ever tell ye I always dreamed o’ bein’ a palm-reader... y’know, like t’ women in tents, with tha’ herby smell, an’---

Ellis Nash: Fascinating. Do you want to lie down?

O’Shea’s glazed eyes open further.

Paddy O'Shea: Tha’ would be great, babe.

Jeff Marx: WHAT?!

Dave Kern: He doesn’t recognise her... not at all... amazing...

Ellis Nash: (muttering vaguely as she fumbles for her pager) Yeah, I... I figured... er, right here is cool.

Nash helps Paddy to a sitting position and then he eagerly stretches out, laying back right in the path of many dozen people walking to and from the main swimming pools.

Ellis Nash: (to the people either side of her) Don’t worry, this’ll just take a second. Paddy, say hey to Richie.

Dave Kern: This isn’t fair! Paddy O’Shea doesn’t even know what’s happening and Ellis Nash is set to eliminate him from the match!

Jeff Marx: Of course it’s fair! Nobody told him to dabble in narcotics! It’s not in the rules!

Richie Travis arrives, breathless; but who wouldn’t run at Nash’s call? He lets his gaze linger a little longer on the pert creations between the black and white stripes of Ellis’ bikini top before rubbing his hands together and following her lead in bending down to the deck. Nash gently makes a lateral press, doing her best not to disturb Paddy.

Paddy O'Shea: Oh, mm, yeah...

Travis hits the deck; once, twice.

Paddy O'Shea: Tha’ sounds like them drums tha’ me da--- aaaaaaaaarghhh!

He sits up in perspiring fright.

Dave Kern: OOH!

Irritated, Ellis sits back on her haunches.

Paddy O'Shea: (pointing) There ‘e is! There! Me da! And the spiders; THE SPIDERS!

Richie Travis: Two; two.

Paddy O'Shea: (looking at Travis in abject horror) TWO OF ‘IM! NO! Where? Where, I beg ye?! TELL ME!

O’Shea has grabbed Travis around the knees and is shaking like a leaf, sweat pouring down his face, his voice cracking.

Jeff Marx: And that, kids, is why drugs are bad.

---

DECK THREE

DING!

The elevator halts its descent. Its pretentiously-styled, gold-plated doors begin to open, bringing into view a spacious interior, MAX. WEIGHT 1150kg, mirrors and golden handrails and red velvet and ivory buttons for decks two to thirteen. The buttons for decks six, seven, nine and eleven are illuminated. Colby Korver is on the floor, sprawled in the corner. The centre of the lift sees its lavish carpet ruined by a spill of liquid; thick, dark, red liquid.

Blood.

Dave Kern: What the...

Jeff Marx: He’s taken out Korver for good!

Dave Kern: Who has?

Jeff Marx: He has!

Johnny Lexicon steps out of the elevator and scans the area. To the left: a long corridor, and dozens of cabins. To the right: a long corridor, and dozens of cabins. All deserted.

He taps repeatedly at the “R” on his pager, frustrated at the fruitless effort to make contact with minimal to no network reception.

Dave Kern: It doesn’t look like Johnny Lexicon’s having much success in attracting the attentions of an AWC referee!

Jeff Marx: I told you those custom pagers were shit.

Dave Kern: Actually, I thought you said they were the shit?

Jeff Marx: Potato, potahto.

Giving up, Lexicon turns to re-enter the lift... and the doors don’t stop closing.

Dave Kern: I think Colby Korver is going to be taking the rest of this journey solo!

Panicking, he dives forwards, throwing his arms between the doors to prise them apart. Colby Korver is in there, unconscious; this is his chance to score first blood for the West Atlantic.

But the doors don’t stop closing.

Lexicon withdraws his arms at the last possible moment and bitterly watches metal meet metal. And Gabriel Afeaki hits him in the back of the head with a wrench.

---

DECK ONE

Dave Kern: WHAT WAS THAT?! GO BACK, GO BACK! Lexicon just took a shot from a wrench!

Jeff Marx: GA strikes again... silent but deadly, Dave, silent but deadly!

Dave Kern: That stinks.

Jeff Marx: But look at where we are now, Dave! Deck One!

Dave Kern: Deck... what?

Jeff Marx: Exactly! It’s not on our plan. This is the SECRET DECK, Dave! We have NO IDEA what the Jewel Of The Seas hides on its thirteenth deck down!

Dave Kern: I’ve got an idea...

We see Red Rock and Josh Marquez descending stairs from the deck above, now flanked by four security guards, and handcuffed to one another. Red Rock looks sobered and sorrowful; Marquez looks thoroughly sick of the whole scenario.

Security Man: Down here... come on!

Dave Kern: Someone needs to stop this...

Jeff Marx: Why?

Red and Marquez are ushered roughly towards a small room. On this deck the ceilings are lower, the walls bare; claustrophobic and tired; clearly not meant for public consumption. The multiple-floor boiler room is ahead of them; instead, they turn right into a small corridor of makeshift cells. A fresh pang of fear crossing Red Rock’s face, he turns to plead with his captors.

Red Rock: Look, this is completely stupid! It wasn’t what it looked like at all!

Security Man: (sarcastically) You didn’t knock that man unconscious and dump him in his bath?

Red and Marquez: NO!!!

A little surprised at the vehement exclamation, the security man looks around at his colleagues.

And then the lights go out.

Grunt.

Whimper.

Whine.

Thud.

Dave Kern: Folks, I think we have technical problems...

Slam.

Scream.

Jeff Marx: Oh no we don’t!

Crash.

Beep beep.

Clink~!

Rat-a-tat-tat.

Groan.

And then the lights come on.

Gabriel Afeaki has Red Rock in the Fijian Leg Lock. Richie Travis, a fresh arrival with his j4tpack just powering down, is bending close awaiting the champion’s decision. And from the cell to our right, there is an insistent tapping.

Dave Kern: GABRIEL AFEAKI! He’s here! Out of nowhere; and he’s got Red Rock in the Fijian Leg Lock!

Jeff Marx: The move that’s claimed so many ankles in the course of Afeaki’s MMA career and Red Rock is in trouble! We’ve got ourselves a new champ!

Dave Kern: Folks, I’ll remind you that whoever eliminates Red Rock from this match becomes the Relentless champion, and – I don’t think we expected anything this early on, but – but Red Rock is floundering?

Jeff Marx: Floundering? He’s not a fish!

And still the tapping comes from within the cell, and shouting; and Red Rock tries to block it all out, and concentrate, and block Afeaki out, but his mastery of this move is overcoming the man who’s withstood so much for his record Relentless run.

Dave Kern: This could be a historic moment Jeff!

Jeff Marx: An historic.

Dave Kern: And what precisely is going on in that prison cell, Jeff? It sounds like there are... people, trapped...

Jeff Marx: Haven’t you got it yet, Dave?! GA did it all! The security man is in the cell! The guards are in the cell!

Dave Kern: And Josh Marquez?

A body flies through the air from atop the cell block.

Jeff Marx: FULL HOUSE! JOSH MARQUEZ! FULL HOUSE!

Dave Kern: FROM THE TOP OF THE CELL! MARQUEZ BREAKS THE SUBMISSION!

Jeff Marx: Letting his team down but keeping his own dream of becoming Relentless champion alive!

Dave Kern: And Afeaki rolls away clutching his ribs; he took the brunt of that... I don’t even understand how he’s here! We just saw him attack Johnny Lexicon with a wrench two floors up!

Jeff Marx: He moves in shadows, Dave; he’s a master of the fourth dimension! Nobody can fully understand Gabriel Afeaki... and Josh Marquez may just come to regret hitting the Full House on his own teammate!

Dave Kern: For more than one reason, perhaps; the leap from twelve feet up came with an awkward landing and Marquez looks to be in agony. Look, he’s rolling around on the linoleum floor, holding onto his right knee.

Jeff Marx: He’s got to get out of dodge before Gabriel Afeaki wants some revenge!

Dave Kern: He’ll want more than that; he’ll want a pin on Red Rock! The Relentless champion seems to have all the fight sucked out of him by Afeaki’s expert application of the Fijian Leg Lock; his face is white, he has saliva running from the corners of his mouth...

Jeff Marx: That’s called drinking too much, Dave.

Red Rock is motionless, face against the floor. Gabriel Afeaki is pressed up against a wall, recovering his breathing after the sudden shock to his ribcage. Josh Marquez is gingerly testing his knee as he wobbles to his feet. Richie Travis watches all from a position ten feet back. And still the guards make their desperate call for release.

Dave Kern: This is becoming increasingly bizarre; can’t our referee do something about those poor men who seem to have been... locked in that cell?

Jeff Marx: Take a closer look Dave. The keys aren’t in the lock.

Dave Kern: So where are they? Afeaki doesn’t seem to have them... there’s nowhere in his tights he could have concealed anything...

Jeff Marx: Who guards the guards, Dave?

Dave Kern: Oh, very good...

Marquez collapses over Red Rock and, gasping from a combination of backed-up adrenaline, pain in the knee and drunken exertion, hooks his leg high.

Dave Kern: Marquez going for it...!

ONE!

TWO!

THR-

Dave Kern: RED ROCK KICKS OUT!

Jeff Marx: That man just does not give up. He’s like my daughter, asking for money...

Dave Kern: You have a daughter?!

Jeff Marx: Well no, I was talking hypothetically. If I did, she’d be hot.

Marquez stands, wiping the sweat from his brow, and casts an anxious glance at Gabriel Afeaki, getting to his feet just yards away. Spying the cell keys on the floor, he impulsively grabs them and rushes to the cell door. He forces a key in; it doesn’t fit. Another – no joy.

Dave Kern: Well Josh Marquez, very benevolently, appears to be releasing the guards---

Jeff Marx: He’s not being benevolent, he’s saving his own skin! Those guards are gonna go straight after Afeaki and Marquez can get outta there before the Fijian Animal can get to him!

Afeaki storms over... Marquez finally finds the right key and swings the door open, sweat dripping down the nape of his neck; not even stopping to see what happens he flings the keys behind him and flees, full-out sprinting for the staircase. The guards swarm out and surround Gabriel Afeaki and Red Rock.

---

DECK THIRTEEN

In the Hollywood Odyssey bar, Mikey O’Reilly pushes his now-empty glass of whiskey towards the bartender and upturns his packet of Marlboro cigarettes. Just one falls out; it’s his last.

Dave Kern: This is the Hollywood Odyssey, folks – one of many bars aboard the Jewel, but it’s still pretty crowded even in the early evening; they do have up to 2,112 passengers to cater for, after all. Actually, is it the early evening there? What time zone do you go by in the mid-Atlantic?!

Jeff Marx: I'm not at all interested.

Dave Kern: That makes it a good time, then, to hand over to our West Atlantic commentary team! Truth and George, can you hear me?

George Cassidy: No.

Truth Waters: Loud and clear Dave.

Jeff Marx: What are they doing on our match?

Dave Kern: We’re taking shifts, Jeff.

Truth Waters: Yeah, get some rest man! Cass’ll steady the ship, right Cassidy?

George Cassidy: Uh, looks pretty steady to me.

Dave Kern: Thank you George!

George Cassidy: I was talking about the Jewel.

O’Reilly lights up, smoking being allowed in this bar – he likes to follow those rules – and beckons the barman over. Mikey O'Reilly: Another whiskey, bartender. Put it on me tab.

Barman: You don’t have a tab.

Mikey O'Reilly: Oh... right ye are. Here...

O’Reilly tosses a wad of notes towards the barman.

Mikey O'Reilly: That’ll cover me fer a bit. Where’s tha’ whiskey, then?

Barman: Yeah, give me a minute.

O’Reilly raises an eyebrow as the bartender turns away.

Voice: He’s got a ‘tude, huh?

Tha’ Fokin’ Pikey turns in surprise to see a well-known face beside him.

Mikey O'Reilly: Ken Kaze?

Ken Kaze: At your service.

Mikey O'Reilly: I'm Mikey O’Reilly. And who’s your friend?

O’Reilly motions along the bar at the next seat, at which a huge, hulking, masked figure is sitting. He is easily the most conspicuous figure in the Odyssey and O’Reilly finds himself a little surprised that he hadn’t already seen him. Kaze answers spiritedly, but without looking back to his companion to introduce him.

Ken Kaze: That’s George the Trashcan. He’s my favourite trashcan.

O’Reilly’s eyes widen in surprise. His head moves to the left, and he takes another, more prolonged look at the enormous man seated, mute, next to Kaze.

Mikey O'Reilly: But... that’s not a trashcan...

Ken Kaze: Uh, ya it is...

Mikey O'Reilly: No it really isn’t.

Kaze rolls his eyes and turns around. When he sees the man sitting next to him, he nearly jumps out of his skin.

Ken Kaze: ASS? I thought you were having a drink with that nice lady. Where’s George?

The big man says nothing.

Ken Kaze: WHERE’S GEORGE?!

Kaze looks around in a terror. O’Reilly leans forward to tap him on the shoulder.

Mikey O'Reilly: Sorry, did you say his name was ass---

Ken Kaze: Get OFF! Where’s George? He’s gone! Organise a search! YOU, help me!

Mikey O'Reilly: Me?!

Ken Kaze: Yes! He’s gone missing; he could be anywhere!

Mikey O'Reilly: WHO’s gone missing?

Ken Kaze: George the Trashcan!

Mikey O'Reilly: But I thought that was George the Tr---

Kaze knocks O’Reilly’s arm, which was pointing to the masked man, away.

Ken Kaze: No, that’s ASS, you idiot.

Mikey O'Reilly: That’s ass? You really are a peculiar lot... aren’t ye?

Ken Kaze leaps onto the bar and shouts hysterically:

Ken Kaze: SHUT THE FUCK UP!

---

DECK ELEVEN

George Cassidy: Please don’t tell me that idiot is back on our screens permanently. Alistaire Seamus Sheridan... what a waste of roster space last time around.

Truth Waters: Things can change, Cassidy – Ellis Nash wasn’t exactly on top of her game in her first run in AWC, and look at her now!

George Cassidy: Oh, you don’t have to tell me to...

Nash looks singularly unimpressed as she sits calmly on a sun-lounger, her blonde-brown hair swept back into shape, arms laid loosely by her sides while Paddy O’Shea tells her all about

Paddy O'Shea: Pink elephants, Ellie! Crucial t’ our existence! Oh, I jus’ want t’ take one and stroke it, real soft, y’know, and then make love t’ it, slowly, tenderly; ye gotta be tender, Ellie; Ellie’s a nice name y’know---

Ellis Nash: My name’s Ellis.

Paddy O'Shea: Ellie, Ellis, righ’, now I---

O’Shea stops talking, and his mouth forms a round ‘o’.

Paddy O'Shea: Ahhhhh... Ellis Nash... righ’... I’ll see ye soon eh?

Ellis Nash: Huh?

Paddy O'Shea: At Coast To Coast, ye see... we got tha’ big match, on t’ boat... (looking around) a bit like this one actually; very like it... we got t’... to be in... teams...

And before Paddy O’Shea comes to the realisation that she knows he’s going to come to, Ellis stands up and dives at his throat.

It seems a bit cruel, to attack a man who doesn’t quite know what’s going on. But Ellis can justify it to herself; one, she dived at him rather than punching him in the face, which would have been exceptionally cruel; two, she’s a bit out of it too, having drunk slightly more than her fill; and three, it’s his own fault he’s high on LSD during a match, and she’s still got a very good win-loss record to maintain. So she dives at his throat, and O’Shea tumbles back, and the sunbed topples onto its side, and the tourists scatter, and Paddy and Ellis roll over and over, snatching at each other, hair, face, arms, anything; and Ellis ends up kneeling over him, and now she does punch his face, because he knows what’s going on now and he’s fighting back, and she doesn’t have time to think about it anyway, it’s just instinct; a free moment: a punch. And that makes The Man From The Caravan explode with anger, and he sits up and Ellis is knocked back, she hits her head on the concrete along the side of the pool, and O’Shea stands up, and grabs Nash’s legs and performs a Jericho-esque giant spin, and releases the former Frontier champion at the crucial time, and Nash splashes into the pool.

And gets her hair wet.

Truth Waters: It’s started up now, Cassidy! Like cats on heat! Bah gawd, they went at it, and Ellis Nash has been tossed into the water!

George Cassidy: Oh, this is truly worthy of pay-per-view...

Nash breaks the surface, splashing angrily towards the ladder and hoists herself quickly out, her shorts now clinging tight to her legs, her body glistening with falling water droplets. Jeremy J. comes loudly. O’Shea watches her, skittled sunbeds between them.

Truth Waters: Each waiting for the other to make a move...

Nash does. Flipping her saturated hair out of her face, she pushes off the concrete, into a sprint, running up the length of a sunbed and flipping off the end. The sunbed collapses with her weight and she wobbles in the air, but it’s not meant to be pretty, it’s meant to be effective.

George Cassidy: Leaping cross body by Ellis Nash, and I can’t even see Paddy O’Shea now, only occasional glimpses beneath the wrecked sunbeds and towels, and groups of confused sunbathers!

---

DECK TWO

George Cassidy: Heeey! Bring me back!

Truth Waters: What a time to cut away – now here’s Gabriel Afeaki, carrying... carrying a motionless Red Rock over his shoulders! And there’s no sign of the guards, no sign at all...

GA enters the elevator and presses the topmost button.

---

DECK NINE

DING!

The adjacent elevator halts its ascent. Its pretentiously-styled, gold-plated doors begin to open, bringing into view a spacious interior, MAX. WEIGHT 1150kg, mirrors and golden handrails and red velvet and ivory buttons for decks two to thirteen. The button for deck eleven is illuminated. Colby Korver is sitting up against the back wall. Holding a hand to his head. Struggling to regain a sense of what is going on around him.

Truth Waters: Looks like Korver might be finally ready to enter this match for real, having spent the majority on the floor of the elevator!

George Cassidy: Eh, we could do without.

Korver pulls himself to his feet and dizzily prances towards the panel of buttons, studying it as the doors come to a close.

---

DECK FIVE-AND-A-HALF

Back to the other lift, which is rising fast on its journey to deck thirteen. Afeaki has offloaded Red Rock into a corner, and now stands dead centre, silent, motionless, staring at the blankness of the elevator doors.

Then there is a noise.

George Cassidy: What was that?

Afeaki whips his head round, immediately storming over to Red Rock and leathering him with a massive kick in the ribs to keep him quiet. But if he only looked up, he’d see that the noise was actually the hatch at the top of the elevator swinging open. And now there’s another noise. It’s that of Johnny Lexicon dropping to his feet.

Truth Waters: It’s Johnny Lexicon to the rescue!

Johnny Lexicon: Well, hello.

Afeaki’s eyes can only blaze for the moment it takes for Lexicon to manoeuvre his boots off the ground and into them.

Truth Waters: Awesome dropkick!

George Cassidy: Afeaki slams back against the elevator wall!

Truth Waters: Lexicon’s saved his teammate from whatever horrors the Fijian Animal had in store for him.

Lexicon steps over and helps Red Rock to his feet. The white-faced Aldershot man finds it near-impossible to stand, leaning into Lexicon for assistance. Lexicon quickly turns his head in case he needs to subdue their East opponent once more – but he’s not there.

Johnny Lexicon: Where did he go?

Red Rock can barely speak; only a harsh whisper of “no” emanates from his throat. Lexicon lets him go and Red Rock staggers sideways, striving to keep his balance as Lexicon paces around the perimeter of the elevator, staring anxiously upward at the open hatch.

Johnny Lexicon: Where did he go? Where did he go?!

Red Rock: We need – need to get out of here...

Lexicon looks levelly at Red Rock.

Johnny Lexicon: I think that’s a good idea.

He marches over to the buttons panel and slams his hand against it, not caring where they come out as long as they stop at the next available floor.

Truth Waters: Afeaki – he’s gone! Unbelievable!

George Cassidy: Batman forever!

DING!

We switch to a shot of the three exterior elevators to deck eleven. All three open simultaneously. Out of one comes Johnny Lexicon, dragging Red Rock. Into the middle one (ascending) goes a stream of holidaymakers. And from the third comes Colby Korver.

Lexicon turns right towards the pool, scanning the area. Korver turns left towards the Windjammer Café, scanning the area. They are facing in exact opposite directions.

Truth Waters: It’s agonising! TURN AROUND!

George Cassidy: Can’t we go watch Ellis instead?

Suddenly a loud babble of noise grabs Johnny Lexicon’s attention. All he sees is a sunbed go flying; he’ll later find out that it was thrown by Paddy O’Shea towards Ellis Nash. But the disturbance is enough to tell him that all’s not quiet on the West-East front. Peculiarly, Lexicon turns away.

Truth Waters: Johnny Lexicon... er, appears to have decided not to get involved in the fracas between O’Shea and Nash, and is now guiding Red Rock – no, he’s holding R---

George Cassidy: NO, HE’S ATTACKING RED ROCK!

Truth Waters: What’s this?! Blatant and open betrayal of his teammate!

Lexicon drives a knee into Red Rock’s abdomen; the under-the-weather Red Rock is defenceless as Johnny hooks both arms and hoists him into the air in jack-knife position... but beneath Red Rock, between the champion’s legs, Lexicon sees two eyes looking back at him, two eyes from just ten yards away, nine, now eight, getting closer, two eyes... the eyes of Colby Korver.

WHAM!

Korver reaches high and drives a folded deckchair into Red Rock’s back. The attack is so forceful that Lexicon is thrown backwards; he drops Red Rock, who falls to unsteady feet right in front of Korver. The DUI man takes full advantage to land an almighty back suplex, and he goes for the pin, pawing frantically at his pager to call the nearest referee.

George Cassidy: Korver wants a referee but there’s no one in sight!

Truth Waters: Now Lexicon makes the save! Even though moments ago he was quite ready to nail Red Rock with his finisher!

Johnny rushes over and stomps deep into Korver’s back, breaking the fall before an official is even available to count it. He pulls Colby to his feet and slings him headfirst into a pile of spare deckchairs for poolside use. Lexicon turns around…

Truth Waters: Red Rock’s gone!

It’s true. Camera pans left and right but the Relentless champion seems to somehow have done a runner. Lexicon smacks his thigh in anger and turns around to assess the deck as a whole, and the next he knows his face meets cold hard deck.

George Cassidy: WHOA.

Truth Waters: PADDY O’SHEA, DIVING TOP O’ THE MORN! Off the roof of the pizzeria!

O’Shea chuckles violently to himself and rolls into a shaky ball, sweating off pounds as his body reacts to the chemicals he’s forced inside of him. Lexicon, one of only a couple of sober entrants to this match, is laid flat out on the deck having taken the brunt of the impact of Paddy’s finisher.

Truth Waters: Get us a referee!

George Cassidy: Paddy’s in no condition to make a fall!

---

DECK THIRTEEN

Truth Waters: We’re being taken up to the top deck, now… that’s the Royal Caribbean Lounge, next to the revolving Vortex disco…

George Cassidy: And that’s Gabriel Afeaki carrying Red Rock over his shoulders, followed by Aaron Davies!

Truth Waters: He’s gonna take another turn at becoming Relentless champion!

Afeaki barges through the door of Vortex, using Red Rock’s legs to power through it. Inside is a large, circular, revolving piece of floor, with loud music and bright colours and strobe lighting – everything you don’t want to see when you’re, say, drunk, or trying to concentrate on holding out in a Fijian Leg Lock, or even, on those rare occasions like this, both.

He can’t do it.

George Cassidy: HE TAPS!! Red Rock taps out to the Fijian Leg Lock! Six months at the top of the Relentless ladder and all it took was one day on this damn boat to break him!

Red Rock has been eliminated.

Truth Waters: Afeaki takes the Relentless title, so that’s that portion of the match done with already: Red Rock’s the first to be eliminated!

George Cassidy: The East tour takes the lead!

---

DECK THIRTEEN

DING!

Josh Marquez exits the lift and turns right.

Unbeknownst to him, he’s spotted by Mikey O’Reilly, who’s been roped into the search for George the Trashcan but is really using the opportunity to hunt for East teamers to prey on. Now he sees Marquez heading down towards the aft of the ship, and filters quietly out of the search party to follow. After a few seconds, he feels a majestic hand on his shoulder.

Mikey O’Reilly: I haven’t found him yet, Ken… oh.

The “oh” is all that there’s time for in the short interval between identifying Gabriel Afeaki, and feeling his fist connect with the side of his face.

---

DECK ELEVEN

Johnny Lexicon is slowly pulling himself to his feet outside the pizzeria, having taken a big move in the form of Paddy O’Shea’s Top O’ The Morn of its roof just moments ago. Something’s degenerated, because O’Shea is now brawling with Colby Korver, his East teammate, who is showing an ability to give and take, but O’Shea’s blood boils with fire and his greater will gives us the unlikely situation of a 180-pounder getting the better of a straight brawl.

Truth Waters: They’re both on the same team, bah gawd! The guests on board are getting increasingly disgruntled with what’s going on, as O’Shea and Colby Korver now fight into the pool area.

George Cassidy: Well I’d be a bit PO’d if my thousand-dollar cruise turned out to be a sideshow to some overblown wrestling match!

O’Shea hits a hard right hook, Korver stumbling backwards and falling over an unmanned lilo on the deck. His landing is soft, the inflatable holding his weight, but O’Shea quickly bends and gives him a shove. The lilo groans as it is shunted along the wood, but the plastic holds and Korver drops into the pool, scrabbling to keep himself out of the water as the inflatable rights itself.

George Cassidy: Now this is no time to be taking a quick swim.

Paddy quickly advances to the edge of the pool, aligning his feet along the side as if about to dive in. As he leaps into the air, somersaulting into a senton splash, Ellis Nash shoots into view from the other side of the pool, propelling herself off the end of the long diving board to clear a good fifteen feet of distance before catching Korver with an awesome frog splash!

Truth Waters: NOW THAT’S DOUBLE IMPACT!

George Cassidy: Ellis out of nowhere with the frog splash and Paddy’s senton bomb slamming Korver down into the water... he’s disappeared under the sea of debris!

Miraculously still intact, the lilo bobs gently in between Ellis Nash and Paddy O’Shea as the two gasp and begin to tread water as they get their bearings.

Truth Waters: Looks like they chose the deep end.

---

DECK THIRTEEN

A wall.

THUD

Mikey O’Reilly slams against it. He comes straight back off with a clothesline, but Gabriel Afeaki ducks skilfully under it, the Fijian Animal spinning to nail an elbow into the side of the Irishman’s head.

Truth Waters: He can turn on a dime, that GA!

George Cassidy: He’s got some agility for a guy of his musculature.

O’Reilly doubles up, hand to head as he steps forward a few steps to keep himself from falling. Afeaki advances behind him and pulls off his Sukui Nage scoop throw.

Truth Waters: Judo technique takes O’Reilly down.

Afeaki now activates his custom pager button and drops to cover Mikey’s shoulders. Moments later Aaron Davies buzzes into view; firing down the j4tpack in mid-air he drops gracefully to the deck in a kneeling position to make the count:

ONE!

TWO!

O’Reilly powers out.

George Cassidy: Pretty incredible, those j4tpacks, huh?

Truth Waters: I could do with getting me one of those.

---

DECK THIRTEEN

At the putting green, countless polo-shirted, silver-haired men with more money than it’d cost for a year-long cruise aboard the Jewel are crowded around a small area of artificial grass. There’s a little commotion all of a sudden as a stylish yet sweaty man bursts between them, clearly unaware of the etiquette associated with this prestigious pursuit. He tosses a ball onto the green; it rolls to about three metres from the hole. Josh Marquez turns and addresses the crowd.

Josh Marquez: So! Nobody knows me; I don’t know any of you. But I'm always up for a little fun, so let’s take bets on whether I can make this putt. Shall I play the banker?

---

DECK ELEVEN

Ellis Nash and Paddy O’Shea are now trading blows in the shallow part of the pool by the steps. Nash flicks water into Paddy’s face, blinding him, and then shoves the Irishman hard; he falls back and hits his head on the metal pole used as a handrail on the steps.

George Cassidy: Ellis sure knows her dirty tricks.

Truth Waters: I bet O’Shea’s got a few of his own! But now it’s time to return to Dave Kern and Jeff Marx on the other side of the Atlantic!

Jeff Marx: Oh, already? I was having so much fun laughing at those clowns.

Dave Kern: I wouldn’t have called seeing Red Rock tap out to the pain of the Fijian Leg Lock comical...

Jeff Marx: I was talking about those announcers!

O’Shea gets himself back up and throws himself at Ellis, who tries to dodge, but you can’t move so quickly in water and she finds this out to her detriment, catching a blow to the side of the face. Johnny Lexicon appears at the back of the picture and rushes to the edge of the pool, grabbing O’Shea by the arm and wrenching him out onto the deck, which is immediately anointed with liquid, predominantly water but also some blood from a new opening on O’Shea’s head.

Dave Kern: Welcome back to the show, folks, and we’re seeing Johnny Lexicon take control of Paddy O’Shea, who appears to have been busted open on the back of his head after coming into contact with the railing there...

Jeff Marx: What a jobworthy way to pick up an injury.

Dave Kern: At least the alcohol seems to have worn off now in most cases.

Jeff Marx: You mean Hyde forgot about it?

Dave sighs.

Colby Korver approaches Ellis Nash from behind and applies a sleeper hold. Nash struggles from side to side and thrashes about in the water, but she’s not able to make any headway... that is, until Johnny Lexicon leaps into action – quite literally. Lexicon jumps up onto the same metal rail that O’Shea cracked his head open on, and his wet boots let him slide along the surface as if grinding on a skateboard; just before the railing meets the water Lexicon dives off and scores a straight dropkick into the side of Colby’s head!

Jeff Marx: Pre-planned or what?

Dave Kern: What an incredible manoeuvre!

Jeff Marx: Is this a wrestling show still, or have we degenerated to “extreme sports” yet?

The upshot is that Nash is able to untangle herself from Korver’s grasp and throw a backhand across his face. Korver makes no response and Ellis takes a step backwards before cracking her boot into the base of his jaw!

Dave Kern: Devastating high kick from Ellis Nash!

Korver instantly collapses, and Ellis raises her arm high out of the water, dabbing impatiently at it.

Jeff Marx: What in God’s name is Ellis Nash doing? She should’ve done her household chores before she came out to the boat!

Dave Kern: I think she’s trying to activate her pager, Jeff!

Sure enough, Richie Travis comes buzzing into view, hovering expectantly over the pool. Without hesitation Nash ducks under the water, exhaling to allow her body to sink deep, and pressing Korver’s limp form into the floor. Looking apprehensive, Travis lowers himself to the surface, then, anxiously checking the state of his j4tpack, deactivates the device and swims underwater to the floor.

OOOOONNNNNEEEEEE!

Dave Kern: That’s not fair! The count is slow because Richie Travis can’t move his hand so quick underwater!

TTTTWWWWWOOOOOO!

Jeff Marx: I think we’re breaking enough ground with the world’s first underwater pinfall to not have to worry about just how equitable it is.

Korver still makes no attempt to free himself.

Dave Kern: Could he... could Colby Korver be drowning down there?

Jeff Marx: It’s times like these that tell you once and for all whether the Bible and heaven and all that is a fad or whether your prayers really will be answered.

TTTTTHHHHHHHRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEE!

Dave Kern: Korver is second to go! And he doesn’t look good down there!

Colby Korver has been eliminated. Nash breaks the surface, gasping, then ducks under again to grab Korver’s arm. Richie Travis has a hold of the other, and together they pull the Orlando man out of the water and leave him on the side to recover.

Dave Kern: We’re down to three against three!

---

DECK TWELVE

Having dragged Mikey O’Reilly down the stairs with him, Gabriel Afeaki is getting a little edgy. He doesn’t like to draw out his battles like this; he likes to make a quick kill and move on. Too much exposure is only going to hurt the mystique surrounding the Fijian, especially with this drunk Irishman for company. So he doesn’t draw it out. O’Reilly’s token offense in his drunken state is only consisting of weak paws to the face and half-hearted combos; GA absorbs these and then strikes sparingly and decisively: his Revers thrust kick. O’Reilly is knocked back and almost falls over a lone trashcan behind him; instead, he manages to fall into it, his ninety-degree turn as he falls allowing him to slide head-first into the rubbish disposal facility.

Jeff Marx: Haha! Now it’s time for GA to take out the trash!

Afeaki drops calmly to the deck after pressing his pager button and hooks O’Reilly’s ankle; gagging at the smell inside the garbage can and already in quite imperfect health, it’s not long before clanging noises start coming from inside the bin. Aaron Davies ascertains that these are in fact taps and signals for the elimination.

Dave Kern: Gabriel Afeaki notches up a second victim!

Mikey O’Reilly has been eliminated. Suddenly, a shriek comes from off camera.

Ken Kaze: GEORGE!! GEORGE!! You found h--- what are you doing to him you sick bastard?! Get out of my good friend this instant!

Mikey O'Reilly: (from inside George the Trashcan) It were him!

Ken Kaze: (spinning around) Who?

The camera moves back to Afeaki---

No, it doesn’t. He’s gone.

Ken Kaze: There’s no one there you bastard!

Kaze rips the trashcan away from O’Reilly and cradles it in his arms. O’Reilly looks a wreck on the deck.

Jeff Marx: Wreck on the deck! Haha!

Dave sighs.

Mikey O'Reilly: I'm – I'm sorry, Ken---

Ken Kaze: SHUT UP!! ASS!

Mikey O'Reilly: There’s no call fer th---

A lumbering, masked giant appears behind Ken Kaze.

Ken Kaze: Do the honours, would you?

O’Reilly cowers as ASS descends upon him.

Mikey O'Reilly: Aaaah...

Ken Kaze: ...ss.

Alistaire Seamus Sheridan picks O’Reilly up as if he were light as a feather and storms to the side of the ship with him over his shoulder.

Dave Kern: No way!!

Jeff Marx: O’Reilly’s going in the drink! Haha, kill off the jobbers! Another for Davy Jones’ locker!

Dave Kern: We’ve had wrestlers in the water at Surf City, we’ve had wrestlers in the water of the river Vermilion... but surely not in the middle of the Atlantic! O’Reilly could be crushed by the boat!

Jeff Marx: Who cares?!

Who indeed? ASS dumps Mikey over the side.

---

DECK ELEVEN

Jeff Marx: MAN!

We’re looking at a whirlpool Jacuzzi. The water is red with blood.

Dave Kern: Something’s happened...

Jeff Marx: O RLY?

Paddy O’Shea’s head comes into view; a moment later, it breaks the surface. Looking cold, tired, sick and submissive, O’Shea reaches a weary arm to the side.

Johnny Lexicon stamps on it.

Dave Kern: This is Johnny Lexicon’s doing!

O’Shea falls back, but with a streak of determination throws himself at the side again. Suddenly, the bubbling action of the Jacuzzi begins; thrown by the sudden change to the scenery, Lexicon is distracted as O’Shea gets a foothold on the seat of the whirlpool bath and launches himself upwards and out of the Jacuzzi, a double leg takedown bringing Lexicon to the deck!

Dave Kern: He’s got some fight left in him!

Jeff Marx: Paddy’s not going down to a jobber.

Ellis Nash arrives almost with glee, her glistening body paradoxically bad news for Paddy as it rains in from above, straddling blows knocking out of Paddy whatever he has left.

Dave Kern: Here’s Ellis Nash... and it is looking desperate for Paddy O’Shea. With Richie Travis standing by, an elimination looks imminent with the match going back to even stevens.

Lexicon gets back to his feet, not best pleased at having been outthought by O’Shea, and he gets stuck in with some stiff boots to Paddy’s side as teammate Nash continues to beat away at the Irishman. Then Nash steps off, and Lexicon, after getting the nod from Ellis, drags Paddy to his feet, putting him up against the wall of the toilet facilities outside the Shipshape Spa. Lexicon throws a punch into O’Shea’s gut, and the Irishman doubles up. Nash steps back a little and waits for O’Shea to straighten up; she then leaps into action with a dropkick.

Dave Kern: Dropkick pummelling O’Shea’s head against the wall!

Jeff Marx: West team two-on-one-ing Paddy O’Shea, and teammates Marquez and Afeaki are nowhere to be seen!

As O’Shea comes staggering forwards off the wall, Lexicon roars into attack with a powerful clothesline!

Jeff Marx: Rammed Paddy like a truck! Bumper to bumper action here on the Jewel!

As Lexicon follows through, inadvertently crashing straight into a gaggle of Japanese tourists all pointing and clicking their camera lenses, Nash tries for a pin.

Dave Kern: Surely the end of the road for Paddy O’Shea.

Jeff Marx: Time that he walked the plank!

ONE!

TWO!

THR---

Dave Kern: OH! O’Shea kicked out!

---

DECK THIRTEEN

It’s quiet.

Too quiet.

The members of the public quite understandably shy from the vicinity of Gabriel Afeaki. Especially when he’s stalking his next victim.

Josh Marquez knows he’s got a tail. He doesn’t want Gabriel Afeaki to know that he knows he’s got a tail. And Gabriel Afeaki knows that Josh Marquez doesn’t want him to know that he knows he’s got a tail. And Josh Marquez knows this;

Regardless, he continues to play his cards the way he knows he’s meant to, walking casually but decisively away from the danger area, towards people and safety. But all of a sudden the top deck is deserted. No matter. Marquez has read the brochure – a year or two back he contemplated spending gambling winnings on a nice ocean holiday – and he knows what the top attraction of the Jewel Of The Seas is. Luckily for him, it’s on the 13th deck, and it’s not at all far away. Just round the next corner, and he’s sure to find a crowd of people into which to disappear. After all, it’s the first thing on the list when you check out what sort of entertainment the ship has to offer.

So Marquez turns the corner and in front of him is the climbing wall.

There’s no one on it.

Josh Marquez: SHIT!

A paper notice flutters in the considerable breeze, informing those interested that there is unfortunately no climbing today owing to the bad weather. Marquez doesn’t have time to suppose that “bad” means “fairly windy”; there’s barely a cloud in the sky so precipitation certainly doesn’t come into it. All he has time to do is the only thing he can do in his bid to escape GA.

Logically, Marquez shouldn’t be worried. After all, he’s on the same team as Afeaki! But after what happened deep in the bowels of the ship earlier on, when the wrestlers had a bit of a run-in with boat security, he and the Fijian Animal have a bit of unfinished business – and Marquez would prefer it kept that way. He’s not gambling on this one.

He looks at the wall, and starts to climb.

---

DECK ELEVEN

Nash and Lexicon grab an arm each, and give Paddy O’Shea a taste of his own type of whip.

Dave Kern: Well Josh Marquez isn’t looking too pleased to see teammate Gabriel Afeaki. Back on deck eleven, we’ve got Nash and Lexicon still trying to put away The Man From The Caravan.

O’Shea is thrown against a door by Nash and Lexicon’s combined Irish whip. A sign reads “FAMILY PROGRAM MEETING AREA – kids must be toilet trained in order to participate”. Ellis looks at it with a smile.

Ellis Nash: Heh. Funny how things go full circle.

---

DECK THIRTEEN

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

Afeaki is teasing Marquez from the bottom of the climbing wall. He stares straight up the sheer face. The wrestler from Las Vegas has nowhere to go... except up. He’s got no chance of escape and no chance of rescue. Yet still he climbs, defiant in the face of adversity.

The Fijian Animal turns his back, walking the few steps to the balcony to look out, first at the rolling ocean, then at the action below. Deck thirteen, like the one below it, is only partial, so that it and number twelve overlook the swimming pool area. As such, it doesn’t take long for Afeaki to catch sight of his partner being double-teamed by the only two remaining members of the West team. If he cared about teams, if he cared about results, he’d be able to rush down and possibly save O’Shea – but with Richie Travis lingering close, he might be too late. Regardless, he doesn’t – care about teams, care about results. He cares about people, and actions and consequences, and grudges. And at the moment he cares about Josh Marquez.

He is still climbing.

---

DECK ELEVEN

“Hey, what the fuck are you doing?”

A familiar voice accosts Paddy O’Shea. It’s quickly evident to the five scantily-clad ladies surrounding seasoned veteran of the indy and national circuits Kris Kanton that the Irishman really had no vicious intent whatsoever in stumbling backwards into his deckchair; the bullish form of Johnny Lexicon ten feet away is proof enough of that. But while his ladies eyeball Ellis Nash, Kanton shakes his head, slowly stands up, and slams a coconut cup into the side of O’Shea’s head.

Kris Kanton: Don’t you EVER touch me or my ladies again.

Lexicon, overhearing it all, cuts in:

Johnny Lexicon: (sneering at the girls) I don’t think anyone’s going to want to touch those!

Without another word Kanton rushes at Lexicon. Pina colada goes everywhere, and the next we know, Kris Kanton’s in the pool, and Paddy O’Shea, having inadvertently collapsed into Kanton’s vacant deckchair, is being fawned over by platinum blondes in tiny bikinis.

Ellis Nash: Excuse me, ladies... I mean--- well, excuse me.

An upturned lip and an upturned deckchair. Paddy sprawls out across the wooden floor. A brave girl stands up and looks to attack Nash but the former Frontier champion blocks the punch.

Ellis Nash: Ah ah ah! Kids must be toilet trained in order to participate!

Swing round, BAM, Decree. And a moment later O’Shea gets the same.

Jeff Marx: DECREE! DECREE! It’s all over for Paddy O’Shea!

Dave Kern: Ellis Nash makes the pin, and Richie Travis is there to count it!

ONE!

TWO!

THR---

Dave Kern: NO!

Jeff Marx: WHAT THE F---

Jeff’s not the only one yelling at his screen, because in the last moments of the count, a large human-shaped projectile fell from the sky, embedding its base right in the spine of Ellis Nash. It seemed to have come from quite a distance, judging by the speed of its descent, and the yell of exhilaration emitted by it.

And the Jewel doesn’t offer bungee jumps.

---

DECK THIRTEEN

Gabriel Afeaki is a tad shocked.

Because Josh Marquez isn’t on the climbing wall.

Afeaki knows exactly where Marquez is now.

He’s on deck ten.

But he’s still a tad shocked, because of quite how Marquez got to deck ten.

Afeaki does not think he has ever even contemplated anything like a Full House, from two decks up, from the top of a climbing wall, to break a fall, and then crash through the deck taking two wrestlers and a whole heap of debris with you.

But the leap from the highest publicly accessible point of the Jewel Of The Seas certainly just happened.

And now the Fijian really has seen it all.

With just the faintest sigh, Afeaki heads over to the elevator and punches the down arrow.

Because by crashing through a deck, Josh Marquez, Paddy O’Shea and Ellis Nash just lucked out.

Poor Johnny Lexicon is now the closest man to the AWC Relentless champion.

And he’s going to pay for it.

---

DECK TEN

Ellis Nash: Hey, that was original.

Roman Abramovich goggles at her. For she, Paddy O’Shea, Josh Marquez and a great mound of debris (but no Lacuna) have just crash-landed in the Royal Suite.

Not only that, but they have done it with a giant cacophonous clang, because they have crushed the baby grand piano on which they landed.

And they have done it at a time when it was being played, for Roman Abramovich, by none other than Carlos Tevez.

And Carlos Tevez doesn’t play the piano. Nor does he play for Chelsea.

Abramovich recovers his voice.

Roman Abramovich: ATTACK! ATTACK!

Little does he realise his team has no width.

22-year-old charges like a bull, stamping away at the grounded wrestlers. But Nash is little harmed, and she forces herself to her feet. Fancy footwork does away with the Argentinian footballer in no time, and Abramovich finds himself staring once more at the bikini-clad AWCer.

He doesn’t forget his manners.

Roman Abramovich: Excuse me! I want you to play for my football club!

Ellis Nash: (approaching) Uh, why?

Abramovich’s eyes go wide.

Roman Abramovich: Oh! I almost forgot; first, I must tap you up!

He lost Ellis at “tap”.

SLAP

Ellis Nash: And shave that stupid butt-fluff, would you? You look like someone dripped milk over your pristine little face. Ass.

---

DECK ELEVEN

Dave Kern: ...I'm in shock...

Jeff Marx: I think we just saw Roman Abramovich tapping up Ellis N---

Dave Kern: NO DON’T SPEAK OF IT! We’ll compromise the F.A. investigation!

Jeff Marx: Oh right, so we get to not commentate for a bit? Sounds good to me.

Dave Kern: Can you tell how late at night Hyde is writing this?

OK, so deck eleven, right, and Johnny Lexicon’s a bit at a loss. Because, basically, there’s a giant crater right next to him that wasn’t there before. And really he should get the fuck out of dodge because GA is on his way. But Lexicon, crucially, doesn’t know this. He just peers down into the hole, as does everyone else, and soon a good 200 people are cramming around the new entrance to the Royal Suite. Some crazy Chelsea fans even literally “drop in” to pay a visit to Mr. Abramovich.

But even through the crowds, the mighty Afeaki walks. Parting the sea like Moses, he advances on his target with not a check in his stride. And Lexicon’s wondering where everyone’s going, but not until the two people who were pressed up either side of him have suddenly ducked away does he surmise that something is wrong.

And something is very wrong.

A split-second is all it takes, and suddenly he’s upside down.

---

DECK TEN

CLANG

The piano breathes its last as Nash pulls no punches in dragging Paddy O’Shea out of its carcass.

She hears a scream, and turns.

Ellis Nash: Rich dude?

Roman Abramovich: My new striker?

Ellis Nash: What’s half of Johnny Lexicon doing in your Royal Suite?

---

DECK ELEVEN

Gabriel Afeaki cranks up the pressure. The Fijian Leg Lock is fearsome enough as it is, and has in fact already accounted for two scalps in this match alone, as well as Emo Kid’s entire lower leg in Afeaki’s debut AWC match. But with gravity on its side too, there’s no withstanding the pain, and as Richie Travis creeps as close to the edge of the crater as he can muster, he sees the definite flapping of arm in air from Lexicon that can mean only one thing.

Johnny Lexicon has been eliminated.

Afeaki drops Lexicon, and he lands untidily on the floor of the Royal Suite. Abramovich looks over with interest and asks him if he plays football; Lexicon is in too much pain to even consider answering. Meanwhile Josh Marquez helps Paddy O’Shea to his feet by the door. Marquez reaches for the handle and turns it, intending for he and Paddy to escape and regroup, but Ellis’ head whips around and she marches over in a fury. Marquez flees, leaving O’Shea to hold the fort.

He can’t. Not very well, anyway. Paddy O’Shea is spent, and falls away easily after just a couple of knife-edge chops. O’Shea slams against the staircase and Nash storms past, ignoring the opportunity to pin Paddy to instead go after Josh Marquez.

She walks the corridor, looking determinedly around every corner. But in her rush, she fails to notice that one of the stateroom doors is slightly ajar. As she passes it, Josh Marquez in a flash is at her throat, applying a sleeper hold. Ellis immediately flicks a leg back between Marquez’s, and he is caught hard in the REGIONS~!, falling to his knees. It’s a matter of formality for Nash to step around him, hoist him back to his feet and nail the Decree. Aaron Davies responds to the pager call at once.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Truth Waters: Marquez is eliminated!

George Cassidy: What? We’re back on?

Truth Waters: Damn straight; Kern and Marx were refusing to speak for some reason. And Ellis Nash needs to count herself lucky.

George Cassidy: It’s all skill!

Truth Waters: No really, because she was outnumbered, man! It was just Ellis Nash reppin’ the West against the trident of Marquez, O’Shea and the fearsome Gabriel Afeaki... but now with Marquez gone Nash could just have an outside chance.

Nash, knowing the enormity of her task, is on her feet already, steaming back towards the staircase where she left Paddy O’Shea. But he’s got a surprise for her, leaping off the fifth stair with a diving clothesline!

Truth Waters: OH O’SHEA!

George Cassidy: In the claustrophobic corridor Ellis gets taken out!

Now relishing the chance to avenge the beating of earlier, O’Shea straddles Ellis in perfect symmetry to before, raining blows down upon her pretty face with not even a moment’s consideration for “the fairer sex”.

George Cassidy: Somebody get that animal off of her!

And someone does; someone in a “Black Halo” t-shirt who comes sprinting down the staircase and drags O’Shea off.

Truth Waters: That’s AJ Palmer of Global Wrestling! What’s he doing on board?

George Cassidy: Uh who?

Truth Waters: AJ Palmer, he’s from California... perhaps his intention is to help out the West team, then! And with Ellis Nash the only AWC-West representative left, saving her skin is the least he could do!

George Cassidy: East have this in the bag regardless. One-up for Sasha Volkyeva...

Truth Waters: A much-needed tonic for Mother Russia.

George Cassidy: Nah, she don’t need the tonic; she takes her gin neat.

Truth Waters: Nice, except she’ll only drink premium distilled vodka.

As AJ Palmer sets O’Shea against a door and, fresh, begins beating him, two things happen. First, there is a loud thud from the Royal Suite. And second, the captain of the ship rushes up the corridor towards it.

Captain: Mr. Abramovich, Mr. Abramovich! Is everything OK?

He never gets to find out. Gabriel Afeaki knocks him out with one sweep of his hand, the forearm smash catching the ship’s captain high on the jaw. The Fijian has no regard for who it is or what he’s done as he storms through the door and grabs AJ Palmer by the back of his sleeveless t-shirt.

George Cassidy: Afeaki just knocked out the captain!!

Truth Waters: This is one cruise I'm glad I'm not on!

The roughness of Afeaki’s grip rips Palmer’s “Black Halo” t-shirt clean down the middle, and while the GW superstar tries valiantly to fight the Fijian off, the AWC Relentless champion is rid of him with three well placed forearm strikes and a driving knee. Palmer is slammed against a wall and Paddy O’Shea freed to descend upon Ellis Nash once more, which he does with a vengeance.

Truth Waters: GA eliminating any challenge from AJ Palmer of Global just like that! And he’s leaving Paddy and Ellis to it!

George Cassidy: His work is done and he’s disappearing back into the woodwork.

Truth Waters: But he could notch up another elimination, finish off this match and guarantee the East win!

George Cassidy: But does he even WANT the win? He’s only in this match because Sasha forced him to be.

Truth Waters: Wherever Gabriel Afeaki goes he brings nothing but mindless destruction.

George Cassidy: Oh, you’re wrong Truth, very wrong. Afeaki goes with mindless like a fish needs a bicycle.

Truth Waters: Wonderful metaphor, Cassidy; soon they’ll compare you to Lia.

George Cassidy: Yeah how’s she doing anyway?

We return to the action now at the end of the corridor, to see O’Shea trying to force Nash over the fence and to the floor of the 9-deck atrium. We’re at the top deck of it.

Truth Waters: Not too well, by the looks of things.

Nash kicks out, catching O’Shea around his hip. She swivels around under his arm, planting his head against the marble barrier with a forward-falling Russian leg sweep.

George Cassidy: That’ll further open up the wound O’Shea sustained earlier.

Ellis takes O’Shea by the shoulder and pulls him along with her, walking around the atrium balcony. They come up against a glass door, on which is emblazoned “Concierge Club”. Ellis shrugs and pushes it open.

They are greeted by an array of desks, behind each one of which sits a sleazy man with long grey hair slicked back over his head and small glasses perched on the end of his nose. None express surprise at the sudden entry, one pipes up with “If you’re lookin’ for a good time, I know just the ticket!” Nash gives him evils. O’Shea gives her a punch in the spine.

Truth Waters: It appears we’ve intruded upon something here...

George Cassidy: No no it’s just the concierges Truth!

Truth Waters: You look just like them, Cassidy!

George Cassidy: I was a concierge once. Now that was a job. The advice we gave, the gratuities we received...

Truth Waters: Tips for tips?

George Cassidy: ...on tits and nips. Yeah.

Truth Waters: Paddy O’Shea now looks to be mounting a recovery!

O’Shea shoves Nash forwards into a bookcase. Papers go flying everywhere. The concierges leap to their feet.

Concierge: Come on now! We’re gonna need a hefty tip after all this!

Ignoring them, O’Shea grabs Ellis around the waist and hits a monstrous German suplex!

George Cassidy: Big move!

Truth Waters: Oh that’s good, since Hyde hasn’t got an ending spot readied and he can’t be bothered to think of one.

George Cassidy: You mean after all this hard work, he’s gonna just go for a shitty ending, and not even beat the Triangles word count?

Truth Waters: Bah gawd, how stupid is that. He could just end the match like this...

Paddy does a scoop slam. He Pins Her. One two three. East wins.

George Cassidy: Or like this...

Nash Leaps Onto His Shoulders And Executes Him With An Execution Of Her Finisher The Executor Which Is A Triple Flip Rana Powerbomb Buster From The Top Rope With A Twist And Seventy-Four Moonsaults And She Gets The Technical Knock-Out Victory.

Truth Waters: But he’d rather not.

O’Shea hits the pager button.

ONE!

TWO!

THR---

George Cassidy: ...ah not like that!

O’Shea looks up with a spent sigh; Nash takes quick advantage to roll him in a small package!

ONE!

TWO!

THR---

Truth Waters: BAH GAWD NO!

George Cassidy: Then, really, how DOES he end this?

Truth Waters: Maybe GA comes back.

George Cassidy: Maybe not!

Nash drags Paddy to his feet and flicks a kick into his abdomen; O’Shea catches the leg and spins Nash down. He then performs a catapult, and Nash crashes hard into the back wall!

ONE!

TWO!

THR---

George Cassidy: Man. Can’t we go to bed now?

Truth Waters: I could do with packing my suitcase too.

George Cassidy: I can’t believe we’re letting everybody down like this.

Truth Waters: But really, who can get creative after nearly 13,000 words?

George Cassidy: Abramovich was a new low. And that was thousands of words ago.

Truth Waters: Oh leave the poor kid alone.

Ellis... does something else.

ONE!

TWO!

THR---

Truth Waters: DAMN it! Damn it to hell!

Then she sets him up on a desk, and makes to climb on herself. The concierges are flustered and nervous; O’Shea sits up and boots Nash in the chest; she staggers backwards and away, but runs at him again, propelling herself into an upward leap – but O’Shea catches her in his seated position!

George Cassidy: oh-oh... dangerous times for Ellis...

O’Shea then struggles to his feet, Nash crossed in his arms... and turns her...

Truth Waters: EMERALD ISLE FUSION! THROUGH THE TABLE!

George Cassidy: CHRIST! THERE’S WOOD AND PAPERS AND BITS OF CONCIERGE EVERYWHERE!

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Ellis Nash is eliminated.

Truth Waters: EAST TEAM WINS! WITH GABRIEL AFEAKI AND PADDY O’SHEA LEFT STANDING!

---

Battlestations
LOCATION: Atlantic Ocean
FEATURING: East/West
AUTHOR: East/West

---

Mikey O’Reilly has lost the match. That’s no surprise there. Mikey O’Reilly has been lodged overboard by Ken Kaze and Alistair Seamus Sheridan during the match. That pissed Mikey off. Rescue workers standing by for the match rescued and air-lifted Mikey O’Reilly out of the drink and sent him to local medical facility in Atlantic City, New Jersey.

TEEM ASSKKK~! will pay humiliating Mikey O’Reilly. He will make it so.

He wasn’t the only one…

The match was done and the party atmosphere showed no signs of abaiting…

Where the hell was he?

Paddy O’Shea: Gabriel… ? Where the feck is he… ?

He’d vanished.

Batman had done it again…

Lexicon: Ouch!

Talaina dabs at a cut on Johnny's forehead as she yells at him in Russian. Johnny sneers and shouts back, Talaina slaps him and turns to walk away. Johnny gets up and runs after her with little hesitation.

Red Rock: I like to eat, eat, eat, epples and benene’s.

The firmly drunk Red Rock had decided taking a piss off the side of the boat would be jolly good fun. So it had turned out. Venturing now back form the toilets he flicks a middle finger to the sky.

Red Rock: F U!

Then he noticed it… the captain of the ship was absent from the deck. The boat was merely unattended sailing into nothingness.

Red Rock: YEAH! I’M THE NEW CAPTAIN WHOOOO! Let’s go… .this way!

Swinging the wheel around, the boat lurched to the left when he heard a girlish scream.

Josh: ICEBERG!

Fast forward through hitting it, people shagging and the Pope trying it on with Kate Winslet and you get the picture. and you get the picture.

We is going down.

---

Darcy Crisis w/Tony Little vs. Anton Assault (c) w/Billy Mays
LOCATION: New Jersey
STIPULATION: Singles
REFEREE: Michael Ryan
AUTHOR: Nate & Obi

---

Truth Waters: Well it’s time for our Frontier title match-up… Darcy Crisis with his good friend Tony Little, against champion Anton Assault, who will be accompanied by none other than Billy Mays.

George Cassidy: Good Lord… these are the biggest names Volkyeva could come up with for Coast to Coast? Put my vote down for David Harber as Entertainment Manager, Truth!

Truth Waters: Well, last I checked your vote doesn’t count…

George Cassidy: Harumph. I guess I’ll just have to settle for my man Assault taking down Darcy Crisis and his little buddy here tonight. Let’s go ringside to Jimmy B…

James Brunt: The following is the “War to Settle the Score,” for the Frontier championship! Introducing first…

An unfamiliar tune within the ranks of AWC begins to play. The opening riff of “Superunknown” by Soundgarden overtakes the arena as the crowd seems taken aback by the unexpected melody. At the opening crash of the cymbals, however, they are reawakened as a flash of gold fireworks is followed instantaneously by the thundering report.

BOOM!

Out from the sparkling shower steps Crisis and Little, with the fans jumping to their feet in delight. Darcy’s fist is raised high as Tony, walking slightly ahead and to the left of Darcy, points to his counterpart and nods approvingly. They make their way ringside as the opening lyrics pour in.

If this isn’t what you see, It doesn’t make you blind… If this doesn’t make you feel, It doesn’t mean you’ve died…

Crisis rolls underneath the ropes and into the ring while Tony instead elects to enter via the ringside steps. When Tony reaches the apron he finds Darcy there already to greet him, who assists his entrance by sitting on the second rope. The two slap hands before hitting the opposite turnbuckles, perching high to soak in the fan reaction.

James Brunt: The challenger, being accompanied by America’s Fitness Trainer™ Tony Little… from East Bay, California, weighing in at 227 lbs… DARCY CRISIS!

Flashbulbs are going off by the thousands as Darcy pumps his chest, raising his arm once again high above his head. He then brings his clenched fist down to his mouth, lip syncing his entrance’s chorus as his fellow 1990s grunge rock fans sing along.

Alive in the superunknown, Alive in the superunknown, Alive in the superunknown, First it steals your mind, and then it steals your… … SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUL!!!!!!

Truth Waters: Well it looks like we’ve got some new entrance music for the man from East Bay, but I’d say it’s a brand new Darcy Crisis, as well! I’ve never seen him look quite so fired up since he first arrived here in AWC!

George Cassidy: This is the biggest show of the year, Truth. Actually, scratch that – it’s the biggest show of all time. If you’re not more fired up than you’ve ever been, you’ve got no business being here. It’s just a shame that the man has psyched himself up so hard, just to run headfirst into the brick wall of Mays and Assault…

Darcy is now standing in the center of the ring, his hands perched on his upper thighs as he stares toward the curtain, waiting for the champion to arrive. Tony stands loyally behind, slapping him on the back and possibly shouting words of encouragement into his ear over the yet to dissipate roar of the crowd. Or he’s shouting about the new Gazelle Power Plus. It’s difficult to tell with that man… then again, no it isn’t.

James Brunt: And his opponent…

The lights cut out rather abruptly. Of course, at a wrestling show, this is a typical occurance, but that doesn't lessen the anxiety. Something is obviously happening, and most likely, it will be the Frontier champion and his entourage about to make their appearance. But who will it be?

George Cassidy: What's going on?

Truth Waters: I dunno, it's kinda mysterious. Not to say that a little mystery isn't good for you…

George Cassidy: Stop babbling.

Green and white strobes begin to streak all across the entranceway and the curtain. An image of a regally-maned lion striding past a cadre of cowering jungle animals fades onto the big screen, accompanied by the ominous track "Innocence and Wrath" by Celtic Frost.

Truth Waters: These two things don't make sense here. I've never heard this music before, but that video sort of puts me in the mindset of…

The curtains pull apart and a shape moves under the entrance arch and out onto the stage. It is, astonishingly, a black horse. The horse is bridled to something, though, and each step pulls its charge out further.

George Cassidy: I don't believe this! Is that a… a chariot?

Truth Waters: I think you're right!

The strobe lights now begin to dance around the entrance as the chariot is pulled into view. The chariot only accomodates one person, and that person is a tall man with a shield held on his right arm. He wears a colorful dashiki as well as an impressive lion-shaped helmet. And of course, there is only one person that could possibly fit the description of this tall, imposing warrior.

James Brunt: Weighing in at two hundred and twenty-nine pounds and coming to us from Paris, France… he is the AWC Frontier champion… accompanied to the ring by his manager Luis Ferrara and Billy Mays… ANTON ASSAULT!

Truth Waters: And there the other two are, Luis with his hands on the Frontier title as always.

The trio stop on the top of the stage as "Innocence and Wrath" dies down. It's quiet for a few seconds; the lion on the screen crouches down, eyes wary. And suddenly…

WAAAAAAAARRRLOOOOOOOOOOOORRRD!

A heavy guitar-slide leaps out of the PA system and the horse gallops down the ramp at full speed. Anton simply glares into the ring, seemingly undisturbed by the horse's movements. The animal charges around the ring in circles, making several circuits and affording Anton a look into the ring from all sides.

George Cassidy: I love this! Why doesn't he come out with a chariot every night?

Truth Waters: Well, he has been wrestling on Fresh!east…

George Cassidy: This is no time to put down the bosslady… I mean, wait. Yes it is. Do continue.

The horse stops just in front of the ramp and Anton steps out of the chariot. He first drops the shield into the chariot, then he slowly takes off the helmet and sets that down. Finally, he rips off his dashiki and climbs into the ring, standing up and working out the kinks in his joints.

Truth Waters: Anton looks ready to fight! The horse is, amazingly, headed back up the ramp without any assistance...

George Cassidy: Smart animal!

Truth Waters: … and so we're about to get underway here! It's two against one on the outside, with just Tony Little to potentially fend off the dangerous duo of Luis Ferrara and Billy Mays. On the inside, though, it's just two rivals who are about to square off to decide who goes home with the championship that's cradled in Luis Ferrara's hands. Referee Michael Ryan snatches the belt from Ferrara, who seems reluctant to let it out of his clutches. But with a firm tug Ryan has it, and he holds it high in the air to sanction the championship match.

Truth Waters: This is a major grudge match, billed as “The War to Settle the Score… ” but right there in the referee’s hands is what this is all about; two of AWC’s finest, squaring off for the Frontier championship.

Ryan hands the belt back to Ferrara, and with a point to the timekeeper, the bell rings and the match is underway. Crisis and Assault begin to circle around each other, looking for the possible advantage. Assault is the first to pounce, sliding in toward Darcy’s knees as if he were looking for a chop block. But Crisis deftly hops away, out of range.

Truth Waters: Assault with the early maneuver, but Crisis is quick on his feet!

George Cassidy: What is this, ballet? Fight already!

The two continue circling each other once more, moving ever so slowly as they do. But Crisis commits the first fatal error as he moves too close to the turnbuckle where Mays and Ferrara are standing just outside. Ferrara slips a hand in to hold Crisis in place, who immediately turns around to try to accost him. A momentary lapse in judgment… and the Lion capitalizes as he charges, ramming Darcy into the turnbuckle from behind.

Truth Waters: Crisis takes his eye off the ball, and the champion makes him pay!

George Cassidy: He can’t complain either – it was HIS idea to make this a no disqualification matchup. Mays and Ferrara could get in the ring and hold Crisis down, if they wanted to… I’m not so sure why they aren’t already?

Truth Waters: Well I might be giving them too much credit, but maybe they’d like to see a fair contest as much as the rest of us…

George Cassidy: I think they’d much rather see the Lion walk away with his belt, you know that. Wake up, Truth!

Crisis is on the mat, and Assault drops a crushing knee down on his forehead. Crisis kicks his legs in extreme pain as he clutches his face, but “luckily” for him Assault is kind enough to help him to his feet. He sends Crisis into the ropes, but on the rebound Darcy surprises him by diving at his left thigh, catching him off-guard knocking him onto his back. Darcy holds onto the leg, putting the champion into a pinning predicament!

Truth Waters: We’ve got a rollup!

ONE!

Too early, however, and Assault easily powers out. The two slowly climb to their feet as the crowd applauds the fast-paced action. Crisis and Assault quickly lock up, which proves to be a disastrous decision for the Darcinator as Assault easily overpowers him. He sends Crisis into the ropes once more, and as he rebounds Darcy again tries to catch the Lion off-guard, this time with a high cross body. Anton has it scouted all the way though, and catches Crisis in his arms, absorbing the momentum with only one step backward. Holding his breath, Assault hoists Darcy into the air.

Truth Waters: Oh my God… look at that power! This doesn’t look good for the challenger!

George Cassidy: What is he going to do to Darcy Crisis? Something painful, I hope…

Cassidy’s wish is rewarded as Assault walks toward the ropes, with Crisis still atop his powerful arms. With an amazing display of strength, Assault actually tosses Crisis higher into the air, as he flies over the ropes into Assault’s intended target… the arms of Tony Little. Little has no time to react, and can only catch Crisis as the two both crash to the ground outside.

Truth Waters: Crisis and Tony Little are down, after that incredible display of power from the champion!

George Cassidy: I’m loving it! And from the looks of it, Anton’s buddies are enjoying it as well!

Assault watches on coldly as Darcy and Tony woozily get back to their feet. After shaking off the impact, Tony attempts to make a run at Anton , but Darcy holds him off, screaming at him that he is needed to keep Rat and Fat at bay, pointing in their direction as Mays and Ferrara laugh their asses off. Darcy rolls back into the ring, but Anton is there to meet him immediately, locking on a front face lock to ground the self-styled “D-Masta-C.” Rearing back, the Lion drives a knee into the top of Darcy’s skull, who quickly looks to be losing steam.

Truth Waters: A sickening blow from Anton Assault! If he keeps dominating the matchup like this with that kind of power, Darcy can’t hope to last long…

George Cassidy: Crisis made a big mistake, calling out the Lion like that. How can he hope to put away a man with that kind of stature, that kind of command of the ring?

Truth Waters: Well I hate to break it to you Cassidy, but this isn’t the first time these two have squared off. And by my calculations, Darcy Crisis has pinned Anton Assault not once, but twice. Crisis is a crafty veteran, and I wouldn’t count him out just yet.

As if Truth’s words were a cue, Darcy somehow finds away to slip through Anton’s clutches, removing his head from the face lock. He gets to his feet before Assault can, but is unable to take advantage of the predicament, as his advance is met with a sickening right cross from the champion. Darcy reels from the shot, but still has the wherewithal to duck Anton’s follow-up clothesline attempt. Suddenly finding himself behind Assault, he latches onto the swinging arm and brings him down with a modified armbar takedown.

Truth Waters: Now it’s Crisis with the advantage! This match has been back and forth, back and forth, with neither competitor able to take decisive control!

George Cassidy: Yeah, as much as I despise Mr. Crisis, I have to admit these two are more evenly matched than I thought. But you and I both know that it’s going to come down to the X-factors outside the ring. Darcy’s only got one, but Assault has two. It’s just a matter of time until that starts working against Darcy Crisis in a BIG way.

Darcy wrenches back on the hold, doing his best to injure Anton's arm. Luis and Billy are there to come to his aid, though, sliding into the ring and putting the boots to Crisis. Tony leaps up onto the apron and grabs Mays, tugging him up and over the ropes and dumping him onto the outside. Luis comes from behind and chokes Tony with the tonfa, pulling back as hard as possible. Tony manages to pull himself downwards, though, and he launches himself off the apron, carrying Luis with him as he crashes into the guardrail!

George Cassidy: Shitnuggets!

Truth Waters: Crazy move there and now it's just Assault and Crisis in the ring. Standing up and not grappling, which isn't real good for Crisis.

Indeed, Anton is using his expert knowledge of striking to feed Crisis light, disorienting jabs to the mouth rather than big, wrestling-style right hands. This leaves Crisis enough out of range that he can't close easily. Darcy shakes his head furiously, trying to work out a bit of the kinks. Anton isn't slowing down, though; he fires a sharp kick to Darcy's midsection, and then drills his knee into Darcy's ribs.

Truth Waters: DMC with the drop toe hold! Anton ain't so good right now as DMC gets on the back, locking in the Boston crab.

Anton tries to lift himself up, but Darcy pulls back on the hold even harder, forcing the Lion back down to his stomach. Anton crawls towards the ropes ever so slowly; Darcy digs his heels in as best as he can to stop him, but Anton is still going. Finally, Anton reaches the ropes and the ref calls for the break. Darcy gets up and yanks Anton away from the ropes by the legs, but before he can do much, Anton twists and sends a kick rocketing towards DMC's gut!

George Cassidy: Anton getting back in this! He's on his feet—

Truth Waters: And snap suplex sends him back down! Crisis is getting a second wind and he's gonna need all of that.

Crisis looks up at the sky for a second before grabbing Anton by the head and pulling him up. He slaps on the front facelock and wrenches it in tightly, trying to drain Anton a little bit. He twists and shoots Anton into the corner, following him quickly. As he gets close, though, Anton shoots him a front kick to the stomach! Crisis drops to a knee and Anton blasts him across the face with a vicious kick!

Truth Waters: Darcy drops the ball!

George Cassidy: The folks on the outside are getting up and this can only mean good for Anton!

Anton walks over to Darcy slowly and grabs the arm, turning Darcy over onto his face and locking in an arm triangle camel clutch! Darcy kicks his feet, doing his best to try and stay alive, but it's obvious that Anton's tightening muscles are just squeezing the life right out of the D-Masta. Anton howls at Darcy, ordering him to give, but his shouts are quickly cut off.

Truth Waters: Boot to the head from Little!

George Cassidy: Don't get too comfy, 'cause here come the cavalry! Mays and Little exchanging right hands!

Truth Waters: Holy shit!

Luis has just leaped off the second rope and smashed Tony Little in the forehead with the tonfa, dropping America's Fitness Trainer™ unceremoniously to the mat! The crowd boos the move intensely, but Luis and Mays don't mind. They've set their sights on Crisis.

Truth Waters: No, no, this is just a damn… Crisis's gettin' stomped!

George Cassidy: OOOOH, and the literal meanings! Billy Mays with a curbstomp to flatten Crisis into the mat!

Luis goes back to putting the boots to Tony Little, kicking him out of the ring eventually. Billy Mays hauls Darcy to his feet and shoots him into the ropes. Crisis comes back on the rebound, though, hitting Mays with a leaping lariat! Mays hits the mat and Ferrara makes his presence known, but Darcy quickly hauls him into the air and drops him with a saito suplex! The crowd roars with delight as Darcy gets to his feet again, completely on fire!...

… and comes face to face with a furious Anton Assault.

George Cassidy: Right hand! And right hand! And right hand! And right hand! The champ is just massacring Crisis here, just landing shot after shot after WHOA!

Truth Waters: Look't Crisis, Cassidy, battling back 'cause he's gotta! 'Cause he needs to! 'Cause he's not losing this!

George Cassidy: Oh, shoot, Anton shot into the ropes and flying neckbreaker from Crisis!

Darcy jumps over Anton and then throws himself backwards, flipping in midair and hitting a standing moonsault!

Truth Waters: AGILITY FOR THE WINFALL!

ONE!

TWO!

THR—NO!

George Cassidy: champion with a kickout and Luis drags Darcy away! Mays and Darcy going at him!

Truth Waters: Tony Little from behind knocks their heads together like coconuts, but OHHH!

George Cassidy: Little's brains are leaking out of his ears after that savate kick!

Anton Assault stands tall in the ring, but he has only one thing to do in this match: finish Crisis. He grabs Crisis's arm, wrapping it around his throat in a half straight jacket and sitting on his back. Crisis reaches out and quickly grabs the ropes, but before the referee can call for the hold to be broken, Anton smoothly rolls over onto his back, locking in a body scissors and capturing the rogue arm.

Truth Waters: Whoa, whoa! That ain't legal!

George Cassidy: Ref didn’t call it, Truth! Legal as legal can be!

Truth Waters: Crisis is under lockdown here! Middle of the ring!

Ferrara and Mays get back to their feet and proceed to stomp the hell out of Crisis. The shockwaves get through to Anton, though, and eventually the Lion has to release the hold. He rolls away, shaking his head at the stupidity of those two. Mays lifts Crisis up to his feet and pushes him back into the corner. He moves away and Ferrara charges in for a tonfa shot to the ribs, but Darcy slips out! Anton gets to his feet and Darcy charges like a bull into the ring, grabbing Anton around the waist and lifting him up into the air.

Truth Waters: Spinebuster!

George Cassidy: Luis and Mays ATTAAAAACK!

According to Cassidy's "instructions," Luis and Mays viciously begin to beat on Darcy. Mays lifts Crisis up and pins him against the ropes. He reaches backwards and Ferrara gives him the tonfa, which he summarily uses to begin wailing on Darcy's back until—

Truth Waters: Tony Little! Body slam to Ferrara! Trading rights with Mays! Haymaker!

George Cassidy: And Little goes down courtesy of a high kick to Ferrara's jaw!

Truth Waters: Top rope huracanrana out of nowhere! Crisis has the pin!

ONE!

TWO!

THRE—KICKOUT!

The crowd is on their feet as Darcy falls face first to the mat, chest heaving but not moving. Anton lays on his back, trying to catch his breath as well. Mays, Little, and Ferrara litter the ring and the referee is the only one standing, one out of six.

Truth Waters: Holy… I don't believe this! I don’t know how either of these men have anything left in the tank, but Crisis looks like he’s going up top!

George Cassidy: It’s all or nothing here, Truth… Crisis better think this through, because if he botches this one it could be all over in a matter of moments!

Slowly, Darcy climbs his way up the turnbuckle, finally gaining a footing at the top after several seconds. The crowd is buzzing as Darcy eyes the fallen Nigerian in the ring, still showing no signs of stirring as he lies in the center of the ring. Suddenly, Crisis starts tapping his left elbow with his right hand, signifying that an elbow drop is on the way.

Truth Waters: Wait a minute George, I think I’ve heard of this… it’s a maneuver we haven’t seen out of Darcy Crisis since his days in Pier Six Wrestling! I believe he calls this one the Leap of Faith!

George Cassidy: You’re right, I haven’t seen this one before… but it looks like I’m about to! Look out Anton!

Garnering perhaps his last bit of strength, Darcy takes flight. The move starts a spinning cross-body, which Darcy executes perfectly. He gives himself an extra bit of distance so that his elbow is centered directly above the Lion’s heart. Darcy comes crashing back to earth, looking to deliver the final blow… but he meets only canvas. The crowd responds with a disappointed and concerned “Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh… … .”

Truth Waters: Nobody home for the Darcinator, and he takes all of the impact targeted for Assault! Darcy looks like he’s in a bad way, and he couldn’t have picked a worse time to hand the keys to the match back to the champion!

George Cassidy: Oh, this is beautiful beyond words! Darcy Crisis went for everything, and Darcy Crisis got nothing at all. Anton can just lay a hand over him now, he’s finished!

But Anton doesn’t go for the pinfall. Looking to ensure victory beyond Cassidy’s bold prediction, Anton is finally back to his feet… as is Ferrara, who can be heard screaming at him to finish Crisis off, who is still reeling on the ground as he clutches his right elbow in pain. Assault yanks Darcy to his feet by the injured arm, forcing him to oblige. Assault attempts to power him down in a grapple, but Crisis surprises him by forcing the hold aside out of nowhere. He offers an open-hand slap to the Lion’s face, sending back a step. He follows up with a right cross, grimacing as he does, and another slap with the left, but Assault refuses to give up his ground. Frustrated, Darcy takes to the ropes behind him, looking to take the larger man down with a spear, but just before he can leap at the Lion Assault meets him with a perfectly timed elbow across Darcy’s back, sending him well below his intended target. Suddenly, Crisis finds his head tucked between the champion’s legs, which Anton quickly removes him from as he hoists the challenger into the air…

Truth Waters: Oh, no… Darcy’s plans keep backfiring in a big way, and it looks like he has nowhere to go but straight down!

George Cassidy: POWERBOMB! PUT HIM AWAY, LION!

Darcy is snapped into the air, but either through luck, cunning or a combination thereof, he is able to escape Anton’s clutches. He twists around with a barrel roll…

Truth Waters: No! Crisis escapes!

In perfect position, he locks on the far-more familiar famed maneuver…

George Cassidy: No! Not the…

Truth Waters: MIND CRISIS!!!

Assault is locked in, and has nowhere to go but down. Crisis follows through with the maneuver, and sends the champion crashing to the canvas with the Mind Crisis. Anton Assault is down, but his left arm remains held by Darcy Crisis. He looks around the arena, taking in the frenzied fan reaction as everyone in the building can tell what’s coming next…

Truth Waters: We’re about to have a new champion, Cassidy! Darcy Crisis just dropped Anton Assault with the Mind Crisis, and you know what’s coming next…

George Cassidy: No! It can’t end like this! Darcy Crisis weaseled his way back into this match. I know it! You know it!

Truth Waters: Call it whatever you want, but Darcy Crisis is about to capture his first piece of gold here in the AWC! Here it comes… the DARCINATOR!

After soaking in the fan reaction for all it’s worth, Darcy slaps a leg drop across the fallen champion while still holding onto the arm. Wrapping his legs around both the head and captured limb, Darcy locks the hold in. With no ropes in sight and nowhere to go, it looks to be only a matter of time…

George Cassidy: Wait! Here comes…

Truth Waters: No! Dammit!

With that, the cavalry arrives, and Ferrara saves the match for his client with a diving punch toward Darcy’s head. He is forced to release the hold, and the crowd boos vociferously as both Ferrara and Billy Mays start taking unlicensed stomps at Darcy’s head. Michael Ryan is screaming for Mays and Ferrara to leave the ring, but is powerless to stop the assault on behalf of Assault in the no disqualification affair. But the pendulum swings both ways, and Tony Little is about to enter the fray, and he’s brought a friend as well… the trusty steel chair.

George Cassidy: Get that washed up jackass out of the ring! What kind of human being uses a weapon in a wrestling match?

Truth Waters: … honestly, George. You’re really going to go there?

George Cassidy: This is a-

Truth Waters: Travesty of justice, yes, we’ve got it. But we saw Darcy and Tony earlier this evening working out just this sort of plan, and for their sake I hope they have the kinks ironed out of it!

Tony is through the ropes like a cat, evidently unbeknownst to the interlopers who have already arrived. The crowd sounds like they’re about to blow the roof off the place… and they erupt even louder as Tony winds up for the unbelievable free shot…

George Cassidy: No no no no no no nooooooo!!!

*KA-SMACK!*

Truth Waters: GOOD LORD! Tony Little absolutely CRUSHES Billy Mays’ skull with that steel chair!

George Cassidy: If this causes a delay in my Oxiclean order, I am going to kill that son of a bitch Tony Little…

But unfortunately for Tony, Ferrara takes notice that his partner in crime has been taken out of commission. Little tees up for another shot to the head, but Ferrara has it scouted and stops Tony in his tracks with a boot to the stomach. The wind knocked from his chest, Tony is unable to keep his grip on the chair and stumbles wildly, providing an opening for his adversary. Ferrara takes control by yanking firmly on Little’s famous ponytail, and maneuvers him to where he’s standing just in front of the fallen chair. Ferrara yells something in his face before dropping him with a sick DDT. The crowd groans again.

Truth Waters: Ferrara with the DDT, and Little is out cold!

George Cassidy: Heh heh, looks like Little wasn’t the only one who trained for this one. Ferrara surprising us all with a perfectly executed wrestling maneuver, a powerful DDT!

By now, Darcy has recovered from the two-on-one attack and is getting back to his knees, much to the chagrin of Luis Ferrara. Ferrara starts backing up, looking positively terrified as Crisis stares him down, shaking his head in disapproval at the Venezuelan. Ferrara throws up his hands, begging Darcy not to tear him limb from limb… but over Darcy’s shoulder, Luis can see that Assault has also recovered from the Mind Crisis/Darcinator combination. Suddenly Ferrara changes his tune, and begins walking toward Darcy, cursing in Spanish and shoving him squarely in the chest. Darcy grabs the smaller man by the collar, lifting him toward the turnbuckle, looking to do some serious damage.

Truth Waters: That rat Ferrara is about to get what’s coming to him…

He nearly does… but at the last moment, Assault breaks up the encounter. Moving with extremely impressive speed, he locks Darcy into the Kata Hajime, and like a child with a rag doll he lifts Darcy backward, throwing him back where he crashes face-first into the canvas.

George Cassidy: Katahajime suplex! Brilliantly executed! Assault can end this match right now and walk away with his title, if he wants to!

But whether Assault wants to or not is irrelevant – because Ferrara wants the match to continue. He screams at Anton to lift the fallen challenger and hold him in place, to which Assault obliges. Locking his arms firmly behind Darcy’s, pinning him vertically in place, Crisis is helpless as Ferrara brandishes something from the pocket of his pants.

Truth Waters:: Oh, no… tell me that’s not a-

George Cassidy: Brass knuckles, YES! Crisis is finished!

Taunting him mercilessly, Ferrara sneers as he takes repeated shots with the knuckles into Darcy’s skull. The crowd is booing like mad, and after a few shots to the cranium Darcy is busted open, as blood begins first to drip from the resulting gash on his forehead. The dripping then gives way to an outright pour, and his face is soon engulfed in the infamous crimson mask.

Truth Waters: Ferrara is teeing off on Darcy Crisis, while the Frontier champion holds him at bay! Little and Mays are still out! I tell you, this match was looking like a classic, but this isn’t how I wanted to see it end…

George Cassidy: Well this is how it’s going to end, Truthey my boy! Ferrara warned these two all along that they were standing in Anton’s way. Billy Mays is twice the man Tony Little is, and Anton Assault is TEN times the man Darcy Crisis is. And just like Ferrara said, we’re seeing it proved true right now!

Darcy is now slumped over, his appearance suggesting that he might be unconscious. Anton lets Darcy fall from his grasp, to which he collapses on the canvas, not moving so much as an inch after that. Quick as a… rat, Ferrara is there to add a few extra stomps for good measure. Fetching the Frontier title he’d left lying in the corner of the ring upon his entry with Mays, Ferrara orders Anton to turn Crisis over and make the pin. Assault acquiesces, and Ferrara holds the title proudly in the air as Darcy is helplessly turned to stare at the lights. The leg is hooked, and Michael Ryan (remember him?) drops to complete the formality.

ONE!

TWO!

THRE…

As Ryan’s hand begins the descent back to the canvas to slap it for the third and final time, he suddenly finds his arm hooked from behind. Ryan can’t even make a sound as he is tackled from behind, removed from completing his duty as the crowd roars in delight.

Truth Waters: TONY LITTLE! From COMPLETELY out of nowhere, Tony Little just saved the match for Darcy Crisis!

George Cassidy: It doesn’t matter, Truth! It doesn’t matter one bit! As soon as Anton and Luis beat the tar out of that sniveling Tony Little for his interference, they’ll go right back to putting Darcy away… he’s still more helpless than a mustard stain against hydrogen peroxide.

Truth Waters: … … ..what?

George Cassidy: OXICLEAN, MOTHERF-- YEAH, TAKE IT TO HIM LUIS!

The Tony Little-inspired comeback appears to be shortlived, as Ferrara is once again putting the boots to Darcy’s rescuer. Having had enough of the Crisis/Little combination, Ferrara orders Anton to dispose of Crisis on the outside, evidently in an effort to dispose of Darcy’s 50-year-old partner once and for all. Assault hits the ropes at blazing speed, rebounding with a baseball slide that rockets the Darcinator underneath the ropes and sends him crashing to the outside. Meanwhile, Tony is exchanging lefts and rights with Luis Ferrara, with both men fighting ridiculously high levels of exhaustion. It is unclear which of the men will be the first to break – that is, until Anton intervenes. Tony never saw the crouched Nigerian… but he certainly felt the impact of his boot squarely against his jaw.

*BAM!*

Truth Waters: Blackout kick! Blackout kick on Tony Little, and there’s no way in hell he’s going to recover from that!

George Cassidy: Luis and Anton were enjoying that advantage, but you can see it now. You can see the gleam in their eyes… Tony Little is out of this match, once and for all. It’s only a matter of time before Darcy Crisis succumbs to the same fate.

Tony’s mind immediately went blank on impact, sending him down to the mat like an unconscious lump. Crisis, for that matter, after losing so much blood, shouldn’t be conscious either… but unbeknownst to the Frontier champion and his manager, Darcy is stirring on the outside, slowly rolling over to face the ring apron. Anton steps in Darcy’s direction to bring him back into the fray, but suddenly Luis steps in front of him, throwing his hands up to halt his client, then screaming and pointing at himself.

Truth Waters: I can’t really make out what he’s saying, but it looks like Luis wants to put the finishing touches on Darcy Crisis!

George Cassidy: It’s gonna take a team effort to win this match, Truth. Luis just wants to hold up his end of the bargain… you can hardly blame him for that.

Truth Waters: Oh, please… hasn’t the little rat done enough?

George Cassidy: Careful, buddy… I’d hate for them to think YOU were on Team Crisis.

Anton makes no move, not so much as a facial expression; but his lack of reaction seems to indicate that he’s at least fine with Luis fetching Darcy and brining him back to the ring. Looking happy as a jaybird, Luis turns around and steps through the ropes, hopping down to where Anton had disposed of Darcy… but finds nothing.

George Cassidy: What the… ? Where did that little coward crawl off to?

Truth Waters: Your guess is as good as mine, Cass – wait, there he is, behind the steel steps! And look what he has with him!

The announcers can see it, and the crowd can see it to, suddenly alive again after the vicious assault on Crisis and Little minutes earlier. The only one who doesn’t seem to be keen to the predicament is Luis Ferrara, who discovers Crisis’ location just a little too late…

FSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHTTTTTTTTTTTTT!!!!!

A cloud of white smoke envelopes the Venezuelan as the crowd goes ballistic in their delight.

Truth Waters: Darcy Crisis with the fire extinguisher, out of nowhere at all! Ferrara doesn’t seem to know what hit him!

George Cassidy: It isn’t fair! It isn’t right!

After thoroughly enveloping Ferrara in a haze of carbon dioxide, Darcy turns to fire a cloud of smoke above the ring apron, as well… shielding Assault from coming too close. This allows Darcy to draw in a deep breath, slide under the ropes once more and return to the action. Once Darcy exits the cloud, he finds himself staring straight into the eyes of the Nigerian. The crowd can feel it as the stage is set for the final encounter. Assault vs. Crisis, still heavily dripping blood. Ferrara, Little and Mays all out of commission. The haze of extinguisher exhaust still hangs in the background, an ominous yet almost appropriate backdrop for the champion and challenger to square off one last time.

Truth Waters: This is it, Cass! All the outside forces have fallen to the wayside, it’s just Assault and Crisis now!

George Cassidy: Yes, but you don’t need a doctor to see who’s incredibly worse off here. I have no idea how Crisis is even standing, but he won’t be standing for long!

Anton is the first to break the standoff, coming at Darcy with a stiff right hand to the jaw. To exhausted to block or dodge, Darcy takes the shot on the chin and reels back, but manages to keep his footing. Anton follows up with a left, which Darcy is also obligated to absorb, but he still keeps on his feet. Having had enough, Anton looks to flatten him with a clothesline across his battered jaw… but that’s when Crisis makes his move. Moving forward with blazing speed, Darcy actually manages to take the Lion into the air before slamming him with a vicious spinebuster.

Truth Waters: Spinebuster on the champion! Crisis refuses to go down!

But on the follow-through, Darcy holds on to the spiked Frontier champion, flipping himself over…

Truth Waters: … into the bridge pin!

George Cassidy: You’ve got to be kidding me!

ONE!

TWO!

THR-

As spectator/referee Michael Ryan’s arm is coming down, Anton manages to power out.

George Cassidy: Anton escapes, but where is Darcy getting this extra gear?

Truth Waters: Like you said Cass, this is Coast to Coast! All the stops are pulled out right here!

George Cassidy: It’s still academic, Truth. Anton had hardly broken a sweat before that spinebuster, and Crisis CONTINUES to lose blood! There’s no way he can keep this up… and speaking of up, look who’s finally back! Ha ha!

Cassidy’s delight is directed at the sight of Billy Mays, who has finally recovered from Tony Little’s chair shot. Shaking off the blurred vision, he turns to see Darcy and Anton each slowly climbing back to their feet. Billy shouts something at Anton that suggests he can take care of the rest. Billy reaches into the pocket of his all-too-famous jean shirt, pulling out a small sphere.

George Cassidy: It’s Oxiclean, Truth! Billy Mays is going to put Darcy away with Oxiclean!

Truth Waters: Weren’t you just complaining about a late Oxiclean order? I bet that’s it right there.

George Cassidy: Believe me, I just wanted it so I could jam it straight into Darcy’s face. If Billy wants to do the honors himself, we might as well cut out the middleman!

Assault sees what Mays has in mind, and steps out of the line of fire to leave Darcy solely exposed to the forthcoming attack. But Darcy can see by the look in the Lion’s eyes that something isn’t quite right about the situation, and turns around just in time to see Mays doing his best Nolan Ryan impression. With no time to even think, Darcy ducks the fastball let loose from Mays with mere nanoseconds to spare. The rocketing ball of sodium percarbonate flies past both the challenger as well as the champion… and pegs Luis Ferrara square in the middle of the forehead. Ferrara, who was looking for revenge from the fire extinguisher attack from Crisis earlier, indeed had the same fire extinguisher in tow, and was just about to pull the trigger before he was nailed by Mays’ ball of Oxiclean. It sends him reeling, and it adjusts his intended aim… but Ferrara still fires the extinguisher regardless.

FSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHTTTTTTTTTTTTT!!!!!

Truth Waters: Ferrara just hit Assault with the fire extinguisher! Ferrara spraying his own client in the face!

George Cassidy: NO! How could this happen?

Truth Waters: Ferrara came out of nowhere with that fire extinguisher, but an errant throw by Billy Mays changed whatever plan he had in store for Darcy Crisis!

Ferrara is once again down on the outside, and Anton is stumbling around the ring, blinded by the extinguisher attack. Billy Mays looks incredibly shocked at what he’s done… and it would appear the only man with any wits about him is the crimson-soaked challenger. Crisis springs forward, nailing Mays with a ferocious clothesline that takes him over the top rope to join Ferrara on the outside.

Truth Waters: And Crisis takes care of Mays!

His vision effectively removed, Anton is frantically searching for the edge of the ring to get to the outside and regroup. But unfortunately for him, he is stumbling well in the center of the ring, as far removed from an escape route as his vision by the perilous dioxide. With Mays out of the picture, Darcy speeds toward the unaware Lion with everything he’s got, leaping into the air and spiraling over into a textbook spinning wheel kick.

Truth Waters: Spinning wheel kick! The champion is down!

George Cassidy: Not like THIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIISSS!

The crowd is in a frenzy now, as Darcy is once again back in control and appears to be only moments from winning the match, as well as the Frontier Title. Taking control of the Lion’s limp arm, he once again executes the leg drop…

Truth Waters: Here it comes! It’s DARCINATOR time!

… but Lion doesn’t need his vision to feel that Darcy just left his leg very, very prone. With a sudden burst of strength, Assault manages to flip Darcy over after he nails the leg drop and grabs control of the aforementioned leg, bending it over as he maneuvers around to face the Darcinator.

George Cassidy: Think again, Truth! Anton is about to lock in the Tiger Trap Leg Scissors!

But as Assault jockeys for better position, the Darcinator follows suit. He manages to flip himself again just before Anton can lock him into position, bending his legs before pushing forward with all his might, sending the champion flying back.

Truth Waters: Crisis escapes the predicament! This is INSANE!

Darcy rears back again, and executes a perfect kip-up to once again reach his feet. Seizing the opportunity, Darcy runs full-speed at the Lion… but Assault has it scouted, and drops into an almost-crouch as he poised to counter just about anything Darcy can think of. The challenger senses this at almost the last possible moment, and does something Anton wasn’t quite expecting… dropping into a slide and skimming underneath the Lion’s outstretched legs. Anton attempts to turn around to face him, but suddenly finds his left leg locked in place…

George Cassidy: What the- Tony Little is somehow awake, and he’s holding onto Anton!

Growling, Anton kicks the still-lying Tony Little in the face, removing himself from the fitness trainer’s grasp. But in the brief moment of distraction, Anton was unable to turn around, and instantly knew a mistake was made as he feels the Kata-Hajime locked in from behind… SLAM!

Truth Waters: MIND CRISIS!

George Cassidy: NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!

Not bothering with the leg drop, and not bothering with working the crowd, all of whom have leapt to their feet by now anyway, Darcy locks in his signature finishing maneuver. Anton howls in pain as he desperately reaches for a way out of the predicament; the ropes, the referee, a miraculously recovered Mays or Ferrara… but finds nothing. But after several seconds of fighting the practically unbearable pain, a fat forearm appears at the bottom of the ropes.

George Cassidy: Mays is up! Billy Mays is up! Get in there, God dammit!

Slowly but surely, Mays pulls himself to his feet and shakes his head, groggily. The crowd, which is still feverishly screaming for Crisis, changes their sound from cheering in delight to an almost shriek of desperation as Mays pulls himself underneath the bottom rope and back into the ring. He can see Assault locked in the terrible predicament on the other side of the ring, and puts everything he has into making it over for the save.

Truth Waters: Here comes Billy!

George Cassidy: He’s going to make it!

Billy leaps to cover the remaining distance…

… he’s in the air…

… Anton is holding on…

… Michael Ryan is watching with baited breath…

… Crisis grits his teeth…

… just a matter of inches…

It’s too little, too late. Unable to see that Billy is only half a second from breaking the hold, Anton can’t take the pain any longer, and slaps the canvas with his free arm like his life depended on it. The noise is now deafening as Mays flies in after the fact to break up the hold. But winded, he collapses near the defeated champion as Michael Ryan helps Darcy to his feet, raising his arm in victory as Darcy screams in joy along with the sold out Jersey crowd.

Truth Waters: IT’S OVER! CRISIS DEFEATS ASSAULT! DARCY CRISIS IS THE NEW FRONTIER CHAMPION!!!

James Brunt: Your winner, and NEW Frontier champion… DARCY CRISIS!!!

“Superunknown” by Soundgarden hits the PA again as Michael Ryan hands the Frontier Title belt to the shell-shocked Darcy Crisis. He falls to his knees, clutching the belt as the waves of emotion overtake both him and the New Jersey fans, roaring in delight at the match’s outcome.

Truth Waters: What a journey for Darcy Crisis! Forced into early retirement until December of last year, when he made his return to wrestling here in the AWC, and at the biggest show of the year he captures his first piece of gold since coming back, in perhaps the most hellacious Frontier title match we’ve ever seen!

George Cassidy: Tragedy here in New Jersey, Truth. You can see it on everyone’s faces… thanks to some dastardly tactics on the part of Crisis and his pal Tony Little, the Lion is upended.

Truth Waters: I’m not sure what match Cass was watching, folks… but we just witnessed a five-star classic from the two competitors here tonight. And we’re not even done! A major grudge match between Chainz and Aimz, the girlfriend of the new AWC Frontier champion is coming up next, and we still have a Transatlantic championship to decide! We’ll be back with those in just a bit, but first… listen to this crowd!

Crisis helps the fallen Tony Little to his feet, who is trying to shake off the various punishment he received over the course of the battle. With one hand he holds Tony’s arm high in the air in victory… and in the other, Darcy Crisis proudly holds his new prize in the air, as the light of the flashbulbs gleam off the golden belt as he soaks in the moment.

Alive in the superunknown,
Alive in the superunknown,
Alive in the superunknown,
First it steals your mind, and then it steals your…
First it steals your mind, and then it steals your…
First it steals your mind, and then it steals your…

Darcy, Tony and Cornell, along with the crowd: … SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUL!!!!!!

Truth Waters: Darcy Crisis, the new Frontier champion!

---

Bored of Segs
LOCATION: Atlantic Ocean
FEATURING: East/West
AUTHOR: East/West

---

Lexicon: No you know what? I'm not the one talking to every guy who says I look good.

Talaina: Why we even married?

Lexicon: I really, really don't know.

The grumbling Johnny, holding onto to Talaina with one arm and his other wrapped firmly around the top deck railing as the boat continues to slip into the water as the boat goes down.

Talaina: I can talk to men!

Talaina yells at him and follows it with something vulgar in Russian.

Lexicon: Of course, but you cant dance and flirt with them.

Talaina: Why not?

Lexicon: Because you'll get alot of guys beat up!

They continue yelling at each other, oblivious to what's going on around them.

(And then once in the water.)

Talaina: Johnny!

Talaina calls, clinging to a table top and paddling towards Johnny.

Johnny hugs a plank of wood and refuses to look over.

Talaina: Johnny talk to me.

Lexicon: No!

He starts paddling away.

Meanwhile…

Josh: Well Paddy… you fucked up the plan ROYALLY you tit head.

Josh wasn’t happy. This party may have been set up for the sole purpose of impairing people’s wrestling ability but he’d wanted it to be a success… now what? There was hundreds of people yelling in the water while the Pope still tried getting his groove on. It fucking sucked.

Paddy: Aye’m cold Josh… aye want ye t’ go on with yer life, get married, have babies. Forget about me…

Josh: Oh shut the fuck up.

---

The New Guy
LOCATION: New Jersey
FEATURING: Dr. Kassidy Drake, ???
AUTHOR: ???

---

Back at the announce table of the New Jersey incarnation of Coast To Coast, two familiar faces eagerly greet us – both of them smiling. Even George Cassidy, it seems, has been overwhelmed by the majesty of the biggest Atlantic Wrestling Club event in history and as he turns to his broadcast partner he’s strangely civil as he opens their dialogue:

George Cassidy: Has it been everything you hoped it would be so far, Truth, my boy?

Truth Waters: Folks, AWC promised you the biggest and best wrestling show of two-thousand-and-six and surely we’ve delivered so far… the preliminary ordering figures worldwide say that we have our biggest ever audience already – and there are STILL more huge matches left to come!

A ripple of applause engulfs the arena as Waters’ words echo out over the PA system, causing the beaming announcer to tip his hat in appreciation of his supporters.

George Cassidy: Makes you feel, you know? … Sorta proud, doesn’t it?

Truth Waters: Strange thing for you to be experiencing huh, buddy? Truth be told, though, we’re all overcome with pride here tonight in New Jersey – and I’m sure the same can be said about our colleagues over in London and out on the ocean, too.

George Cassidy: ---but right here is where all the action is at, with the best broadcast duo in the business… right here in East Rutherford, New Jersey…

… Silence overcomes the moment, spoiling the colour commentator’s chance of glory.

George Cassidy: ---wha’? Where’s the cheap crowd response?

Truth Waters: I think people’s attentio--- … KASIDY DRAKE IS HERE!!

George Cassidy: Damn you, Drake… wait a sec--- … CUT THE DAMN FEED, ASSHOLES!

Feedback abounds as Cassidy and Waters’ voices are removed from the PA system and transported back to their usual viewer-only audience. Dr. Kasidy Drake marches casually out onto the stage with his DRAKEWERX security detail packed in formation around him. “NJ” gives the business tycoon a far more pleasant reception than he’s used to as he looks around the Continental Airlines Arena with a half-grin/half-sneer at the AWC herd gathered before him.

George Cassidy: I can’t believe I just had that opportunity ripped away from me…

Truth Waters: It’s not often we get to perform for a live audience, huh? Don’t worry about it; there’ll be other times…

George Cassidy: But… but… a cheap pop on Coast To Coast would have made me!

Truth Waters: … moving on for a moment, though – and getting to the real matter at hand – Kasidy Drake is here in New Jersey, in the flesh, and he looks like a man on a mission…

George Cassidy: A rare appearance indeed from our very own version of Buddha and my insanely-quick wits tell me that he’s out here to follow-up on the pre-announcement he made from his awesome private suite earlier on tonight…

Truth Waters: So… it wouldn’t be those two contracts in his guards’ hand that gave it away?

George Cassidy: Pssh - not at all!

As the dozen-strong security corps peels-off from their leader to form a protective “shield” around the stage, ramp and ringside area, James Brunt stands to attention at the timekeeper’s table and raises the AWC-branded microphone to his lips:

James Brunt: Ladies and gentlemen… please welcome the owner of Drakewerx Pharmaceuticals and the Chief Financial Advisor of the Atlantic Wrestling Club… DOCTOR… KASSSSSSSSSIDDDDDDDYYYYYY… DRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAKE!!!

Another polite burst of cheering and applause spreads around the arena as the AWC fans, probably glad of a brief break from the insane action of the squared-circle, sit and wait with wide eyes for Drake to begin talking…

Truth Waters: Well, he promised us that whatever he had to say here tonight would make Coast To Coast even bigger… he’s given himself an awful lot to live up to and I just hope he doesn’t disappoint.

George Cassidy: I don’t know how you could doubt this man, Truth. The man who owns a multi-billion-dollar company, the man who funds the AWC and essentially pays our cheques at the end of every month… has Dr. Kasidy Drake ever let you go hungry? Because it sure doesn’t look like he has from where I’m sitting!

Away from the bickering announcers our shot is a head-on view of the usually mysterious figure of the owner of Drakewerx…

Dr. Kasidy Drake: Thank you for the welcome, New Jersey… and if I may, I would like to get right down to business here, time is most certainly of the essence. “Seven”, bring me the contracts…

One of Drake’s guards steps forward and holds up the two “identical” contracts that we saw earlier on…

Truth Waters: He calls his guards by numbers instead of names!?

George Cassidy: Delightfully informal, don’t you think?

Dr. Kasidy Drake: As I said earlier… here with me I have two AWC contracts: identical in appearance - but very, very different in terms of salary... The time has come for me to offer a legend of the wrestling business two routes into my company and whether he takes the “high road” or the “low road” is completely up to him…

An excited, yet brief, roar envelops the Continental Airlines Arena as the shot switches to the uber-interested expressions on the faces of the announce team, before focusing solely back to the exuberant owner of Drakewerx Pharmaceuticals…

Dr. Kasidy Drake: … SO without further ado… please welcome to Coast to Coast two-thousand-and-six…

A massive explosion of orange pyrotechnics fires off as the sound of a crash cymbal bursts out from the stage-mounted speakers and the arena is plunged into complete darkness, shocking the New Jersey crowd into life as two crunching guitars burst into a series of powerchords… bass guitar joins the fray before Dexter Holland’s unmistakeable lyrics to “Million Miles Away” by The Offspring echo around the now-erupting building…

Truth Waters: … NO WAY! I can’t believe this!!

George Cassidy: WHO IS IT!?

Dr. Kasidy Drake: James Brunt… take it away…

James Brunt: … Introducing… from Ville-Marie, Quebec, Canada…

Truth Waters: … I’m speechless…

James Brunt: … the NEWEST member of the AWC… PRIME Hall-of-Famer and former Universal, Intense and Tag-Team champion…

George Cassidy: OH BOY!

James Brunt: … IGGGGGGGNNNNNNNAAAAAAATIUSSSSSSSS LISSSSSSSSIIIIIEEEEEEEUUUUUUXXXXXXXXXX!!!

East Rutherford explodes as the French-Canadian superstar bursts out onto the stage, basking in the glow of an AWC-orange spotlight with a massive smile etched across his face…

George Cassidy: IGNATIUS LISIEUX!? … IN AWC!?

Truth Waters: OH, HELL YEAH!

… Decked-out in a black suit, complete with white shirt and black tie – something never-before seen in PRIME – he adjusts his collar awkwardly before marching confidently down the aisle, slapping as many outstretched hands as he possibly can and generally just trying to take in the entire atmosphere… Back inside of the ring a shot of a grinning Drake is caught on camera, before all attention focuses back onto the arriving Lisieux…

Truth Waters: Kasidy Drake promised us a wrestling legend here tonight and boy has he delivered… Ignatius Lisieux is here in New Jersey and he looks to be signing with AWC!

George Cassidy: … But, wait a second - didn’t he lose his last match in PRIME and then get fired because of it!?

Truth Waters: … Unjustly so, Cass, unjustly so! There are few more popular superstars across the globe than this man right here…

George Cassidy: Duh, you think!? I can barely hear myself talk because of the damn noise the people in this place are making!

Lisieux drags himself nervously up onto the apron and tips a nod of respect towards his host, before awkwardly stepping-through the ropes – rather than traditionally leaping over them – and firmly shaking hands with him. “Million Miles Away” begins to fade away as the main lighting of the arena returns to full-glow, leaving the two men together in ring (besides Drake’s two nearest security guards, of course) with a delirious crowd positioned all-around them and an electric atmosphere to boot.

Truth Waters: What a sight to behold… Dr. Kasidy Drake and Ignatius Lisieux inside of an AWC ring together and here tonight at Coast To Coast oh-six we get to see the PRIME legend sign on our proverbial dotted line…

George Cassidy: For a guy with multiple piercings and a platinum-blonde Mohawk he sure pulls-off that Armani suit with a lot of class…

Dr. Kasidy Drake: Well, well… may I be the first to say: welcome to Coast To Coast, Mister Ignatius Lisieux!

Another roar of approval from the disbelieving fans engulfs the Continental Airlines Arena as the announce team look-on in pure silence, for the time being, anticipation ruling over their tongues.

Dr. Kasidy Drake: Ignatius, now that you’ve felt the impact of our fans first-hand what do you have to say? I told you they were great, didn’t I?

Brushing the pseudo-niceties aside the French-Canadian clears his throat a little bit as one of Drake’s guards hands him a microphone, he loosens-off his collar before raising the stick up towards his mouth – only to be cut-off as an “IGGY” chant begins from the rafters and works its way down to the squared-circle…

Truth Waters: Lisieux looking a little overwhelmed by everything here – you’ve gotta remember that this is a guy who has only ever been with PRIME – despite his reputation the guy is still only twenty-six-years-old and I’m sure he didn’t expect anything like this from our fans tonight…

George Cassidy: That’s why we’re the best, Truth – our idiot fans will cheer for anyone – and they’ll cheer damn loud, too.

Ignatius Lisieux: Firstly… *ahem*… firstly I’d just like to personally thank each and every one of you out there in the crowd tonight… I could have never anticipated a response like that---

The former PRIME Universal champion is cut-off once again as ”A-DUB-C” bursts valiantly/defiantly from the lips of the twenty-thousand strong around him, leaving him speechless and leaving Dr. Kasidy Drake with another enormous grin on his face…

Truth Waters: This is absolutely exceptional, it’s almost breathtaking… if this is what the atmosphere is like for Lisieux then just think what these fans will do when our Main Event rolls around later on tonight!

George Cassidy: Man I never even considered that - I’ve gotta get my hands on some earplugs… stat.

Realising the typically emotional French-Canadian is struggling to control the crowd, his host steps in to the breach in order to progress proceedings at a suitable pace…

Dr. Kasidy Drake: I think you’ve all demonstrated to Mr. Lisieux that his decision in signing a pre-contract with the Atlantic Wrestling Club was a good one, but now an even bigger choice awaits him…

The rabid fans die-down a little and join Ignatius in listening eagerly to the continuing CEO…

Dr. Kasidy Drake: Ignatius… I won’t lie to you, I want you on my team… I don’t just want you on the AWC team - I want you on my personal team. I want you to join this company and take your place by my side in order to help me herald a new dawn in the wrestling business… with you by my side we can make AWC the greatest wrestling promotion on the planet.

Rather than give the response that Drake would hope for – but never expect – the New Jersey crowd remain somewhat indifferent to the prospect of Ignatius Lisieux allying himself with such a controversial figure and bite their lips to allow things to unfold a little further before making any judgement. The French-Canadian merely stands with a ponderous right-hand resting on his chin as he hears the owner of Drakewerx Pharmaceuticals out…

Truth Waters: What the hell is Drake offering Lisieux here!? I knew this act was all too good to be true… I guess we now know what the heck he meant by “high road” and “low road”, huh?

George Cassidy: Can you blame the man for wanting this guy on his side!? Drake is right when he says that they could help elevate AWC to levels it has never seen before… you can’t dispute that.

Dr. Kasidy Drake: Your life could be exceptionally easy here, Ignatius – you could have everything you’ve ever wanted and dreamed of – you could have everything that PRIME never offered you. There’d be no more living between motel rooms, no more dining out of cans, no more putting your body on the line every week for meagre reward… you could live like a king, Ignatius… you could live like me.

Truth Waters: … Surely Lisieux isn’t gonna buy this!? As far as I remember he got made a similar offer to this one by Killean Sirrajin in PRIME… and those guys ended up damn-near killing each other a few weeks later!

George Cassidy: Well then, surely the guy is smart enough not to make the same mistake twice? He’s hardly covered himself in glory since he turned down the chance to live on Easy Street, has he?

Ignatius loosens off his tie completely and tosses it down to the canvas, prompting a brief “pop” from the expectant crowd and prompting Kasidy Drake to take a cautious step backward, before the French-Canadian speaks…

Ignatius Lisieux: I have to say I’m flattered Sir, really I am… but please tell me I wouldn’t have to wear these God-awful suits every day of my life if I did, indeed, “join” you?

The doctor laughs with relief and moves forwards again, patting the former PRIME superstar on the shoulder with a brief smile…

Dr. Kasidy Drake: … Of course you wouldn’t, Ignatius – I mean, that’s the whole point. With me, you could live however you like… you would have choices, more choices than you have ever had before, think of what you had with Toshiaki Motoki in PRIME and then multiply it by a factor of five…

Truth Waters: I hate to say it, folks… but it really looks to me as though Lisieux is starting to warm up to this idea!

George Cassidy: I knew he couldn’t possibly be as stupid as he makes himself out to be – look, this guy is getting the world on a silver platter – when have we ever seen our owner offer this to anyone? Only a fool would turn him down on the biggest show in history…

Ignatius looks around the arena, possibly searching for guidance, but comes up empty as the AWC fans merely look-on with baited breath, not entirely sure what to make of the entire ordeal – some of them quite still possibly in shock from even just seeing him inside of their wrestling ring.

Ignatius Lisieux: That’s a relief to me, I have to say… listen folks, I’m going to have to be real honest here for a moment and I guess you’re all not going to like a lot of what I have to say…

The fans again quieten down as Lisieux begins pacing around the ring hesitantly…

Ignatius Lisieux: … My body in PRIME was shot almost every week, after “C-Three” I again found myself in a hospital and what did I ever have to show for it? I never had any cash; I didn’t have a home or a car… I had no family, no real friends and by the end I didn’t even have a win to look forward to every week - I ended up with nothing because of making stupid juvenile mistakes and turning golden opportunities like this one down.

Rather than jeer him, the fans seem to have more sympathy for him than he might ever have expected. As he looks over them with wide, sorrowful eyes he continues to explain his reasons, all the while Kasidy Drake grins like a Cheshire cat:

Ignatius Lisieux: I know that if I sign this contract I might have to do some things that I vowed to the PRIMEates that I would never do again – but this ain’t PRIME and I can’t be that guy anymore… As clichéd as it might sound, there was never an easy way out in PRIME - I’d be an idiot if I turned-down an opportunity like this, I hope you all understand… I’m sorry…

Truth Waters: This is unreal… and still our AWC fans in New Jersey refuse to jeer him, they refuse to hiss and they refuse to throw trash, they understand him… They might not like it, but they can sure as hell live with it – they know in their hearts that they would do exactly the same… and even I can’t disagree with the logic here…

Kasidy Drake hands the solemn French-Canadian a pen with another wide smile before calling over the dubbed “high road” contract…

George Cassidy: Nobody can blame the guy… hell I’m just real envious of him. He gets a hero’s welcome into this place and even when he sorta “turns” on the fans and sells out they still respect him… I guess when you’ve done as much in the business as Ignatius Lisieux has you can get extended some special privileges.

Truth Waters: Just goes to show how incredibly smart our fans are - as always…

After a few more brief moments of thought Ignatius Lisieux begins to pen the contract as the Continental Airlines Arena remains overcome with pure silence, his signature finishes and the French-Canadian solemnly extends a hand to Kasidy Drake… who grabs it enthusiastically and pulls his newest “asset” in for a faux-embrace for the entire world to see - his first mission of the evening successfully complete.

Truth Waters: Well, Dr. Kasidy Drake has delivered on his promise! Ignatius Lisieux has SIGNED with the Atlantic Wrestling Club! What an absolute coup for this company! Although it may not have gone down the way we’d have all loved to see it, the fact remains that AWC has beaten off its nearest rivals to secure the signature of quite possibly the hottest free agent on the market today!

George Cassidy: I cannot WAIT to see how this develops from here-on-in… Ignatius Lisieux has come to AWC and sold-out everything he once stood for in PRIME, just like PRIME eventually sold-out Ignatius Lisieux! … It’s poetic justice on the part of Dr. Kasidy Drake and his newest ally - what an incredible piece of business for the Atlantic Wrestling Club!

Another defiant ”A-DUB-C!” chant breaks out from the crowd, engulfing the arena as Lisieux and Drake look around and absorb the atmosphere together.

Truth Waters: These fans refusing to support Ignatius Lisieux outright, but it seems as though they’re just happy to see him involved with the company – they know what this could mean for the promotion that they’ve been with since the very start.

Although he would have preferred to hear chants of “Iggy” echo out, the French-Canadian knew he had made the right choice for himself, he knew that he had to make the choice that he did in order to preserve his body and his mind, he knew that he had no other option but to go along with Kasidy Drake… surely he wouldn’t live to regret it, would he? Surely the fans would remain as forgiving of him as they had so far?

George Cassidy: What an iconic image right before our eyes: Ignatius Lisieux and Kasidy Drake with their arms raised in the air… get used to this folks - because something tells me you’re going to be seeing a lot more of it over the coming weeks and months!

Inside of the scene and behind the smiles, though, the former PRIMEate’s mind was working overtime - he realised he was having to talk himself into selling out in order to actually go through with it … and then he knew there was only one thing to do in order to make it right again:

Truth Waters: SUNSET LEGACY FROM LISIEUX!!!

George Cassidy: NOOOOOO!!!

Broken clear of the shackles of disappointment and reason the Continental Airlines Arena EXPLODES as Ignatius Lisieux drills the owner of Drakewerx Pharmaceuticals head-first into the canvas. Not wanting to wait a second to be caught by Drake’s security, the French-Canadian jumps up to his feet with a cocky grin before sliding out under the bottom rope and making a beeline for the crowd…

Truth Waters: I cannot believe my eyes! Kasidy Drake is knocked-out in the middle of the AWC ring!!!

The ”IGGY!” chant now bursts out as he dives through the lined-up bodies of the AWC fans, who quickly close-up behind him to prevent any pursuit from Drake’s guards. Pandemonium reigns supreme in the aisles as the guard known only as “Seven” desperately checks on his master…

Truth Waters: In a swerve worthy of the imperious Mike Wade, Ignatius Lisieux just signed a multi-dollar deal with AWC and Kasidy Drake… and then hit his signature move on our owner, sending these fans into raptures!! It looks like Drake’s vision of a new era of AWC has been completely altered! My broadcast colleague is stunned, he’s silent… we’d better switch to something else… but first, here’s the breaking news: IGNATIUS LISIEUX IS IN AWC… AND HE’S BETTER THAN EVER!!!

The shot begins to fade away, encapsulating as many joyous scenes as it possibly can before fading out on an altogether different shot of the fallen – and immobile – Kasidy Drake…

---

Chainz vs. Aimz
LOCATION: London
STIPULATION: Singles
REFEREE: Lars Larsson
AUTHOR: Pierre Hyde

---

Dave Kern: Welcome back, while we were busy I found myself some delightful Swedish Havarti cheese and have been chewing on that since. Anyway, coming up next is the Near Death match between Chainz and Aimz, and this will not be pretty. The only way to win is to knock out your opponent for the duration of 30 seconds, a tough feat indeed.

---

A-Vid: Aimz vs. Chainz
LOCATION: Video
FEATURING: Chainz, Aimz
AUTHOR: Katie & Mike S.

---

IT STARTED INNOCENTLY ENOUGH AT A FAN FESTIVAL.

Aimz: What the fuck are you trying to do here, huh? That's not cute. If you wanna walk out WITHOUT my fist scraping the shit from the inside of your thick fucking skull, you'll know your god damned place right now...

In a typical wrestler move, she folds the chair that she'd been sitting on and literally throws it into the face of Chainz.

BUT IT DIDN’T STOP THERE.

Chainz: Say, would you like to sit on my lap?

A steel pipe to the face says different as Aimz cracks Chainz over the head with a pipe she had been hiding behind her back.

BLOOD WAS SPILLED.

Dave Kern: GOOD GOD! AIMZ JUST NAILED CHAINZ IN THE BACK OF HIS HEAD WITH THE CROWBAR!

WORDS WERE EXCHANGED.

Chainz: You, Miss Campbell are special and when I’m through with you you’ll be just like me.

Chainz: You smell so good and you taste just like a strawberry. I could take a bite of you and I bet you’d melt right in my mouth. You’d like that wouldn’t you?

Aimz: ...Tell me what the hell's going on inside of me since you started preaching your tripe.

BOUNDARIES WERE CROSSED.

Amy shuts her eyes disgustedly and leans in to kiss him quickly on the lips. She quickly pulls back, but he grabs her by the back of the head and pulls her back down to his lips. She tries to resist, but only for a moment because within seconds her hands are behind his head as she kisses him wildly, sticking her tongue into his mouth.

NOW IT COMES TO AN END… ?

Chainz: Yeah, in fact I’m going to put an end to it. Coast To Coast, I want your ass in the ring. I don’t care what kind of match, shit you can pick it for all I care. I’m going to teach you some respect for both Tracy and I.

Aimz: You know what, I accept. You’ll regret this match after I’m done with you.

AIMZ VERSUS CHAINZ
NEAR DEATH MATCH!!!

---

Chainz vs. Aimz
LOCATION: London
STIPULATION: Singles
REFEREE: Lars Larsson
AUTHOR: Katie & Mike S.

---

Dave Kern: As you can see from that video package this match has been a long time in the making. There is so much hatred between these two that I have no idea how they don’t kill each other tonight.

Jeff Marx: What are you talking about Kern, these two are going to kill each other and my money’s on Chainz.

Dave Kern: No surprises there.

Jeff Marx: Well you know me, women shouldn’t be in the ring. They should be in the kitchen and leave real work to the men.

Dave Kern: Sigh, well I think this match is just about to get underway.

“Interlude 12/21” by AFI hits over the sound system arena of the Wembley Arena in London as the fans rise to their feet in anticipation for the Red Raver. The arena turns her shade of red as lights start flashing through the crowd, extra money at it’s finest.

Pierre Perroquet: Eeeeeentroducing first, from ‘alifax, Canada… AIMZ!!!

The crowd pops for Aimz as she makes her way out from the back and emerges into a mist of red light and fog. She walks down the aisle as her theme continues to play and the crowd goes into a frenzy. She looks underneath the ring and pulls out a chair, preparing herself for a brutal match.

“Cure” by the Wild Colonials hits as the stadium fills with fog. The lights dim and the arena fills with the white fog. Chainz steps out from the back stage area with Tracy wrapped around his arm. She smiles and gives her man a kiss as Chainz smiles to the boos from the roaring crowd.

The fog emits from the ground and hides Chainz and his trophy fiancé behind a wall of smoke. Chainz and Tracy walk through the fog and begin their decent to the ring.

Pierre Perroquet: And ‘air opponent, being accompagné by Tracy, from Beer-meen-gam, Alabama, weighing in at 295 pounds… CHAINZ!!!

The crowd erupts in more boos, as the noise is defining. They continue to boo the most hated man in the AWC as he walks down to the ring paying them no heed.

Dave Kern: The crowd isn’t hiding its distaste for this monster of a man.

Chainz nears the ring only to see Aimz readying her chair for his skull. Chainz kisses Tracy and ushers her aside, leaving him standing in front of Aimz. She looks down on him from inside the ring, egging him to get near enough so that she could crack his skull. Chainz smiles at her and points to his head, whether a show of mockery or pointing to his large brain.

Jeff Marx: Chainz telling Aimz that he’s not going to be stupid and allow for himself to get his head crushed in by that woman who has no business being in that ring.

Dave Kern: I’m sorry, I didn’t realize we were still living in the 1800s but whatever.

Lars Larsson asks Aimz to allow Chainz into the ring so that the match could get started, but she’ll have none of it.

Jeff Marx: What’s Larsson doing, there’s no rules in this match. Just leave them alone and when they go down count, the job is so easy a monkey could do it.

Chainz shrugs his shoulders and rolls into the ring, immediately receiving a chair shot to his back. Aimz continues pounding on his massive back, but not doing too much damage. She lets up and Chainz springs to action, taking her down to the ground. He mounts her and as he’s about to drive a fist into her face she brings the chair back over his head from her back.

Chainz stumbles backwards feeling his head for blood, which there isn’t any yet. Aimz gets back to her feet and prepares herself for the onslaught she expects from Chainz, but he remains calm as he circles around her looking for an opening. She circles with him, keeping the weapon raised and ready.

Tracy quickly runs up and grabs the leg of Aimz just enough to distract her. Aimz takes her eyes off of Chainz for a split second and that’s all it took. Within seconds Chainz speared Aimz to the ground and began throwing punches.

Jeff Marx: Chainz is beating the living hell out of that woman!

Dave Kern: This is sickening and we’ve just begun.

Jeff Marx: This ain’t nothing Kern, I got a feeling this ones going to get quite brutal.

Dave Kern: First thing you’ve said tonight that I don’t disagree with.

Chainz relents, grabbing Aimz by the hair and chucking her out of the ring. She lands on the floor with a thud and grabs her back as she yells out in pain. Chainz gets out of the ring and approaches the commentary table and looks the pair over. He grabs a mic.

Chainz: You smell like shit Kern.

Mothers and fathers in attendance reach for their children’s ears and try to cover them.

Jeff Marx: Ahh ha ha ha, you do smell Dave. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone put it so eloquently.

Dave Kern: Shut up!

Chainz places the mic in his pocket and goes over to Aimz, kicking her in the side of her ribs as she tries to rise to her feet. She rolls over in pain as she tries to crawl away from the menace but he’s right on top of her. Every time she tries to rise up he kicks her back down.

Chainz: Come on bitch!

Dave Kern: Ugh, this is just distasteful and degrading. Not only is he physically abusing her, but he’s also laying into her with his mouth.

Jeff Marx: Careful there, there may be children watching.

Dave Kern: What… Oh eww, sick.

He puts the mic back in his pocket and continues beating on Aimz as she continues crawling towards the back. Lars Larsson pleads with Chainz to let Aimz get up but he’s having none of it. There’s nothing he can do to stop Chainz as there are no rules; he’s just there to administer the 30 count.

Dave Kern: This match is getting out of control real quick.

Aimz finally crawls behind the curtains and disappears backstage. Chainz stays out in the arena, yelling at some fan in the first row. After a few moments he follows Aimz to the backstage area. As he passes the curtains she immediately crashes a large trashcan over his head.

Chainz stumbles, but keeps his balance. Aimz grabs him by the back of his head and throws him into a wall.

THUD

His back crashes into the wall, causing his body to crumble as he slides to the ground. She reaches for the microphone in his pocket.

Aimz: How you like that you sick fuck!

She takes the mic and brings it down on Chainz’s forehead, again and again. She stops and backs off allowing Chainz to rise to a knee. Before he stands to his full frame she grabs a metal pole and slams it into his ribs.

Dave Kern: Good lord what a shot.

Jeff Marx: Come on Chainz, beat that woman for all us men.

Chainz crumbles back to the ground as he tries to take deep breaths. He slowly gets to his feet to see a running Aimz clothesline him, sending him crashing into another wall. He bounces off and rams an elbow right into her face, catching her lip and busting it open.

Jeff Marx: The first blood of the match belongs to Aimz.

Aimz rubs the blood from her lip and sees Chainz smiling at her.

She reaches back and grabs some unfortunate worker’s metal thermos smashing it right into Chainz’s face. His forehead cracks open and blood begins to pour in a steady stream down his face.

Dave Kern: And now Chainz is bleeding as well.

Chainz grabs Aimz by the neck, but she breaks the hold and drives an elbow into his face. He stumbles back before lunging at her, but she evades the maneuver using a drop toe hold to bring Chainz crashing into the concrete floor. His head bounces off the concrete and begins bleeding all over the floor.

Aimz stands back up and begins kicking Chainz all over, not relenting at all. She helps Chainz up to a standing base and rams his head into a wall, and again, and again. Finally Chainz gets his hands in the way and keeps his forehead from meeting the wall. He drives an elbow into Aimz’ gut breaking her hold. He grabs her by the back of her neck and drives a knee into her face.

Dave Kern: I don’t see how they can call this a wrestling match.

Jeff Marx: What are you talking about, we’re finally seeing something worth admission.

Chainz picks up Aimz and lifts her over his head, holding her high in the air. He presses her up and throws her down on a table full of cookies and punch. He joins her in the mess and drives an elbow into her forehead.

He stands her up and drags her over to a door, throwing her into it. It bursts open and she goes tumbling into what turns out to be a bathroom. Chainz enters and sees someone’s legs in one of the stalls. He picks up Aimz and throws her through that stall door and right into the lap of a woman using the lavatory. She shrieks in fear as Aimz causes her to crumble to the ground with her, exposing herself to the entire world.

Jeff Marx: Eww, that was some of the worst poon I’ve ever seen in my life.

Dave Kern: And I’m guessing there’s going to be quite a few calls to Pearl and the AWC board about this.

Jeff Marx: Those FCC bitches need to get off this man’s back, he’s just doing what we’re all thinking.

Dave Kern: I’m not thinking about raping little girls.

Jeff Marx: Well… me neither!

Dave Kern: Can you go five minutes without embarrassing yourself?

Jeff Marx: I try.

Chainz laughs as he grabs the innocent woman and shoves her out of the stall. She covers herself and runs away screaming. Chainz leans down to pick up Aimz, but she grabs him and pulls his head right into the toilet and reaches up and flushes it.

Dave Kern: And he said I stink.

Chainz shoves Aimz aside and pulls his head out of the bowl, coughing and blowing water out of his mouth and nose. Aimz rises to her feet and charges at Chainz, forcing him backwards crashing his lower back against a sink. He bends backwards in a sick fashion as Aimz throws some blows into his stomach, but quickly realizes that won’t be of much use.

She gets some soap into her hands and rubs it into his eyes, causing him to yell in pain as he’s blinded. He struggles away but can’t see where he’s going. Aimz grabs a plunger and breaks it over his head.

A mop is standing in the corner and she quickly grabs it and breaks it over Chainz’s back. Chainz drops to a knee, as he tries to clean his eyes. Aimz approaches him, but Chainz grabs her and throws her into a mirror, shattering it into a thousand pieces. She drops to the ground with the mirror pieces around her, some sticking into her body.

Chainz reaches for a sink and turns the water on, splashing a generous amount on his eyes. After he can finally open his eyes he sees Aimz trying to get up. He helps her by raising her up by the hair. He kicks her and scoop slams her down onto a pile of broken mirror pieces.

The pieces penetrate her back causing her to yelp in pain. Chainz stumbles out of the bathroom still trying to get all of the soap out of his eyes. He stumbles around and suddenly gets hit by Aimz from behind. She turns him around and shoves a handful of broken mirror into his face.

Dave Kern: How is this legal?

Jeff Marx: I don’t think Chainz gives a damn about what’s legal.

Dave Kern: This match is turning into absolute chaos.

Jeff Marx: This is what everyone wanted to see. Enough of these matches that don’t mean a damn.

Dave Kern: What about all the matches before this one!?

Jeff Marx: Show filler, now we’re getting to the good stuff.

A piece of the mirror gets stuck into his forehead as he breaks away. Aimz approaches him again, but is grabbed by the head. Chainz delivers a headbutt still with the mirror piece embedded into his forehead, using it as a weapon. Aimz falls with blood pouring out of her skull, while Chainz pulls the mirror out of his head.

Dave Kern: That’s just sick.

Aimz slowly gets up and is immediately floored with a chain link superkick.

She falls to the ground and lies motionless as Lars Larsson takes the opportunity to administer the first count of the night.

ONE!

TWO!

Aimz remains motionless on the ground.

Jeff Marx: I told you Kern, I told you a woman had no chance against a man of the caliber of Chainz. Now she’s not going to get up.

Dave Kern: I wouldn’t count the Red Raver out so fast, I’m sure she’s still got quite a bit of fight left in her.

TEN!

ELEVEN!

She finally begins to stir and slowly makes her way to her feet, way ahead of the 30 count allotted to her. Chainz is quick to pounce on her and lifts her in the air, dropped her with a back suplex. He lifts her once again and drops her with a vertical suplex, causing her body to make a sick impact with the concrete floor.

Once again Lars Larsson begins the count.

Jeff Marx: That a way Chainz, stay on her, don’t give her a breath.

Dave Kern: Have you no heart Marx?

Jeff Marx: Not for a skank like Aimz.

Dave Kern: But I bet for Tracy…

Jeff Marx: Oooooh, for her I’ve got more than just a heart.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Chainz doesn’t let it go on anymore as he lifts Aimz off the ground once again. He picks her up over her shoulder and carries her through the backstage area to the horror of many of the workers.

He finally drops her on the ground like a heap of shit. He finds himself in the parking lot and immediately investigates the area for potential weapons. They’re all around him in the form of cars.

Dave Kern: I don’t like that look in his eyes, who knows what kind of sick ideas he has running through there.

Jeff Marx: What you call sick I call one hell of a good show.

He picks Aimz off the ground and heaves her on top of a car roof. She crashes hard, but has enough sense to kick Chainz in the head as she lies on the roof. He stumbles back a bit and as he turns back to face her she dives off the top of the roof, only to be caught by Chainz, but before he can do anything she manages to twist her body and send Chainz reeling face first into a window of the car.

His bald head crashes through the window as remains there as he nears unconsciousness. She pulls him out and slams his head onto the hood of the car.

Dave Kern: I feel sorry for whoever owns that car because there won’t be much left after these two are done with it.

Chainz blocks one of her blows and lifts her by the neck, slamming her onto the good of the car. He climbs on top as well and throws her head between his legs. With a slight heave he powerbombs Aimz onto the top of the car. The roof indents and nearly caves in under the weight and force of the move.

Dave Kern: OH MY GOD! Her back had to have been broken with that powerbomb. I can’t believe the roof didn’t completely cave in.

Jeff Marx: She brought it all upon herself, she should have never accepted Chainz’ challenge and made this match. She chose the stipulation, she should’ve made it a baking challenge or something that a woman could actually do.

Dave Kern: Oh come on Marx, can you for once keep those kind of comments to yourself? You’re sounding like an idiot.

Lars Larsson begins to count once again.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Chainz uses the time to regain his breath.

TEN!

ELEVEN!

TWELVE!

Aimz begins to stir, but still hasn’t made any progress in getting up.

Dave Kern: Come on Aimz, don’t let that maniac beat you like this. Get up.

Jeff Marx: Don’t waste your breath, this is over.

TWENTY!

Jeff Marx: Ten more seconds and this match is over!

TWENTY-FIVE!

As Larsson reaches twenty-five Aimz somehow manages to roll off the roof of the car and land on her feet, thus canceling the count. Chainz sighs and walks off towards a car parked on the other side of the parking lot. He pulls out a set of keys and pops the trunk of the car open to reveal several weapons; a baseball bat, a steel link chain, and what appears to be a can of mace.

Dave Kern: Oh no.

Jeff Marx: Oh yes, now women can see how it feels.

He smiles as he pulls out the chain and wraps it around his hand. As he turns he is immediately caught with a right hand to his face. Aimz grabs the mace and as Chainz turns to her she sprays the mace right into his face. Chainz screams as he drops to the ground in pain, his eyes tearing up from the mace. She kicks Chainz in the balls and as he lowers his hands she positions the can an inch from his eyes and sprays the mace again. She doesn’t stop even after Chainz covers his eyes with his hands.

Jeff Marx: No! Stop her, she’s going to blind the man!

Dave Kern: Oh what’s the matter Kern, now that Aimz is on top you suddenly aren’t enjoying yourself?

Jeff Marx: Well I love seeing Aimz on top, but not like this.

She finally stops and throws the can away. Chainz is emitting a lot of groans as he covers his eyes, nearly blinded from the mace that he himself brought to the fray. He slowly rises, still blinded, and stumbles about with his hands extended trying to keep himself upright.

Aimz grabs the baseball bat out of the trunk and slams it into the back of Chainz’ knee, bringing him down to the ground. She drags him over to the open trunk and places his head in it. She reaches up and slams the trunk down on his upper back.

Chainz falls to the ground and lies there like a beaten animal as Lars Larsson starts the count.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Aimz takes the time to sit down and rest her tired and sore body.

Dave Kern: And now it’s Chainz who has to regain his composure and make it to his feet or this match will be over.

Jeff Marx: There’s no way she’s going to keep him down for thirty seconds, there’s just no way.

TEN!

ELEVEN!

TWELVE!

Chainz begins to move to the chagrin of Aimz who is feeling her own body begging her to end things.

Dave Kern: Aimz obviously hoping against hope that Chainz doesn’t get back up, but it does look like he’s coming back to.

Jeff Marx: Look at her, she knows how futile all her efforts are. She should just throw in the towel and move on while she can still walk.

TWENTY!

TWENTY-ONE!

He finally manages to stand up and stop the count.

Aimz rises to her feet again, resigned to the fact that it’ll take a lot more to put this man down. She approaches with the bat raised in her hands, but before she can take a swing Chainz whips out the chain and catches her on the forearm with it. The bat falls from her grasp and clangs onto the ground. Chainz charges Aimz and clotheslines her to the ground with the chain still wrapped around his hand.

She falls to the ground holding her pounding head. Chainz grabs her by the hair and drags her along the ground. He flings her through a window and into an office. Glass shatters and drops everywhere as Aimz lies on the ground, head buried in the broken glass.

Dave Kern: How are these two still going?

Jeff Marx: Don’t worry, after being sent through that glass she won’t be going for much longer.

Chainz grabs Aimz by the leg and drags her along the ground. He lifts her and flings her through a door and outside of the arena. Chainz steps out and into the cool night. Chainz breaths in the London air and grimaces as his aching ribs punish him for it. People on the streets look on at the bloody pair as they begin to exchange punches with Aimz somehow getting the better hand.

Aimz grabs Chainz by the back of the neck and throws him into a parked car on the street. She grabs a metal trash bin and slams it over his head.

He drops leaving his head wide open for various punches from the Red Raver. She finally helps him to his feet and whips him into a nearby tree. The tree shakes from the force of the near three hundred pounder but holds its ground.

Chainz topples once again, but quickly rises to his feet. Aimz grabs a tree limb and climbs on top of it. She jumps and connects with a leg drop right across the back of Chainz’ neck. Both of them lie on the ground, they’re bodies heaving trying to suck in as much air as their aching bodies will allow.

Dave Kern: Both competitors struggling for air.

Jeff Marx: Come on Chainz, stop toying with her and just end this match. Put her out of her misery.

Dave Kern: After that leg drop I think Aimz has the upper hand. No way can Chainz just shake that off.

Jeff Marx: You underestimate him.

Dave Kern: Trust me, I’m fully aware of what that man is capable of.

Several people walk by the scene which is quite out of the ordinary. Both Aimz and Chainz are bloody messes and are lying on the ground struggling to breathe.

Aimz finally manages to get up, being joined by Chainz after a few more seconds. They exchange punches and begin brawling into the street, luckily for them there aren’t many cars present.

They battle right into a fountain that was standing on the other side of the street, both going splashing into the water. Chainz slips and lands in the water and Aimz is quick to take advantage, pushing his head underwater. Chainz struggles and manages to grab a handful of coins that the public had thrown in. He reaches back and delivers a blow to Aimz, sending her backwards into the water.

Chainz gets to his feet, the blood running wild as the water softened the stuck and dried blood on his face. He goes to grab Aimz, but she’s ready with a kick to the knee. As he tries to keep his balance she’s on her feet and driving her fists into his head. She grabs him and delivers a perfect bulldog right out of the fountain and onto the brick floor around it.

She climbs on top of a bench and readies herself.

Dave Kern: Ooooh, I think I know what’s coming.

Jeff Marx: No, don’t do it! Damn it Chainz, get up!

With great strain she jumps and delivers a perfect Dead Aim on the nearly unconscious Chainz. He takes the blow and remains on the ground as Aimz rolls away so that Lars Larsson can begin his count.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Aimz finally manages to her feet as she stands over Chainz, hoping that the monster will stay down.

TWENTY!

TWENTY-ONE!

TWENTY-TWO!

Jeff Marx: GET UP!

Dave Kern: If Chainz doesn’t come to in the next five seconds this match is going to end in a victory for Aimz.

Chainz slowly begins to move, but the count is nearing the 30 second mark.

Jeff Marx: Okay, there he goes he’s fine.

TWENTY-FIVE!

TWENTY-SIX!

TWENTY-SEVEN!

As the referee gets to 27 Chainz slowly rises to a knee and than back to a vertical base stopping the count just a few seconds before he lost the match.

Dave Kern: Damn, I thought the match was over right there. I thought Aimz had done it, but I guess this match will continue.

Chainz wearily approaches Aimz and throws a lazy punch, one that is easily blocked. Aimz jumps and kicks Chainz in the side of the head. She grabs him and pulls him over in front of a library. She eyes it and sees a large pane of glass.

Jeff Marx: Oh crap.

She stands behind Chainz and shoves him forward sending him flying straight through the large pane of glass. It shatters as he goes through it and lands inside of the library, pieces of glass lying all around him.

Jeff Marx: I was afraid of that.

Dave Kern: Good lord, this match started inside of the arena, went to the streets and now is invading a library.

Jeff Marx: It’s great isn’t it?

Dave Kern: We’ll see once the match is over.

Aimz hops into the library and sees Chainz rising to his feet. She runs at him and hits a clothesline that sends him reeling into a row of bookshelves. She tries to throw a punch, but it’s blocked and Chainz pokes her in the eyes.

Dave Kern: What a dirty move for a man of his size to do to a woman.

Jeff Marx: So they say they want to be treated like equals and when we do you bitch and moan.

Dave Kern: That’s a dirty move no matter whose on the receiving end.

Chainz grabs a rather large book from the bookshelf and brings it down on his opponents head.

Chainz: See kids, reading can be fun!

He hits Aimz on the head once again dropping her to a knee. He picks up a small table set up for children and breaks it across her back.

Dave Kern: Chainz will not relent, he just keeps bringing it again and again. He takes his shots as well, but he brings it like none other.

Jeff Marx: Well what do you expect? Chainz is the most violent, brutal, and relentless man in all of wrestling.

Chainz grabs a cart from nearby and places Aimz on top of it. He wheels her through the aisle, grabbing books from the shelves and hitting her on the head with them.

Chainz: Eh, I do not like green eggs and ham.

He slams the Doctor Seuss book over her head.

Chainz: The Shining, good book, bit wordy for me though. He slams the paperback book over Aimz’ head, not doing much other than humiliating the Red Raver.

Chainz gets behind the cart and starts picking up speed. He lets go and sends the cart crashing into a counter. It hits and sends Aimz flying through the air, over the counter, and on the floor.

Chainz: Ha ha ha, it’s good.

He raises his hands as if he had made a field goal.

Chainz approaches the counter and peers over to see where Aimz landed. To his surprise she is back to her feet and has a computer monitor in hand. She tosses it right at Chainz’ head, who doesn’t have enough time to raise his hands to cover.

The monitor cracks his head, splitting some of the glass in the process. Aimz hops on the counter and leaps off, but Chainz catches her, but Aimz quickly counters with a hurricanrana that sends flying Chainz face first into the counter.

Dave Kern: Aimz back on top of Chainz, this match has been up and down all night long.

She picks up a book from nearby.

Aimz: Ugh, I hate romantic novels.

She slams the book in Chainz’ face and goes down the aisle. He reaches the tapes and video section.

Aimz: Hey look, you might like this one.

She grabs “American Psycho” and brings it to Chainz. She sticks it in his face like an owner rubbing a dogs nose in his own mess.

Aimz: Hmm, remind you of anyone?

She slams the tape in his face and chuckles to herself. She helps him up and leads him over to an aisle and slams him in the bookshelf. Chainz grabs her plows right through the bookshelf using her as a battering ram. They both fall as books litter around them.

Dave Kern: What the hell is going on in this match?

Jeff Marx: They’re mixing education with wrestling.

Dave Kern: Poorly might I add.

Jeff Marx: I don’t know, I never knew how much fun Dr. Seuss could be. Seeing Chainz slam that book over Miss Campbell’s head makes me want to pick one of his books up and give it a read.

Dave Kern: What are you, five?

Jeff Marx: I’m not ashamed to get in contact with my inner child.

Chainz and Aimz get up and begin throwing punches into each other’s face. Chainz grabs her and drives a knee into her stomach. He brings her over to the computers set up and slams her head on top of a monitor. She stumbles back, allowing Chainz to grab a mouse and fling it at her.

She ducks it and runs at Chainz jumping on him and crashing with him through several of the computers.

Aimz slowly gets up and allows Lars Larsson to start the count.

ONE!

TWO!

That’s as far as the count goes as an angered Chainz rises to his feet. He grabs a mouse, more specifically the cord and lunges at Aimz. She tries to punch him, but it doesn’t have an effect. Chainz wraps the cord around her throat and starts choking the life out of her.

She flings her arms around trying to find something to use to get her out of the hold. She finds a bar code scanner and bashes it into Chainz’ head forcing him to break the choke.

Jeff Marx: God damn that woman just won’t quit.

Dave Kern: I told you Marx, Aimz isn’t just a push over. It’s a tough feat to take her down and keep her down, especially for thirty seconds.

Chainz backs off and allows Aimz to come to him. She does and he nails her with a chain link super kick out of no where.

She crumbles to the ground after the massive blow. Chainz waves his hands and walks out of the library, climbing out of the window and back into the streets.

Jeff Marx: Looks like that library’s going to be in some need of repairs.

Dave Kern: You could say that again and I’m guessing the AWC isn’t going to be too pleased about it.

Jeff Marx: Oh please, Chainz is one of the biggest rating draws we have and he’s made this company millions. I’m sure they can afford a couple bucks on some new books.

Chainz walks down the street drawing glances from the few people still outside. He suddenly stops and walks over to a park. He sees a mother sitting on a bench, her small girl playing on the swing. Chainz just stops and stares at the child, while standing in the middle of the road. He cocks his head and admires the girl as she swings.

Chainz: Mmm, I love me some pigtails.

The drooling freak walks across the street and approaches the park. He passes the woman who sees the large and bloody man approach her daughter. She jumps from her bench and runs at Chainz who simply flings her out of the way. She gets up once again and gets right into Chainz’ face, getting caught in his massive hands.

Chainz: Don’t worry dear, she’s just the appetizer.

Without warning the woman reaches into her purse and produces a can of mace. Once again his eyes fall victim to the painful formula as she sprays the toxic into his eyes. He drops the woman, allowing her enough time to grab her daughter and escape the scene.

Dave Kern: Good for you lady, that bastard deserves it.

Jeff Marx: That’s the second time tonight he’s being maced. He’s going to go blind if he doesn’t watch out.

Chainz stumbles around blindly grabbing the swing pole to try and balance himself. Aimz comes out of nowhere and runs into Chainz’ back, sending his face into the pole.

Chainz stumbles back and drops to a knee. Aimz sits in the swing and steps back as far as she can. When Chainz rises to his full height, Aimz swings and drives her legs right into his face. He drops to the ground. Aimz swings backwards and on the forward motion jumps off and hits another leg drop on the downed mad man.

Dave Kern: I must say, Aimz is using her surroundings wonderfully.

Jeff Marx: Figures she has to find a weapon to try and even this match out. Without all this aid this match would have been over twenty minutes ago.

Dave Kern: Well that’s your opinion and just like everyone you have the right to your own.

Aimz pulls Chainz over to a slide and places his face at the bottom. She climbs to the top and launches herself down, driving her feet into Chainz’ face once again. She stands on the end of the slide and jumps off, driving an elbow into the face of Chainz.

Lars Larsson walks up and starts the count that he figures he’ll never finish.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Dave Kern: How many times has he tried to count one of these down?

Jeff Marx: It doesn’t matter how many times he starts to count Chainz down, it’ll never reach thirty seconds.

TEN!

ELEVEN!

TWELVE!

Aimz climbs on top of the slide and awaits the eventual rise of Chainz which she knows is coming.

At the twenty mark Chainz slowly rises to his feet and stands up. Aimz leaps off of the top of the slide with a cross body, but is caught. This time there are no weapons to aid her in an escape. Chainz runs her back into a pole and drops her to the ground. He drops and begins punching her in the face. He grabs some mulch from the ground and shoves it in her face.

Chainz: Eat it bitch, I know you like things going in your mouth.

He continues the assault as blood pours down his face. He stops to wipe it out of his eyes and it gives Aimz enough time to raise a knee right into his groin. Chainz drops, holding his balls as his boys climb back into his body.

Jeff Marx: Guess he won’t be having kids in the near future.

Dave Kern: Thank God.

Jeff Marx: I don’t know Kern, I’d love to see what comes out of Tracy.

Dave Kern: Really, I figured you’d rather see what goes in?

Jeff Marx: That too, hell I’d love to see anything around that area of her body.

Aimz walks away from the playground as Chainz slowly rises to his feet. She sees him chasing her and sprints off for the road. A double story bus passes by and she manages to grab on and climb to the roof. Chainz runs the bus down and climbs to the top as well where he is immediately met with a punch to the face.

Dave Kern: This is getting really dangerous here. Those two are fighting on top of a moving bus.

Jeff Marx: Someone’s going to get hurt.

Aimz picks up Chainz and tries for another punch, but it is blocked. Chainz lifts her up and drops her on top of the bus. She arks her back as the pain radiates through her body.

The bus comes to a stop at a traffic light. The cars behind the bus stop as well, many of the drivers looking on at the fight above them.

Chainz picks up Aimz and places her head between his legs. He lifts her and drives her down on the roof of the bus with a powerbomb. He keeps his grip and drives her down with another powerbomb completing the chain reaction.

Dave Kern: And there’s the chain reaction, damn it.

Jeff Marx: Yes, this match has to be over!

Instead of letting go of the hold he lifts her once again as if he’s going to do one more powerbomb. Instead he turns to face the cars behind him and jumps off the bus, driving Aimz’ body through the windshield and roof of the car behind them with a sit down powerbomb that shatters all the glass of the car and completely caves it in.

Dave Kern: OH MY GOD!!!

Jeff Marx: YES!!!

Dave Kern: She’s gotta be dead, there’s no way she’s getting up from this.

Jeff Marx: Bout time Chainz put her away.

The driver exits the car and sees Chainz and Aimz lying in what used to be his car. It is completely smashed and ruined.

Chainz slides off and lands on his knees while Aimz remains in the remnants of the car, barely breathing. Lars Larsson begins the count.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Dave Kern: This match is over, it has to be.

Jeff Marx: I agree, there’s no way she’s getting up this time.

TEN!

ELEVEN!

TWELVE!

The referee continues counting as Chainz slowly rises to his feet. Aimz remains motionless on in what remains of the car.

TWENTY!

TWENTY-ONE!

She coughs up some blood.

TWENTY-TWO!

Dave Kern: Come on Aimz, get up.

TWENTY-THREE!

TWENTY-FOUR!

TWENTY-FIVE!

Aimz’ head rises from the rubble, but immediately falls back down. Her whole body is aching and is covered in blood, but there is no quit in her. She continues trying to get to her feet.

TWENTY-SIX!

Her hand grasps the edge of the car.

TWENTY-SEVEN!

Her legs try to get back to motion.

TWENTY-EIGHT!

She sits up.

Dave Kern: Come on, you can do it.

Jeff Marx: No she can’t!

TWENTY-NINE!

She sits up and just as she’s about to get to her feet her body gives up on her and she collapses back into the coffin of a car created from the devastating move.

THIRTY!!!

Lars Larsson waves his hand to signal the end of the match.

Inside of the arena the bell is rung as Pierre Perroquet gets on the mic.

Pierre Perroquet: Ze winner of zees match, CHAINZ!!!

The crowd boos loudly as the most hated man in the AWC wins one of the most brutal and entertaining matches in AWC history.

Dave Kern: I can’t say I’m pleased with the result, but I can’t deny that this match was excellent.

Jeff Marx: What do you expect, this is the biggest pay per view of the year and it’s only fitting that the biggest ratings draw on the roster comes out with one of his biggest wins to date.

Dave Kern: Well that’s another opinion, but I can’t say it wasn’t a great match and there’s no shame in losing the match. One move here or there and Aimz would have wound up with the win instead of the other way around.

Jeff Marx: Riiiigggghhhhhhhttttttt. Dave Kern: Anyway, let’s leave this scene of carnage that was our sub-main event and prepare ourselves for the triple threat Transatlantic title and crown match coming up!

---

A-Vid: Prometheus
LOCATION: Video
FEATURING: Anyone who's ever been in the main event
AUTHOR: Lara

---

A small percussion and orchestral sound begins to allure the fans all gathered around the grounds, their eyes and ears glued to the flickering screen in front of them. A simple countdown emerges.

It all started with the winnings of one man…

Bold white letters emerged in the murky background.

A shot of Alexander Strider pans along the screen, hoisting the Transatlantic Title proudly over his head as the black and white picturesque display shows the small figure laid bare in the ring, the letters ‘Zero To Hero’ written beneath him, parts obscured by his limp limbs.

And the rise of another…

Harsh flames burn through the image of Alexander Strider and ‘Zero to Hero’, giving way to the Solarized emblem. A clip begins to roll of the main event.

Lavelle throws Strider off his shoulders and into the blaze!

Truth Waters: OH MY GOD! NOW I HAVE SEEN IT ALL! WHIPLASH INTO A BLAZING INFERNO!

The bell rings, as Strider manages to roll straight through to the outside of the inferno, screaming in pain. Striders trousers are burnt a quarter of the way up and the fringes singed greatly.

One mans faults…

Flashing clips of The Educator dart across the screen, his hand holding onto the three titles he gained at the Battle of Britain. Shots stream through the black background with flashing images of the Livewire Title, Frontier Title and Transatlantic Title.

Would all lead to the biggest conspiracy in AWC History…

A heavy metal guitar begins to boom through the orchestral introduction, drowning out the silence and peace with harsh metallic stylings and riveting bass, as images stream across the screen, displaying the Educator being escorted out of the AWC.

A small pianist piece lightly tickles through the background music, white words and an image of Strider stroll across the screen, the unforeseen loss.

Wrestler, Alexander Strider, dies from Prometheus overdose

‘Forget to Remember’ by Mudvayne soon becomes apparent to the fans watching with an indomitable interest, eyes glued to the screen.

What have I done?
Where have I come from?
When I burnt the backs with the sun through a glass did I seal the loss that's become me?

They would turn to one man for help…

Feeling undone
What have I become?
When I turned my back on you I turned my back on myself and became this machine

The words ‘PROMETHEUS’ ripple along the screen as images of Lavelle flash with dazzling colours, clips of him and David Harber panel along the side.

One man would seek to ruin it all…

Thoughtlessness
Selfishness
Hopelessness
Arrogant

An image of Adam Dick saunters through the roll for film, watching a conversation between Lavelle and Harber, his hands rubbing with delightful glee, a plan formulating.

He would become the advocate, and all would soon crumble…

Harber to release a statement in regards to Prometheus

A quick snap shot of Adam Dick and Sasha Volkyeva merge into the black background, an eerie gaze in their eyes as they wait in silence.

Wrestler charged with drug use

An image of Lavelle now replaces that of Adam Dick and Sasha Volkyeva, his charge fleeting through the darkness.

I feel it on the inside
Twisting and contorting
Memory has shaped me once again

There would be no peace…

Lavelle raises Dick up with a perfectly executed suplex, the two shattering through the catering table. A long line of gazes follows the carnage as Dick and Lavelle regain their composer, charging at Lavelle, Dick delivers a clothesline, but Lavelle ducks catching Dick’s wayward fist and Irish whips him through the small parting window.

Pierce Lavelle: You set me up!

Adam Dick: And you made it so easy…

Adam Dick’s maniacal, twisted grin paused on the screen as his eerie voice dribbles through the speakers.

Still feel you on the inside
Biting through and stinging
Will I ever forget to remember?

The dawn of King Dick would soon emerge…

Shadows in the sun
Filter through us
Still wrestle the demons that arrested me as a child
Confession rejected
We grow up
To give up
People step on the cracks for wounds owed paid back
Through the words of surrender

Pierce Lavelle’s foot is on the bottom…

TWO!

No it’s not – using his right foot Adam Dick knocks Lavelle’s foot off of the bottom rope before the referee could see and using the second rope for leverage he applies more pressure onto Pierce Lavelle.

Truth Waters: Hey! Foot on the ropes!

THREE!

Truth Waters: Foot on the ropes! Foot on the ropes, come on!

George Cassidy: DICK wins, Adam Dick is the NEW Transatlantic Champion.

The conspiracy would remain hidden…

Came bold white letters, fading the previous image.

Emptiness
Loneliness
Listlessness
Worthless…

The dark, damp and dreary image of an abandoned warehouse shimmers along the screen, the lyrics alluring the fans to the next show. The quiet mumbling of the familiar high-pitched voice rang through. An image of Adam Dick shivering as he knelt on the floor.

I feel it on the inside
Twisting and contorting
Memory has shaped me once again
Still feel you on the inside
Biting through and stinging
Will I ever forget to remember?

Adam Dick: Don’t let him kill me.

The room filled with the Los Angeles’s finest, as Lavelle was flung against a wall, handcuffs being strapped behind his back, a twisting clasp.

Officer: Lavelle, you are under arrest.

The image froze with the sadistic grin of the parting Adam Dick.

His era would reign, but the truth was not forgotten…

A clap of drums, a shrill of a soloing guitar as the image fuzzed momentarily, an image of Adam Dick and his crown remaining distilled in the minds of the fans as they watched it slowly diffuse.

Can you save me?
From myself
From these memories
Can you save me?
From myself
From these memories

A sudden flash of light as another clip shone through the screen, Lavelle emerged, changed, different, his tone sturdy, convincing as his hand clutched the neck of Sasha Volkyeva.

Surrender
To the shadows
Haunting inside
Bleed through you
Surrender to the secrets...inside
Lies within you

Another flash as a different image emerges. Harber is stood before Adam Dick, a grin coursed along his lips.

David ‘Pearl’ Harber: You’ll get your chance, after Lavelle gets his.

His dreams lay in ruins…

A flashing image of Jack Murphy pummeling Adam ‘King’ Dick slowly became replaced with the turn of Mike Wade, delivering willful and painful blows to his once confessed tag partner.

I feel it on the inside
Twisting and contorting
Memory has shaped me once again
Still feel you on the inside
Biting through and stinging
Will I ever forget to remember?

A friend would emerge, to help his woeful past.

An image of Garbage Bag Johnny emerges into the limelight, his bushy beard and shaggy hair filling the screen, the clip still rolling.

Scores would be settled…

Lavelle’s drug ban has been revoked. Free of all charges

Lavelle bursts through a small door, Harber jolting out of his seat as he gazed toward a changed Lavelle. His appearance was unrecognizable. Lavelle turned sharply, his fist clenched as he delivered a swift weighty blow to Harber’s face, sending the AWC co-manger crashing against an oak desk.

Pierce Lavelle: You set me up!

He would rise to reclaim what was his…

Ellis’ chest booms inwards as all the air falls out. Lavelle looks for the kill.

Truth Waters: It’s not looking good for Nash here… and yeah here it comes.

What Waters refers to is the Whiplash II, a brutal finisher that Lavelle has concocted. We switch back just in time to se Nash being locked into the final submission part of the move. With nowhere to go and nowhere to hide the result is elementary.

The bell rings.

The crowd explodes with cheers.

Lavelle falls back and pumps his fist.

Nash falls to the canvas and smacks it in annoyance.

James Brunt: Your winner… and the NEW TRANSATLANTIC CHAMPION… .PIERCE LAVELLE!!!

An unlikely opponent would soon rise from the murky waters to challenge both friend and foe…

Can't feel you on the inside
Set down the bag and left it
Lost memory has left me
One again
Open up the inside
Admission for the cleansing
Now that I've forgotten to remember

Garbage Bag Johnny’s toothy smile filled the screen as he held the promise of his shot for the crown. His rise to the top fluttered through the screen as he was seen delivering kick after punch.

James Brunt: Your winner of Zero 2 Hero, GARBAGE BAG JOHNNY.

An image cuts to Garbage Bag Johnny being chased on a power boat by the deceitful and dangerous Adam Dick, till it collides with a full wallop, send Garbage Bag Johnny reeling.

Another clip twists and contorts on the screen of Lavelle and Garbage Bag Johnny, both stood before the other.

A deal would be made.

Garbage Bag Johnny: One million dollars…

Tonight… One man will have his revenge… The other a shot at glory

Surrender
To the shadows
Haunting inside
Bleed through you

An image flutters through, a distilled image of Pierce Lavelle, Adam Dick and Garbage Bag Johnny.

The music slowly dying in the background as the screen fades to black…

---

Garbage Bag Johnny vs Pierce Lavelle vs. Adam Dick